#1) the 'at least you finally get to do something' line in The Jeffersons

[kennys-parka-jacket]

I am once again thinking about The Poor Kid

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #33: Grace Slick's

Welcome to the WRECKING BALL!

Something you just gotta kneel down and submit to whatever The Dollar Bin offers.

I was down on my hands and creaky knees in my favorite shop a week or two back when I hit a vinyl goldmine: seven records I did not already own and knew I'd listen to at least once. Seven records for a dollar each. Seven!

Well, a lot of what I bought ultimately sounded pretty mediocre so calling it a goldmine is a stretch. I'm guessing you need a lot of iron to forge a wrecking ball big enough for Grace Slick to mount and crash about on so let's say I hit an iron mine. Check Grace out on the album's backside.

I'm guessing OSHA did not approve this photo shoot. But saying I hit an iron mine still doesn't sound quite right... After all, I suspect a lot of what I bought sucks: Stephen Stills 2 was in the stack. So maybe it was more like a tin mine? Tin doesn't sound like a valuable metal and, sorry Grace Slick, but ridiculous as your record appears it may win up not even worth a buck.

Even so, did I waiver before laying down my 93 pre-tax cents for Grace Slick's Welcome to the Wrecking Ball, an album which I knew absolutely nothing about from an artist who, apart from her early penchant for chasing rabbits and someone to love, is largely a mystery to me? Definitely not. After all, what the hell else are you gonna buy for 93 cents and then take any interest in? 1/8th of a burrito?

And there's always the chance that a record which looks this wacky will have songs that are equally bonkers. And bonkers is good, yeah? Slick on the cover looks like she'd spent the day as an extra for a B grade zombie flick featuring a lot of smoke machines. And I love how Slick's name and the album's title were slapped on post production, perhaps by a real zombie. What's more, she's standing prominently on Steiner Avenue. And that has got to mean something. Right? Maybe? Please tell me this a big, well thought through concept record, every line and every sound and every image dedicated to one silly cause...

Including the gatefold image; what's Slick out to smash here? The patriarchy? Stephen Sills? Us? Man, I'm getting excited.

There are no Captain and Tennelle and their corpulent dog records framed on the walls of my home as ironic testaments to my wit; nor do I own any savvy Hanging With My Gnomies or Dogfather tees that proclaim my sardonic depths. But who the hell would have a record collection and not want to own this record based on its looks alone?

It's not strictly true to say that I don't know anything about Slick post Jefferson Airplane's debut record, the one which features the aforementioned two songs that everyone knows. I got a copy of Bark, their 71 record, out of the Dollar Bin the same day I picked this little number up and it sounds... unimpressive.

To begin with, that album's vinyl has more flexibility to it than the quinoa tortilla I tried to eat for lunch today; seriously, I could wrap up some beans and rice in my copy of Bark record and call it lunch (I guess I should add a fish head or two based on that record's cover).

Those quinoa tortillas, on the other hand, would be right at home on my turntable, and they might ultimately sound better than Welcome to the Wrecking Ball. (Fair reader, I'm still getting up the courage to finally drop the needle on this thing; I promise to do so before we're done.)

But Grace Slick deserves my respect and open mind, and I'm going to give it to her. After all, she helped me learn how to dance. For reasons that are now lost in the sands of time I went to an 80's elementary school in which the mothers and the cool kids decided that dance parties, complete with placing our mostly chaste hands on each other's hips for slow dances (one poor young lady had to dance every one of those with an insistent and utterly uncool me for three straight years; sorry Amy!), were meant to start in the 4th Grade.

Seriously! Starting at age 10 we'd gather together for birthday parties at the Badminton Club or in someone's backyard with the most intense of the cool kid's older brother as DJ (he'd do a steamy lip sink to Shout! mid-party; we'd all freak out with awe. That dude probably sells commercial real estate these days and actively fantasizes about building a time machine so he can go back and repeatedly relive the greatest moments in his life at those parties, during which he was a cheesy, corpuscled combination of Marty McFly, Ferrris Bueller and the Fonz to all us kids) and go two steps left and two steps right with a clap accompanying each motion to everything from Buffalo Soldier to, you got it, We Built This City on Rock and Roll, Slick's incredibly regrettable 85 anthem about the pressing need for more easily accessible rock clubs in everyone's hometown which routinely tops "Worst Song of All Time" lists.

Did we think We Built This City on Rock and Roll was the worst song of all time back in 4th grade? Heck no. Often, some of the 4 foot tall cool kids would mount party tables and dance on them during the track, belting out the lyrics in their smurf voices. We were a pack of 4th grade white kids and we were actively building a city on rock and roll in real time. And it was awesome. Honestly, I don't know if I've ever even heard the song as a grown up, and I'm not plastering it here. Play it in your own blog; I'm listening to it in my ten year old brain, and it's working some serious magic.

And so, Grace Slick deserves the benefit of the doubt! Let's drop the needle and see what her wrecking ball of a dollar bin record has in store for us.

Holy Freakin' and Sagging Space Balls. This record sounds like Joan Jett, only inexplicably worse; it sounds like Poison covering Motley Crew while on speed; it sounds like Tesla's, (we're talking about the band here, not the automobile; and why we're at it, are the members of Tesla sitting around right now even richer than Elon all because they copywrited their band's name?), follow up to their even-then-it made-me-apoplectic record Five Man Acoustical Jam entitled Listen to Us Destroy All Sense of Purpose Within You With Our Glam Rock Ninja Moves (okay they don't really have a record by that name; I made that up; but they do have a record entitled Bust A Nut, and I'd argue, without any basis of knowledge whatsoever, that that record sounds a lot like Welcome to the Wrecking Ball).

This song sounds like what they'd play in the concourse area before a Donald Trump rally: everyone's standing around bumping each other's fists behind their wrap around sunglasses indoors, no one has sleeves on their shirts, and everyone wishes they could get a pair of red, white and blue Trump brand solid gold sneakers for their very own; and of course they all know Jesus will soon descend once again, only this time he'll rock a polyester jumpsuit and go agro on everyone who doubts the Donald.

To be fair, there's nothing here to suggest that Slick was a Republican; I'm making unfair analogies. But there's also nothing here to suggest that Slick had any capacity for making music anyone would ever enjoy listening to. Come on, you decide: does a song like this give you any version of pleasure?

What's worse, I can't find anything on the record that's actually as good as the title track. Slick sings, or perhaps declaims is a better word for it, about how much she loathes music critics, then moves on to describe dominatrices with their hands on the whip who have the devil in their heart and so on; then she lays this on us:

Slick chases us around the stereo space while we flee in terror; listen to the guitar soloist prance, pose and persuade us to reconsider everything we hold sacred; and then, at the end of the song, listen to everyone go totally nuts. I hear screams, laser beams and drum drops; I hear the effects of a lot of coke. Or maybe Slick was just going all in a few years early, trying to come up with something that would get fourth graders to dance on tables. Because we absolutely would have done so to this song.

Someone, please, call Alice; tell her to bring the doormouse. I want my 93 cents back.

[eirian-houpe]

The Monday Menu

Well, I did it... I finished Disparate Pathways. The final chapter was posted this morning. It has been a journey that started in December of 2019 with Witness Protection. Written for the Rumbelle Secret Santa, I was constrained for time, and found myself leaving out a lot of backstory, which I really wanted to include.  My solution was to write the remix, which became the 57 chapter long epic that I finished posting today.  I’m going to miss writing for those characters. The dangerous ex-cartel scion, Gold, and the bad-ass-with-a-heart-of-gold, FBI agent Jefferson Milnor.  I’m not ready to say goodbye! 

For those of you that are new to the fandom, or have been hibernating (and who could blame anyone for that given the state of the world) the past couple of years, the Rumbelle Showdown is in full swing. Round 2 brackets are posted, and writers are, I would imagine, currently working on their fics.  Round 1 had some awesome fics, and there’s still a chance for you to identify the favorite you had among those eliminated from round 1. I know that included some of my favorites. Run - don’t walk - to the Showdown blog. Don’t miss out!

Hopefully I will be able to find time to get some writing done this week, and here’s the plan for what this week might look like:

Monday - The Monday Menu - what it says on the box. A plan for the week, also, sometimes, a Monday Mmmm. There won’t always be one of these, just when something troubling or interesting crosses my path.

Tuesday - TMI Tuesday. - Ask me… go on, anything.  Ask my characters -they’ll answer. Nothing is off limits, but be sure you want the answer before you ask the question.

Wednesday - WIP Wednesday - Current state of my works in progress. So many - and still climbing!

Thursday - Three Things Thursday - any fic of mine is fair game. Doesn’t have to be Rumbelle, I have Rushbelle, a bunch of crossovers, some shows people might no know, some ST: DSC, some SGA and some Tolkien too… ask three things, I dare ya…! Please… This is also the day I’ll do the ‘Behind the Scenes’ post, which might just end up as part of the TTT post.

Friday - Final Line Friday. - Assuming I manage to write anything, I will post a word cloud, and the last line that I have written right before I post this. Also I hope to be able to start a Fic Rec Friday too, which won’t always be Rumbelle, but could be any fandom out there.

Saturday - Saturday Secret - another one of those where you can ask about any fic, and I’ll tell (or show) you a secret. Feel free to follow up with conversation or guesses.  I will tell you if you get something right. Again, no one took me up on the offer… so we might also have to think of another ‘SA’ post.

Sunday - Seven Sentence Sunday. - yeah, I have to write something to be able to post this.

Writing this week - Same as last week... Modern Wonders (At least I’d like to try and get some writing done on this fic.  It has been calling to me after all).  Also perhaps dabbling in some Not Yours to Keep and/or some Laer o Faen.

As always my inbox is open for thoughts, questions, asks… I don’t restrict people to any particular day of the week, and I - like most fic authors - love to discuss things to do with fics and fandom.

I just want to add a shout out to those readers who have left me comments and kudos these last several days.  It has not gone un-noticed.  love you guys for those votes of confidence..

Talk to me, peeps! My inbox is lonely,

[katie-writes24]

Fell Into The Same Arms Pt.2

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: Language, angst, a pinch of fluff, ANGST, suggestive material, mentions of drug use, sad sad sad

Part 1

I’m starting to believe I will never just get straight to the point? But it’s whatever. This wasn’t even suppose to have a part 2, but everyone hyped it up which was super shocking to me? And luckily for you I write a lot when I’m in need of a vent soooo yeah! Anyways, let me know if you want to be tagged! Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

It was cold, the wind a lot stronger this morning because of last nights storm. The window was open.

Thomas always left the window open, no matter how many times she complained.

"What if a bird flies in? What if someone climbs up and breaks in? And I don't like those bug noises!"

"What bug noises?"

"Like crickets and just little noises- I don't know but they creep me out!"

"I get too hot when I sleep, you know that," Thomas shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, climbing into bed and folding his arms behind his head.

"Yeah, well I get too cold now," Y/N gets in on her own side, proving her point and wrapping herself in the blanket, making Thomas chuckle.

"Come 'ere, I'll keep you warm!" He wrapped his arms around her torso, cradling the back of her neck and breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. Y/N curled in and let out a blissful sigh, finally recovering some warmth.

"Don't let me go," She whispered before nodding off to sleep.

"I won't, I promise."

He was keeping his promise.

She should get up and go back to her own apartment, tell Hercules about everything and beg him not to tell anyone because she didn't want to hear the much deserved I told you so's. She should maybe stop at the drug store and pick up some pain meds and concealer, at least try and make the bruises fade. When Angelica calls her and asks where she is, she should tell her that she had a rough night and can't make it to work. She should leave this bed...

But she can't fight the warmth of Thomas's chest, can't seem to remove the covers and face the world just yet.

Lost in her own thoughts, she soon felt a hand run up and down her spine slowly. He was hesitant, and he had every right to be. They shouldn't indulge themselves in this, they both know that it will only hurt them later.

Last night, she let herself fall, both in her own beaten head and in Thomas's arms. She let him fix her up and tell her that it would be okay, and he let her rest in his bed because he knows that she always enjoyed the soft, fancy foam. Thomas didn't call anybody because he knew that Y/N didn't want that.

None of this would've happened if she just stayed home last night. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she opened her mouth and fought the fight that wasn't hers.

"You're thinking too loud."

He was one to talk, really.

His fingers found her scalp and started to massage it gently, and there was no resisting the feeling. It was a moment of peace, something she hadn't gotten in a while.

"When's the last time we were in bed together?"

Just like that, it's gone.

Y/N quickly removed herself out of his embrace and folded the covers back. Thomas only sighed dramatically, "Don't get so sensitive, Y/N."

"Yeah, that's rich. I think you should just be proud that you managed to bring me upstairs in the first place." She was being bitter, she knew it, but he sounded too smug about something that didn't even happen last night. Turning to face him, she could feel tension forming in the air.

"You're right, excuse me for trying to be a nice host!"

"Is that what you would call it? Because you had that dumb look on your face where you think you know exactly what you're doing, but you really don't. It's so...ugh, it's so practical of you to think last night was a whole thing!"

"May I remind you, that you're the one that broke this off." It was a stab, and again, she deserved it. But she didn't want to get into it right now, not when she was sore from a viscous beating from the previous night.

"I don't have time for this, Thomas-"

"When will you have time? We never even- we never sat down and talked about it!" Thomas was out of bed now, pacing the room and looking at her with narrowed eyes. "Will you ever make time for me? Do you even want to try and fix this?"

"If I wanted to fix it, then I would've when it happened!"

Thomas snapped his jaw shut, staring at her in disbelief. Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead and looking up to meet his eyes. "Look, I know that this is all my fault, everything is my fault! I shouldn't have came here last night, I shouldn't have moved in with you, I shouldn't have said yes, and I shouldn't-"

"You shouldn't have said yes? Really? So...so-what, you just never loved me at all?"

"Of course I love you Thomas! I should've never gotten involved with you in the first place, that's the problem! I shouldn't have brought you into this fucked up life I have. I don't even remember why you liked me in the first place. I was in AA, and I obviously wasn't getting any better! And look at me now, look at my arm-" She thrusted her arm in his line of sight, making him flinch backwards either at the motion or the scrapes and bruises that layered her skin. "There's no helping this, Thomas."

The silence that came afterwards was deafening, both of them standing still, looking at each other. There was nothing more she could do to patch up the hole, there was no saving them.

"I thought you were getting better," Thomas was barely above a whisper, and the quiver in his voice made her feel guilty.

"Yeah...well, so did I." She felt calmer now, there wasn't a reason to be, but she felt like it was pointless anyway. "It's been a rough week. Too many tasks, too many problems. This guy at work....he said that they would help me sleep. I don't know really...what they do, but it's definitely not sleep."

"So, you're taking without knowing what it is? That's just...that's great-"

"I'm not here for a lecture, Thomas."

"Then what are you here for?"

Shockingly, she wasn't expecting that one. There was more to it, a long story that revolved around Alexander and John, one about Eliza telling her to go back to group, one that ended all contact with Lafayette. There was even more to the story of last night, but she was afraid if she told Thomas all of this, he would never open that door again to her, not even if she banged on it crying for help.

She was here because when she fell hard on the cement last night, she thought that it was the end, that she finally lost the battle and it would all be over soon. The first person she thought of was Thomas; if he would come to her funeral, if he would keep in contact with her friends, if he would ever think positively about her again?

There was even a sliver of hope that maybe he would come rushing down the corner, see her and help her. Luckily, the worker taking out the trash across the street saw the scene, started yelling, making threats about calling the police. Even though the threats weren't at her, she couldn't risk it, and she fled.

Looking over at her ex, and seeing his eyes all watery, she then realized she said all of that out loud.

"I always regretted it," Y/N clears her throat, trying to fight her own tears. "Always wish that I could take it all back, never even step foot in that club and take what was offered. I really do, Thomas. If I had just done that, maybe we would still... be together."

And what could you say to that? Thomas was always one to make it known when someone was in the wrong, would always correct someone when they said some asinine shit that he knew wasn't true. She could name three times that he called her out, one time that he even called James out, and she couldn't even keep count on how many times he told Alexander off for being absolutely wrong.

Her last statement..there was nothing wrong about that, because even he knew it was the truth.

She let drugs and people and lies overcome her, and it took a toll in their relationship. They both knew the last time they were in this house together that years of built up trust, compassion and love was destroyed in one minute.

Just when she was about to grab her keys and walk out, out of his life for good, for the better, he scoffed.

"You said love," It was barely above a whisper, but she could hear him perfectly.

Still, she played dumb. "What?"

"When I asked if it was real? If you ever loved me? You said you love me...present tense."

Looking up at his wide eyes, she could remember the nights where she would stare into them like they never ended, like there was a tiny galaxy in his pupils. It made her warm, and he would never look away.

Right now they look hopeful, the stars shining a bit brighter than before.

Y/N gestured small, not really knowing what to say or do. She'd either lie to Thomas or lie to herself, and she had lied to him enough, hasn't she?

Thomas crossed the room, placing his big hands against her arms. Their foreheads touched, and he was too close, it was bound to get ugly. It was bound to fall back into the same cycle if Y/N let him stay this close.

"We shouldn't," Y/N whispered, voice cracking and not meeting his face until he tilted her chin up. There were his eyes again...

"You're probably right," Thomas huffed and licked his lips.

She didn't like the sound of that, she even shook her head to convince herself that this was all just bad bad bad.

"I need help, T."

His thumb swiped against the water on her cheek, shushing her. "We'll get you help. We can do this, you can do this, Y/N. Just let me be there when you do it."

It was tempting, so tempting.

“You know, maybe it’s not exactly fate...but Y/N I know that you were on my doorstep last night for a reason, let it be yours or not, who cares.”

There’s a thought. Maybe if she didn’t show up, she wouldn’t be in this situation, with Thomas so close that she could just selfishly take what she wants. The temptation was right in front of her and yet it wasn’t hers to have.

“Let this be our second chance...please.”

Thomas was begging, he never begged, not like this.

"I can be there, by your side. I will be...just let me in."

“Your relationship was doomed from the start.”

“Don't think about it too much. Things happen.”

“He doesn't need you, not when you're falling apart and breaking from the seams.”

Y/N leaned up and met his soft lips, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him as close as possible. Thomas wrapped his arms around her back, kissing back just as firm.

Call it cliche, but it felt like Y/N was back home, like this whole time she was on a ridiculously long getaway, except that she had never meant to getaway in the first place. This connection was what she needed all along. Or maybe Y/N just needed to be around Thomas, just talk to him. Maybe they were meant to fight and scream and argue and just be. Maybe she was meant to get hooked again only to show up and have Thomas take her into his arms willingly.

Their lips moved against each other with the same rhythm as before, with passion and skill. Thomas massaged her tongue with his own, only pulling back when he was out of breath.

They weren't sure what the future would look like, if Y/N ever would get better, would actually try to. Maybe she'd break Thomas's heart again, and it would be a lesson to him. Maybe they would both take it slow and learn how to build up from here without damaging one another unknowingly.

Good or bad, they were willing to give it a try, no matter how many of their loved ones told them how terrible it was to go back to the one that hurt you most.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!

Jefferson tag list: @notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @tinywhim @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @daveeddiggsit @ohsoverykeri-blog @astralaffairs @i-know-i-can

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

I Loved Him... Once - CH 1

Title: I Loved Him... Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.

     In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3 Link 

Masterlist

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

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

Chapter 1

Spencer: 

     “What we have done for ourselves alone, dies with us. What we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” - Albert Pike

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

     “Fourteen days, fourteen days, fourteen glorious days!” 

     Spencer barely looked up from the book he was reading, sat at his desk, leaning back in his desk chair as Derek Morgan sashayed across the bullpen and perched himself on the corner smiling down at him.

     He opted to ignore the over the top, ray of sunshine, mood Derek was in, and flipped the page of his book. Derek was not giving in, he was not going to be ignored when he was in such a good mood, so he swiftly swooped his hand and stole Spencer's book, eliciting a whine of protest as he sat forward and reached for it. Though he didn't make any more effort than that, he knew very well there was no way he would be able to get the book back from Derek through force.

     “Come on, Morgan, give it back.”

     Derek laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as he kept playing keep away with Spencer, “You really want it back that bad?”

     “Yes, actually, it was just starting to get good!” He made another jolt forward to reach for the book but it was in vain. Spencer’s brain might be fast, but Derek Morgan's reflexes were always faster.

     “Really, kid, you're reading…” He turned the book over and eyed the title with a raised brow, “‘The Art of War’. You planning on taking someone down, Reid?” Spencer just eyed him as he closed the book and tucked it under his crossed arms, knowing full well that the genius would remember not only the page number he had been on before Derek closed the book, but the exact word he had read last. “Now, like I said before, we have fourteen, I repeat, fourteen glorious days of vacation starting right now. And you're telling me that your only plans are to sit here at your desk, at work, and continue reading ‘The Art of War’ instead of going out and doing something, anything, other than that?”

     “It never hurts to educate yourself, Morgan, and yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you,” he replied, a little short, then tried once more to swipe unsuccessfully for his book, “now give me back my book.”

     “Good god, man, live a little, you're killing me.” Derek stood and moved the book even further out of Spencer's reach, so he just huffed and sat back in his chair again. “You don't have any plans? No dates? No trips to exotic lands to meet fine exotic ladies?”

     “When have you ever known me to ever have plans? Or dates for that matter. It's not like girls are exactly lining up to date the lanky, boy genius.”

     “Oh you're much more than that, pretty boy, you know that.” Morgan perched himself on the side of his desk again.

     “Not to mention the fact that seeing this in a bathing suit on a beach full of, more than likely, gorgeous people, is not something that is on anyone's bucket list, I'm positive of that. I'm so white I'd probably end up blinding half the beach with my legs alone.”

     Derek was laughing, near tears at this point, “Oh, come on kid, it can't be that bad.”

     “Oh, it is,” Spencer was slightly laughing at this point too, “I went to a pool party once in university and I was asked to put my shirt back on because the light was reflecting off my skin and ‘hurting people's eyes’... Derek, it was ten at night. My skin was reflecting the pool lights so severely it was hurting people.”

     Derek barked out a laugh so hard he nearly fell off the table and Spencer couldn't help but join him. “So you just need a little bit of sun, cancel out some of the white. Why not come with me to Barbados? Little sand, little sun, and a whole lotta’ fun.” He shot a quick wink at Spencer who just scoffed and looked away. “Give me two days with you on the beach and I guarantee I could get you a couple shades darker, at least.”

     “Oh, yes,” he nodded, smirking, “as well as skin cancer.”

     “I promise I won't let you get skin cancer, but that being said, once we get you all sunkissed and confident, I can't promise I'll be able to keep all those fine ladies off of you.”

     “You're not making this sound any better. Skin cancer, STD’s, and multitudes of random women hanging off of me, no thank you.”

     “Well, if you don't want to be swarmed by the fine exotic women,” he paused, smirking down at a waiting Spencer, “I'm sure I can help you land some handsome exotic men, then. I'm not here to judge. More women for me.”

     Spencer reached to the side and grabbed the small pile of papers that were sitting there, and swiftly smacked Derek on the arm with them, “Get off my desk.”

     “That doesn't sound like a denial,” he ducked as he was swatted at again, “come with me and I promise you'll have a good time.”

     “Go!”

     Derek chuckled once more, before ducking under his own desk to grab his bag, then turned back to toss the book back to Spencer who barely caught it, “My flight doesn't leave till tomorrow night, think about it!”

     “I don't need to, I'm not going!”

     “Think about it!”

     “What's the point anyways!?” He called as Derek was almost out of ear shot, but he continued anyways, “When has vacation ever worked out for us? I'd buy a ticket and pay for a room, and realistically we'll probably end up right back here in two days, four tops!”

     Derek was gone by this point, not having heard most of what he had said, more than likely already knowing that this was probably their reality, but not wanting to have to accept it. Though his complaints didn't fall on deaf ears.

     “Oh, now you've gone and jinxed it. Just know that if our vacation gets cancelled due to a case, I am definitely coming after you first, Reid.” 

     He gazed up at Emily over the edge of his book, having indeed remembered the exact word he had left off on when it was stolen from him, and gave her a playful smirk. “I am only stating statistics. If you factor in every vacation we have had since we started here at the BAU, the odds that we will have a full, uninterrupted ‘fourteen glorious days’ as Morgan put it, are less than ten percent. Eight point five-six-three-two percent to be exact.”

     “God I hate you sometimes,” though she laughed as she said it, “so you really don't have any plans?”

     “I never said I didn't have any plans,” he sighed and closed his book on his desk, resigned to not getting any reading done until everyone was gone, “just because I don't have plans involving a hot beach or women, doesn't mean I don't have plans.”

     “Oh!” She perked up and moved closer, intrigued. “So what kinds of fun are you up to then?”

     “Oh, loads!” He shifted in his chair, moving to lean towards her with his elbows on his desk. “I'm signed up for a lecture series that starts tomorrow, but the one I'm most excited for is a lecture called ‘Synthetic Metals: A Novel Role For Organic Polymers’ presented by Dr. Alan G. MacDiarmid. It's a Nobel lecture all about possible engineering applications for, and the inner workings of, organic and conductive polymers. It sounds completely fascinating! I was also thinking of taking a trip to Colonial Williamsburg. I mean, how amazing would it be to walk the same streets as Thomas Jefferson, or eat in the same place as George Washington! I was also thinking of visiting the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. They have over twenty- two thousand works on display that are largely focused on modern and contemporary art, especially with a focus on European art after the nineteen hundreds. They are also having a workshop there next week focusing on-”

     “Woah, woah, take a breath,” she laughed a bit, then asked with a hint of concern, “aren't you doing anything that doesn't involve… learning? Like, no info intake, no lecture series, no workshops, just relaxing? Letting your brain just take a break?”

     Spencer pouted his bottom lip in thought then looked back up to Emily, “No? Why would I want to waste two weeks doing nothing when I could spend them increasing my knowledge?”

     “Wouldn't you want to sit back and…” She stared confusedly at an equally confused Spencer, then just shook her head with another laugh, “Nevermind, look who I’m talking to. Of course you would think that spending two weeks learning would be an ideal vacation. To each their own I guess, right.”

     He just nodded, picking his book up again as she moved away from his desk.

     “Well, have fun with your jam packed knowledge filled two weeks, see you in fourteen days.”

     “Or in two to four days. Don't forget the eight point five-six-three-two percent chance that I will see you before-”

     “Blah, blah, blah!” She covered her ears as she walked away from him, “Can't hear you, already on vacation!”

     “Very mature,” though he was smiling, “have fun with your mother.”

     She threw a quick wave at him then disappeared. When she was finally gone, he sat back in his chair with a content sigh. Now that Emily was gone, it was just himself, Rossi, and Hotch who were left in the office, and he knew there was a very low chance that either of them would interrupt him to inquire about his vacation plans. He was finally able to finish his book in peace before catching the last train home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Knock, knock.” 

     Aaron looked up from where he had been bent over the front of his desk, the pile of papers he had been sorting through covering every inch of it, and towards the door. “David, come in.”

     The man did, eyeing the mess, but merely stood in the middle of the room and tucked his hands into the pockets of his very expensive suit. “Always one of the last to leave, huh?”

     “Has everyone gone?” Aaron asked without looking up this time.

     “Everyone except the usual suspect.”

     “Reid.” Aaron sighed. ‘Not last to leave,’ he thought. Spencer always seemed to still be there, even in the late late hours of the night. After a case, before vacation, even sometimes during vacation. Aaron always felt bad for the man, worried that he was lonely, though nowadays he could relate. 

     “I overheard him talking with Emily and Derek before they left. His most exciting plans seem to have something to do with a Nobel lecture series,” Rossi moved closer, taking up the chair in front of Aaron’s desk, “that kid needs to learn how to slow down and relax, I'm worried he might burn out someday if he doesn't. He should go out, have some fun from time to time.”

     “Well I'm not much better,” Aaron turned, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, now facing David, “my plans for the next two weeks pretty much consist of staying home, catching up on more paperwork, and if I can swing it with Haley, taking Jack for a few days. If I play my cards right, the park will be the most exciting adventure of my vacation. I'm not exactly going out to paint the town red either.”

     “Yeah, you two are wild,” he drawled with a smirk, “you know, maybe a date would do the kid well. Loosen him up a bit.”

     Aaron eyed him warily with a tilt of his head, seeing right through his attempted ruse, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

     “Perhaps, while you both have the time off, you and Spencer could plan something together.” Aaron closed his eyes with a sigh and shifted, opened his mouth to say something in protest, but David beat him to it, hands up to stop him. “I'm just saying, you're the only two people on the team that aren't out of town for the next two weeks. I’ll be in Italy visiting family, JJ is taking her family camping, Prentis is visiting her mom, Garcia is, quote, ‘on a shopping tour of all the best malls in the northern hemisphere’, and Morgan is hitting the beach in Barbados. That leaves you and Reid. So all I'm saying is that maybe you can stop fantasizing about the kid and actually do something about your infatuation.”  

     Aaron just gaped at his friend, shocked, speechless for the first time in as long as he can remember. “I… how…” Was the only thing he was able to manage to stutter out.

     David just smiled up at him mischievously and stated, “I'm a profiler, Aaron, and a damn good one. I've seen the way you look at Spencer, the way you stick close to him, and it's very obvious you care about him. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, yet ironically the only one to not have figured it out yet is the only actual certified genius.”

     Aaron still didn't know what to say. He had never told anyone about how he felt about Spencer. It was hardly appropriate for him to attempt to pursue the man considering he was his superior, not to mention older than him. Something that had plagued him since the very day he met the cute, quirky doctor on his first day with the BAU. 

     “I can tell you're over-thinking, Aaron.” Rossi speaking brought him out of his small internal panic and he looked down at him. “What is it? That you're his boss? Strauss?”

     He shifted, crossing his arms impossibly closer to his chest. No point in denying it now. “A bit of both, I guess. Not to mention the age difference between us.”

     “First off, I wouldn't worry about Strauss. If anything were to happen between you and Spencer, as long as you navigate the correct channels and immediately disclose your relationship, sign the proper papers, then there is nothing Strauss can do against either of you or your jobs. As for you being his superior, I wouldn't even give that a second thought. No one on our team would think anything of it, no one would ever even entertain the thought that you took advantage, and neither would Spencer.” David then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. “And the age gap, who cares. Love, is love, is love. Take it while you've got it and don't ever let it go. Age is but a number and love knows no bounds.”

     “Very profound of you, David.” He couldn't help but let a small chuckle slip.

     “What can I say, I am the embodiment of love.”

     “Right, and is that why you've been married three times and are on wife number four?”

     They both laughed, hearty and full, and for the first time since they started talking, Aaron found himself feeling a lot lighter. It was nice to finally have someone who knew his secret feelings for the young genius, and be able to actually have someone to talk to and confide in about it. 

     Rossi's phone ringing broke the moment though, and he reached into his pocket, just looking at the screen and not answering. “Well, my ride to the airport is here. I will see you in two weeks, do not call me.”

     Aaron let loose one last light chuckle, moving along with Dave to see him out. With a smile and a pat on the back as they reached the door he said, “I'll try not to, enjoy your time in Italy.”

     “Oh I intend to,” he opened the door, then turned back at the last minute, “but do me a favor will ya. Don't call me, but do call Spencer.”

     Aaron just smiled, gave Dave a small push out the door, and answered, “Good bye, David.”

     Once he was out the door and down the stairs, Aaron closed the door and took a step to the side to watch him cross the bullpen. He gave a quick goodbye to Spencer as he passed, and then he was gone. Then his eyes wandered over to the last person left besides himself, still sitting alone at his desk, leaned back reading his book. He sighed, watching Spencer for a moment longer before thinking to himself, maybe David was right. Why should he worry about all that other nonsense? Besides, he would never know if Spencer felt the same unless he asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Aaron finally finished organizing the paperwork explosion on his desk, filing away what was finished and adding the rest to his bag, then was finally able to head out. 

     It had been a good two hours since Rossi had left his office, leaving Aaron with all kinds of things to think about, and the man that those thoughts were all about was still sitting in the same spot he had been in since vacation officially began. Though now, Spencer was already halfway through his second book. 

     As he passed him, the younger man not even so much as lifting his eyes from his book, he said a quiet, “Have a good vacation, Reid.”

     “You too, Hotch,” he answered back, and Aaron just about kept walking, but stopped himself at the last minute and turned back.

     They were currently alone, no one else around but him and Spencer, so now was just as good a time as any. “Reid…”

     At the questioning tone to his name, Spencer looked up at Hotch who was now standing right in front of him, “Yeah?”

     “I… I was…'' Spencer was still looking up at him with concerned eyes, a furrowed brow, and if Aaron was being honest, a super cute frown. Now, what Aaron wanted to say was ‘Spencer, I know that you and I are the only two who will be remaining in town for the duration of our vacation time, and I was wondering perhaps, if you would like to take advantage of the fact and allow me to take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’ But what he actually managed to come out with instead, was a sad and defeated, “I… I just wanted to wish you well. I hope you have a good fourteen days, and I heard you will be attending a lecture series, I hope it's informative.”

     “Right…” Hotch couldn't be certain, but he was sure that Spencer almost looked… disappointed? “An-anything else?”

     “... No, I don't believe so.” And before he could stumble his way through any more embarrassing sentences he quickly said, “Good night,” and left before Spencer could even return the sentiment. Leaving him staring, still confused and a little down, after a fast walking Aaron, not having the courage to even look back as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Derek woke for the first time well rested and relaxed. No case to solve, no unsub on his mind, no high speed chase down unfamiliar roads, and no showdown with a psychopath in some dark abandoned warehouse. It was just him, the sun, the sand, and two weeks of relaxing and sleeping late, eating more than he probably should and shoving as much fun into two weeks as was completely possible.

     Now, those were Derek's original plans. The plans he made before he left Quantico, Virginia for the beaches in Barbados. For the all night parties, the beautiful ladies, and the all inclusive never ending free drinks. And yet, here he found himself, within arm's reach of all those things, and not doing a single one of them. 

     Instead, Derek walked down the beach and found an empty lounge chair tucked under a very colourful umbrella. A sprite and lime with ice in hand, he stood and looked out at the calming ebb and flow of the ocean, letting the soft crashing of the waves take over and clear his mind completely. It was nice, the best he'd felt in a long, long time. 

     A volleyball skid to a halt at his feet, covering his toes in warm sand, caught his attention and he turned to face the small group of women off to his side. He kicked the ball back over to them, each one of them very obviously interested in getting to know Derek, even if it were just for one night. But to his own surprise, he found himself flashing a smile and a wave in decline of their invitation to come play, and instead took up his seat in the covered lounge chair. 

     He took a second to breathe in the fresh air, took a sip of his drink, then reached down to the small bag he had tucked under the chair, rifling through until he found what he was looking for. He settled back in the chair, not able to help the smile that spread across his face as he read the title of the book in his hands, 'The Art of War', and settled back to read it with a quietly muttered, "Damn you, Spencer Reid."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there is chapter 1, chapter 2 to come soon! I’m super excited about this guys XD

And if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates please let me know <3

[justdreamsstuff]

Here are 75 quotes about success to inspire you to keep pushing forward and achieve your dreams

"If you set your goals ridiculously high and it's a failure, you will fail above everyone else's success." James Cameron

"Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it." Henry David Thoreau

"Things work out best for those who make the best of how things work out." John Wooden

"Entrepreneurs average 3.8 failures before final success. What sets the successful ones apart is their amazing persistence." Lisa M. Amos

"If you are not willing to risk the usual, you will have to settle for the ordinary." Jim Rohn

"Take up one idea. Make that one idea your life--think of it, dream of it, live on that idea. Let the brain, muscles, nerves, every part of your body, be full of that idea, and just leave every other idea alone. This is the way to success." Swami Vivekananda

"Stop chasing the money and start chasing the passion." Tony Hsieh

"All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them." Walt Disney

"If you are willing to do more than you are paid to do, eventually you will be paid to do more than you do." Anonymous

"Success is walking from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm." Winston Churchill

"Whenever you see a successful person, you only see the public glories, never the private sacrifices to reach them." Vaibhav Shah

"Success? I don't know what that word means. I'm happy. But success, that goes back to what in somebody's eyes success means. For me, success is inner peace. That's a good day for me." Denzel Washington

"Opportunities don't happen. You create them." Chris Grosser

"Try not to become a person of success, but rather try to become a person of value." Albert Einstein

"It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change." Charles Darwin

"Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people." Eleanor Roosevelt

"The best revenge is massive success." Frank Sinatra

"I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." Thomas Edison

"A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at him." David Brinkley

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Eleanor Roosevelt

"The whole secret of a successful life is to find out what is one's destiny to do, and then do it." Henry Ford

"If you're going through hell, keep going." Winston Churchill

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise." Oscar Wilde

"The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success." Bruce Feirstein

"Don't be afraid to give up the good to go for the great." John D. Rockefeller

"Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you." Nathaniel Hawthorne

"If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough." Albert Einstein

"There are two types of people who will tell you that you cannot make a difference in this world: those who are afraid to try and those who are afraid you will succeed." Ray Goforth

"Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can." Arthur Ashe

"People ask, 'What's the best role you've ever played?' The next one." Kevin Kline

"I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have." Thomas Jefferson

"The starting point of all achievement is desire." Napoleon Hill

"Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day-in and day-out." Robert Collier

"If you want to achieve excellence, you can get there today. As of this second, quit doing less-than-excellent work." Thomas J. Watson

"All progress takes place outside the comfort zone." Michael John Bobak

"You may only succeed if you desire succeeding; you may only fail if you do not mind failing." Philippos

"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear--not absence of fear." Mark Twain

"Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone." Pablo Picasso

"We become what we think about most of the time, and that's the strangest secret." Earl Nightingale

"The only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary." Vidal Sassoon

"I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone." Bill Cosby

"Though no one can go back and make a brand-new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand-new ending." Carl Bard

"I find that when you have a real interest in life and a curious life, that sleep is not the most important thing." Martha Stewart

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." Mark Twain

"The first step toward success is taken when you refuse to be a captive of the environment in which you first find yourself." Mark Caine

"Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect." Mark Twain

"The successful warrior is the average man, with laser-like focus." Bruce Lee

"Rarely have I seen a situation where doing less than the other guy is a good strategy." Jimmy Spithill

"Keep on going, and the chances are that you will stumble on something, perhaps when you are least expecting it. I never heard of anyone ever stumbling on something sitting down." Charles F. Kettering

"If you genuinely want something, don't wait for it--teach yourself to be impatient." Gurbaksh Chahal

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something--your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life." Steve Jobs

"If you want to make a permanent change, stop focusing on the size of your problems and start focusing on the size of you!" T. Harv Eker

"Successful people do what unsuccessful people are not willing to do. Don't wish it were easier; wish you were better." Jim Rohn

"The No. 1 reason people fail in life is because they listen to their friends, family, and neighbors." Napoleon Hill

"In my experience, there is only one motivation, and that is desire. No reasons or principle contain it or stand against it." Jane Smiley

"Success does not consist in never making mistakes but in never making the same one a second time." George Bernard Shaw

"I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well." Diane Ackerman

"Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going." Jim Ryun

"Our greatest fear should not be of failure ... but of succeeding at things in life that don't really matter." Francis Chan

"If you don't design your own life plan, chances are you'll fall into someone else's plan. And guess what they have planned for you? Not much." Jim Rohn

"Nobody ever wrote down a plan to be broke, fat, lazy, or stupid. Those things are what happen when you don't have a plan." Larry Winget

"To be successful you must accept all challenges that come your way. You can't just accept the ones you like." Mike Gafka

"Be content to act, and leave the talking to others." Baltasar

"You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it." Margaret Thatcher

"Be patient with yourself. Self-growth is tender; it's holy ground. There's no greater investment." Stephen Covey

"I owe my success to having listened respectfully to the very best advice, and then going away and doing the exact opposite." G. K. Chesterton

"Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." Thomas A. Edison

"The greater the artist, the greater the doubt. Perfect confidence is granted to the less talented as a consolation prize." Robert Hughes

"What would you attempt to do if you knew you would not fail?" Robert Schuller

"Always bear in mind that your own resolution to success is more important than any other one thing." Abraham Lincoln

"Successful and unsuccessful people do not vary greatly in their abilities. They vary in their desires to reach their potential." John Maxwell

"Would you like me to give you a formula for success? It's quite simple, really: Double your rate of failure. You are thinking of failure as the enemy of success. But it isn't at all. You can be discouraged by failure or you can learn from it, so go ahead and make mistakes. Make all you can. Because remember that's where you will find success." Thomas J. Watson

"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." Albert Einstein

"Success is just a war of attrition. Sure, there's an element of talent you should probably possess. But if you just stick around long enough, eventually something is going to happen." Dax Shepard

"My tombstone? I'm thinking something along the lines of, 'Geez, he was just here a minute ago.'" George Carlin

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

photo credit Jim Huylebroek for the New York Times

* * * * *

Michael J. Tallon

“I've been thinking about Afghanistan over the past few days, as many of you have, as well. It's obviously a crazily complex and chaotic system right now, and it would be hard to predict how things play out in the coming weeks or months. There could very easily be a confrontation between Taliban forces and US/Coalition forces in Kabul. That really depends on unit cohesion and chain-of-command durability on the Taliban side - with the big question being, "How far can we push them during the evacuation?" 

After a hideous day or two at the airport about a week ago, it seems that something like an orderly evacuation is in process. Sure, it's crazy. Sure, there are thousands of people outside the airport, desperate to get in. But no one is flushing onto the runways. That happened in an understandable panic when the Ghani government fled (with hundreds of millions of dollars in their luggage), and the Taliban emerged from all over Kabul. Note this: You never saw video of an army triumphantly marching on the capital city. Why? Well, eerie as it may be, it's because they were already there. 

As of two days ago, C-130 flights have been leaving on the hour, and we're clearing about 5000 people a day. Given that we've set a schedule of last-wheels-up for August 31, that means we'll move about another 50,000 allies and vulnerable families out of the country, and to make sure we are maximizing those efforts, it appears that some forward actions have been taken. French forces went and grabbed some of their people two days ago from a house in Kabul. Yesterday, a Chinook helicopter hopped over to the Baron Hotel, a few hundred meters from the airport to grab some folks. More of that will likely happen, which might - just might - cause a reaction from Taliban forces on the ground. That could get very ugly, very quickly, and I'd imagine there are lines of communication open between Taliban leadership and US military leadership to prevent that from happening. Oddly, as politics make strange bedfellows, the Biden Administration, the US Military, and the Taliban all want the same thing right now. They want the US out of Afghanistan, and can likely be marshaled in that direction. Still, near-term chaos could ensue if someone on the ground gets pissy. 

That stuff is all really unclear. But blow the perceptual lens out a bit - to the next few years - and things get a little clearer. 

1) Very soon, western military forces will be gone from the country, at least in sizeable formations. Never doubt the penetrative capacity of US Special Forces, but the force presence will likely be down to dozens, rather than thousands. 

2) The Taliban will need to figure out how to run a country. They clearly have some capacity for taxation and enforcement, but the rest of it - maintaining a power grid, providing water and electric infrastructure, some semblance of healthcare - will be an enormous challenge. Also, as they'll be attempting to fund a state, they'll need significantly more resources than they have required so far for the support of an advancing army. The 2019 GDP of Afghanistan was about $20 billion dollars. For comparison, the GDP of New York State is $1.5 trillion. So, it's not a rich country, and for the past 20 years, a sizable percentage of that wealth came in from US military largess - and most of THAT got siphoned off to a corrupt cadre of elites who managed to be such awful people that their countrymen would rather have the Taliban in charge - and that's something. 

The GDP of that troubled nation is going to take a massive hit this year, on top of which, the Biden Administration has recently frozen about $10 billion dollars of Taliban funds that they had secured in US banks - which is mindblowing in and of itself. 

So, how do they get that money back? How do they entice other foreign investors to provide the needed resources? How do they do that in a region of the world where there are predators on all sides? It's gonna be mighty tricky, but one potential way forward would be to TRY and reform their most brutal of practices.

No one has any illusions about the Taliban becoming liberal adherents of Enlightenment principles, but maybe there will be a push for fewer public execution festivals in the town football pitch? Maybe rather than banning all women and girls from reading, they'll keep the schools open, but demand the girls dress in burkhas. I don't know if that will be the case, but there are at least some early signs that some "moderate" Taliban will lean that way.  This leads to the next likely scenario a year or two out. 

Civil War. 

3. Go back through your history of radicals taking over as governing forces. The French Revolution is the most commonly used example of what happens when purists are put into the position of actually running a state. Though you could also look to Ireland in 1922-23. This is admittedly analogy as history and might be completely wrong, but my sense is there's a real possibility of the Taliban fracturing along "reformist" and "purist" wings. IF the Taliban leadership tries to live inside the rules of the community of nations; if they try to moderate their practices to encourage investment and growth, THEN you might very likely see the rise of a revanchist faction who really, truly believes the world should be returned to the fashion of seventh century Saudi Arabia. 

Add to that potential chaos the reality that small fiefdoms of well-armed local leaders with significant self-interest in controlling the flow of limited resources will emerge all over the country, and these past years could end up looking rather peaceful by comparison - which would bring us to the next point - Afghanistan is in an ugly, ugly neighborhood for geopolitics. 

4. Afghanistan is bordered by four major geopolitical forces. Pakistan to the south, Iran to the west. China to the east, and Russia (under its regional proxies, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan) to the north. For the past twenty years, the United States has been on the ground, and that served to limit (but not stop) their influence in the region. Of the four major players, Pakistan has been particularly active in supporting the Taliban and allowing them to have cross-border safe-havens which made defeating them practically impossible. 

But how in the hell will those four power centers resolve the coming decades in what will likely be a very chaotic, poor, corrupt, and broken land? Russia and China will both be working hard and brutally to blunt the spread of militant Islam on their borders. Pakistan will now need to deal with its violent attack dogs as a neighboring government, potentially destabilizing the political reality of Pakistan itself. As to Iran . . . my Lord, I have no clue. All I know is that the Taliban are Sunni and the Ayatollahs are Shi'a - and that's its own 1000-year-old can of worms. 

-----

I've been writing this now for an hour or so. I do that sometimes just to try and think through the complexities, and I end where I began. No matter how ugly these past few days have been, I think that Biden both made the right choices, and is doing a pretty damn good job, all things considered. The pressures on Afghanistan are brutal - the poverty, the corruption, the geopolitical crucible in which it sits, the religious divisions, the tribal rivalries, the forces of modernization and radical revanchism, the international finances. Ugh. 

Back in 1820, Thomas Jefferson wrote a letter to John Holmes. The subject was the Missouri Compromise which threatened to destabilize the nation by expanding slavery to the West but kept it whole by allowing Maine to join in the East - thereby balancing the interests of Northern free-staters, and Southern slavers. He understood that slavery ultimately would provide to great an internal pressure to keep the country whole - and he feared the day those forces would eventually tear us apart. He wrote of slavery that "we have the wolf by the ear, we can neither safely hold it, nor safely let it go." 

That's been the case with Afghanistan since we first invaded nearly 20 years ago, and as the fourth President who had to make this choice, Joe Biden finally accepted it was time to make Afghanistan someone else's problem. Yeah, he got bit by the wolf. Yeah, a lot of people are going to suffer. But when you look ahead at the absolute horrorshow of Central Asia in the next fifty years, my sense is that history will determine he made the right terrible choice.  

Love to you all.

Thanks to Michael J. Tallon

[back-and-totheleft]

“The Doors” Turns 30

Oliver Stone, 74, is seated for a Zoom interview at his home office in Los Angeles. He’s just finished reading an email proposing he direct a film about Led Zeppelin. “I don’t know much about them, frankly," Stone admits. "They were never really my band.” The Doors were his band. On March 1, 1991, the universe got its first look at The Doors — Stone's beautifully irrational biopic about the late '60s rock group led by Jim Morrison (played by Val Kilmer, then 31, amid a Method-acting spectacle). The result is an R-rated feast that acts as an extravagant rejection of puritanism and "Just Say No." It is campy, erotic, deeply disturbing and smoldering like a pagan bonfire.

On the occasion of its 30th anniversary, Stone talked to The Hollywood Reporter about the legacy of his film, psychedelics, Bohemian Rhapsody and Val Kilmer's masterclass as Hollywood's first and only Jim Morrison.

The cinematography in this film produces some astonishing eye candy.

We used a lot of filters. We had to go back into the past. We had everyone dressed in period, which was very expensive. We were also taking chances that we normally wouldn’t. We were growing in our boldness. We wanted to challenge all the ideas. We had no rules, no limits, no laws.

At least for my generation, the film has come to symbolize a darkly funny and dizzying parody of the “cock rocker.”

That was never my intention. I’m a little square, perhaps, for your taste, but I worshipped Morrison. I thought he was a great force breaking through to the other side. He was saying things that needed to be said. It was being said by others: Jefferson Airplane, The Beatles, and so on. But he was the only one that was really going into the erotica as much as he was. Of course, he talked about Indians, shamanism, but back then, we were coming out of the '50s. It was a very different time. He was liberated. He was sexy as a man. He felt at ease with himself. And he carried on as if he were a free man. I worshipped a free man. I’m actually one of the people who really likes his lyrics. Some people make fun of them.

The Doors feels like a rebuke of the Bush era and "Just Say No." Was Morrison acting as your mouthpiece when he was screaming at us that we were all "a bunch of slaves?"

Yes. The things I say sometimes don’t go down so well. But I don’t agree with so much of what’s going down. I still don’t. I haven’t changed. If anything, I’m worse. His timing may have been off when he said, “You’re all a bunch of slaves.” He was a philosopher.

Critics focused on the lack of historical realism in this film. But it’s a fantasy. Morrison himself was a kind of myth-maker. What do you think is rooted in the obsession for realism in a film about Jim Morrison?

By this time, I had been taking so much flak. I don’t mean to self-pity, but my God, I had just done Born on the Fourth of July, Talk Radio and Wall Street. I was exhausted by trying to be realistic. This was freedom. It was like tearing your clothes off and breathing. It was about going out and having fucking fun making a movie. After JFK and Heaven & Earth, I did Natural Born Killers. Again, I wanted to be free. I get off on those films.

I first discovered this film as a teenager. It somehow captured rock 'n' roll at its purest.

Thank you. I didn’t really have the connection to music that other people had. A lot of filmmakers study music. I didn’t. I just followed a god that I liked. You see, I heard him in Vietnam for the first time. I was doing LSD on R&R [rest and recuperation] — not in the field — but we were discovering LSD and realizing you really had to pay attention. Morrison had done enough LSD to really understand it. It’s a powerful consciousness journey. I never stopped. I kept going in that direction with all kinds of drugs.

Did you experiment with any psychedelics while you were making this film?

I was high, in a sense, by osmosis, but I had the attitude to just free your ass and your mind will follow. I think people would say I was pretty wild as a director. But I was not getting high on the set. Yeah, the occasional grass here and there, but I wouldn’t do anything on the set. Off the set, I had some fun. I had a friend, Richard [Rutowski], who played Death in the film. I wanted to go back to South Dakota, with the Sioux, and do this peyote ceremony with a very powerful shaman. And we did it. We got to this place on the reservation and got fucking high beyond belief. It was a big trip. A lot of Indians were involved. Strong peyote. And then we flew back. I was dead on Monday morning when we shot the peyote scene. I had no energy as a director.

What were some of the political challenges involved in making this film?

I guess I didn’t know the barriers back then. Paul Rothchild [the band’s producer] was a key figure. He was with us all the way. I never got that from the bandmates. They didn’t seem to know him that well. Certainly Ray Manzarek thought he knew him. Ray did not cooperate in any way. In fact, it was a very disagreeable relationship for me. And of course, when the movie came out, boy, he was tearing it down from the beginning.

I found Ray Manzarek accusing you of “assassinating” the character of Jim Morrison to be pretty remarkable. I honestly don’t think anyone knew the real Jim Morrison (not even Manzarek).

Jerry Hopkins, who wrote the book [No One Here Gets Out Alive, 1980] left me 120 documents of interviews he did with people who knew Morrison in the beginning, from grade school to the very end. And if you read these 120 versions of his life, it’s like Citizen Kane. That’s what he was to this person or that person. In the interviews, there were several women, my God, sexually, he was all over the place. He wasn’t necessarily impotent. Perhaps that occurred later, when there were issues — which did bother him. But you saw in the loft scene with Kathleen Quinlan, when he has an orgasm. And that’s the truth of the matter, he had orgasms with intensity that came from intense situations. That was the only way he could get off — dangling from a window may have worked for him.

Morrison seems like the original “cock rocker.” I think he understood that he was a sex symbol.

Well, they made him a sex symbol. Part of the reason he started drinking was to probably run from that. He was not comfortable with publicity. I do believe he was inherently shy. Girls would come at him, and according to Paul [Rothchild], he ended up talking to them all night. He loved women. He talked them to death. But it wasn’t about sex. It was about something in his mind he had to work out. He was running toward death.

He was a sex symbol who was said to have been impotent. He seemed to be struggling with some kind of imposter syndrome. Was he crucifying himself?

I do believe there was a lot of self-hatred. He’s a deep man. If you really want to know him, look at the lyrics. There’s a lot of depth there that people often miss.

JFK (1991) provides a panorama of possibilities regarding the JFK assassination. With this film, you end with Morrison in a bathtub under a kind of amber glow. We don’t know what has happened to him. He’s just beautiful and dead. Were you trying to leave the cause of his death open to interpretation?

It didn’t make any difference to me if he was on heroin or not. In the movie, you have to assume he was. But he was half in love with death all his life. An American Prayer is filled with images of death. I don’t think Morrison made the normal difference between life and death. It was a boundary that he crossed many times. He was ready for death. I found the scene tranquil. Like the ancient Romans cutting their wrists, I didn’t see the fear of death in him. As a shaman, he saw it as a transition to continue life in another form. I would have loved to see him survive Paris. I think he died by accident. I do feel it was an overdose of something. I do feel like he was doing it to accompany somebody he cared about. I think his plan was to come back and be a writer. I think he would have been a really interesting writer and philosopher for American society into the '80s, '90s and even today. He got robbed early.

Looking back at his phenomenal performance, do you feel Val Kilmer was snubbed for an Oscar nomination that year?

I do feel he was slighted. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of performance. I certainly know the pain and the sweat he put into it. But I kind of knew The Doors was doomed because of the hijinks Morrison was going through. In other words, it was a crossing-the-line kind of movie. It’s become more acceptable now. But this is 1991. You gotta look back. Certainly Val deserved it, but also the sound: There were so many sound breakthroughs and editing breakthroughs in that movie. We were using some new methods. The sound work by Paul Rothchild and that group was unbelievable. The fact that Val was singing about 70 percent of his stuff was pretty significant.

I feel like a lot of today’s rock biopics, like Bohemian Rhapsody, are pretty sterile. They feel more like marketing films.

I don’t want to be negative on that. I wish we had made the money Bohemian Rhapsody had made. Look, every film has to be marketable. The Doors was not. We just made an outlaw film because [producer] Mario Kassar was out of his mind. He was willing to gamble. He didn’t give a shit about all that stuff. He was a pirate. He made films against the grain.

In the final shot at Père Lachaise cemetery, we zoom in to a bust of Jim Morrison placed on his gravestone. It’s a beautiful documentary-style shot scored to “A Feast of Friends.” It really takes us to the end. Wasn’t the bust stolen in 1988?

It was. The bust was our creation. It was based on Kilmer and not on Jim. But what the press never seems to understand when they describe it as a “rise and fall” is that he wasn’t falling. He was moving through life as an explorer. Some of his best work is in [1978's posthumously released L.P.] An American Prayer and [1971's] L.A. Woman. I didn’t see the decline. I guess what I’m saying is that you don’t die when you’re Jim Morrison, you just move on.

-Art Tevana, “Oliver Stone Recalls 'Doors' Inspiration as Jim Morrison Biopic Turns 30,” The Hollywood Reporter, Mar 11 2021 [x]

[bearholdingashark]

Hurt Comfort Exchange 2021 Creator Letter

Hi! Thank you for creating something for me! I’m excited to see what you create! :D

General info

I adore tropes, the more ridiculous the better, and really what I love about ridiculous tropes is how it gives the creator an opportunity to explore the characters and their dynamics and motivations. Fun plots are great, but the characters and what the plot reveals about them is what I really love.

I also really love AUs (especially modern/historical AUs) or crossover fusions, and love how much changes and how much doesn’t. But straight up canon stuff is really good too. Really, character focused stuff is what I love most. I do also think canon divergence AUs can be really great, so feel free to play around with canon as well.

While I’m a big fan of romantic ships, I also love relationships in general, romantic or not. Just characters being there for each other is great. I love fluff, but more serious/angsty/dramatic stuff is just as good too. :D And unless specifically stated otherwise, I have no problem with characters other than I requested in the story, but I want the requested characters to be a main focus.

In relation to hurt/comfort, one thing that I really love is desperation: desperate kisses, desperate plans, desperate goodbyes, etc. 

A lot of the freeform tags that I selected, (and I selected a lot) tend towards more dramatic plots/circumstances, but feel free to go where you feel comfortable on the fluff/angst/dark/light spectrum. 

My DNWs (also listed on my sign up) are:  

smut

Romance is great, but nothing more than kissing/fade to black for the physical stuff.

explicit gore

violence and injury are fine, but nothing super graphic, generally I would say canon typical violence/gore or less is a good way to go

Sexual assault/rape

I really don’t want this to be the hurt that any of the characters go through

permanent character death of requested characters

angst without a happy (or at least hopeful) ending

Obviously, there’s likely to be at least some angst, seeing as it’s a hurt/comfort exchange, but I just don’t want the story to end without any sort of hope. 

I hope this helps! I’m including my general prompts below, but feel free to go where the inspiration takes you. My prompts tend to be more fic focused, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want art, I’m just not as good talking about what I like there. Go with whatever style you feel fits best/you’re most comfortable with and I’ll be happy. :) Happy creating! 

Request 1

Fandom: Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy

Relationships: Marguerite Blakeney/Percy Blakeney (Hurt Percy)

Prompts: 

Marguerite helping with the League somehow--whether on a regular basis, or stepping in because Percy’s hurt. (I especially love the latter)

Percy getting hurt trying to protect Marguerite and/or the League, and Marguerite comforting him/patching him up after they’re all out of danger

As you can tell by my freeform selections, I’m all about the DRAMA, but I think this is a fandom where really going hog wild with the dramatic stuff could be so great. (Percy literally kissed the ground Marguerite walked on in the book because he was pining so hard, I’m not sure anything can top that in terms of being Over The TopTM :D)

Bonus points if Percy is being his little shit self even while hurt

In a totally different direction, if we match on ‘Character who regularly takes risks gets hurt while doing something that is usually safe’ or that interests you, I think that could be a really funny direction to take the story/art, especially if Percy tries to convince Marguerite that he received his injury in a totally dashing manner, and not something really simple and dumb, and Marguerite is not buying it

Request 2

Fandom: Smallville

Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (Hurt Clark)

Prompts:

While I don’t watch the other current DC shows, I have seen the Smallville scenes in the Supergirl/Flash/Multiverse crossover episodes, so if you would like to explore Clark giving up his powers, I think that would be interesting, but I am also very happy with things either set before that, or completely ignoring that.

If not exploring Clark without powers, (whether using the above canon or going completely AU), what I love about this request is that when Clark is physically hurt it usually means something is VERY WRONG. 

Lois having to comfort a hurt Clark and help him figure out what’s going on and how to fix it. 

Lois protecting a hurt Clark and defending him when he can’t defend himself against a powerful enemy. 

Lois and Clark on a Daily Planet assignment when something goes wrong and Clark gets hurt

Clark getting hurt protecting Lois. (Bonus points if combined with the above prompt where Lois protects him after he’s hurt)

Exploring Lois’ line “Being a hero's wife means never accepting defeat”, either in context of the gladiator episode, or in a later situation

Request 3

Fandom: Smallville 

Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (Hurt Lois)

Prompts:

While I don’t watch the other current DC shows, I have seen the Smallville scenes in the Supergirl/Flash/Multiverse crossover episodes, so if you would like to explore Clark giving up his powers, I think that would be interesting, but I am also very happy with things either set before that, or completely ignoring that.

This request could be a little lighter than the one with hurt Clark, simply because Lois is much more easily hurt/sick as not a superpowered being, but I am also just as happy with the angst and the drama

Lois being protective (whether of Clark or their friends or random civilians) even after being injured

Clark feeling guilty (whether it’s at all justified or not) about Lois being hurt and Lois having to get after him a little for it/reassure him

Exploring Lois’ line “Being a hero's wife means never accepting defeat”, either in context of the gladiator episode, or in a later situation

Request 4

Fandom: Captain America (Movies)

Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers (Hurt Steve)

Prompts: 

I am totally okay with basically any form of canon/au here: modern Steggy, modern Steggy because of time travel, Endgame compliant, Skinny!Steve in any way, CA: TFA missing scene/mission, Steve is found during the 40’s/Never goes into the ice, etc. This can also be either established or pre/beginning of their relationship too. 

Steve doing something really reckless to save people, and Peggy berating him a little, but also there’s comforting and tenderness there

I love mission related stories (although don’t feel you need to go too hard on the plot heavy stuff if that’s not your thing), but no power AUs are great too

Steve hurt and having to pretend he’s not while they’re undercover (either established relationship or pre-relationship pining)

I would also love Peggy doing some protecting of her own and being bad ass as well

In parallel to the scene at the end of First Avenger, Peggy having to watch/listen to Steve getting hurt, while she coordinates the mission/his rescue, and then seeing the damage in person after he’s home

Bonus points if they comfort each other

Request 5

Fandom: Knives Out

Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera (Hurt Marta)

Prompts:

While I love established relationship scenarios for them (and in general), I think this could lead to some great love confessions and getting together scenarios.

This could be set in the movie ‘verse or in an AU if you feel inspired to go that direction

As far as other characters go, I love Harlan (Harlan Lives AUs are my favorite), as well as Lt. Elliott and Tropper Wagner. The Thrombeys are really fun, but I don’t want them to be the focus, especially Ransom. (I really don’t want any hint of romance between Marta and Ransom.)

Marta gets hurt on a case, and Benoit has to take care of her after, all while dealing with the emotions of seeing her get hurt (whether his feelings are known or not at that point)

Bonus points if they’re undercover as a couple on the case

Marta getting hurt protecting Benoit and/or other people

While many of the freeform tags I selected reference physical pain, emotional hurt would be great too, especially with everything Marta is dealing with post movie. (And during the movie. #ProtectMartaCabrera)

One of my favorite things about Benoit and his interactions with Marta in the movie is just how tender he is, almost from the word go. Regardless of the actual plot/scenario, I would love that tenderness to be on full display.

Request 6

Fandom: WandaVision

Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Jimmy Woo & Monica Rambeau (All Hurt)

Prompts:

I have seen through the finale, so don’t worry about needing to avoid spoilers or anything like that.

This could be set during the show, with canon AU to add in things we didn’t see, or set after the show with them teaming up again. I would also love a full on AU if that’s where you’d like to go. 

Slight canon AU of the last episode where the three of them meet up again after everything and comfort each other/catch each other up/celebrate/process/etc

I’m a little bitter we don’t see them all together after everything. Yeah, Darcy’s line was funny, but I wanted more scenes with the three of them.

Most of the freeform tags I’ve selected are about physical hurt, but emotional hurt is great too, and some combination of the two among the three of them would be cool too. 

I would especially love Monica’s powers being a factor in this, and all of them trying to protect each other in various ways. They’re all so competent and strong in different ways and I love seeing that come together in their teamwork.

Just them being a supportive team and relying on each other after a difficult mission/experience. 

Request 7

Fandom: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Relationships: Jefferson Davis & Rio Morales & Miles Morales (Hurt Miles)

Prompts:

While I do love AUs, this request one is where I’m less interested in a complete AU. I would prefer him to still be Spider-Man, even if you change other things about the canon. 

Jefferson and Rio know that Miles is Spider-Man, but they found out/figured it out and Miles didn’t tell them, so they’re letting him think they’re still in the dark, but they’re doing what they can to help and keep him safe 

Jefferson and Rio don’t know that Miles is Spider-Man and how they find out is when he’s injured

Bonus points if he gets injured protecting one or both of them

Miles is starting to feel the overwhelming weight of being a teenage superhero and without telling them specifics, goes home to get comfort from his parents

This could involve both physical and emotional hurt, or just one of those

Just lots of soft, tender family comfort in and around the angst

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 6/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Astrid arrives, Belle gets a tour of the house, and spends some more time with Bae.

Notes: Ugh this chapter sucks, I'm sorry. It didn't go where I wanted it to. For the 31 Days prompt #4: dress. t.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Astrid arrived the next day, just before afternoon tea.

Belle momentarily forgot what had been troubling her in the midst of her delight at seeing her maid and friend again. It felt as if part of the world had righted itself for a while, and she busied herself helping Astrid get settled in a room on the east wing. Ms. Potts seemed equally pleased by the new arrival, and wasted no time in showing Astrid around the house, including the kitchen and back stairs the servants used to slip in and out of where they were needed.

Astrid, for her part, was a nervous wreck, nearly knocking over a vase on the way passed the music room, and slipping on the steps down to the root cellar. Belle couldn’t stop smiling as she finally got a full tour of Thornhill, though she doubted she’d be able to remember her way from the gallery to the formal dining room any time soon. The library, however, was already permanently etched in her mind.

The sound she made when Ms. Potts opened the double doors made Astrid giggle, and Ms. Potts looked over her shoulder knowingly.

“This is the main library,” she explained to Astrid, marching across the room to open a row of curtains and let in some light.

The walls of the library were floor to ceiling shelves with ladders set on rails as was the custom in most estates and manors, but these were larger and wider than Belle had seen before. They seemed more like a full set of stairs than a ladder, and she caught herself imagining how easy it would be to climb all the way up and fetch the books on the highest levels. The windows Ms. Potts revealed looked out onto the side yard where a large willow tree loomed over a pond. The windows themselves were wide and set in a semi-circle which created large ledge that was covered with cushions.

Belle’s eyes went wide and she immediately went over to it and brushed her hands over the plush, soft pillows. It was the perfect place to sit and read when it was too cold or wet to be outside in the garden.

“You said this was the main library?” Astrid asked. “Are there...others?”

“There’s a small book room upstairs near Lady Belle’s chambers,” Ms. Potts replied, fussing with the candles on the fireplace mantle because they weren’t lined up properly. “It used to be a bedroom, but m’Lord had the shelves added shortly before m’Lady arrived.”

Belle startled a bit at that and felt her face flush. Somehow knowing that Gold had put the shelves in so close to their wedding made her think that he had done it specifically for her, and she wondered how he knew she liked to read so much. Had he spoken with her father or one of her acquaintances? He had seemed curious about her reading habits when they’d run into each other in the library at Avonlea, but not entirely surprised. The thought that he’d done it because she might like it, because it would make her feel more at home, only made his behavior yesterday more confusing. Someone who would be that thoughtful towards a woman he had never met before the moment they married, couldn’t possibly be the same person who would yell at a friend so harshly.

Astrid grinned at Belle. “Your own book room?”

She shook of her thoughts and nodded to Astrid. “I haven’t begun to fill it yet. All the books I brought with me are in my bedroom.”

“I doubt that’ll ever change,” Astrid said playfully. “But one of the trunks I brought with me is full of even more books.”

Belle squealed in pleasure and pulled Astrid into a hug, twirling her around on the rug in the middle of the room. Ms. Potts rolled her eyes, but she was smiling all the same as she lead them out of the room.

Belle left Astrid to unpack her things, and retreated to her bedroom.

Two trunks had been delivered while she was traipsing around Thornhill, following Ms. Potts. The smaller of the two was the one Astrid spoke of, and was filled with four stacks of books from the library at Avonlea. She sorted through them briefly, and saw that Astrid had brought most of her favorites as well as a few mythology and history books. Though the library here seemed more than well stocked, she wondered if Bae might like to use them in his lessons or perhaps read through them with her. She liked the stories about the old gods, about the magic that they say used to bind the world together and the creatures that time had forgotten.

The second trunk was more of her clothes, but as she laid her things out on her bed, she began to frown. She hadn’t purchased new things in a while, not since she learned of the financial troubles her father was in, and as a result a lot of her dresses and skirts had started to tatter and fade. The colors weren’t as bold as they once were and the hems were tinged from dragging through the dirt and grass as she walked the gardens. She was a bit afraid to ask, but she thought perhaps Gold would allow her to buy a few new things soon. The solstice was coming and if they were going to attend any celebrations or have one of their own, a new gown would be in order. She remembered his letter mentioning that Bae’s birthday was just before that as well.

Perhaps there would be other occasions as well, there was a ballroom downstairs after all, and a large formal dining room. It had been ages since she’d been at an event or a ball. The last was Ariel’s wedding, and that was nearly two years ago now. She couldn’t picture Gold as the type to want to socialize, but then again he was often at the king’s court, or so she had heard. It would be something to broach with him later, after she’d settled her mind a bit more.

It was at least an hour until supper, so Belle decided to try out the desk in the lounge across the hall from her bedroom and write her father a letter. He would want to know that she was alright, that she was safe and settled, and that Astrid had arrived as well. The light from the southwest facing windows was wonderful at this time of day, and she found herself feeling a bit more content as she pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped the inkwell.

The light scrape of the pen was soothing as was the familiar motions of her hand as she wrote out Papa in large, scrolling letters are the top. She paused and smiled, pleased to recall that Bae had called Gold the same thing when he’d come into the drawing room during breakfast. It was a small thing, but still something they had in common, that made her feel just a little bit of a connection to the boy.

She wrote that she was well, that Astrid was well, and that they were both getting settled. She told him of the lovely gardens and urged him not to worry, that she would write more soon. Her hand paused on its way to dip the pen again, and she worried her bottom lip. Instinct told her to add that she would come to visit, but she didn’t know for sure that she would.

Leaving Avonlea had seemed so final that the thought of going back left her uncertain. If she did would she ever want to leave again? Would it be harder the second time? What about the third or fourth? Would Gold want to come with her? Sighing, she quickly added her name at the bottom with the perfunctory ‘your loving daughter’ closing. There would be time to discuss visiting Avonlea later.

Just as Belle was folding the letter to seal, there was a knock against the open door. She turned and saw Bae standing there, a book in his hand, and smiled.

“Hello there.”

He stepped into the room cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure he was invited.

“It’s okay, you can come in,” she said, slipping the letter into the drawer of the desk. “If I wanted to keep people out, I would shut the door.”

He gave her a small smile and came closer. “I thought maybe you’d want to read another chapter with me? Jefferson says I should try to finish it by the end of the week because Grace is already done.”

He huffed a little at the end, and Belle thought he seemed a little sad. “Grace?”

“Jefferson’s daughter,” Bae explained, shuffling over to the small sofa. “He gives us both lessons, but she’s smarter than I am and always getting ahead of me.”

“I’d be happy to read some more with you,” Belle said, moving to join him on the lounge. “And don’t worry about being slower than someone else. Everyone goes at their own pace. What matters is that you take your time and learn.”

Bae seemed to think on that for a moment, and then nodded as he opened the book.

Gold limped down the corridor, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual.

His leg was killing him today, as it often did after too much travel. Though his carriage was fairly large, sitting in one place for too long and not moving made the muscles tight, and it would take another day or so of hot baths and Jefferson’s special tea to get back to normal. The sound of laughter made him smile in spite of his aches, and he moved towards it.

The door to Belle’s drawing room was open, and he knocked on the door frame as he stepped into the space. Bae was sitting at the writing desk and Belle was bent over him, watching whatever it was that he was doing. She looked up, smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and with the glow of the setting sun beaming in through the windows at her back, it looked like she was light itself, pushing into all the dark corners.

“You didn’t tell me you were the father of a master artist,” she said. Bae glanced up at her, his smile soft and crooked.

Gold came over to the desk and looked down from the other side. Bae had drawn the head of a horse in the middle of the page in black ink, presumably from Belle’s pen. It was quite good for a ten year old, with the mane flowing out behind it as if the beast was in a full gallop.

“It’s supposed to be my horse, Cassidy,” the boy explained. “But the nose isn’t right.”

He frowned, and Belle tsked. “It looks just fine to me.”

“Indeed,” agreed Gold, exchanging a small look with Belle over his son’s head. “I think it looks just like him.”

Bae didn’t seem convinced and shrugged. “It’s not, but thanks.” He moved to crumple up the paper, but Belle stopped him.

“Oh, please don’t do that, it’s lovely!” She slid the paper off the desk and held it in her fingertips. “Would you allow me to keep it? There’s a couple of empty books in my little library, we could start a portfolio.”

Bae scrunched up his face. “What’s a port - portfolio?”

“It’s what all good artists keep their work in so they can show other people.”

He seemed very pleased with that and smiled. “Sure! Can I help you put it in?”

She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Of course. Come it’s just across the hall.”

Gold felt the same feeling as he had the night before as he watched them walk together to Belle’s book room. Seeing them getting along and even bonding was more than he could have hoped for so soon. Bae hadn’t been very accepting of his plans to marry, and he’d been afraid that the inevitable strife of the early days might harm their future relationship. Of course, he shouldn’t have worried. Belle was a dear, sweet woman that one couldn’t help but find charming. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was alarmingly pretty, especially when she was so close that he could see the little flecks of gold in the center of her eyes.

He swallowed and straightened, rather abruptly, and tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane as the sudden shifting of his weight made his calf cramp.

Belle turned, frowning. “Are you alright?”

Gold forced a tight smile and nodded. “Yes, I was just, uh, just going to get something in my room.”

He made to leave, but stopped just outside in the hallway. “Would you, um, would you want to join us for dinner this evening?”

“Oh, I think I -”

“Yes, please, Belle?” Bae interrupted. “We could read more of my book after.”

She smiled at Bae, and then looked up to meet Gold’s eyes. Her expression was strange, and Gold got the sense that she wanted to decline, but didn’t want to hurt his son’s feelings. He mentally kicked himself, and was about to come up with an excuse to help her out of it, when she turned to Bae and smiled.

“Of course I would.”

Gold blinked and then nodded. “Yes, um, yes good. We usually eat at six.”

Belle met his gaze again, and he could see her shoulders shifting, tensing, and the bob of her throat as she swallowed. “Good.”

[badbookreviewclub]

Empress Theresa, Chapter 2

If you haven’t read the chapter 1 review, I highly recommend you do so. You can find it here: Empress Theresa, Chapter 1  Should you choose not to, this could get confusing, though the book is already confusing enough as is, so who knows, it may make sense.  This should be the last time that I copy over my tweets directly, so reviews on here should be far more competent.  It took a full week, but I was finally able to get through chapter 2. It was significantly shorter than chapter 1, which in its own way, made it better than the first chapter. However, that doesn't mean that it was good. In general chapter 2 is going over Theresa's high school and middle school life. This means that Norman has to cover things that a high school and middle school student should experience. However, Norman really only covers two things. 1. The Boy's Baseball Team 2. Cyberbullying Theresa gets recruited to the boy's high school baseball team when she's in middle school. She's about 12 years old when she gets recruited and the best I can make out is that this is her last year of middle school too (9th grade). Call me a liar if you want, but I haven't... ...ever met a 12-year-old in 9th grade. For fuck's sake, I was 14 in 9th grade and I have a late birthday in the (United States) school year. Norman claims that Theresa is so young because she skipped a year in school, but I think there's more to it than just skipping a year. Anyways, Theresa joins the high school boy's baseball team. The reason that Norman gives for this is a bit confusing because he jumps back and forth between her being a 'great pitcher' and 'living in a small town, so they didn't have enough boys to recruit for the baseball team.' Because she's on the baseball team, she starts getting cyberbullied and this is where you see just how out of touch with reality Norman is. For some reason, despite that it's a high school baseball team, Theresa is on television all the time. All. The Time. And because... ...of this, Theresa gets cyberbullied. "Anonymous strangers" make entire websites dedicated to cyberbullying Theresa. Yes, they make entire websites. Not only do they use an online forum, or bully her on "the social medias," as Norman likes to put it, but they make entire... ...websites just to show the world how much they truly hate Theresa for being on the boys baseball team. They claim that she must have slept with the coach or was making out with everyone on the boys baseball team but here's the thing; Theresa is still a minor. She's not any older than 13-16 here. This are absolutely absurd accusations to be making to a 13-16-year-old. Even more so that the coach would sleep with her so she could get on the team. That's an accusation of pedophilia. If a rumor like that was floating around, I... ...highly doubt that nothing would come of it. But, Norman doesn't cover this at all. In fact, all of the people on Theresa's team, including the coach, are faceless cardboard figures in the background. The only person in this story that matters is Theresa, and yet, Theresa... ...is just as much of a cardboard figure as the rest of them. It's maddening. But nonetheless, the criticism and 'cyber-bullying' is really starting to get to Theresa so the principle of the school has a teacher sit down with her to try and cheer her up. What we get is a long as fuck and very repetitive monologue from the teacher who then goes over an amazon ad for a doggy door that is explained in so much detail that it's confusing and puts meaning where there is none. Kind of ironic that it does that when I seem to be... ...doing the exact same thing with this book. If you're curious, I did find the ad so you could watch it yourself if you wanted to: video Aside from Theresa's omniscient Trolls who know what all her moral values are and that she has straight A's, we basically just have Theresa's ego stroked more as Norman desperately tries to prove to the reader just how amazing Theresa is. She really isn't and it comes off... ...as narcissistic and unbecoming, especially because Theresa is supposed to be writing this as her autobiography. The other thing that you get from this whole meaningless section of the book is that Theresa blames the cyberbullies parents for not raising them right. What can be summed up as Theresa's parents are good role models in her opinion is then dragged out in a much wordier manner. "My parents gave a good example of the kind of people to be. I'd have to write a book about them to explain." You're writing a book right now. Explain. Or better yet, space it throughout the book. Lessons that your parents taught you when they apply rather than just in one big go. However, Norman was far too lazy to actually do that or have any sense of planning and continuation of subplot throughout the book, so that's not... ...going to happen. Aside from that we also get this banger of a sentence. "It's enough to say I wanted to be a woman like mom and I wanted a husband like dad." Now I know Norman didn't mean it this way, but it sounds an awful lot like Theresa wants to bang her dad, in... ...context or out of context. Blah blah blah we get more boring stuff until it skips to her senior year of high school where she's still 16. She's supposed to be turning 17 in high school so I assume she has an early birthday? That is if Norman still remembers that. Theresa meets Jan Struthers, who I can't remember if I covered or not before because there are so many fucking people in this book who are completely pointless and disappear whenever Norman just forgets about them or doesn't want to keep them in the book anymore. Going back and looking through my tweets, I did indeed cover who Jan Struthers was. For anyone who forgot like me, she's the lady from the government who is in charge of watching Theresa and has been since Theresa was 10, despite being absolutely horrible with children. Anyways, Jan meets Theresa in a Burger King so they can talk about HAL. Despite being in such a public place, Norman gives the reasoning that it's a good place because "the noise gave privacy as good as the Sahara Desert..." I don't know about you but it's really easy... ...to eavesdrop on people in public. Especially in Burger King. Not saying I've done it before, but I've definitely done it before. We find out more about how they found out about HAL and Theresa and the operation that was created to watch Theresa and search for HAL. If you're curious, the operation is literally called the Office of Orbital Phenomena Surveillance, or OOPS. Yes, fucking OOPS. This book was a fucking OOPS. Apparently, the reason for creating the office was, and I'll put it in Norman's words here so it makes sense; "It was supposed to keep track of all the space junk we put into orbit. Its real purpose was to watch for anything going on anywhere in the world that would later be something HAL was doing." The group is called fucking OOPS. Office of Orbital Phenomena Surveillance.  I don't know about you all, but space trash is not a phenomenon. This is just kind of piss poor logic on Norman's part and a weak excuse for him wanting a good acronym for the group. Surprise Norman, we kind of already have a group like that. The CIA. They already...  ...investigate shit like this. But you do you, Norman. You do you. Blah, blah, blah, we get introduced to like 3 more presidents in the span of two paragraphs which is confusing as shit, but alright. "I hadn't heard a peep out of HAL in the six years since he merged with me." So Theresa assumes that HAL is sentient despite the fact that HAL has given literally no indication of sentience. This is a theme that at the very least continues on from chapter one, even if... ...it makes absolutely no god damned sense. Norman brings back in the idea about how HAL makes Theresa put out an absurd amount of heat despite the fact that nobody around her seems to notice that she puts out an absurd amount of heat, which is more absurd logic. Apparently there's a column of disturbed air above Theresa that goes into space an this is how they tried to see if there were any other HAL's on the planet (there aren't). We also get another one of my most hated lines in this book when Theresa asks how much... ...the satellite cost that they sent up to look for more columns of disturbed air. "a hundred million" This is terrible grammar for one, and when someone says it out loud, it sounds wrong too. "One hundred million." is better in every way shape and form and nobody... ...can convince me otherwise. Anyways, Theresa says that they can give her 'a hundred million' and she'll give them HAL. She can't even fucking do that at this point. She doesn't even know if she can do that so why is she offering it? Besides, Jan never even responds to it... ...in the slightest. It's a fucking pointless line in this stupid fucking pointless book that I'm covering because I guess I just love to torture myself with terrible literature before I have to go and read a good book for my history classes. Moving on though, Jan goes into how Theresa needs to get a broad education just in case she ever needs to be the alien ambassador. She really doesn't. She just needs to double major or have a major and a minor in two things probably, Linguistics and Foreign Affairs. But no, instead Jan says that "You might need the knowledge of Thomas Jefferson, and the wisdom of Abraham Lincoln." Apparently, these are our brightest minds in history. Like not to bash on the two of them, they did a lot in the foundation and the forming of the USA... ...but what about the brilliant philosophers of the past? What about the leading and brightest minds of today? What about the scientists of the past who revolutionized how we think and act today? There's more to what formed history than just the people in America. In fact, the... ...presidents of the United States pulled from the philosophy and the knowledge of histories most prominent figures of the Enlightenment. They just helped to spread the word. But how could I expect Norman to know that? It's not like it's taught in every single school... ...in the United States or that all it takes is the fastest Google search to ever happen to find out about that. But I heavily digress. We move on from the meeting and Theresa gets a note in her mailbox that only has her name on it, meaning that someone slipped it... ...into her mailbox while she was away at school. The letter asks where Jan Struthers is and if Theresa can meet him [Jeremy Benton] at the Framingham Library. Theresa tries to email Jan to let her know about it at "janswatchers at snoop.gov" That is exactly... ...how it was worded in the book, not as "janswatchers@snoop.gov". Anyways, the email doesn't go through because I suppose it just doesn't exist anymore. We find out that Jan is missing and the blame is put onto the NEW president who gets brought in with 0 context. They assume that President Martin got rid of Jan because she 'knew too much' or she said something that he just didn't like. We find out that Jeremy Benton is the P.A. to Prime Minister Peter Blair in England. And oh yeah, Theresa brings Father Doughnut back into the fray. Blah, blah, blah, we get this brilliant line; "Seeing you close like this took my breath away. Do you realize the effect you have on people?" from Jeremy to Theresa (who is still 16/17 at this point). We get another of my most hated lines in the book, "I'm beginning to." More bad an inconsistent writing. Apparently, HAL showed up when Theresa was 3 and not six months before she was born. Jan sent all the information about Theresa before she went missing to the Canadian Prime Minister and the Canadian Prime Minister sent that information... ...to the British Prime Minister. Blah, blah, blah more pointless repeating shit. Jeremy offers Theresa and her family a home in England along with new identities (which is 0-100 real quick) all because they think that President Martin made Jan disappear. Father Dick Doughnut jumps in and says that the Holy Father is interested in Theresa's case and wants to offer her a place and protection in Rome. Speaking of Father Dick Doughnut, the meeting with the cardinal that he promise to Theresa never actually happened. Jeremy suggests they bring Theresa's situation to the public, and Theresa agrees though she doesn't exactly completely agree because she thinks that it will ruin her life. Despite wanting to bring it to the press though and agreeing that it would be a decent enough idea... ...she still doesn't want to tell her parents because "one mistake on their part and my future was ruined before I had it." I just... I can't at this point. I'm only two chapters in and I just can't. Besides that, we get the most confusing diatribe ever and I'm going to subject you all too it because I had to suffer through it and still don't know what it's trying to say. "I'd learned that somebody with eloquence may not have seen his powers of understanding receive... ...any aid from education. Ignorance and deficiency of mental improvement could still remain. There's some quirk in their personality that keeps them from becoming wise. The President gave great orations but he was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with me." If you understood any of that please let me know because even after typing that out I'm still not entirely sure what Theresa is trying to say. I think she's threatening death on him for making Jan disappear, but I'm not sure. and at the very end of the chapter, she says; "If HAL wanted me to do something good I was ready, if it was something bad, I wouldn't do it. President Martin should have left things alone." However, when I first read this I read it as her saying that she wouldn't do the... ...bad thing alone. Which made her sound like she really was going to gather a group a murder President Martin. However like I said not even two tweets ago. It really does sound like Theresa wishes harm on President Martin, with or without HAL's influence.

[thatswhatisee]

Remember, Remember - Chapter 2

Since Mulder is color blind in one episode only, I'm choosing to ignore this tidbit of information. Now he can appreciate Scully's gorgeous red hair. You're welcome, Mulder.

This chapter has been checked by Hemingway Editor and Grammarly. No Betas were ‘harmed’ in the making of this installment.

A big thank you to @mulderwantstobelieve, @frangipanidownunder, @greycoupons, @if-the-seascatchfire, and @baronessblixen for coming to the rescue when the English language got me and bit me in the butt. I hope there are no other bites left unnoticed by my Portuguese-native-speaker brain.

As always, feedback is much appreciated and cherished. It feeds the muse. Chapter 1 can be found here or at AO3.

 xXxXxXx

Chapter 2

 I drive my car as fast as I can to Scully’s place, hoping that no officer tries to stop me for speeding. The last thing I need right now is to waste time being pulled over and having to flash my badge. The streetlamps wash over me, wave after wave of dark and light. Buildings and a few vehicles buzz by me in a blur, as I change lanes and outpace slower drivers.

 A chill runs down my spine as I wonder what I might find when I get to her place. Will I find her blood smeared on a piece of furniture along with some of her red hair again? Will this be the time I will find her lifeless body lying on the floor?

 I halt at a red light, tires screeching. Fingers drum the steering wheel and I move my head from side to side to look at the intersection. I ease the car forward, inch by inch, and take advantage of the lighter flow of cars to run the red light.

 A black sedan behind me does the same trick.

I keep looking at the rearview mirror and the road ahead of me alternately. The car is there. It is always there on my tail. My hands sweat.

 As I enter George Washington Memorial Parkway, darkness surrounds me and I can only count on my headlights to show me the way. Fewer cars can be seen on the road, so I press the gas pedal further.

 The black sedan behind me does the same thing.

 I try to think of a way to mislead my pursuer, but all my ideas will slow me down and that I can not allow. I just keep driving and, even though the AC is on, the sweat drips down my body. One of my hands searches my hip holster to feel the cold of my gun. A sigh escapes my nose and I return the hand to the wheel again.

 After a few miles, I use the left lane to merge to Washington Boulevard, and the black sedan follows suit. My heart races faster, the mouth gets dry and I have to wipe the sweat out of my forehead. I grip the steering wheel as I keep driving around the Memorial Circle, instead of taking the right to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. The sedan, this time, continues onto Memorial Avenue making me release a deep breath and regain the circulation on my fingers.

 One more turn in the roundabout and I proceed to the original route, grieving those precious minutes lost to my paranoia. The Potomac River flows under me through the stone-arch bridge in an almost mockery. On both sides of the road, tall streetlights run by me. They lead me to Valor and Sacrifice, but The Arts of War are soon left behind in a blur of bronze.

 I pass by the Lincoln Memorial, hoping to be a savior as well, but to the reunion of Scully and her mother. The reunion of Scully to her future. I must save her one more time and balance out the endangerer plate on this scale of my role in our former alliance. 

 I finally reach the short buildings of Georgetown. My cell phone goes off and I fumble to answer it without losing control of the car.

 “Mulder, where are you?” Asks Langly on the other end of the line.

 “I’m getting to Scully’s place.”

 “Don't bother. Come to our office.”

 “I need to check if she is all right! Or at least if there is evidence that can help me find her!”

 “She's never made it home, Mulder. We’ve got something to show you. Come quick.”

 My cell phone falls. My hands turn the wheel fully to the left and the car skids to another lane, facing the direction where I came from. Squealing the tires, I drive off towards the Gunmen’s office.

  “We managed to hack some CCTV systems and we found footage from a camera near your place. It's from early this morning,” Langly says, as he turns on the computer screen for my inspection. “Take a look”.

 I sit on the chair in front of the screen and he presses the play button. In the grainy, black and white image, I recognize Scully crossing the street towards her car. She had parked some blocks away from my building and is now grabbing the car keys from her pockets. A white van halts next to her and a pair of arms tries to grab her from behind. Her elbow pounds the man’s chest. Then her knuckles find his nose. The man falls down to the ground and Scully tries to reach for her gun. A second man leaves the van and encircles her arm and neck in a chokehold, preventing her movements. She kicks his shin. His free hand places a white cloth on her face, making her movements slow down to a sudden stop. The guy on the floor stands up and grabs her feet. They place her torpid body inside the van, then get in the vehicle as it speeds off.

 “Where was this van headed?” I ask.

 “We’ve lost it after it reached Jefferson Davis Highway.”

 The one that leads people to the airport among other places. A cold wave washes over me from head to toe as I realize that by now she could be in Timbuktu.

 “Were you able to do your technological tricks and identify the plate?” I ask.

 They shake their heads with eyes cast downward. I pick up my phone and dial Skinner. I explain the situation and ask for an APB for a vehicle matching the description from the one on the video. I pace the room running my hands on my hair frantically. There has to be something that the Gunmen’s untrained eyes could not catch. That's why I ask them to rewind the footage.

 “Mulder, we have watched all these videos over and over while…”

 “Rewind the damn footage, please!” I interrupt Frohike.

 And they do it. Over and over again. After the fifth try, they teach me how to rewind it myself and leave me alone with the computer. I watch it one more time. Then another. And another. I try to burn it inside my mind. After almost an hour watching those same minutes, my eyes are the ones that seem on fire. I thump the desk, stand up and start to pace the room again. Think, Mulder. Think!

 “Mulder, you need to calm down and think straight. You will find her! You always do.” Says Byers.

 “It’s different this time!” I grab the clipping from the newspaper I had found this morning by my front door and show them. I had been keeping it in my jeans pocket since then.

 “‘Doctor accused of pedophilia found dead’? What does this have anything to do with Scully?” Asks Frohike.

 “This is the man who gave me the directions to all the clues in this case. He was murdered because he was feeding me information. Because we got too close to unveiling everything. First, he was discredited and then killed. Now they got Scully! They are targeting everybody who had aided me in exposing them!”

    I book myself the next flight to Dallas and rent another car as I arrive there. I thank my eidetic memory as I try to drive the same roads that had taken me and Scully to the domes and the cornfield. The scenery around me looks different, though; the colors are more vivid as the sun is getting high in the sky this time. The air conditioner can barely keep up with the heat from the desert outside.

 My eyes burn and I'm not sure if it's from not blinking enough or the dry air around me, but I focus solely on the drive ahead. One more time I reach the intersection at the end of the road. Without a second thought, I drive forward leaving a trail of dust behind me. Finding the train tracks, I follow it down, stop by the same hill and climb it.

 As I reach the top, my chest tightens and I shake my head in denial. I can’t believe my eyes. Instead of domes and cornfields, all I see now are flames, burning everything down.

 I fall down to my knees and weep.

  I fly back to DC. There's just nothing left for me to do. No leads, no double agent informants to point me where to go. Nothing.

 My eyes burn even more and now all the muscles in my body complain. That's what almost sixteen hours driving, and seven hours in airplanes can do to you. I drag my sorry, dehydrated ass out of the disembarking area. To my surprise, though, Skinner is waiting for me.

 “Where the hell have you been, Mulder?”

 I have no energy left, so I just keep walking as if he had never been there. If he follows me or not I don’t notice. And honestly, I don’t care. With every step, a deep breath to try and keep the tears out of my eyes.

 My arm is pulled. Skinner is demanding to know of my whereabouts and I see red. I make a lunge at him but am easily subdued by his alertness. He drags me out of the airport and into his car. Then everything is black.

 “Mulder! Wake up, Mulder! We’re here!”

 “Where is here?” I ask without bothering to open my eyes.

 “Your place.”

 I look out the window and notice night has fallen again. Another lost day. I must be too dry to shed tears, but my blood boils. Time was pivotal in disappearance cases. Didn't he know that?!

 “Why did you bring me here?! I need to find her!” I try to leave the car, but Skinner has still to unlock it.

 “You are not going anywhere, Mulder!”

 “They took Scully because I got too close to the truth. I need to find her, damn it! She is danger!” I jingle the lock to the door to no avail. “Unlock the fucking door!" I shout.

 “Mulder, listen to me!” Skinner barks and that stops me in my tracks. “You’re not going anywhere! You are not thinking straight. You’re just committing amateur errors and putting yourself in danger.” He sighs and softens his voice “You are not doing Scully any favors with such behavior. Get some rest and let the FBI handle this.”

 “One more thing.” Skinner adds “Why did Scully come to your place around 8:20 p.m and only left in the early hours of the following morning?”

 “That’s none of your business.”

 “It is if you are breaking the FBI's fraternization policy.”

 “We are not.” No lie in that statement, as she was not my partner anymore. “What does it matter anyway, she’s moving to Salt Lake City.”

 “Listen, we will find her. Get some rest and get ready for your OPR session tomorrow. I know the timing is the worst, but there’s nothing we can do about it. And it's your job at stake here.”

 “Why are you doing this?”

 “You saved my ass once. I owe you one and this is the least I can do. Good night, Mulder.”

 The lock clicks and I am out of the car. Skinner drives away as I get upstairs and pass out on my couch once again.

[gtgrandom]

Where Young Justice: Outsiders went wrong

(And before you tell me to just stop watching if I don’t like it - I’ve been supporting the show since 2011 by creating a significant amount of content and giving back monetarily. I have every right to critique the writing, thank you).

Honestly, I think they pulled their act together in the finale, and this season left me much more satisfied than I anticipated. That being said, there are some issues I want to address.

Major flaws:

Overabundance of characters

Undeveloped Relationships

Lack of Continuity

Problematic Representation (getting better)

Weak Dialogue 

Lower Quality Animation

The Message

Overabundance of characters

I think we can all agree on this one. There were far too many characters in season 2, but season 3 is laughable. It’s hardly a story anymore. Instead it’s an episodic series featuring new heroes each episode to appease niche comic fans.

There’s a formula for a superhero show (and any group-oriented tale in general), and that’s having a central team of five or less. Then you can introduce one or two new characters max per episode as side characters or villains. But you always circle back to your main team. YJ did a nice job of this in season one. So did most CW superhero shows before they made the same mistake of expanding their cast to make their writing task easier. (Yes, easier - new characters means you can stop developing old ones, especially with time jumps).  YJ started to narrow down the team by the end of the season, but it still left many mains as side characters / aesthetics. 

It’s great seeing these characters brought to life - I won’t deny it. But you can’t delve deep if you have this many. You can’t focus on character development or meaningful relationship development (hence why nearly every ship was established off screen). Furthermore, you frustrate fans when you focus on one group more than another. With a smaller cast you can always count on appealing to your audience because their "fave” is always present in some way. In many ways, fans feel like they’re being dragged along simply waiting for their character to pop up because of a one time cameo. It’s not fair to the audience.

The relationships

I think the only romantic relationships we’ve seen develop on screen are:

Violet/Brion

Spitfire

SuperMartian

Robin/Zatanna

sort of Roy/Jade

- and all but one were introduced in season 1. 

The others were simply introduced as a couple with little to no previous interaction. Like:

Tim/Cassie

Dick/Babs

Jaime/Traci

Bart/Ed

Kaldur/Wyynde

Gardita

M’gann/La’gaan

Mal/Karen

That is not how you write romance. You don’t stick it in there for the sake of it. You have to show us why they work, how they got there, and why we should care.  I’m not saying there HAS to be romance, but if there is, it still has to be written well. 

Continuity

This begins to overlap into the next issue, which is continuity.  I understand that Outsiders is not necessarily a new chapter to Young Justice, but if you are going to call it Young Justice Season 3, then I expect story lines to bleed over beyond just villainous deeds.  

Let’s look at Dick Grayson, for instance.  He’s one of the only mains who has had a very consistent, though shallow, character arc throughout the series.  First he wants to lead, then fears it because of the sacrifices he would have to make - because he didn’t want to be Batman.  In season 2 though, he becomes his worst nightmare.  He risks the lives of his friends, lies to his team, and ends up losing his best friend anyway.  And in season 3, we actually get a little bit of continuity here with Dick mourning Wally and being afraid to take on another team after season 2.  It could have been expanded upon, but it was still present, and I applaud the writers for that.  Especially for driving home his leadership qualities at the end there.

Now, what about the other characters, specifically those introduced in season 2?  This season is called “Outsiders,” and yet, it seems to only focus on the original team and Violet’s new group.   

What about Bart’s entire arc of coming back, stopping the apocalypse, and then losing Wally, his mentor?  What about Jaime’s home life and the lasting effects of being turned into a villain who nearly killed all his friends?  What about TIM and his role as the new leader??  Where did that plotline go?? Why is the unfamiliar Beast Boy now the leader of this Outsiders group?  How did Ed overcome his anger issues and repair his relationship with his dad?  How did Jade go from being a supportive wife and mother into the opposite?   

The writers tried to avoid all these problems by giving us a time jump.  But that’s just lazy writing if you don’t take the time to answer how things have changed!    

Also, I’ve said this before, but continuity isn’t simply having characters mourn a dead character.  You can’t keep using that plot device to give heart to the narrative.  If that’s your only source of true pathos...and that character is dead...then you’ve got a problem. 

The representation

Okay, I’ll admit they saved their asses with Kaldur. I love my wholesome pansexual rep. Would I have preferred to see his relationship occur with a character we’d already been introduced to outside the comics? Yes. But I’ll take it.

Disappointed with Ed/Bart and Bluepulse. They could have shown us more, but they didn’t. They could have given us a story, but they didn’t.  And don’t hit me with “this is a children’s show - we’re lucky to get what we get” BS.  Because it’s not anymore.  This show is literally written by adults for adults.

I really don’t want to talk about the whole Halo/Harper kiss because it was just so wrong in so many ways, but it needs to be addressed. So, first of all, if you excuse cheating in any capacity, shame on you. I don’t care what the characters are going through or how old they are. You don’t both recognize that you have significant others and then proceed to make out!! Second, what the hell?? You’re going to have the first lgbt content be a bisexual stereotype of two girls cheating on their boyfriends (and two characters who have only interacted in one episode before??) Not to mention, underage drinking and gun use? That sends the wrong message to the audience, even if the teens were reprimanded.  

Also, Halo is supposedly non-binary, and yet they explained it away by technology, so idk, I’m hesitant to count it as legitimate rep. I still think it was a good discussion to have. But yeah...

Finally, Halo is not Muslim rep after all.  She’s a hijab wearing character, but she does not identify with her faith or her culture. She outright rejects it in her scene with Harper. So...what? Is she diversity points that you can continue to violently kill off over and over?  Not a fantastic way to treat POC. I don’t think the creators meant any harm by it, but it’s something they need to consider going forward.

(I do appreciate the number of POC characters that have been introduced however. Especially the Latinx and black characters. This show has improved its diversity. But without proper characterization, they’re sort of just...there).

Dialogue

I can’t be the only one who cringed through entire episodes this season?  Some episodes had stellar writing. But the bad ones were very, very bad.   Obviously, not every joke is going to stick the landing, but if you’re going to kill off your beloved comic relief character, you have to have a better backup plan.   

Like, do you guys remember how witty some of the lines from the pilot were?  The whole “Speedy” vs. “Kid Flash” debate in the opening sequence?  You can tell how much effort went into those scenes.  How much love was given to those characters. Because they knew that was their only chance to hook the audience, to get a green light for a full season.  So they put everything into character development and plot - and now they’ve lost so much of what made the show precious in the first place.  (It’s still precious, but it’s tainted in many ways for me now).

Animation

It’s gone downhill. That’s really all I can say without being mean.  Some episodes seem slightly better than others, but if you compare the animation from 3x01 to an episode like Failsafe...there’s just no comparison.  I could hardly watch Wally’s scene without frowning at the frame rate.

Message

I don’t understand what the show is telling us anymore (or I didn’t, before Black Lightning gave a very “on the nose” speech about what it is that we were supposed to take away from this season).

I mean this has always been an issue with the show, but at least it was a little clearer in season 1.  Then, we had several themes:

Found family (+ Actions speak louder than heritage)

Don’t call us sidekicks (AKA the kids can make a difference)

Secrets are poison (They can tear a team apart. Trust in friends)

Season 2 was a little convoluted...and sort of just recycled material. 

Secrets are poison (dammit, Dick)

You are in charge of your own destiny (Jaime/Connor)

Sacrifice (Kaldur, Artemis, Wally, Bart...they all gave something up for the greater good).

But what is the message of season 3?

Secrets are still poison (Tara, Violet, Batman v. Wonder Woman team)

I suppose it’s about healing and letting others in?  Like how  Brion and Victor have both worked through their anger?  Artemis and Jefferson and Dick and Gar sorting through their grief...somehow...off-screen...(except for the episode devoted to Artemis saying goodbye to Wally.)

Perhaps...accepting yourself?  (Victor, Violet, Brion, Connor?)

Do you see my issue here?  How much harder it is to see what I’m supposed to take away from the show now?  I’m not saying there aren’t any good messages being told, but they’re difficult to interpret.  Sometimes that can be good.  But this time I’m on the fence.

Conclusion

I love many of the characters from this show, but the fandom acts as if the writing is impeccable, and that’s just not true.  Not everything is bad.  Some of it is still miles beyond other animated television (looking at you vld).  And I genuinely enjoyed about half of the episodes this season. But I think it’s important to recognize the flaws in media, as a writer myself, and as a consumer of these shows.  

Plz be civil in the comments, and understand that this is only my opinion. 

[eirian-houpe]

Scattered - Chapter 6

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Alex (OC)

Additional Tags: AU, Curse gone wrong, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cruelty, Abuse, Triggers, Eventual Smut, Romance, Character Death, Gaston is evil, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform

Summary: Casting a spell, any spell - at least the ones that involve more than just the wave of a hand, or worse, the wave of an irritating fairy’s wand - takes time, and patience, and the right ingredients, and… just like any recipe, if you get it wrong, it doesn’t mean the cake won’t cook, rather then will, just with unexpected or unintended outcomes. All of Rumplestiltskin’s careful planning and manipulation, all of his hopes and dreams turn to dust; ashes in his bitter heart in the blink of an eye… in the fall of an equine heart.  Belle exchanges one terrible prison for another, and it’s one she is desperate to escape, and though Rumple’s fate as The Savior was severed from him centuries ago, sometimes fate itself has a way of finding an alternate route home.

Read on AO3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  [Chapter 5]

Chapter 6 - Magic...

The mayor’s office in the town hall was just as he expected it would be; gaudy and overstated, and but for her threats, he would have refused her outright. Whatever mess she’d gotten herself into screwing up the casting of The Curse was hers to straighten out, not his, and he’d be damned before he’d give her a moment more of his time than he had to, after what she’d done to him.

So what if Rumplestiltskin wasn’t stuck in the godforsaken hell hole that called itself Storybrooke? So what if Regina’s leverage, Belle of Avonlea, wasn’t where the queen had planned for her to be, safe and sound in the asylum; hadn’t exchanged one prison for another, and another? That was her problem, not his.

He pouted, feeling as petty and as petulant as he looked as he caught sight of himself in the mirror while he waited for Regina to deign to look up from what she was scribbling on the piece of paper in front of her, as though making him wait gave her even more power over him than she already had.

“Well?”

Regina finally turned around the piece of paper and thrust it in his direction, and Jefferson snatched it up, focusing for a moment on the drawing Regina had made. He tried to school his expression to one of neutrality, even confusion, and not the dread of recognition as he set eyes upon even the first wave at the edge of the drawing.  He tried for ‘carelessness’ as he tossed the paper back onto her desk.

“It’s pretty, but I don’t seen what it’s got to do with—” He was surprised he even got that far before she interrupted.

“Don’t play games with me, Jefferson,” she snapped, “I know damn well you understand what it is you were looking at, and why I want it.  You spent enough time in the Dark Castle to know th—”

“—that he’d kill the first person that came looking for it. Even me.” He turned and started to head toward the door, his long coat flaring out behind him, but thought better of it, and turning back came to get right up into Regina’s face, almost nose to nose as she stood up from behind her desk. “No,” Jefferson corrected himself, “especially me.”

**

Belle drifted in sleep, in dreams, and they were strange dreams indeed. She was first in a castle with a bizarre little man who spun straw into gold, like in the old folk tales her nurse told to her as a child. Then she was a captive in a dungeon, with a mirror that showed her pain and torment… torture, almost, of one she loved.  She couldn’t see his face, the mirror was blurred, or too bright from the torch in the sconce at her back. Odd that she should have one, if she were truly a prisoner.

Prisoner…

The word gnawed at her awareness, clawed at her wounds to open them all again, until she could see her blood running, like rain, from her neck, and hands that pushed at a weight on her body. Hard wood at her back, and nothing but pain, and the rolling grunt of effort becoming a growl of thunder.

Belle woke with a cry, pushing and scrabbling at what covered her before she gained true, yet somehow numb, awareness, and ceased her struggles to the murmur of a soft voice that she recognized but did not know.

What covered her was the softness of a cotton sheet, and the gentle weight of the softest blanket she had ever felt. She opened her eyes. They felt gritty and sore, and she remembered crying. Then she remembered the rain, and the storm… and the gentle strength of arms lifting her from the terrified horse… everything.

With another soft cry she struggled to sit up, the movement sending needles of pain through her back, her belly and…

“Easy, Belle,” the soft voice surrounded her again and she turned her head toward the speaker as Master Rascende moved from the stool he had been sitting on to kneel beside the cot on which she lay. He reached toward her, and she couldn’t help but pull back in avoidance. He froze, but said equally as quietly, “You’re safe. I promise.”

She looked down at her hands. They trembled when she raised them, but she could clearly see that they had been washed and the worst of the cuts on them tended. Her wrists too, where she knew she had been bruised; which had hurt, now she felt only dully, and she could see that she was dressed only in the shift she had worn beneath her dress.

“You…” she tried to speak but her voice was hoarse, her throat painful, and as she watched, Rascende picked up a cup from a nearby table, and offered it to her.  She smelled the honey as soon as it was close enough, took it from him and took a sip. The watered honey slipped over her tattered throat, and soothed away the ache. “You did this,” she tried again, and lifted her free hand so that the bandage it held would be visible. “You tended me, cared for me.”

“Yes,” he said. “I did what I could to ease your pain.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, then added in a soft but spoken voice, “Master Rascende—”

He interrupted her. “No need for titles here.”

She stared at him for a long moment, taking him in, properly, perhaps for the first time; the fall of his long brown hair, soft around his face. His deep brown eyes looked into her with all the warmth and concern it seemed the universe possessed, and yet a spark within promised fury, danger held in check behind the serious tension of his lips that were set into a line, as though he were fighting to contain it.

“Here?” she asked softly.

“My home,” he answered. “In Amberley Forest Hollow.”

Her heart started racing as he spoke their location, she struggled to rise, to force her uncooperative body to move. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t far enough away. They would look there for her. It would be among the first places they would seek for her, if Gaston had a mind to recall where he had found her.

“You… you have to… I can’t…” she all but fell as she sat up to swing her legs from the side of the cot as liquid fire burned up into her belly from her core, and down into her legs, making them ache as though she had been standing in frigid water for hours. He caught her as she began to tumble forwards, and she wanted to push back up… push away from him, but something… something in the way he touched her; held her and soothed her with soft sounds that were words and yet not words both at the same time, halted all the trembling tumult inside and instead she clung to him until he wrapped her tightly against him, tucked against his chest, beneath his chin as he moved to sit on the side of the cot, for her comfort, because she wouldn’t let him go.

Even so, she wept, “They’ll find me here, find you and—”

“No,” he assured her on an outgoing breath. “Unless they know exactly where it is, only you, and me, and Alex can find their way into this place, see?”

As he spoke he lifted one arm from around her slender body, and gestured in an arc around them. She felt a sudden… tingling in the air, like the moment a storm breaks and her eyes widened as, in the wake of the movement of his hands,  a shimmering of the palest translucent mauve encircled all that she could see of the entire cottage.

Belle gasped softly, but in wonderment, not in fear, as she might well have done. “So it’s true,” she breathed against his chest. She had heard the rumors in the corridors of Amberley Hall, whispered by serving maids and housekeepers. Heard and dismissed them, as pure fancy. Such things weren’t real. Such people, and abilities did not exist, and yet… “You are a sorcerer.”

**

It was the most natural thing in the world for him to reach out and catch her as she began to fall, but his heart still clenched and he expected her to fight him. She didn’t, and relief ran through him so strong that he could have wept from it.

He was, at that moment, such a seething ball of conflicting emotions that it was a wonder that there were not things exploding around them; a testament, he supposed, to the control that centuries as the Dark One had given to him, not to mention his growing mastery, and familiarity, with the magic of this realm.

At her soft words, spoken against his chest, he chuckled softly and all but whispered, “Yes.” He wasn’t going to deny the truth to her. Not now, not ever, he promised himself - even if she still didn’t remember.

The thought pierced his heart, a hot wire of pain edging through him. Did it matter, when she was there and in his arms? He shook the thought away. It would be a kind of a lie. It gave him hope that, in time somehow, something would unlock her memories of their time together at the Dark Castle, before he had banished her in cowardice - and she had been right about that too - and because of his need to keep his power in order to find Baelfire, but… what did that matter now?

The Dark Curse had been miscast. Months wasted, rotting in the Charmings’ little prison, and for what? Nothing! He wasn’t in a world without magic, so he couldn’t find Bae now. But Belle… she was real. She was alive… and she needed him.

“And I will do everything in my power to protect you,” he promised.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey, do you know any fics where Johnlock are in a queerplatonic relationship? I've read exactly one, Awakening by Guanin, and I'm craving more. Bonus points if either of them are aroace or apsec in any way :D

Hi Lovely!!

I know of a few!!! Funny story: I thought I only knew of two… when I started tag-searching, turns out I know more than I thought I knew I’ve also added the one you suggested, since I haven’t read that one yet!!

QUEERPLATONIC / ACE RELATIONSHIPS

See also: 

Platonics and Domestics

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 4 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Platonics / Bromance / Friendship Pt. 3

Do You Love Me? by whitchry9 (K, 641 w. || Friendship, Family, Epic Bromance) – John asks Sherlock perhaps the most important question. 

Settling In by PorcupineGirl (T, 1,030 w. || Ace Sherlock/Straight-Biromo John, Queerplatonic Relationship, Fluff) – Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John in a queerplatonic romantic relationship. It’s a bit of an oddball, but anything fluffy and loving and nonporny will be endlessly and forever adored. It’s always fun to see the two work out that hey, we’re in love, we don’t have sex, but it’s still a wonderful and meaningful relationship.

Cuddling by GraciousK (G, 1,107 w. || Angst, Cuddling, Hypothermia, Dev. Rel., Fluff and Angst) - John finds Sherlock and he’s delirious. John saves Sherlock, semi-happy ending.

The Cure for Snoring by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 1,278 w. || Sleepy Conversations, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Fluff, Domestic, Platonic / Sleepy Cuddles) – Sherlock and John spend the night in Scotland after finishing a case. The sole Inn in town only has one room left…one bed. This would be fine - if not a bit awkward - if Sherlock hadn’t developed a habit of snoring loudly. John suffers through many hours of sleeplessness before he discovers that skin-to-skin contact stops the noise. Part 1 of Dreamscapes

Random Numbers by songlin (T, 1,671 w. || Ace Sherlock / Straight John, Cuddling / Snuggling, Massage, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Post-TRF, Slice of Life) – A collection of moments in the relationship of asexual!Sherlock and straight!John.

the fearful passage of death-mark’d love by flibbertygigget (T, 1,980 w. || Magical Realism, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Life Partners, Name Marks, Referenced Deaths) – The first time that John meets Sherlock Holmes, the younger man has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, wrists bare of any hint of ink. Within 48 hours, John has added “Jefferson Hope” to his clavicle. (Or: The One Where, When You Kill Someone, Their Name Shows Up On Your Arm)

Tangential by Bitenomnom (NR, 2,047 w. || Ace Sherlock, Fluff and Love, Cuddles, Friendship, Sherlock is a Kept Man, Sherlock Divorces his Work, Nightmares) – In which John stitches up Sherlock’s head (but not really), Sherlock comes into John’s room at night to take his laptop (but not really), Sherlock is married to his Work (but not really), and John is more than proficient at keeping Sherlock (really, definitely). Part 48 of Mathematical Proof

L'Esprit D'Escalier by TheSoulOfAStrawberry (K, 2,011 w. || Ace Sherlock, Romance, H/C, Pining) – A lack of understanding leads to a misunderstanding, which in turn leads to two confused men dealing with something they should have sorted out earlier, rather than on John’s wedding day.

Rooftop Confession by Random_Nexus (T, 2,514 w. || Ace Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Friendship / Love, Angsty Fluff) – Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

The Second Law of Thermodynamics by entanglednow (T, 3,614 || Asexual Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Sharing Body Heat) – In which there’s no heating and there’s a dead owl in Sherlock’s bed. Part 1 of Thermodynamics

The Genetic Algorithm by Bitenomnom (NR, 3,786 w. || Ace Sherlock, Friendship, Cuddling Fluff, Sherlock Experiments on John, Alternating First Person POV) – Some problems defy the usage of cold, clean-cut linear logic. It is impossible to devise a way to take steps that ultimately lead exactly to an optimal answer. Sherlock believes John Watson is one of those problems. Part 28 of Mathematical Proof

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John’s conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Bed-Sharing Between Flatmates by testosterone_tea (T, 5,053 w. || 5 and Ones, Bed Sharing, PTSD John, Science, Whump, Insecure Sherlock, Asexual Sherlock) – 5 times Sherlock had an excuse to share John’s bed, and the one time he didn’t need one.

The Important Bit by Solshine (G, 9,984 w. || Platonic Marriage, Domestics, Asexual Sherlock) – Just where exactly is the line between “to love” and “to be in love”? What difference is required between “flatmate” and “husband”? (Besides the rings, obviously.) No, the important bit is that they have each other. Thirty years, give or take, in an atypical marriage. Basically a long bit of platonic domestic fluff.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

Catastrophe Medicine by LaSuen (T, 11,550 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Suspense, Adventure, Whump, Hard Core Bromance) – Chasing after a pyromaniac bomber Sherlock and John wind up in a deserted building which explodes and leaves them trapped under the rubble, both severely injured.

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn’t count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of “The Great Game” Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Sherlock’s Head, John’s Heart by Altego (T, 17,252 w. || Tragedy, Heavy Angst, Heavy Bromance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Mary is Nice, Friendship) – After Mary dies, John tries to cope, and Sherlock blames himself but tries to make John understand how important John is in his life.

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship/Bromance, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock, Rev. Reich.) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does.

An Experiment in Apathy Series by belovedmuerto (G to E, 28,701 w. across 13 stories || Empath John, Empath-by-Proxy Sherlock, Epic Bromance Becomes Romance, Angst, Nightmares, Experiments, Trauma, Dreams) – “No man is an island, John. You less so than most.” A sequel to the EiE Series, wherein John and Sherlock explore their relationship.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn’t It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock’s forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don’t worry, things’ll be fine in just seven days.

Awakenings by Guanin (T, 41,034 w. || Post-S1, Cuddling & Snuggling, Ace!Sherlock, Aro!Sherlock, Bisexuality, Queerplatonic Relationships) – John’s breath shook the collar of Sherlock’s shirt, breath which was pleasantly warm and bathed the skin of Sherlock’s neck and collarbone in a tantalizing way that Sherlock wasn’t sure if he wished to analyze at the moment, yet was doing anyway, because how couldn’t he? It incited a slight tremble in his skin at first, the slightest pricking sensation as his breath shuddered to a stop in his throat at the sudden and unexpected intimacy of it. John’s breath, John’s, brushing against him and Sherlock letting it remain so close as if it belonged there, no more alien to his own body than the clothes he wore. Because it was John’s. {{TO READ}}

Holmes is where the heart is by Rose de Sharon (T, 49,636 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Post-TRF, Reunion Fic, Bromance, Empty House Inspired, Adventure) – Three years after the Reichenbach Fall. On the anniversary of Sherlock’s death, John pays a visit at 221 B Baker Street… and he gets the shock of his life.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

An Experiment in Empathy Series by belovedmuerto (T, 62,397 w. across 13 stories || Empath AU || Psychic John, Psychic-by-Proxy Sherlock, Empathy, Psychic Bond, Romance / Bromance) – In which John is an empath, Sherlock is Sherlock, and an epic bromance happens. In the aftermath of The Great Game, John creates an unexpected bond between himself and Sherlock. Now they have to learn how to deal with it. John is better at this than Sherlock is.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit…

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

[kegofglory]

Sea Meets Earth (1/1)

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Pairing: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Summary: Modern Neighbors Au.

She presses her lips together into a hard line, trying to figure out why she’s intrigued by this man, her new neighbor. There’s the obvious--he’s incredibly attractive, even at six in the morning in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. There’s the fact that she knows he’s an incredible support to her brother and sister-in-law. But mostly, she thinks, it might be that there’s something eerily familiar in his eyes. She can’t really explain it, but she feels a weird sense of understanding when they look at each other.

AO3

---///---

Killian’s knowledge of Emma Swan is incredibly limited. In fact, he knows four things about her.

1. She’s David’s younger sister. 2. She’s a pastry chef. 3. She lives in Boston--or at least, she did live in Boston. 4. She has an eleven-year-old son, Henry.

That’s it. After six years of friendship with David Nolan, and four years of being partners, those are the only facts that he’s collected about her.

He also knows that David loves her deeply and fully, and that he’s crazy protective of her.

That’s what gets him to even mention the soon to be vacant apartment above him in his nice duplex in New York City. Finding real estate in the city is no joke, and he’s only lucky enough to be close friends with his landlord, Nemo.

“So, my upstairs neighbor is moving out in two weeks if you’re still worried about your sister finding a place in the city,” Killian says from his side of the patrol car.

David raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’m not lying, mate,” Killian says.

His partner rolls his eyes. “Has Nemo rented it out yet?”

“No, I mentioned it to him and he said to give you his number to pass along to Emma. It’s a two bedroom one bath, and he’s cheap in terms of New York prices.”

David nods, “Thanks man. I’ll let her know.”

“So, what brings your mysterious sister to the city?” he asks.

Beside him, David’s entire body goes tense. Killian remains silent, allowing his friend some time to respond, if he even wants to. “She just needs to be closer to us, ya know?”

Killian nods. David has always reminded him a lot of Liam. Sometimes, it’s hard, but sometimes, it’s comforting to have someone like Liam in his life. When he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he thinks that Liam sent David his way on purpose.

“Sure. Well, I’ll text his number to you and she can check it out, I guess.”

---///--- “And we have to go to the library, the one on 5th! Mom, it is so cool, and you can probably find all the fairytale books you like there.”

Emma stares down at her son, who is rambling despite the fact that he’s struggling to get a few boxes out of the U-haul.

“Sure, kid. What do you say we at least get these boxes inside first, though?” she says, unable to fight the affectionate laughter bubbling up in her chest.

“Uncle David said we have to go to the Hall of Science. It sounds sooo cool,” he’s still going on, and Emma rolls her eyes.

“Kid, relax. We’re going to have time to do all the things, okay?” she says. “Listen, David and Mary Margaret are on their way here, and they’re going to help us with some of Uncle David’s coworkers so we can get this done fast.”

Henry grunts. “I just want us to do it all before we go again.”

Emma stops in her tracks, turning to stare at her son. He looks up at her guiltily.

“Hey, Henry. Put that box down, come here,” she mumbles, grabbing his hand and leading him to their new front porch steps. Thankfully, according to her brother, their new downstairs neighbor is apparently out of town, so she doesn’t have to worry about bothering him as they noisily move everything into the upstairs unit.

“I didn’t mean it,” Henry mutters, sitting down beside her.

“It’s okay if you did. I know I’ve moved us around a bit too much in the past,” Emma says, rubbing her lips together as her son nods sadly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Mom, it’s fine. This is only our third move,” he says, sounding way too adult, as always. “I know it’s because you needed to do it.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. “We’re here to stay. We’re not going anywhere for awhile, so I hope you like it here.”

He smiles. “I’m going to love it if you do, mom,” he says.

That’s really all it takes for tears to prick at the corners of her eyes. She sighs, leaning over and kissing the top of his head. “I love you, kid.”

He smiles, and like clockwork, David pulls into her drive with his wife and two large men from work.

She approaches his truck, watching the strangers pile out. “Hi guys. I’m Emma and I’m also eternally grateful you’re all here to help. I’ve supplied all the pizza and all the beer upstairs in the fridge.”

The tall man laughs, stretching his hand out to her. “It’s no worries. I’m Robin, and this is Jefferson,” he says.

She shakes both of their hands, smiling kindly as they head toward the u-haul.

David is about to wrap his sister into a hug but is interrupted when Mary Margaret practically pushes him into the bushes, running to wrap Emma into a tight hug.

“It’s so good to finally have you here,” her sister-in-law cries into her ear.

There’s something that is so consistently warm and welcoming about Mary Margaret that makes Emma feel at home for the first time since arriving to this bustling city.

David groans, “Let’s get unpacking, girls. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can take Emma and Henry to Granny’s.”

At this, Henry perks up visibly, well aware of the diner that they go to every time Henry and Emma visit. “Do they still have those onion rings?”

“Of course they do,” David says, chuckling as he leads the way to the truck.

And Emma finds that, throughout the day, her stomach begins to hurt less and less. Maybe she is home, at least for awhile.

---///---

Killian has lived in the same duplex for eight years, and he’s never had much of a relationship with the tenants that have lived above him. There are instances where he sees them, of course. He has a beautiful front porch, where both of their entry doors are located, and the tenants upstairs get a lovely balcony right above his porch.

He figures it will probably be the same with Emma and her boy.

The first night he gets back from his trip, it’s late and he can see the light upstairs shining through the window, along with a yellow bug sitting on the street in front of the house. Killian laughs when he sees the car and shrugs, entering his apartment and heading straight to bed.

Any Sunday morning that Killian is lucky enough to have off, he sticks to the same routine. He wakes up as early as he can and enjoys the sunrise sitting on his porch swing with a cup of coffee. He’s done it for as long as he can remember. Even as a child, Liam would wake him up and take him outside, where they’d sit in the grass and watch in silence.

After his trip to go visit Elsa this past week, he finds his mind wandering to a dark, sad place a little more often than usual. Elsa was Liam’s best friend, his soulmate, and he tries to make an effort to go see her at least once a month.

His heart hurts, though, when he leaves. She always wants to revel in the memories of Liam. His kindness, his loyalty, his morals. It’s nice, because she’s the only person on this planet that loved Liam as much as he did. At the same time, it forces a lot of thoughts to the front and center of his brain,

Like how his brother practically raised him while his alcoholic father did absolutely nothing, or how it was always their dream to one day go back home to London and visit all the places their mother wrote about in her old journals.

Or how he knows that Liam would want more for Killian than what he settles for now.

An unfamiliar voice pulls him from this dangerous road, though. “Mom! Mary Margaret called me and asked why you’re ignoring her texts,” a young voice calls. Killian looks up. They must be on the balcony. If he stood up and walked forward a few feet, he’d be able to see. But, that would be creepy, so he stays seated.

A feminine laugh sounds, and he raises an eyebrow out of instinct.

“I didn’t consider that moving to New York meant I’d be even closer to the two most controlling people I’ve ever met,” she says. Her son laughs in response.

“Should I tell her what we’re doing today?” he asks.

“No, kid. It’s our day. Just tell her we’re busy,” she says, and she sounds a little guilty.

“Good, because we can just meet them later anyways. We should go explore on our own. But mom--”

“Henry,” she cuts him off, chuckling. “If you tell me the hall of science opens at ten one more time, I’m going to go back to sleep until noon just to spite you.”

Killian can’t help the small smile that fights its way onto his face. The domestic familiarity between the two makes his heart swell.

“It’s nine, mom! What if there’s traffic? What if there’s a line to get in?”

He hears footsteps above him. “Okay, okay. I’m jumping in the shower. We will leave in twenty minutes. Can you go, like, complain about being up early on a Sunday or something like a normal kid?”

“Normal? But you’re the one that raised me this way,” Henry jokes and then their voices grow quieter. And Killian wonders for the first time what Emma Swan’s story is.

David keeps his stories about her close to his chest. He can see the love and pride in his eyes every time he brings his sister up, but he never shares many details. And Killian never pushes, because that’s how their friendship has always worked. David has returned the favor tenfold, allowing him to talk about his childhood only as much as he felt comfortable.

It’s a half hour later when Killian almost done with his coffee and the front door swings open to reveal a young boy with brown hair and a blue backpack on his shoulders. “Mom!” he calls up the stairs before turning and noticing Killian.

“Oh, hello! Sorry for shouting,” he says and Killian laughs.

“It’s quite alright, lad,” he says, standing up and approaching the young boy. “I’m Killian Jones. I’m guessing you’re Henry?”

Henry grins. “You’re Uncle David’s partner?” he asks, reaching forward to shake his hand. The manners in the young boy remind him of David. Or Liam.

“Yes, that I am,” he replies, shaking the young boy’s hand. “How are you liking the city?”

Henry shrugs. “It’s pretty cool, but we haven’t had a chance to do anything other any unpack and organize. Mom and I are sneaking out into the city today.”

“Sneaking out?” he asks.

Henry nods, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. “Uncle David and Aunt Snow said that on our first free day they want to take us on a tour,” he says.

“First of all,” he ticks off one finger. “Aunt Snow?”

Henry chuckles, and his nose scrunches up. “My mom always calls her Snow White… you know… because she’s kind of like a nice princess,” he explains.

Killian barks a laugh at this. “Very fitting. And two, do you guys not want to go on a tour?”

Henry looks around nervously, like he’s sharing a top secret. “My mom and I like to do things on our own, sometimes. Every time we move somewhere or go on a vacation, we take the first day just us to explore whatever we want. No itinerary. We don’t want to hurt Aunt Snow or Uncle David’s feelings so we’re keeping it a secret.”

Henry’s face is bright as he explains this tradition to Killian, and it brings a genuine smile to his face. It’s obvious that Emma is this boy’s hero.

“Sounds like a good tradition to uphold,” Killian says.

Before Henry can respond, though, the door swings open again to reveal a blonde, her fingers wrapped tightly around a black thermos full of what he only assumes is coffee.

She looks at her son, then her green eyes land on Killian, and he has to physically take a step back at the intensity in her gaze.

She smiles tightly, turning to Henry and handing him the thermos, her hair falling around her in waves. “You have extra cinnamon in your backpack, right?”

He nods. “Of course.”

She turns back to Killian, and her smile is a little more open now, though her eyes are still electric and curious.

“Mom, this is Killian, Uncle David’s partner,” he says, clearly unaware of the effect that his mother is having on his ability to speak or even breathe.

“I’m Emma Swan. I’ve heard tons about you,” she says, extending her hand forward.

He clears his throat. “That can’t be good,” he jokes.

She laughs, and it’s beautiful. He wants to hear it again.

“Please, it’s David. He has a hard time finding a bad thing to say about anyone. I’ve only heard good things.”

He smiles, trying to think of anything to say. For some reason, he knows the charm and bravado he normally relies on won’t work with her.

Before he can even formulate a response, she turns and locks her front door. “Well, we’re off. See ya around,” she says.

Henry grins. “Bye Killian!”

“Bye, lad. See you around, Swan,” he says, the words falling off his lips before he can think about it. She whips her head around to look at him, wonder in her eyes, before she nods and leads her son to her little yellow car.

It’s not until they speed off that Killian can even out his breathing again. He swallows hard, shaking his head. Fuck. He doesn’t need this kind of distraction right now.

---///---

A week goes by without Emma seeing Killian, and she thinks that’s probably for the best. She had to make a conscious effort not to think about him on her entire day with Henry last weekend. Something about his eyes, his smile, his… something, got under her skin. In a wonderful, terrifying way.

It’s the following Sunday that she sees him again. She opens her door to leave at 5:45 in the morning when he makes his presence known.

“Good morning, Swan,” he says, and she jumps, letting out an embarrassing yelp. She turns to see him sitting on his porch swing.

“Fuck,” she mutters, placing her hand over her racing heart. “You scared me.”

“My apologies,” he says, though he’s wearing an amused smile. “I’m just surprised you’re up so early.”

She laughs, leaning against the wood pillar and she takes a sip from her coffee cup. “I work in a bakery, Jones, so this is a normal hour for me.”

His eyes brighten when she sarcastically calls him by his last name. He stands, and she watches the swing move back and forth as he steps into her space. She doesn’t step back though, just looks up at him knowingly.

“Oh yes, you’re a pastry chef. Tell me, what’s your specialty?” he asks, raising a suggestive eyebrow. She can feel his breath on her face.

She smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asks, surprising herself when she holds his gaze.

“Perhaps I would,” he returns, and her whole body warms at the way he looks at her.

She presses her lips together into a hard line, trying to figure out why she’s intrigued by this man, her new neighbor. There’s the obvious--he’s incredibly attractive, even at six in the morning in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. There’s the fact that she knows he’s an incredible support to her brother and sister-in-law. But mostly, she thinks, it might be that there’s something eerily familiar in his eyes. She can’t really explain it, but she feels a weird sense of understanding when they look at each other.

“If you hear a child screaming violently, it’s most likely my son playing video games, just so you know,” she says, changing the subject to something safe.

He laughs at this. “Good to know.”

“Don’t worry, though. David and Snow are coming to get him at nine for breakfast,” she says.

He shakes his head. “I’m not worried.” He dips his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers, and she has to force herself to breathe normally.

She clears her throat. “I’d better go. Have a good day,” she says.

“I’d say it’s off to a pretty great start, love,” he says.

She rolls her eyes, turning around before he can see the smile on her face.

---///---

Killian is pacing a hole into his floor at nine when there’s a knock at his door. He sighs, swinging the door open to reveal David, Mary Margaret and Henry all smiling brightly at him.

Jesus Christ.

“Hello,” he drawls out awkwardly.

Mary Margaret giggles. “We’re going to go get breakfast. Would you like to join?”

Killian raises an eyebrow. His only plan for the day was to sit in his apartment and wonder why he has no control over his actions when Emma’s around. This seems like a better alternative.

“Sure,” he says, slipping some shoes on. “Where to?”

“Grannys, of course!” Henry practically cheers. “And we’re going to surprise my mom and bring her some hot chocolate.”

Killian stops in his tracks, suddenly unsure if he should join. David looks at Killian suspiciously and he can even feel Mary Margaret’s curious eyes on him.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says breezily before anyone can question him

Henry grins. “Awesome! Have you been to Granny’s, Killian?”

The entire walk to Granny’s is filled with mindless chatter, mostly on Henry’s part, and he can’t help but notice the looks that Mary Margaret and David keep exchanging.

“I hate when you guys do that,” Killian says suddenly, staring at his best friend.

David feigns confusion. “Do what?”

“Have conversations with each other without speaking,” he mumbles.

Henry laughs loudly at this. “You guys do actually do that. It’s really weird,” he agrees.

Killian looks at the married couple, pointing at Henry as if that’s proof enough.

“Whatever, Henry. Don’t act like you and your mother don’t have a second language of your own. Half the time, I need a translator just to keep up,” David replies, laughing.

“At least we actually talk, though,” Henry counters. “You guys don’t even say words… just stare at each other.”

Mary Margaret scoffs, glaring at Killian. “Do you see what you’ve started!?”

He laughs fully, shaking his head as he enters Granny’s.

The lunch carries on like that. The conversation is easy and Henry’s kindness and intelligence continues to shock him.

Henry happily leaves with the to go hot chocolate in his hands. “Come on, Killian. My mom’s work is only a block away,” Henry calls, running to catch up to Mary Margaret and David, who are holding hands and giggling together a few feet ahead of them.

Killian starts to get nervous, though. He already feels like a fool when he sees Emma at their house. He knows the moment David sees Killian look at Emma, he’ll know what’s going on.

Henry swings the door open, and Killian looks up at the sign. Blackbird Baking Co.

The bell on the door chimes, and Emma looks up, her face brightening obviously when she sees her family. She grins, wiping her hands on her red apron.

“Hi guys. Couldn’t handle one morning without me?” she asks before her eyes land on Killian. Her mouth opens slightly, surprise crossing her face for a millisecond before she schools her features.

“We brought you hot chocolate with cinnamon,” Henry says proudly, and Emma’s face changes suddenly.

It takes Killian by surprise, the way every single part of her softens when she engages with her son. She smiles, taking the cup from him and shooting him a wink.

“Best kid in the world,” she says.

“Hey, I paid for it,” David calls out defensively, and Emma rolls her eyes.

“Best brother in the world,” she deadpans. “I see you guys have dragged my neighbor out with you today,” she nods at Killian, who’s still standing a bit behind the other three.

“It’s so nice that the two people we love most in this city live in the same house. Makes life so much easier,” Mary Margaret says.

Emma laughs, walking around the counter and wrapping an arm around Henry.

“So, I was thinking…” Mary Margaret starts nervously, and Emma smirks.

“Yes?” she asks knowingly.

“I was thinking we could have a housewarming party? We’ll plan it on a night that Killian’s off, so we don’t have to worry about disturbing him with the noise, and so that he can be there, of course! And we can invite all of our friends so you can get to know them.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I should be surprised it took you this long to suggest such a thing.”

David chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of Mary Margaret’s head affectionately. “I had to really compromise with her on this. She wanted to do it the night you arrived.”

Even Killian laughs at this, and Emma’s eyes dart to him. He smiles kindly, trying to keep his eyes from lingering on her for too long.

“I don’t think I stand much a chance stopping you so okay, Snow. Just… try to keep it lowkey,” she says, dragging her eyes back to Mary Margaret.

“I can be lowkey,” Mary Margaret counters, looking at her husband, who is smirking.

“Sure, honey,” he agrees sarcastically and Henry laughs loudly.

“Well, I think it sounds nice. Mom, you need some friends in your life.”

Emma’s jaw drops, turning to glare playfully at her son. “I have friends!”

She rolls her eyes when Killian, David, and Mary Margaret all begin laughing at the exchange.

“These two don’t count, they’re family,” he says, jabbing his thumb toward his aunt and uncle. “And I don’t count either.”

Emma presses her lips together and motions toward Killian. “He’s my friend.”

“Really?” Henry asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Doubtful. I’m pretty sure I’ve spent more time with him than you have, mom.”

Killian can’t help but raise his eyebrows at Emma when she glances over at him. “The lad’s got a point, Swan. When are you going to come downstairs and hang out with me. I can play video games, too,” he says, and although his voice is teasing, David’s head whips toward Killian immediately.

“You’ve never invited me, Jones. Next time Henry and I have a Super Mario showdown, though, we’ll yell for you.”

He grins widely at her. “I’d be honored to join.”

Mary Margaret giggles lightly, and he doesn’t miss the knowing look she shoots Emma. Or the way Emma shoots a glare back.

Okay, so maybe the silent conversation thing is more of a Mary Margaret thing.

“We’ll let you get back to work, Em,” David says finally. “We’ll see you later though.”

“Thanks for feeding my child, guys,” she says.

“I can fend for myself, you know,” Henry cuts in. “I’m eleven.”

Emma just rolls her eyes, her free hand landing on her son’s shoulder. “You’re practically an adult. See you this afternoon, kid.”

“Are you going to bring home any extra pastries?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows as he looks at the brownies in the display case behind her.

She rolls her eyes. “Goodbye, guys,” she calls and they all turn to leave.

And try as he might, Killian still turns around to get another look at her, and to his surprise, she’s watching him as well.

“See ya later, friend,” he says, and her eyes widen, shaking her head.

“Goodbye, Jones.”

---///---

“So, how is it living under my sister and nephew?” David asks the next day when they are finishing up paperwork at the end of their shift.

Killian shrugs. “Fine. I don’t see much of them, really,” he says quickly, refusing to meet his best friend’s eyes.

“Yeah, that makes sense. You know, you and Emma are eerily similar. I never really thought about it before.”

“Oh, are we?” Killian asks. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

David laughs, and Killian realizes he has said too much. “And why is that?”

Killian rolls his eyes. He’s not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed by his best friend. “I just don’t see it, is all.”

David hums. “Okay. Sure. Just, be careful,” he says.

Killian raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push. He wants this conversation to end yesterday.

David leans back in his chair, the squeaking cutting through the tension. “Killian,” he says quietly.

Finally, Killian looks up. When he meets his friend’s eyes, though, he’s surprised to see genuine sincerity etched into his features. “What is it, mate?” Killian asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

There’s so much love in David’s heart, and he’s always wondered what David even saw in him. When Killian met David, he was in the worst place of his life. It was right after his brother had died. Killian and David met at the precinct on Killian’s first day, which was a month after Liam’s death. He was a right prick at the time, spending every day off hiding in his bedroom and drinking himself to sleep.

David didn’t even know what was going on, but he just seemed to sense that Killian needed someone. So he continuously invited him over for dinner with his wife. Killian declined every time, honestly getting annoyed that the man would not let up.

Then, one day, after a particularly rough shift, David walked up to him and told him they were going to the bar. Seeing as that was much more Killian’s speed, he agreed. David was terrible at holding his liquor, and Killian got plastered as well. Mary Margaret came to pick them up at closing time, and she basically tucked him into bed in their guest room.

The next morning, nursing a hangover, David stood in front of him and said something that Killian will never forget. He said, “I know there’s a lot of good in you. Sometimes, the darkness seems insurmountable, but it’s not. You are better than this, and I’m going to keep harassing you and trying to help you no matter how mad it makes you, Killian.”

Then Mary Margaret made him breakfast and coffee and when he left she hugged him so tightly. He didn’t even know a hug could carry so much emotion.

The rest was history. They basically took him in as their adopted child and he wouldn’t change a thing about it.

When it came to Emma, David always seemed to get that same look in his eyes that he had when he lectured Killian that morning.

David sighs, pulling Killian from his thoughts. “She can use a friend like you,” he says, his words measured.

Killian nods gravely, and David nods before he looks away and changes the subject to a case they’re working on.

---///---

Emma’s leaning against the ledge of her balcony when she spots Killian walking up the sidewalk. She ignores the ridiculous way her stomach lurches, and before she can control it, she’s calling his name. He looks up and smiles so brightly it almost blinds her, even with the distance and the darkness surrounding him.

“How are you still up, Swan? Don’t you work at the crack of dawn?” he calls, stopping in the grass and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have a hard time sleeping,” she admits. “Are you just getting off work?” she asks.

He nods. “Yeah. David and I had to work the once a month 10am to 10pm today.”

“Yuck,” she says. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

For some reason, Emma doesn’t want to let this conversation to die. She feels so much safer with the distance between them, like she can let her guard down and just chat as herself.

He seems to sense this, smiling softly at her. “I also have a hard time sleeping, so it’ll be awhile before I finally fall asleep.”

She nods, looking up at the moon for a minute when she can’t find anything to say.

“So, love, what’s on your mind this evening?” he asks, and she sighs.

“Just thinking about Henry,” she replies honestly. He raises an eyebrow at her in surprise, waiting for her to elaborate. “He’s just so grown up… sometimes, it makes me sad.”

“How so?” he questions, his voice free of any judgement.

Emma leans forward more, trying to get a better look at his face. He’s so beautiful. She’s never described and grown man as beautiful, but looking at him, it’s all she can think.

“I hope he didn’t feel the need to grow up too fast, you know? He deserves a chance to just be a kid,” she explains.

He nods slowly. “I don’t know the lad that well, but if you want my opinion, I’d say that Henry is just a smart, mature kid. I don’t think it’s due to some emotional trauma. He seems like he gets a lot of his qualities from you.”

She scoffs. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He shakes his head, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Trust me, love. It’s not a bad thing.”

She smiles despite herself. “Thanks,,” she says so softly that she’d assume he couldn’t hear her if it weren’t for the next words out of his mouth.

“No worries. Would you like to come down and sit on the porch or should we continue this Romeo & Juliet scenario here?” he asks, and even she can hear the nerves in his voice.

And she wants to say sure.

Yes.

That’s what normal people do.

He watches her carefully as she thinks to herself. “I should probably try to get some sleep, but raincheck,” she says.

And all she can think is she’s such a chicken. He nods, looking a little disappointed.

“Sweet dreams, Swan,” he calls before walking toward the house and out of her view.

“Fuck,” she mutters to herself before heading inside and she definitely does not have sweet dreams about the man living below her.

---///---

It takes Mary Margaret only three days to plan and organize Emma’s housewarming party. She sends David and Killian out to pick up ice, because according to Mary Margaret, there’s no such thing as too much ice. They dropped Henry off at a new friends house on the way, which is giving Emma enough anxiety to last her the rest of the night.

In the meantime, Emma helps her sister-in-law set up. And by help, she means does exactly as instructed.

“So,” Mary Margaret starts, trailing off.

Emma knows that voice well. She has heard it about a hundred times in her life. Mary Margaret came into their lives when Emma was sixteen, and they’ve always been able to read each other.

“What is it, Snow?” she asks.

“I was just thinking,” she starts, keeping her focus on the cheese tray she’s assembling, “You know, Killian is a really good guy.”

“Oh shit,” Emma says immediately. “This was bound to happen, I guess.”

Mary Margaret snorts. “I’m just saying. He’s cute, and he’s nice, and Henry seems to like him.”

“So, should we get married tomorrow then?” Emma asks sarcastically, pulling a beer out of the fridge even though they still have two hours before the party begins.

“In my ideal world, sure,” Mary Margaret teases. “Seriously, Em, I’m just saying. We love Killian and I happen to think you are at least a little intrigued.”

“I don’t know what gives you that idea,” Emma mutters, taking a long swig from her beer as she avoids eye contact with her sister-in-law.

“I saw the weird way you looked at him when we came to the bakery the other day. It was… different. I’ve never seen your eyes look like that before.”

Emma clears her throat, shaking her head. Thankfully, the boys choose the perfect moment to return home. “Thank God,” Emma mumbles, much to Mary Margaret’s chagrin.

“Okay,” David says as soon she he opens her door. “So when Killian and I were trying to do a shot of rum earlier we were sent out of the house to keep out of trouble, but Emma can start drinking beer at six?” he asks.

Killian laughs, walking into the house and smiling. “It’s nice up here, Swan,” he says, eyeing the picture frames on her mantle. She feels exposed, the way he stares at her family photos with obvious interest.

“Thanks,” she says breezily. “And it’s my party, so I say we all start drinking now,” she says.

David grins, setting the ice into the kooler before placing a quick kiss on Emma’s cheek. “What a good host you are,” he says.

Mary Margaret groans. “Actually, Emma. You’ve never had the displeasure of seeing these two when they drink together. It’s in everyone best interest that they hold off.”

Emma barks out a laugh at that. “Okay, that’s something I want to see. Last time I drank with David was, like, four years ago,” she says before bursting into a fit of giggles. “Remember, David! You fell asleep on my porch and my neighbor called the cops because they thought you were homeless.”

Killian’s eyebrows immediately shoot skyward, and even Mary Margaret giggles.

“It was your birthday and we were supposed to take you out on the town,” Mary Margaret reminisces.

“We didn’t even make it out of my apartment thanks to David,” she says between her laughter. She glances over at Killian to see him watching her with a new look in his eyes.

What is that? Curiosity? Surprise? She can’t quite tell.

“He is quite the lightweight,” Killian adds, and Emma beams at him.

“I can’t have this conversation with either of you,” David groans. “You both have super human tolerance.”

“Is that so, Swan?”

Emma raises her beer toward him. “It is so,” she replies, smiling mischievously at him.

He chuckles. “Seems like you’re challenging me,” he mumbles.

She shrugs innocently, walking into the kitchen and retrieving a beer from the fridge. “Cheap beer work?” she asks.

He smirks. “It’s not rum, but it’ll do,” he replies.

Mary Margaret snorts. “Knowing Emma, there’s a flask of rum somewhere around this house.”

David chuckles lightly as Emma rolls her eyes. “Maybe,” she mutters, handing Killian the beer. He leans it toward her and grins.

“Cheers, love.” He stares at her is a way that is so disarming that she has to break eye contact, tapping the bottleneck to his before taking a long swig. She walks away immediately, unable to take the unnerving way that he seems to read her face more easily than anyone else in her life.

David observes them, making a weird hum under his breath that she decidedly ignores. “Okay, so I’m going to take a shower and get ready so that I can look presentable for the people that arrive,” Emma announces, leaving out the part where she just needs to put a physical wall between herself and Killian.

Mary Margaret chuckles. “Okay, Em… are you taking that beer into the shower with you?”

Emma shrugs, “I don’t see why not. I’ve got a lot of socializing ahead of me. I’ll need it.”

Killian laughs. “Besides, she’s gotta keep up with me tonight,” he cut in.

David claps a hand onto Killian’s shoulder. “It will probably be you keeping up with her, bud.”

Before Emma can hear his most likely charming response, she slips into the bathroom and turns the water on, sighing loudly when she can finally catch her breath.

Something about being around Killian and her family at the same time throws Emma for a loop. Because she loves the way he fits into her life seamlessly. And she can’t show that, because Mary Margaret and David will see right through her, and she doesn’t need the typical lectures that they tend to lovingly dole out. It’s always well intentioned, but it makes Emma feels so broken.

If anyone is aware that Emma has some serious issues, it’s her. Her family trying to psychoanalyze her just makes her feel guilty for things out of her control.

She stands under cold water first, silently counting to herself as she tries to pull herself together. Then she turns the faucet all the way to the left, the water suddenly burning her skin. She stands there until her skin turns red, and then turns the water off.

“Okay,” she whispers, staring at herself in the mirror. She quickly dries her hair and gets ready for the night ahead of her.

When she finally exits the bathroom, there’s a new beer sitting on the counter right outside the door. She looks around but Killian, David, and Mary Margaret are nowhere to be found. She allows herself to laugh quietly, bringing the beer to her lips before heading to her room to change.

Emma gets thrown around between David and Mary Margaret like a ping pong ball, both of them tugging her in different directions of her own home to meet their friends.

She smiles and does her best to make small talk, even though it’s never been her strong suit. This isn’t exactly her idea of a fun night, but it makes two of the most important people in her life very happy, so she sucks it up. After everything they’ve done for her in this life, she figures she owes them.

The best part of her night comes from Killian, which is irritatingly not surprising. While she gets stuck in several conversations with strangers, he sneaks behind her and replaces her empty beers with new ones. Most people don’t even notice the sneaky exchange, but she smiles and bites back laughter every time.

The fifth time he does this, she’s engaged in an awkward conversation with a kind man that goes by Archie. She meets Killians eyes over Archie’s shoulder, and he’s smirking at her knowingly from across the room. He raises his own beer toward her before returning to his conversation with Robin.

Finally, Mary Margaret and David are distracted enough in the corner of her living room that she can breathe. She makes her way toward Killian, who is staring down at his phone.

“If I didn’t know any better, Jones, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk,” she says, and he jumps. He beams at her, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to see who can outdrink who. Killian Jones never backs down from a challenge,” he says, his blue eyes dancing.

“I have an idea,” she says suddenly. He does that outrageous thing with his eyebrows that makes her stomach clench, but she does her best to power through. “Follow me,” she says.

He nods, “As you wish, love,” he says quietly, and she ignores the way his low voice makes her skin feel as if it’s on fire.

She looks around to make sure no one is looking, and when she’s satisfied, she opens her bedroom door and pulls him in with her.

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, Swan, I have to say, I definitely think I’m holding my alcohol better than you if you’re already drunk enough to drag me into your bedroom.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Shut up,” she muters. “I’m looking for something.”

“Is it your inhibitions?”

She doesn’t justify his question with an answer, reaching into her sock drawer, digging around the back until her hand meets something metal.

“A-ha!” she shouts, producing her flask from the drawer and waving it in his face. “I do have rum in here,” she says.

“I’m impressed,” he says, eyeing her carefully as she twists the cap on and takes a long pull. She squeezes her eyes shut as the rum burns her throat on the way down. She hands it to him and he takes an appreciative shot.

She smiles. “Hold onto that, would you. My pockets aren’t big enough,” she says, heading back to her door.

“We’re leaving already? I think we can find something to do in here, don’t you?” he questions, and his voice is teasing, but his eyes are dark.

“Come on,” she groans, putting her hands on his shoulders and half pushing him back out of her room. She pretends that the simple act of placing her hands on his body doesn’t send a chill down her spine. And she’s pretty sure he pretends not to notice.

As if her spidey senses are tingling, Mary Margaret sees them as soon as they exit her bedroom. Emma rolls her eyes at the look that crosses her sister-in-law’s face, shaking her head. Killian chuckles beside her and Emma sighs.

“Em!” David calls out, timing perfect as ever. “Come here, I want you to meet my sergeant.”

Emma bites back her groan, leaving Killian’s side to meet yet another face who’s name she will most likely forget by the end of the evening.

The night flies by like that, and she hardly gets another chance to talk to Killian. When she finally sees him again, the party is winding down and Emma is only slightly buzzed, the constant socialization very sobering.

She walks over to Killian, who is sitting on her couch talking to Robin again. “Hey guys,” she says, falling onto the couch beside him. She notices him tense slightly when her arm brushes against his, so she scoots away a bit.

“How are you liking it here, Emma?” Robin asks kindly, and Emma smiles politely. She’s only had to answer this question a dozen times this evening. But she’s aware they all mean well.

“I like it a lot. My neighbor is a little strange but that’s to be expected in a big city I suppose,” she says, and Killian scoffs from beside her.

Robin chuckles, “I work with the guy… you don’t have to tell me how strange he is.”

“Alright,” Kilian cuts in. “Enough of this.”

Emma giggles, and for the first time all night, she feels comfortable. She doesn’t think about how she feels most comfortable sitting beside Killian. Robin says his goodbyes and leaves.

She closes her eyes, resting her head back against the couch cushion.

“Thanks for making tonight bearable, Killian,” she says quietly. She hears him move, feels his arm against hers, and she opens her eyes, turning to find that he’s looking at her with soft eyes. “What?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name,” he says.

Before she can respond, Mary Margaret is back and she’s talking a mile a minute. Killian clears his throat, scooting away ever so slightly. His absence leaves her feeling cold.

The party comes to an end, and Killian leaves after a quick goodbye. She glances back at him when he leaves, sighing when the door shuts and she’s left alone with David and Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret seems to read her face, but glances at David and doesn’t say anything.

They clean everything up, and David and Mary Margaret end up falling asleep on couch. She smiles to herself when she looks at the couple, cuddled together. Then she locks the door, turns off the lights, and puts herself to sleep.

---///---

She can hear Henry rambling on and on from the top of the steps as she locks their door. She assumes he’s talking to Killian on his porch, and her heart pounds in anticipation.

She takes the steps down slowly, biting back her smile as she reaches the porch. She stops short when she sees a beautiful redhead speaking to her son.

“Oh, hi,” Emma says, and she doesn’t mean to sound short, but she can hear how clipped her tone is.

Her arms are full of brown bags filled with groceries. “Hi, hi,” she says, struggling to keep everything in her arms. “I’m just trying to help Killy. Sometimes I surprise him by leaving actual real groceries in his home. I know he gets busy, you know, but having real nutritious food in your kitchen makes life so much easier. Especially when he’s too good of a cook to not have groceries stocked up here. He says I’m overbearing but I think deep down he appreciates it.”

Henry laughs, taking a couple bags from her hands. Emma watches as the woman digs into her pocket and pulls out her keys, fishing out of the one for Killian’s front door quickly.

“Thanks so much,” she says to Henry once she swings the door open. “You’re a real gentlemen.”

Her son smiles, beaming at Emma as he follows her inside and sets the bags down for her. Emma stays on the porch, the idea of stepping into Killian’s apartment without him present making her feel strange.

Henry and the stranger walk back out to the porch and Henry readjusts his backpack. The girl smiles. “I’m Anna. You must be Killian’s new upstairs neighbor,” she says.

“Emma,” she says tightly. “This is Henry. I’m sorry, but we have to get to my brother’s. We are going to be late.”

“Oh, David? Ugh I love David. And Mary Margaret. Talk about a match made in heaven, right?”

Emma raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “Yep, a real fairytale,” she says. “Nice meeting you,” she says before practically dragging a smiling Henry to her yellow bug.

“Why were you so rude to that girl?” Henry asks, but his tone is smug and knowing. Emma shoots him a look as she starts her car.

“I wasn’t rude, kid. We really are running late.”

“We’re always running late. What’s the big deal with today?” he asks. He’s staring out the window, trying to sound more casual than he actually is.

Emma laughs despite herself, swallowing down the irrational anger and jealousy as she pulls into traffic. “I just don’t want to hear it from them today, is all.”

“Sure,” Henry says breezily, not quite able to cover up the laugh in his voice.

---///---

Killian should not be surprised by the way his sisters-in-law both feel the need to insert themselves into his life, playing mother when he has never asked. He laughs when he walks into his apartment to find it stocked with groceries. He knows Elsa is out of town for work, so he falls down onto his couch before he calls Anna.

“Oh, hello Killy!” she greets happily.

“You know I’m capable of doing my own shopping, correct?” he asks lightly.

He can hear the smile in her voice. “Yes, I am. You know that I love you and just want to help you because I know your job is stressful and keeps you very busy, correct?”

“How’s Kristoff?” he asks, because he and Anna have had this conversation so many times it has honestly gotten old at this point.

“He’s good. How’s your neighbor?” she counters, her voice mischievous.

Her question gives him pause. “What do you mean?”

“I met her today when I was bringing in your groceries. She is stunning, Killian! And her son is adorable and kind.”

He doesn’t know why he gets so tense, but he does. “They’re both very nice, yeah,” he says vaguely.

Anna snorts. “Emma wasn’t very nice, actually. But I suppose she didn’t know I was your sister-in-law and therefore got a little jealous. I should have mentioned it, but it slipped my mind. I can relate though. Back in college, I saw this girl talking to Kristoff and I literally lost my mind. It was kind of crazy, since I had only just broken up with Hans. I had no right to be jealous and yet I was. Turns out, it was his cousin. Also, it turns out, you can’t control your irrational anger.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Trust me, Emma was not jealous. She is just a little standoff-ish at first. She’s quite nice once you get to know her, though,” he says, because there’s no way she could have been jealous.

“Hmm, that sounds familiar,” she says innocently.

“Anna,” he groans, rubbing over his face with his hand in frustration.

She giggles. “What, I was talking about Elsa,” she says, but her tone says otherwise.

“Thanks for the food, Anna. I’ll see you and Elsa next weekend,” he says, and she laughs knowingly before she hangs up.

He left his front door open, the screen door closed, letting in the beautiful breeze. It also lets in the noise of Emma and Henry as they walk up the sidewalk.

“Mom,” he whines, and Killian feels affection well up in his chest.

“Henry,” she whines back mockingly. Her son giggles. “Listen, kid,” she says. “You’re right. I’m a big jerk. We’re going to move on and I’ll be better in the future.”

Killian raises an eyebrow, standing up to head out to his porch.

He swings the door open, and Emma’s eyes widen for a split second before she schools her features to her normal guarded look.

“Hey,” she says easily, although there is tension in her tone.

Henry clears his throat. “See ya later, Killian!” he says before heading upstairs to their apartment. Emma glares after her son’s retreating figure before returning her attention to him.

“How are you today Swan?” he asks.

She leans against the front of his porch, looking him over quickly. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Good,” he says. He eyes her carefully, considers her tight smile and distant eyes. “I heard you met Anna earlier.”

“Yep,” she says shortly. “She’s great.”

Killian bites back his smile as he watches her cold eyes avoid his. Oh. Oh. She is jealous, at least a little bit. He wants to let this go on, but decides to let her off the hook. “Yeah. She’s intense but she’s my sister-in-law so what can you do?”

He knows he’s not imagining the way her shoulder slump with relief.

“Sister-in-law?” she asks casually.

He nods, full on smirking now. “I’ve got two of them, actually. They’re incredibly overbearing but I love them anyways,” he says.

She crosses her arms over her chest, smiling slightly. “Oh.”

“Is it possible that you were feeling a bit jealous?”

He’s grinning playfully at her, and she rolls her eyes, sending him a glare. “I have nothing to be jealous of.”

He nods. “I don’t know, love. You seem quite green with envy to me.”

“You wish,” she mumbles, adjusting her messenger bag on her shoulder and glancing at her front door, likely plotting her escape.

“Sorry to upset you, Emma, but you’re something of an open book.”

She finally does look at him, really looks at him, and her eyes are exploring his, searching for something. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she softens slightly.

“I wasn’t jealous,” she says, but it’s teasing now. “See you later.”

She opens her front door and that smile she sends him gives him the courage to reach for her upper arm. She stops, turning to look at him.

“Are you and Henry doing anything for dinner tonight?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Nothing more than mac and cheese on the couch, why?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got all these groceries. Why don’t you guys come down for dinner? We can enjoy it on the porch. It’s going to start cooling down soon.”

She smiles slightly. “You don’t have to cook us dinner.”

He shakes his head. “I know, but I’d like to.”

She sighs, pursing her lips together as she thinks. “What time?”

He claps his hands together happily. “Ah! I knew I could tempt you! It will be ready by seven, my lady.”

She shoots him a look of amusement, shaking her head. “You’re so weird, Jones,” she mutters, but he only smiles wider at her. She turns away, but she glances back at him before heading upstairs, and her eyes are dancing.

---///---

Henry only asks Emma about twenty questions about her and Killian, why he’s making them dinner, he must like her, and does she like him, he’s so cool, before she gets him downstairs by seven.

“Just--kid--stop asking these questions,” she says in a hushed tone as they stand outside his front door on his porch. “He’s just being nice.”

“That’s because he likes you, mom,” Henry whines, but the door swings open to reveal a smiling Killian before she can respond.

And he’s beaming at the two of them. “Ah, Swan! Henry! Just in time!” he practically shouts, and Henry rushes right past him, exploring Killian’s apartment as if he’s searching for hidden treasure.

“Wow, cool!” Henry says, pointing at a ship in a bottle that’s sitting on Killian’s mantle. “It’s like a pirate lives here!”

Killian barks a laugh at that, and Emma shakes her head at her son.

“Yeah, we’ve got a regular Captain Hook on our hands,” Emma deadpans, taking a step further into the apartment. Blacks, greys, and whites surround her. Photos of him with friends or family are framed around his living room, along with nautical themed decor. The place screams Killian, and it makes Emma smile without even realizing it.

He creeps up behind her. “I hope you guys like pasta carbonara,” he says before brushing past her. She tries to ignore the way goosebumps rise along the back of her neck when she feels his breath on her.

“Do you want me to set the table?” she asks, watching as he whizzes around his kitchen with ease. He shakes his head at her.

“I’ve got dinner all set up on the porch, love. You and Henry go sit, I’ll be right out.”

Henry runs out to the table on his front porch, and Emma only lingers for a few seconds, watching as Killian grabs water bottles from his fridge.

Henry’s smile is as bright as the sun when she sits down beside him. “Yeah, mom, he doesn’t like you,” he says, pointing at the beautiful spread on the table. There’s pasta, salad, and bread on the table, and Emma laughs when she looks up to see Killian with three water bottles shoved under his arm, a bottle of wine and two glasses shoved under the other arm. She stands up, grabbing the wine and the glasses from him to ease his struggle.

He smirks at her, watching her closely as she carefully sets down the glasses.

“This is too much, Killian,” she says, and her voice is much softer than she had intended.

He seems to catch the change in her demeanor, head whipping toward her to study her face. She feels warm under his gaze, so she looks over at Henry, who is already piling pasta onto his plate, smiling knowingly down at the table.

The dinner is delicious, and the company is even better. Killian and Henry joke back and forth about stupid things, sometimes poking fun at David, sometimes at Emma. Killian tells them of his love for the sea, how he actually has a boat that has a home down at the docks, how he’d absolutely love to take them out on the water.

It’s overwhelming, for Emma to feel so much ease around a man that makes her feel so…

What?

Alive? Scared? Excited?

She’s not quite sure yet, but it’s too much of something, it sets her on edge.

Or at least, it should. But sitting down, watching him converse casually as he scoops more pasta onto Henry’s plate, it’s almost--easy?

Emma looks over at Henry and smiles, watching as he tries to sneakily grab another piece of bread. “Hey,” she says, and his hand meets his side quickly. Killian chuckles while Emma shakes her head. “It’s a school night. Head upstairs, kid,” she says.

He smiles, jumping up and giving Killian a hug. The action takes him surprise, if the shock on his face is anything to go off of, but his arms circle her son quickly.

“Thanks for dinner!” he says, pulling away and kissing Emma on the cheek. “Night, mom,” he says, and without another word or glance in her direction, he’s running up the stairs in the world’s most obvious attempt to leave them alone.

Killian smirks at Emma, clearly reading the room correctly.

“He’s such a little rascal,” Emma mutters and Killian shrugs.

“He’s a smart lad is all,” he says, standing up to clear the plates from the table.

“Smartass, maybe,” Emma concedes, jumping up and taking the plates from Killian’s hands. “Please, let me clean up.”

“What? No, I won’t hear of it. I invited you to dinner, love,” he says, but when he reaches for the plates again, she takes a step back, leveling him with her hard stare.

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ll clean. You can pour more wine into my glass and wait out here, got it?” her tone conveys that there is no room for argument, so he sighs, holding his hands up in defeat.

It takes her ten minutes longer than necessary to clean everything up. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t linger inside to collect her thoughts before heading back outside. She strolls through his apartment slowly on her way to the porch, taking it all in. Her eyes catch on a photo on the mantle. She stops and walks closer, her heart warming when she sees the frame photo of Killian and David standing in front of Madison Square Garden, smiling happily at the camera. She sighs, and when she gets outside, she finds Killian sitting on the porch swing, sipping slowly from his own wine glass.

He smiles when he sees her, bright and so genuine, before holding out her wine glass. “Ah, Swan, at last! Come sit,” he says, and she slowly approaches him, setting into the spot beside him on the porch swing, thankful for the arm rest between them.

She looks ahead at the street, cars bustling by, even at ten at night, and she tries not to focus on the fact that she can feel Killian staring at her profile.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says, finally turning to look at him. His eyes are too soft, too understanding. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?” she asks, if only to start a conversation and hopefully get him to stop looking at her like… that.

He smiles fondly, if not a little sadly, and looks out at the street as well.

“My brother taught me, actually,” he says, his voice distant.

“What’s his name?” Emma asks, taking in the sounds of the city.

She’s lived in small towns, the countryside, big cities, but none quite like New York City. There is always noise, always people walking around, and always lights. Somehow, though, it’s become more of a comfort to Emma. Now, she can’t imagine going to sleep without the sounds she’s become accustomed to relying on.

“His name was Liam,” Killian says after a beat. She stops, turning to look at him again. His eyes are set firmly on her yellow bug that’s parked in front of the house.

“Was?” she repeats, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

He nods. “He died, about six years ago now. He was in a car accident, hit by a drunk driver. He died instantly,” Killian says, and Emma can almost hear the horrid memory in his voice.

“Killian,” she says, drawing in a sharp breath. He doesn’t respond. She reaches out to him, placing her free hand on top of his. He looks down at the hand, then at her. He examines her face, and she keeps her eyes on his for once, trying to convey her emotions without speaking. Trying to show him that there is no pity in her eyes, just understanding and support.

He nods. “It was long ago now, the wound isn’t quite as fresh but…” he trails off, seemingly searching for the rest of his sentence, when she finishes it for him.

“It hurts just the same.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Aye.”

She squeezes his hand once before returning it to her lap.

“You can tell me about him, if you want.”

So he tells her about Liam. About how their mother passed away and how their father turned to alcohol to soothe his pain. How Liam stepped up and took care of Liam, raised him to be an upstanding man. How he was the moral compass that Killian needed in his darkest hours. How he taught Killian how to cook a great meal, but how Killian was never quite able to make lemon bars anywhere near as well Liam could.

In return, she tells him about her life in foster care. In homes where no one cared about her, where was neglected, abused, and forgotten. And about how David befriended her in high school, and when he learned of her home life, or lack thereof, he and Ruth took her in without question.

He smiles at her, and she feels the warmth trapped in her ribcage spread from her toes to her fingertips.

“I’m no stranger to loss,” she says quietly. And he doesn’t ask for more, doesn’t pry at all. Just watches her, waits for more. She takes a sip of her wine before continuing. “Henry’s father, Neal, passed away a few years ago,” she confides.

He winces. “Swan, I’m sorry. Were you guys married?” he asks.

She shakes her head, a little to vehemently, she thinks. “No, no. We fell in love when I was seventeen. We were just kids. He wasn’t much in the picture after I got pregnant. He had a gambling issue, and just a sticking around issue, it seemed. But, when Henry was six, he got his life together, and he really showed up for Henry. He did his best to make up for lost time, really, and I was really happy for him.”

Killian reaches forward this time, just letting his hand settle softly on her knee, and her entire body feels alight.

“He got lung cancer. It all happened fast. About six months from the time of his diagnosis to the time that he died. That’s all.”

“Gods, Emma,” Killian breathes.

She nods. “After he died, I think I lost it, a little. It’s just, well, I didn’t know how to cope. I lost so much in my life before David came around and brought family and love into my life. And I didn’t want Henry to hurt anymore, but I didn’t know how to make that happen. We moved a bunch, and I never felt quite settled anywhere.”

Killian’s quiet for a minute, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. He’s processing. “And New York is another in the long line?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No.”

He smiles slightly. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She sets her empty wine glass down on the porch, sighing.

“I’m glad you’re my neighbor,” she tells him, because she doesn’t know what else to say, and she doesn’t know how to convey how grateful she is that he just listened to her ramble with kindness in his eyes, but she has to say something.

“Emma,” he says, a little breathless, and she looks over at him. His face is different. His heart is truly on his sleeve when he reaches forward and brushes her hair behind her ear.

“What’s happening?” she asks.

He laughs. “Well, not to be presumptuous, darling, but,” he trails off, running his fingers slowly over his lips and smiling at her mischievously.

She scoffs, green eyes locked on his blue ones. The smug action should not be so charming, but, dammit, it really is. She can’t even fight the smile playing on her lips. “Please,” she breathes. “You couldn’t handle it.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, and it’s ridiculous, the things he does with those eyebrows, and how it constantly affects her.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he practically purrs,

That’s all it takes for her to lean forward and catch his lips with her own. It’s awkward, at first, the wooden armrest between them lodged into her side as she leans forward, trying to get closer, one hand gripping at the collar of his shirt while the other finds its way to his hair. But when he groans with pleasure into her mouth, she forgets the pain in her side.

When she pulls his away, his eyes are open, free, and she sighs, resting her forehead against his for a minute.

“That was, uh--” his voice is hoarse, and she cuts him off before he finish.

“A one time thing,” she says sternly, backing away and standing up.

A look of hurt crosses his face as he processes her abrupt mood change. She can barely look at him, feeling like the coward she knows she is.

“It’s late, I should go,” she says, her voice shaking.

“Goodnight, Emma,” he says, his voice faraway, and she doesn’t spare him another look before she heads upstairs, where it’s safe and there is a considerable amount of space between them.

---///---

She spends the next two weeks guiltily rushing away from him every time they run into each other on the porch. He shoots her these knowing looks, and it gets under her skin, the fact that he clearly understands how scared she is. It would be better if he just looked mad or annoyed. But no, of course, Killian Jones is nothing but understanding and compassionate. And he really can read her, terrifying as that is.

When Henry tells Emma he’s going to a sleepover at a friend’s house, she makes it a point to call Mary Margaret and demand a girls night in. Because heaven forbid she spends the night alone above Killian Jones.

When she gets to Mary Margaret and David’s apartment, she lets herself in and calls out into the empty space. “I’m here, I’ve got wine, let’s start drinking… like, five minutes ago!”

She looks around, sighing, but smiles when she sees the door to her balcony cracked open. She heads out to see David, Killian and Mary Margaret all talking, sitting in the little chairs on the balcony. Emma stops short, fighting back a loud groan when Killian’s kind eyes reach hers.

“Hey, Swan,” he says easily, though he’s more reserved than usual.

“Hi,” she says, her voice scratchy to her own ears.

There’s a moment of silence, and neither David nor Mary Margaret feel the need to jump in and save them. The married couple just keep looking at each other knowingly, seemingly having an entire conversation without speaking a word.

“Okay,” David says finally, and Emma lets out an audible sigh of relief, much to Killian’s chagrin. “Killian, you ready to head out?” he asks, clapping his hands together awkwardly.

“Where are you guys going?” Emma asks as Killian stands.

“Poker night at Robin’s,” Killian says, and Emma nods.

“Have fun.”

David eyes Emma, and she looks away because no one knows her better than David, and she doesn’t want him to see right through her, like he always does.

They say their goodbye and move to leave the balcony, but David stops and places a kiss on Emma forehead. “You okay, Ems?” he asks quietly against her hair.

She nods, sending him a half-hearted smile before she pushes him toward the door lightly. He sighs and leaves with his friend. Emma groans, falling into the seat that Killian had just vacated, and glares over at Mary Margaret.

“They wouldn’t stop talking. They were supposed to leave a half hour ago, I swear,” Mary Margaret says. Emma just frowns, replaying the look in Killian’s eyes over and over in her head. “I’ll go get the glasses,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma nods, leaning back into her seat and closing her eyes.

Mary Margaret comes back with two glasses, and Emma wastes no time in popping open the wine bottle and pouring a generous amount into both glasses.

“I kissed him,” she mutters into her glass.

Mary Margaret smiles at Emma, the exact opposite reaction that Emma was hoping for. Also, the exact reaction she was expecting.

“Of course you did, Em,” she says softly. “You like him.”

Emma pouts, and Mary Margaret laughs. Emma stretches her legs out, glad she chose to wear jeans and sweatshirt, as fall was finally hitting full force and the temperature had dropped considerably.

“What’s so bad about kissing him? He’s a good guy, Emma. I know you can see that.”

“I just… don’t have time. And he’s my neighbor, I mean… when it all goes to hell, it’s going to be so awkward. Plus, Henry is really attached to him already, so I don’t want to ruin that either.”

“When it all goes to hell?” Mary Margaret repeats back, and then shakes her head in a way that can only be described as motherly.

“It always does.”

“Yeah, that’s how it works. Different relationships don’t last for varying reasons, until you’re in one that does work.”

Emma levels her sister-in-law with a look. “Says the girl that married her high school sweetheart.”

Mary Margaret laughs lightly at this, taking another sip of her wine. “My situation is very rare, and just a matter of dumb luck…” she trails off, considering her words. “And also, a matter of hard work. It wasn’t easy when we were in college, trying to figure out our paths, separately and together. We worked through it.”

Emma nods, remembering her years as Mary Margaret’s roommate, listening to the struggles of the couple navigating this new phase of life.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, tell me this,” she urges, taking a new approach. “What do you like about Killian?”

Emma groans, and she feels heat rush to her cheeks. “I don’t know, Snow. He’s kind. And he’s so good with Henry. He makes me laugh… but also… it’s weird. He just… sometimes, when he looks at me, it’s like we’ve known each other our whole lives.”

She can hear how cheesy her own words are, but she doesn’t know how else to explain her attraction to all things Killian Jones.

Mary Margaret beams, nodding. “Sounds pretty nice to me,” she says.

Emma pours more wine into her glass, decidedly ignoring her sister-in-law for a moment.

She continues, though. “Emma, it’s pretty obvious he’s half in love with already.”

That’s all it takes for Emma to choke on the wine she’s in the process of swallowing. Emma frowns, looking down at the spots of red on her grey sweatshirt, but Mary Margaret only chuckles in response.

“I know Killian pretty well. He’s one of the most decent men I’ve gotten to know. He also wears his heart on his sleeve, when it comes to the people he loves. His eyes scream I love Emma Swan every time you’re in his vicinity, or even when David or I bring you up around him. I know you’re frightened, Emma, but you know, being scared is a good sign. Sometimes, when something scares you, that means you need to go for it.”

She considers her words. She’s gotten enough pep talks from Snow in her lifetime that she expected this lecture. However, she didn’t expect to find it so convincing.

“You need to have a little hope, Emma. Sometimes, just believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing. And no one deserve a happy ending more than you.”

“What if my happy ending really is just Henry and me,” Emma interjects, but the words lack the conviction she means for them to have.

“That’s fine, too. Just, don’t settle. Life is too short, and you know that to be true.”

---///---

Emma mulls over Mary Margaret’s words, but it’s still a week before she talks to Killian again. She actually has to ask David to send her Killian’s phone number, rolling her eyes when he follows up the text with no less than fifteen questions about why she needs his number.

The thing is, though, that Henry called Emma saying that he forgot his keys at home, and she knows that she won’t be home until nine due to a wedding that she’s catering. He’s on the bus home when he tells her this, and she panics, knowing it’s close to thirty degrees outside, and knowing that the kid most definitely ignored her when she told him to dress for the weather.

Mary Margaret and David are out of town for a romantic long weekend at a bed and breakfast in some sleepy down in Maine, and she doesn’t know who else to call.

“Hello?” his voice answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Killian,” she says, and she winces at the breathless sound of her voice.

There’s one second of silence that somehow stretches on for years before he responds. “Swan?” he asks, disbelief clear in his voice. “Are you alright?”

She smiles despite herself. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just stuck at work and Henry is going to be home any minute and he’s going to be locked out because he forgot his keys and I forgot to hide the spare so I was wondering, you know, if you’re home, and free, if you--”

He cuts off her run-on sentence. “I’m home. I’d be happy to entertain the lad in my home while you work, love,” he says.

She breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Killian, really,” she says, hoping her tone conveys her gratitude.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

The line goes silent and she sighs. “I have to go back to work.”

“Of course,” he says, not unkindly. “See you later.”

She hangs up before she can say something stupid, like how much she misses him, and how much she needs to see him.

When Emma gets home, it’s nearing eleven o’clock at night, and she’s beyond exhausted. She knocks lightly on Killian’s door, trying to ignore the way her arm is shaking with nerves.

He opens the door after a moment, and it’s quiet inside. She looks past him to see Henry asleep on the couch, a red blanket tossed over him. Emma smiles at the sight, then looks at Killian, who is leaning against the doorframe looking criminally handsome in his flannel pajama pants and black t-shirt.

“Hi,” she finally says, and he smiles in response. “You’re my hero.”

He laughs, rolling his eyes as she moves to the side to allow her to enter his apartment. They walk quietly past the living room, back into the kitchen so they can talk freely. Her heart is pounding against her chest.

He turns to her, leaning against his counter. “What’s been going on, Swan?” he asks, his voice free of judgment.

She shakes her head, staring down at her shoes. “I’m terrified of you.”

She doesn’t need to look up at him to know that his gaze is intense and on her only.

“Am I frightening, love?” he asks, his voice a little teasing. She laughs, looking back up at him, and his face is kind. And lonely. “You know, I’ve missed your sass these past few weeks.”

She shakes her head. “I have more to offer than sass, Jones,” she mutters.

“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says.

She reaches into her messenger bag, pulling out the small tupperware. His brows knit together with confusion.

“I made you something… as a thank you, for watching Henry tonight.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Emma. It’s really no problem.”

She rolls her eyes. “They may not be as good as the ones your brother made, but Henry loves my lemon bars, so I thought I’d make you some.”

He stares at her like she just presented him with all the fortune and riches this world has to offer. He takes the box from her gingerly, staring down at it with wonder before setting his eyes back on her.

“This is very kind, Swan,” he says finally, his voice trembling slightly.

She shrugs, stepping into his space slightly. He doesn’t move closer, though, he lets her control the situation. “Killian, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” she sighs, fighting the urge to break eye contact. “The answer to your question… you do frighten me. It’s not your fault, it’s me.”

She stops, and he nods. “I knew you were scared, Swan. I’ve been trying to give you space.”

“Yeah,” she says, reaching her hand forward to rest lightly on his forearm. “Yeah, I noticed. What was that about me being an open book?” she asks, and he laughs quietly. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

“Neither did I,” he agrees.

She takes the tupperware from him with her other hand, placing it on the counter behind him. “So, what now?” she asks after a beat.

He shrugs. “What do you want, Swan?”

His body surrounds her now, she’s left very little space between them. She searches his eyes for an answer to his question, and then she takes the leap. “I’d like to try something new,” she says.

“Really? And what’s that, darling?” he asks.

Her heart leaps at the endearment, and she doesn’t even bother trying to fight the smile on her face. “Trust.”

He laughs, full and joyous, and she leans forward to press her lips to his.

His hands tangle in her hair quickly, and she’s so happy that she laughs lightly into the kiss, and he responds in kind. He pulls away, pressing soft kisses to her nose, her cheeks, her forehead.

She’s giggling the entire time, and it feels like an out of body experience. She doesn’t know this Emma, this brave, terrified, thrilled Emma.

It’s his phone that interrupts them, and she jumps a bit at the sound. He rolls his eyes, pulling it from his pocket to silence it. She leans forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“I missed you, too, Killian,” she admits, and he laughs, running his hand down her side, settling it on her hip.

They stand like that for a moment, and she pulls back slightly to kiss him once more when they’re interrupted again.

“Mom?”

She jumps away quickly, and Emma looks up to see Killian’s face turning red. She turns around to see her sleepy son staring at them with awe.

“Hey, kid, did we wake you?”

He just raises his eyebrows in disbelief, shaking his head. “Are those lemon bars?” he asks, looking past her to the container on the counter.

She rolls her eyes, and he just shrugs. “Save me some. I’m going back to sleep.”

With that, he turns around and Emma is staring at Killian, who is chuckling at the entire scenario they’ve found themselves in.

It’s only three months more of them getting to know every single thing about each other that he tells her he loves her. He whispers it into her ear one evening on the couch. And for the first time in a long time, her instinct isn’t to run. It’s too press her lips to his shoulder and tell him that she’s so in love with him, that he’s changed her life.

Three months after that, they decide it makes more sense for Emma to move in with him, and Henry couldn’t be happier when the new neighbors move in, giving him a new friend, Violet, to spend time with. Emma doesn’t miss the way his cheeks redden when the young girl waves at him.

And it’s hard work, sometimes. Emma has to learn how to really open herself up, to be truly vulnerable, but it’s worth it. It's the happy ending she never could have imagined for herself, but it's the one that eventually, she realizes, she deserves.