#david's mother DIED and the last thing he gave david before he left school was a page full of skeletons

[britneyshakespeare]

That's so sad man I'm sorry to hear that. Hey if you want I can draw you a page full of skeletons

[misslavenderlady]

Introducing the newest member of the @ghoulgeousimmaculate Lost Boys universe (PTPA and Enemies)

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

Puppy 🐾

Real Name: Oliver Wolf 

Age: 22

DOB: June 10th 

Sire: Sis 

Traits:

Kind

Compassionate

Hardworking

Loyal 

Affectionate

Soft

Sensitive

Helpful 

Nervous 

Stressed

Protective

Emotional

Background: 

Puppy is the newest addition to the coven, and the first boy to join in decades. Though it was difficult for David to open up his heart to another man after getting it broken by Michael Emerson, he took a chance for the sake of his beloved bride. The new baby bat is as loyal as they come, and desperate to please his beloved queen. Safe to say he fits into the family perfectly.

Oliver’s human life involved living as a gentle soul in a cruel world. He was cared for by his father, Thomas, after his mother, Amy, died from breast cancer when he was a toddler. His parents were already struggling to make ends meet, but the medical bills and funeral arrangements financially crippled his father. It wasn’t easy for them. Thomas would work nearly every single day, balancing two jobs in construction and food delivery to make ends meet. He was in a constant state of exhaustion.

Every last penny had to be spent as carefully as possible. There had to be difficult choices, like whether they would go without heat or water for a while depending on which bill was paid. Having to double, even triple check every last item before checking out at the grocery store. Though his father was a brave man who stayed optimistic for his son, Oliver still could hear his father gently crying in his room, feeling all too somber over what he was going to do. 

School was a struggle as well. Not only were some kids viciously cruel towards Oliver due to his lack of money for lunches and stopping by donation lots for hand-me-downs, but he also happened to live in a particularly homophobic community. He had some feminine traits to his appearance, meaning bullies found him to be easy pickings. All in all, he was an average student who just kept his head down so others wouldn’t bother him. It was impossible to make lasting friendships, but he was a lot like his father in that way; stuck in survival mode. 

Oliver had absolutely no sights set on college. When he graduated high school, that was it. He had no money or talents worthy of scholarships, meaning that was the farthest he would ever get for his education. All he wanted to do was help out his father. So he followed the man in his footsteps, taking on hard labor fresh out of school. He got his job experience in retail, ringing up orders and getting screamed at by Karens for mere minimum wage. Still, it helped take the burden off of Thomas, and that’s all he wanted. 

Unfortunately, Thomas never got a happy, restful ending. He fell asleep at the wheel after working one of his many all-nighter shifts and crashed into a tree. The only peace Oliver got from such a terrible loss was knowing his father went quickly. 

There was no hope in the hometown Oliver grew up in, and nobody left to call family. He decided to just hike out to the west and see if the grass was greener on the other coast. It was an incredibly dangerous journey, but he felt it was worth it when he finally arrived in Santa Carla. He had heard great things about the city getting cleaned up over the past few decades, and he could certainly see that with all the bright lights, beautiful beach spots and amazing businesses on the boardwalk. It gave him a newfound sense of optimism. 

Of course, Oliver had to start from the ground up. He found work as a waiter at a popular Italian restaurant in order to pay for the shoe box of an apartment he was set up in. While daytime shifts were pleasant and easy, he found that there was a change in the atmosphere when nighttime came. Tourists always had a blast, but familiar faces to the area seemed on edge. They became cold and silent towards him. If they did speak to him, it was advice to keep his head down and mind his own business.

He found that the locals were quite secretive and paranoid. As if some terrible force had its control on them. As if it was a secret they all held. 

One day he learned why that was. On a beautiful, moonlit night, a couple came into the restaurant. Voices hushed to pure silence as a stunning woman and her platinum blond lover made their way to a private table in the back. Oliver would have been confused at such a reaction if he hadn’t been so captivated by the lady. Sis was her name, as he learned. He got tongue-tied and red in the face as he stumbled through taking her order. He was quite embarrassed, but she was amused by his behavior. 

Sis was so happy with his service that she had her husband, David, leave Oliver a huge wad of cash for a tip. Enough to cover the rest of his rent for the month. From that moment on, he became their go-to server whenever they came by. 

Oliver never understood why his co-workers never wanted to serve the couple. They were charming, generous, and always complimented him for his hard work. He even found that Sis was growing quite smitten with him, often flirting to a point of making him blush. Though Oliver worried it would bother her husband, he found out later that they were actually quite open in their relationship, as they’d often bring other dates. Sometimes they shared a partner, sometimes they had separate ones. It was inspiring with him, especially since he was coming to terms with his own identity. 

One night while Sis was dining with David, Oliver tripped and spilled a glass of wine all over her dress. His coworkers all scattered to the kitchen, scared of how the couple would react. But before David could reveal his nature and tear the boy to shred, Oliver immediately jumped into action. He gathered various material and offered to clean the dress himself. Even pay for the damage if he had to. The guy was down on his knees, tending to Sis with the utmost care. It was then that David realized there was a greater purpose for Oliver. Something he could use for the benefit of his wife. 

After the restaurant closed that night, Oliver’s boss warned him not to get involved with the couple. He even offered to put Oliver on the day shift since they never came in during that time. But it was too late. Oliver was starting to develop feelings for Sis. She was truly perfect in his eyes, and he would work hard for her just as his father had done for his mother. 

Little did he know just what that would entail.

On his walk home, Oliver was followed by three handsome men. He assumed they were just random locals until he heard sinister giggles from behind him. He looked behind for merely a second, but it was just enough for the three to get the jump on him. He blacked out after one of them injected him with something.

The next time he woke up, he found he had been kidnapped. Oliver was bound and chained in a strange room full of torture devices. He slipped into a state of panic before a familiar voice greeted him. It was David, now showing his true colors. He explained how fond Sis was of Oliver, and that he wanted to give him to her as a “gift”. It was then that David and the other Lost Boys revealed their darkest secret.

They were all vampires. Blood-sucking monsters that preyed on the fear of Santa Carla. It was why everyone was so fearful of them. They were tormented by creatures of the night. Oliver hadn’t known a terror quite like that. 

For a few months afterward, each of the boys took turns in “training” their newest member of the coven. They taught him how to take both pain and pleasure, follow every command, memorize every code of the pack, and most importantly, how to make the queen happy. David found that the best tool in corrupting the boy was using his crush on Sis against him. He promised the two could be happy together. That she adored him. That he could be with her forever and never lose her like he did his family. 

It reshaped his mind, slowly turning him into an obedient, desperate-to-please slave. By the time his training was complete, he was given a new name like all the other mates. 

Puppy. 

David presented him to Sis as an anniversary present. He was freshened up with the finest soaps and oils, had his gorgeous curls styled, and dressed in clothing with soft colors. Puppy even had his own collar. Something only Sis had the key for. David explained that this new mate was a gift to make up for what he did to her cat, Queen. Puppy was more than eager to take on his new role. He believed that his true purpose was to take care of her. To worship her. To make her happy. Sis was overjoyed, and she played with him quite a bit that first night~

He’s now a vampire like all the others, acting as a servant to the coven and a guard dog to the baby bats. He’s still got the sweet, adoring personality from his human life, but Sis’ blood has dialed that part of his personality up to an 11. 

Puppy struggles with terrible fits of anxiety from time to time. He’s seen what kind of punishments the others face when they disobey their Head Vampire. Not to mention the Toy Room left him mentally scarred. Whenever someone so much as threatens it, he falls to his knees and sobs out, begging for mercy. It’s gotten to a point where he needs medication for these moments. Whenever he doesn’t use a prescription, Paul will get him some special gummies to calm him down.

He’s also incredibly territorial when it comes to Sis. If they’re out together and he feels someone is disrespecting her, he goes on a rampage, screaming, cussing, fighting and even tearing apart anyone who would even think to speak to his queen in such a way. Sis has affectionately named him her guard dog. 

Fun Facts:

Insecure of smiling with teeth before he turned (never really got proper care for them)

Knows advanced first aid.

Wanted a pet growing up, but wasn’t able to bring one in.

Misses the hugs his dad used to give. His father was a warm-hearted man who gave great bear hugs. It’s why he’s so affectionate too.

Is nicknamed “Angel” by Marko. The two look somewhat similar, and Marko sees him as the angel to his little devil.

Identifies as Pansexual.

Hates smoking. He’s often teased by the Lost Boys for coughing over their cigarettes.

Is originally from Pennsylvania.

Was gifted a special necklace by Sis when he joined the coven. It’s a metal collar that can’t be removed by anyone but her. The tag is engraved with her initial.

Is the only one in the coven to be sired by Sis. Everyone else has been given blood from David and the boys, but since he is a gift for Sis, he was turned by her so they’d have a special connection. 

Loves playing basketball. He played it a lot during after school programs and at the park, so now he plays with the others whenever he’s in the mood for a game. He’s hoping to teach the children how to play when they’re older. 

Relationships:

Thomas and Amy - Parents. Both deceased. Loved them both dearly. 

David - Leader/King. He looks up to the brave, charismatic vampire. Shows him the utmost respect and appreciation. Fears him whenever he’s angry.

Sis - Mistress/Queen. Worships the very ground she walks on. Fell in love with her at first sight, and did not hesitate to become a vampire for her. Believes his new purpose in life is to be her loyal pet and do whatever she wishes. Sis thinks he’s precious, and has a lot of fun using him as her own personal toy. She also has a weakness for freckles, of which he has plenty.

The Lost Boys - Coven Brothers/Superiors. He’s the first male member of the pack to not hold authority. He’s the lowest in the chain of command, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t cared for. In fact, the others adore him, often treating him like a Sugar Baby. He works for them however they want, and they reward him with plenty of cash and goodies. It gives him a rush since he never had such luxuries before. 

The Brides - Coven Sisters/Superiors. The girls adore Puppy, both as a friend and as a piece of eye candy. They’re grateful to have someone to keep authority over. The boys robbed them of their independence, so Puppy acts as their own toy to bring back their power. Unlike the boys, they aren’t needlessly cruel. They’re very sweet to him and very generous with rewards. 

The Children - Honorary nieces/nephews. Puppy is an excellent caretaker whenever the coven needs help with the kids. Growing up in poverty, he had his fair share of experience seeing kids of all ages struggling, and they all did what they could to help one another. He’s not sure if he wants a child of his own, but he doesn’t mind hanging out with the little ones for now.

Tag List:

@britany1997 @vampirefilmlover @bezinful @american-idiot-jpg @bloodywickedvamp @dwaynesluscioushair @crustyboypix @gh0ulofficialbackup @bigcreatorwombatdreamer

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Cyberpunk Edgerunners: David Martinez: Shadow of the Special

So if you havent watched Cyberpunk: Edgerunners (Go watch it)

This here is our Main Protagonist. David Martinez.

Looks like your typical 17 year old punk prep wannabe.

But in truth there is much more than meets the eye.

Son of Gloria, an EMT and single mother that is busting her butt to send him to Arasaka academy so that way he could climb the corporate ladder and get out of the slums.

After a car accident thanks to some thugs, his mother ended up dying and with only a piece of tech that he found in his apartment, had to find a way to make a living. He ends up getting recruited by Maine's crew and becoming an edgerunner.

What occurs is a turbulent year in which David finds love, gets upgraded with enough tech to make him closer to an android than a cyborg, and caught in a tech war between Arasaka and Militech.

But thats just some background. Now I discuss what makes David a Shadow of the special.

(Spoilers below

What do I mean by Shadow?

I think one way of describing it is more or less letting oneself copy another's mannerisms, goals, motivations, and/or philosophy. Whether the individual is equal, better or worse at it doesnt matter. What matter's is that they acclimate it to themselves.

Now I know the argument that is going to be "But David has his own personality dreams and mindset and..." Now I am going to stop you right there. David does have a personality, but he doesnt have his own dreams. Which you will see soon enough.

Shadow of his Mother

David spent his life raised by his mother and before the events of the show, was a Straight A student that was brilliant but had a pension for some shady tech.

He had no interest in being a "Corpo" basically a corporate employee and was only attending the school because his mother dream was for him to succeed. Or specifically "Make it to the top of Arasaka tower"

Now kids are often shaped by their environment and their parents. Now despite the hardships, David was doing great in school in terms of grades. Though faulty tech and him trying to steer clear of spending money (Which was to help not burden his mother). Caused him to get into trouble.

Now David almost gets expelled over glitching the classroom environment and his mother reinforces her dream for him. His one time saying he would drop out of school to get a job was swept away immediately. His idea or goal was dismissed. Unfortunately thats the last thing he hears from his mother because she gets mortally wounded from an accident. Despite surgery, she didn't have the coverage that probably would have saved her life. (Trauma team could have saved her but due to not being a 'Policy holder') she and David were basically left to die.

After his mother passed, David was left with all her bills and debts. He dawns her EMT jacket and wears it for most of the series.

This was when David had to try and find a means of providing for himself. Thus becoming a shadow of his mother.

Shadow of Katsuo

So during this rather painful time, a piece of garbage and son of an exec Katsuo Tanaka bullied David. Katsuo had beaten his ass with his tech upgrades that gave him fast martial art moves. After which he mocked his upbringing and called his mom a whore for money.

And one would think that this brat would ease up after hearing David's mother passed. Nope, dude calls him up to mock the way his mother died. This is what pushed David too far.

David took the Sandevistan as an "Upgrade" taking advice from his bully. Which then resulted in David assaulting him during class, now that David was on the front foot. David had Left the shadow of his mother and decided that he would get payback. Using his power to take whats his.

As much as people and he himself would argue want to disagree, this is the case. But thankfully this is very brief.

Shadow of Lucy

So this one is less of him emulating Lucy and more pursuing her. Meeting her when she was on the train pickpocketing (cyberpunk style) anyone affiliated with Arasaka.

She quickly takes him in with a 70/30 split. Basically her 'Training him'. He starts following her lead and when she pulls him from the scalper he starts falling in love with her.

Lucy then tells him about her dream of going to the moon, something he originally saw as dumb until she shared the VR experience which made him enjoy the trip.

Of course this part does lead into where Derek starts to truly become a shadow of someone and thats...

Shadow of Maine

This is the leader of the group of Edgerunners, and as soon as he is introduced his impact on David is clear.

Maine was suppose to be the one to get the Sandevistan that David had equipped to himself. Now David finds out that his mom was helping these guys out by smuggling tech, which was how she got the funds for things outside of her EMT job.

Maine decides to give David a chance to prove himself and sure enough, has him join the crew.

We see David view Maine as a father figure, asking for jobs, guidance, even talking with him for advice.

Maine became his new guide in this new life. David even said he wanted tech similar to Maine's. Which Maine agreed he could have if he croaked.

After Maine's death, David ends up taking charge for the year and he is compared to Maine. Even getting very similar cybernetics (and having the same reaction when they were spiraling with Cyberpsychosis)

David even lead the group like Maine would, and even tried to mentor a newbie, like Maine did for him. Giving the kid a "Fair shake".

Though unlike Maine, he wasnt as good at keeping new recruits alive.

Lucy points out that David is still not living his own life, living with expectations and goals others had for him.

But David does outgrow Maine and becomes the shadow of someone else.

Shadow of Adam Smasher

David's affinity for cyber implants was considered amazing, which was why he was able to actually able to use the Sandevistan. And after being an Edgerunner for a year, with his amount of chrom, The doc even called him "Adam Smasher 2.0"

A statement of how "Special" David was. And when he got that new exoskeleton (a set up by Militech) in order to test out his cyber affinity. Arasaka sent Adam Smasher to deal with him when he was heading towards them.

Adam and David clashed, Adam thinking David was a punk way over his head that thought he was special. While David said he was and their fight was... pretty one sided.

Adam basically ripped through David like butter.

David realized that he wasnt going to be able to beat him, and decided to buy time so the remainder of his team could actually escape.

It was in this moment David stepped out of the shadow of Adam. Now not just trying to achieve the goals of others, or even a selfish desire to get stronger, but to protect Lucy. The one he loved. Getting her the money to take her to the moon, though he wouldnt be able to join her.

Adam beat him down and David was left ripped up. Though Adam actually showed respect and said he would make a good construct. (Basically another like him).

But instead of accepting it, David said "Get f***ed Choom"

Which Adam then ended his life.

For most of the series, David was always a shadow of what someone expected him to be or the shadow of someone he admired. And he was a talented young man, someone you could say had a special talent. But he didnt have his own personal dreams or goals and ended up copying those around him.

But only in his final moments, when he took his life in his own hands and did things his way did he finally become true to who he is.

He was a shadow of the special, not special in his own right. but thats what makes him so fascinating and tragic

[axwalker]

If The World Was Ending: Even if he was wicked

Synopsis: When Bianca leaves her son without looking back, Drake has to live on the streets until he finds a home with Angelica Ortiz--Lexie’s grandmother and a foster mom. With the Ortiz, Drake finds a family and falls madly in love, until a tragic night changes everything, threatening the life Drake fought so hard to get.

To catch up (HERE)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Lexie O’Brien (MC) The Royal Romance.

A/N: This will be a very angsty, full of drama, small town romance.

Words: 4,120

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry, except for Lexie’s grandmother and mother.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Child neglect, abandonment, sexual assault, prison and a very entitled, “evil” Liam

Due to the several trigger warnings and some of the subjects I’ll be dealing with, I will only tag people who actively asked for it. If you want to be tagged in the following chapters --or untagged, please leave a comment. 

Drake

2008

When I was 12 years old, my mother took off with my little sister leaving me in Cordonia with my father's best friend. I reminded her too much of my father, too much of a life she would do anything to forget. That "anything" included abandoning her oldest son. I'd like to say I was surprised, but the truth is I wasn't. Bianca Walker had never been a motherly woman. The only reason she had taken Savannah with her was that my Aunt Leona adored her. I was sure my mother would dump my little sister on her and never look back. I hoped that was the case, Leona despised me, but she was great to Savannah. 

A short time after that, Bastien passed away and my mother was nowhere to be found. That's when I started to go from one home to another. The first year and a half were the hardest ones. I lived with four different families, each one worse than the last. First, the Lockes, where the family barely talked to me. Then, the Ruiz that made me take cold showers and sleep on the floor. The Godwins where the “mother” used the check the state gave her to buy alcohol instead of groceries. And finally the worse, the Fields. They seemed nice enough when I met them. Not kind but polite. The first few weeks everything seemed normal. Then one day, I got in trouble at school, and Mr. Fields --the pastor of his community, beat me up to “teach me some manners.” His punishments became a usual thing after that. 

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I escaped. Better to be on my own than believe some family was going to love or adopt me. Obviously, there was something very wrong with me. My own mother had left me, and I had never found my place anywhere else. 

I lived on the streets for 6 months. I did all kinds of jobs. Not a lot of them were legal but there were few opportunities for a 14-year-old runaway kid. The most money I got was when I stole car parts that I got to resell to a gang called the Mercy Park Crew. The boss, Mr. Kaneko was fair and paid well enough. I could’ve kept living by myself if something hadn’t got terribly wrong at my last job. One of the boys from a rival gang decided to teach me a lesson and I ended up in the hospital with a concussion. A nurse called social services so here I am in a car with another social worker on the way for another foster home. It doesn’t matter, I know it won’t last anyway. 

When you’ve been in the system as long as I had, you learned to look for certain warning signs when placed in a new home. Drugs, ulterior motives, threatening fathers, drinking mothers. After an hour, we drove through a town looking like something straight out of a movie. Valtoria. I’d heard of it before. The family my dad had been protecting when he died lived there. The house we pulled up to, was a large two-story construction with dark brown siding and an immaculate green lawn. 

Joelle, my new caseworker had popped up out of nowhere in the hospital and told me I was coming with her. Just like that. From the way Joelle talked about the new place, I figured it was some sort of transitional home for rejects like me. Too old to get adopted and too troubled for anyone to voluntarily take on. I didn’t ask her anything else because I knew I didn’t have a fucking choice. Besides, I knew words don’t mean anything. I was a kid in the system. I went where they took me. Sometimes, I hated it. Sometimes, I really hated it. This time was different. In more ways than one. Usually, I was dropped off by my caseworker, and the people receiving me were about as excited as they were about junk mail. No one has ever come out to greet me before. As long as the woman at the door wasn’t sizing me up for a skin suit, it didn’t matter.

The social worker got out of the car as I grabbed the trash bag that I used to carry my shit around. She rang the bell, and a small, older woman opened the door. Joelle had told me in the car that the woman fostered several boys and I knew what that meant. She wanted the money the government gave her for keeping us. Well, I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. If she wanted to cash a check at the end of the month it was going to cost her. I’d make sure of it. 

I had seen it all, but I still was caught by surprise when the tiny woman opened her arms at me and gave me a one-sided hug. A fucking hug. 

“I’m very happy to meet you, mijo,” she said in a strong accent. “My name is Angelica Ortiz but everyone here calls me Abuela. Grandma in Spanish.” 

The woman was deluded if she thought I’d call her grandma. She was obviously trying to impress the social worker with her fake kindness, hugs, and stupid names. I wasn’t going to be fooled that easily. 

I didn’t even answer her as we stepped into the house. Another woman, a younger version of the one staring at me was waiting for us in the living room. 

“Hi, you must be Drake. I’m Elena. Welcome.” She gave me a smile. Fake, I was sure but at least she hadn't tried to hug me. The older woman was talking to Joelle about me. Probably about my problems with authority, anger issues, and lack of communication skills. I knew my file by heart. 

I barely nodded at Elena, and the three women exchanged a look. “Let me take you to your room, Drake. You’ll be sharing it with Maxwell. He’s doing his homework with my daughter in our house across the street. You’ll get to meet all the boys and my daughter Lexie tonight.” 

She walked me to a room on the second floor of the house. It seemed clean and comfortable. Another ploy for the social worker. Two bunker beds with blue blankets and a wooden desk full of books were the biggest pieces of furniture. The left side of the room was covered in posters of who I figured were famous boy bands. There were a few of David Beckham, the only guy I recognized. Other than that there were clothes everywhere. That Maxwell dude was a fucking slob. Great. 

“I told Max to take down some posters so you can decorate half of the room to your liking; This is your room as much as it is his. He's usually much more organized than this." I notice she speaks with a sort of fondness. "It was picture day for the school yearbook and he took hours getting ready. �� 

I shrugged. I wasn’t planning to stay long anyway. I couldn’t care less if that Max kid left his posters on the walls or not. 

She glanced at my garbage bag. “Are those your clothes, mijo?” 

I scowled at her. I knew what mijo meant and I was nobody’s son. “My name is Drake.” 

She smiled. “Of course, Drake. So, are they?”

I didn’t bother with an answer. A nod was enough. 

“I cleared you this part of the closet, so you can keep them there. When you’re ready come downstairs; my mom and I will show you the rest of the house. The boys are out but we’ll all diner together tonight. Do you like Mexican food?”

I shrugged.

The woman smiled. “Shrugging is not an answer, mij- Drake. Either you like it, you don’t, or you haven’t tasted it in which case I can tell you, you’re missing out. Especially when mami cooks.” She winked at me as if we were friends or something. The woman was insane. “So, what is it, Drake?”

I’d never had it before, but she wasn’t going to tell me how to answer a damn question. “I hate it.” 

She frowned --clearly disappointed, and I almost felt bad for her. Almost. “I’m very sorry to hear that. We already made Enchiladas for tonight and we don’t waste food. You can tell us your favorite dish though so we can make it for you.”

I shrugged again. Generally, that's when the person talking to me loses her patience but Elena Ortiz only smiled at me again. “Think about it. Every Sunday night, we pick someone’s favorite and cook it. It’s really fun. Next Sunday will be your first here, so you get to pick. Mami is a great cook and she can make anything from a mean chocolate cake to the best cheese pizza. See you downstairs, honey.” 

Great. I’ve only been in this house for a few minutes, and I already hated it. The only thing worse than a home where you were beaten up as a welcome was a home where people pretended to care. My third foster home had been like that. Ms. Godwin had been all kind and nice at first. I almost felt like she cared about us. A week later, she had gotten drunk. For two days, neither I or the two girls she fostered had anything to eat because she hadn’t bought any groceries. I had to steal a twenty euro bill from her purse to buy food. She got angry and called the social worker who had come for me and taken me to the Fields. The worst home I ever lived in. 

I wasn’t going to go downstairs but I decided that if I wanted a chance to escape it was better if I knew the house. Before I could explore a little, I heard my name from what I assumed was the kitchen. 

Elena was crouching in front of the oven. “Drake has such sad eyes, mami. He’s only 14.” 

The woman that had asked me to call her abuela, answered as she chopped an onion. “This boy has been living in the streets for more than a year. Do you realize it? Pobre angelito. So young and he has already seen more horrors than most people see in a lifetime.” 

“Joelle told me that he had escaped from his last foster home.”

The older woman scoffed. “Home? If that’s how you call people that foster kids only for the money, they get in exchange. I don’t want to imagine why he fled those places." She turned to her daughter who had finished whatever she was doing in the oven and was drinking a bottle of water. "Stop watching me work, Elena and help me with diner, por Dios.”

Why was she pretending she didn’t care about the money? It was obvious. No one did anything for free. There was always a catch. 

“Dónde está mi venadito?”

“Lexie and Max are at our house doing homework, mami. Be careful, though, if Lexie hears you calling her “your little deer” she’ll kill you. The boys called her Bambi for months after they heard you the last time.”

“Nonsense. She’s my venadito and that’s that. You two will come to eat here tonight. I want Drake to meet everyone.”

Elena rolled her eyes but patted her mom on the back. “Yes mami. Lexie is dying to meet him, she and Max made a chocolate cake for him. I’ll call her in a minute. Where are the boys by the way?” 

“Bertie is trying to teach Leo how to drive. Poor boy, I hope he makes it alive.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Leo will be careful. Bertrand will be fine.”

“Oh, it’s not Bertie I’m worried about, it’s Leo. Bartie has no patience with him.” 

I left the kitchen before they said anything else. I was sure I was going to hate this stupid place. I was angry. More than angry. Furious. After a year of successfully running away, I was back in the damn system. Back in yet another home where people seemed to care about me in front of the social worker just to ignore me –or worse, once she left. I had to admit that my new foster “moms” played their part better than most. The old one had hugged me and the other one had given me a smile that seemed real. But I knew better. No one really cared for me. No one gave a shit where I slept, what I ate, or if I was ill or scared. Not that I was ever scared. I had seen everything. 

The front door was locked so I went to the backyard. I saw a small wooden house on top of one of the trees. I decided it was a good place to hide and be myself. 

I sat there for a few moments when I heard someone climbing the tree. 

“Hi!”

I looked up and saw a girl a couple of years younger than me. She had the biggest pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen and was smiling at me as if I was her best friend. 

“I’m Lexie! I live across the street. I’m Angelica’s granddaughter. You’re Drake, right?” I didn’t think it was possible to smile more but the girl proved me wrong when her grin widened. I simply nodded. 

“Welcome! I know that it must be hard for you to feel at home because you like just arrived but you’ll love it here. I promise. Valtoria is great. We have lakes and the mountains and when it’s warm enough we can go camping all night. You’ll love the house too. I mean between you and me the boys are kind of a pain in the ass but they’re pretty great when they want to. Or when they're not teasing me. Especially Leo and Maxie. Bertrand is a know-it-all. He thinks because he’s sixteen he knows everything." She rolled her eyes clearly offended by the idea that someone could know more than her. "Abuela, that how we all call her because she’s Mexican and would murder us if we call her grandma, is amazing. I mean don’t get me wrong, she's super strict, and as my mom says the woman is never wrong but she’s the best person I know.” 

I blinked. I didn’t know a person could talk that much without taking a single breath. 

“Do you camp?” She asked as she folded her legs in front of her.

I did before. Before my dad died and my whole life blew up in a million pieces. Not that I would explain any of that to the chatty girl, so I just nodded again. 

“Great! It’s getting warmer and Leo wants to go to a new camping site next weekend. Don’t tell him I said this but he’s like the worst camper ever. I have to double-check everything he does but I don’t tell him anymore because my mom said it wasn’t nice.” 

I wondered how could someone carry a whole conversation by herself. I hadn’t pronounced a single word since the girl had shown up. 

“I want to be your friend but I can see we’re about to have our first fight.” She told me in a teasing tone. “You’re wearing a Liverpool t-shirt. We worship Barcelona in this house. Well, Abuela, Leo and I do. The others couldn’t care less about soccer.” 

I looked at the shirt she was wearing. It read "If they don't have soccer in heaven, I'm not going." 

She noticed I was looking at her shirt and beamed. "Abue said my shirt was disrespectful to God but mom thought that was dumb and bought it for me anyway." 

"Do you like soccer?" I finally asked. 

“Like it? I love it! Did abuela saw your shirt? She hates European teams. She thinks Tigres is the best.”

“Tirgues?”

She laughed, and the sound of it did something weird to my stomach. “Tigres. It’s a Mexican team. She goes crazy when they play.”

“What team you like?”

“Barcelona, obviously.”

“Liverpool made it to the finals of the last Champion’s league.” I pointed out. 

She shrugged. “They lost so it doesn’t count. Do you play?”

“Sometimes.” I tried not to show how much I loved it. It was something else my dad and I shared that had stopped when he died. 

“I play too. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I'm twelve. Well, almost thirteen, my birthday is in May.”

I frowned. “It’s November.” 

“I know. I’m almost there.” She beamed. "I'm almost closer to thirteen than twelve anyway." 

“Do you always talk this much?”

She laughed and my belly did that weird thing again. “My mom says I was a parrot in another life. I talk more when I’m nervous.”

“You're nervous?” I liked that I could make her nervous but I didn't know why. 

She blushed and I liked it too. “A little. What happened to your eye?” 

“I got into a fight.”

“Wow. You can’t do that here. Leo is always getting into fights and abuela has to ground him.”

She sure mentioned that Leo guy a lot. “Is Leo your boyfriend?”

“Gross!! Leo’s is like my brother. He, Bertie, and Max live with abuela. We’re a family. You’re family too.”

Fuck that. No matter if the girl was sort of cute. I didn’t have a family. “No, I’m not. I’m not staying.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t belong here.”

“Yes, you do; I swear. Plus, I need someone to coach me, so I can get into the school team next year. Leo promised he would, but he never has time.” 

“I suck.”

She shook her head and smiled at me again. “Somehow I don’t think you do.” Then she gave me a conspiratorial look as she pulled out something from her jacket pocket. "You can't tell my mom about this but I took this from her room." It was a white iPod. After scrolling a little through the screen she settled on The Beach Boys. She couldn't possibly know it but they were my dad's favorites. She passed me an earbud and we didn’t talk after that. We just sat together for a while hearing music until we heard our names being called. 

“That’s abuela. We should go. She hates to wait. Plus, I'm starving and we're having enchiladas. You'll love them.” 

Lexie ran to her house to --as she put it-- 'hide the evidence.' I went back to her grandma's house and stepped into the kitchen. 

“Drake, pass me the salt, mijo. It’s next to you on the counter,” Angelica said as she kept on turning the sauce she was making. “You like enchiladas?” 

What was with all these women asking me what I liked to eat? I leaned against the black counter while she opened the lid of another steaming pot on the stove, and stirred its contents with a long wooden spoon. I shrugged. I didn’t know if I liked it. But it smelled better than anything I ever tasted, so it couldn’t be all that bad. My mouth started watering, and my stomach growled. Come to think of it, it had been a while since I’d last eaten.

“You know, I know you feel weird now. And you don’t like to talk a lot. Soon, you’ll learn that this is a safe place. We aren’t gonna judge a single word that comes out of your mouth or any of them that don’t.” 

I suddenly felt like I owed her a verbal response in exchange for her kindness. Fake or not. Besides, I just knew the chatty girl I’ve just met wouldn’t be happy if I was rude to her grandmother. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled at my verbal response. “But just so you know. We do have a few rules in this house.” 

Here it comes. The catch. Angelica put the lid back on the pot and leaned over the counter on her elbows. “You just need to go to school, find a hobby or sport you like, don't swear, respect the curfew and keep your room clean. Every child in this house has chores but it’s too soon to figure out yours. For now, you only have to get to know us.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me. At that moment the timer of the oven rang and Angelica took a huge dish out of it. She covered it with more steamy, tomato sauce, sour cream, and grated cheese and put it back in the oven. At least, I might get some good food while I figured what I was going to do next. Because no matter how nice and kind everybody acted, I was not going back to school. I used to be good at it without much effort; I had friends and a soccer team. But I had missed a lot in the last two years. I felt dumb and stupid. 

Suddenly, the front door slammed open. “Cuidado muchachos! Be careful with that door against the wall, or you’re going be spackling and repainting this entire house,” Angelica yelled out. Three teenage boys filed into the house, followed by just as many apologies. 

“Sorry.” “Oops.” “It was Max’s fault.” “

“These are Maxwell, Leo and Bertie,” Angelica introduced. “Boys, this is Drake.” 

“Hi, man!” The blond one said with a shit-eating grin. “Abuela, Lena, you guys didn’t tell me you were buying a Liverpool fan.” 

“Adoption is not a purchase of people, Leo” the oldest one --Bertrand, corrected. 

“Yeah, cause if it was, then you got Leo from the clearance rack,” the youngest one joked, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing back an out-of-place dark hair. “I hope you kept your receipt.” 

“Fuck, off,” the blond one replied with a middle finger. 

“Watch it, Leo,” Angelica warned. “Boys.” 

Max kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, abue.” She forgave him with a smile, then swatted at his hand with her spoon when he dipped his finger into the pot. 

“I’m glad you’re here, bro” Leo said. I stood, and he gave me a fist bump without touching my hand. 

“Me too! And we’re going to be roomies,” the kid named Max said. He grabbed a stack of plates from the counter. I followed him over to the long dining room table and helped set the table for seven people.

2020

I lost count of how many days I’ve been in the hole. It wasn’t my first time in here and it sure as hell it wouldn’t be the last. It was always the same routine. Days and nights blended into one making it impossible to know what day it was or how much time I had been in here. 

I have been in jail for six excrutiating years. I had known from the day I heard the sentencing that the only way I was going to survive was if I didn’t think about her. It was the hardest thing I had to do but after a while, my routine was running smoothly and when my head hit the pillow at night, I was too fucking exhausted. She haunted my dreams and my nightmares, but I didn’t think of her beyond that. Except for the hole. Locked up there, cold, hungry, and utterly alone her face, my memories of her were the only thing that helped me go on. 

I replayed in my head our first encounter, our first kiss, our first time. I obsessed about her full lips, her expressive brown eyes, her gorgeous smile. I could spend hours picturing every single corner of her soft delicate curves. Sometimes, I wondered if --maybe, I didn’t start fights in the hope of being sent to the hole where I could spend my time fantasizing about her. It was pure torture, but I couldn’t help myself. The memories I had of her, of us and our short time together were the only light in my otherwise bleak life. 

She still wrote me every week but I hadn’t open any single one of her letters. I didn’t want to know if she was moving on with her life or worst if she was waiting for me. Because that was what Lexie didn’t understand. Even if nothing happened and I was released in one year, I would never be that boy again. The Drake Walker she had known and loved was dead and she wasn’t going to like the man that had been left in his place. I was damn sure about that. 

Tagging:

@mskaneko

@burnsoslow

@kingliam2019

@kat-tia801

@petiteboheme

@tinkie1973

@twinkle-320

@thegreentwin

@forallthatitsworth

@marshmallowsandfire

@marshmallowsaremyfavorite

@princessleac1

@lilacsandwhiskey

@lovingchoices14​

@lovingchoices14​

@nomadics-stuff​

[uomo-accattivante]

Fantastic (but long) article about Theater of War’s recent productions, including Oedipus the King and Antigone in Ferguson, featuring Oscar Isaac. The following are excerpts. The full article is viewable via the source link below:

Excerpt:

“Children of Thebes, why are you here?” Oscar Isaac asked. His face filled the monitor on my dining table. (It was my partner’s turn to use the desk.) We were a couple of months into lockdown, just past seven in the evening, and a few straggling cheers for essential workers came in through the window. Isaac was looking smoldery with a quarantine beard, a gold chain, an Airpod, and a black T-shirt. His display name was set to “Oedipus.”

Isaac was one of several famous actors performing Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King” from their homes, in the first virtual performance by Theater of War Productions: a group that got its start in 2008, staging Sophocles’ “Ajax” and “Philoctetes” for U.S. military audiences and, beginning in 2009, on military installations around the world, including in Kuwait, Qatar, and Guantánamo Bay, with a focus on combat trauma. After each dramatic reading, a panel made up of people in active service, veterans, military spouses, and/or psychiatrists would describe how the play resonated with their experiences of war, before opening up the discussion to the audience. Since its founding, Theater of War Productions has addressed different kinds of trauma. It has produced Euripides’ “The Bacchae” in rural communities affected by the opioid crisis, “The Madness of Heracles” in neighborhoods afflicted by gun violence and gang wars, and Aeschylus’ “Prometheus Bound” in prisons. “Antigone in Ferguson,” which focusses on crises between communities and law enforcement, was motivated by an analogy between Oedipus’ son’s unburied body and that of Michael Brown, left on the street for roughly four hours after Brown was killed by police; it was originally performed at Michael Brown’s high school.

Now, with trauma roving the globe more contagiously than ever, Theater of War Productions had traded its site-specific approach for Zoom. The app was configured in a way I hadn’t seen before. There were no buttons to change between gallery and speaker view, which alternated seemingly by themselves. You were in a “meeting,” but one you were powerless to control, proceeding by itself, with the inexorability of fate. There was no way to view the other audience members, and not even the group’s founder and director, Bryan Doerries, knew how numerous they were. Later, Zoom told him that it had been fifteen thousand. This is roughly the seating capacity of the theatre of Dionysus, where “Oedipus the King” is believed to have premièred, around 429 B.C. Those viewers, like us, were in the middle of a pandemic: in their case, the Plague of Athens.

The original audience would have known Oedipus’ story from Greek mythology: how an oracle had predicted that Laius, the king of Thebes, would be killed by his own son, who would then sleep with his mother; how the queen, Jocasta, gave birth to a boy, and Laius pierced and bound the child’s ankles, and ordered a shepherd to leave him on a mountainside. The shepherd took pity on the maimed baby, Oedipus (“swollen foot”), and gave him to a Corinthian servant, who handed him off to the king and queen of Corinth, who raised him as their son. Years later, Oedipus killed Laius at a crossroads, without knowing who he was. Then he saved Thebes from a Sphinx, became the king of Thebes, had four children with Jocasta, and lived happily for many years.

That’s where Sophocles picks up the story. Everyone would have known where things were headed—the truth would come out, and Oedipus would blind himself—but not how they would get there. How Sophocles got there was by drawing on contemporary events, on something that was in everyone’s mind, though it doesn’t appear in the original myth: a plague.

In the opening scene, Thebes is in the grip of a terrible epidemic. Oedipus’ subjects come to the palace, imploring him to save the city, describing the scene of pestilence and panic, the screaming and the corpses in the street. Something about the way Isaac voiced Oedipus’ response—“Children. I am sorry. I know”—made me feel a kind of longing. It was a degree of compassion conspicuous by its absence in the current Administration. I never think of myself as someone who wants or needs “leadership,” yet I found myself thinking, We would be better off with Oedipus. “I would be a weak leader if I did not follow the gods’ orders,” Isaac continued, subverting the masculine norm of never asking for advice. He had already sent for the best information out there, from the Delphic Oracle.

Soon, Oedipus’ brother-in-law, Creon—John Turturro, in a book-lined study—was doing his best to soft-pedal some weird news from Delphi. Apparently, the oracle said that the plague wouldn’t end until the people of Thebes expelled Laius’ killer: a person who was somehow still in the city, even though Laius had died many years earlier on an out-of-town trip. Oedipus called in the blind prophet, Tiresias, played by Jeffrey Wright, whose eyes were invisible behind a circular glare in his eyeglasses.

Reading “Oedipus” in the past, I had always been exasperated by Tiresias, by his cryptic lamentations—“I will never reveal the riddles within me, or the evil in you”—and the way he seemed incapable of transmitting useful information. Spoken by a Black actor in America in 2020, the line made a sickening kind of sense. How do you tell the voice of power that the problem is in him, really baked in there, going back generations? “Feel free to spew all of your vitriol and rage in my direction,” Tiresias said, like someone who knew he was in for a tweetstorm.

Oedipus accused Tiresias of treachery, calling out his disability. He cast suspicion on foreigners, and touted his own “wealth, power, unsurpassed skill.” He decried fake news: “It’s all a scam—you know nothing about interpreting birds.” He elaborated a deep-state scenario: Creon had “hatched a secret plan to expel me from office,” eliciting slanderous prophecies from supposedly disinterested agencies. It was, in short, a coup, designed to subvert the democratic will of the people of Thebes.

Frances McDormand appeared next, in the role of Jocasta. Wearing no visible makeup, speaking from what looked like a cabin somewhere with wood-panelled walls, she resembled the ghost of some frontierswoman. I realized, when I saw her, that I had never tried to picture Jocasta: not her appearance, or her attitude. What was her deal? How had she felt about Laius maiming their baby? How had she felt about being offered as a bride to whomever defeated the Sphinx? What did she think of Oedipus when she met him? Did it never seem weird to her that he was her son’s age, and had horrible scars on his ankles? How did they get along, those two?

When you’re reading the play, you don’t have to answer such questions. You can entertain multiple possibilities without settling on one. But actors have to make decisions and stick to them. One decision that had been made in this case: Oedipus really liked her. “Since I have more respect for you, my dear, than anyone else in the world,” Isaac said, with such warmth in “my dear.” I was reminded of the fact that Euripides wrote a version of “Oedipus”—lost to posterity, like the majority of Greek tragedies—that some scholars suggest foregrounds the loving relationshipbetween Oedipus and Jocasta.

Jocasta’s immediate task was to defuse the potentially murderous argument between her husband and her brother. She took one of the few rhetorical angles available to a woman: why, such grown men ought to be ashamed of themselves, carrying on so when there was a plague going on. And yet, listening to the lines that McDormand chose to emphasize, it was clear that, in the guise of adult rationality and spreading peace, what she was actually doing was silencing and trivializing. “Come inside,” she said, “and we’ll settle this thing in private. And both of you quit making something out of nothing.” It was the voice of denial, and, through the play, you could hear it spread from character to character.

By this point in the performance, I found myself spinning into a kind of cognitive overdrive, toggling between the text and the performance, between the historical context, the current context, and the “universal” themes. No matter how many times you see it pulled off, the magic trick is always a surprise: how a text that is hundreds or thousands of years old turns out to be about the thing that’s happening to you, however modern and unprecedented you thought it was.

Excerpt:

The riddle of the Sphinx plays out in the plot of “Oedipus,” particularly in a scene near the end where the truth finally comes out. Two key figures from Oedipus’ infancy are brought in for questioning: the Theban shepherd, who was supposed to kill baby Oedipus but didn’t; and the Corinthian messenger to whom he handed off the maimed child. The Theban shepherd is walking proof that the Sphinx’s riddle is hard, because that man can’t recognize anyone: not the Corinthian, whom he last saw as a young man, and certainly not Oedipus, a baby with whom he’d had a passing acquaintance decades earlier. “It all took place so long ago,” he grumbles. “Why on earth would you ask me?”

“Because,” the Corinthian (David Strathairn) explained genially on Zoom, “this man whom you are now looking at was once that child.”

This, for me, was the scene with the catharsis in it. At a certain point, the shepherd (Frankie Faison) clearly understood everything, but would not or could not admit it. Oedipus, now determined to learn the truth at all costs, resorted to enhanced interrogation. “Bend back his arms until they snap,” Isaac said icily; in another window, Faison screamed in highly realistic agony. Faison was a personification of psychological resistance: the mechanism a mind develops to protect itself from an unbearable truth. Those invisible guardsmen had to nearly kill him before he would admit who had given him the baby: “It was Laius’s child, or so people said. Your wife could tell you more.”

Tears glinted in Isaac’s eyes as he delivered the next line, which I suddenly understood to be the most devastating in the whole play: “Did . . . she . . . give it to you?” How had I never fully realized, never felt, how painful it would have been for Oedipus to realize that his parents hadn’t loved him?

Excerpt:

If we borrow the terms of Greek drama, 2020 might be viewed as the year of anagnorisis: tragic recognition. On August 9th, the sixth anniversary of the shooting of Michael Brown, I watched the Theater of War Productions put on a Zoom production of “Antigone in Ferguson”: an adaptation of Sophocles’ “Oedipus” narrative sequel, with the chorus represented by a demographically and ideologically diverse gospel choir. Oscar Isaac was back, this time as Creon, Oedipus’ successor as king. He started out as a bullying inquisitor (“I will have your extremities removed one by one until you reveal the criminal’s name”), ordering Antigone (Tracie Thoms) to be buried alive, insulting everyone who criticized him, and accusing Tiresias of corruption. But then Tiresias, with the help of the chorus, persuaded Creon to reconsider. In a sustained gospel number, the Thebans, armed with picks and shovels, led by their king, rushed to free Antigone.

“Antigone” being a tragedy, they got there too late, resulting in multiple deaths, and in Isaac’s once again totally losing his shit. It was almost the same performance he gave in “Oedipus,” and yet, where Oedipus begins the play written into a corner, between walls that keep closing in, Creon seems to have just a little more room to maneuver. His misfortune—like that of Antigone and her brother—feels less irreversible. I first saw “Antigone in Ferguson” live, last year, and, in the discussion afterward, the subject of fate—inevitably—came up. I remember how Doerries gently led the audience to view “Antigone” as an illustration of how easily everything might happen differently, and how people’s minds can change. I remember the energy that spread through the room that night, in talk about prison reform and the urgency of collective change.

###

Again, the full article is accessible via the source link below:

[falcqns]

an apostles redemption

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Grace Walker)

Warnings: fluff, swearing, family angst, mention of nuclear weapons and firearms, facial injury, mention of anxiety disorder and anxiety attacks, implied smut 

A/N: hope you enjoy!

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three |

Ragged Night 

When Grace awoke the next morning, August was not laying next to her, as she had hoped. When she sat up, shed noticed Kal wasn't in his bed either. She put on some socks, and headed down the stairs to find her husband and dog.

He wasn't in the kitchen or living room,  but the door to the basement was open, and Grace immediately knew where he was. He was in the gym.

She ventured down the stairs, and into the large home gym. August was wearing a grey muscle tank and red gym shorts, with his Adidas running shoes on his feet. He had his red boxing gloves that were monogrammed with the words 'The Hammer', a Christmas gift from Erica Sloane. He was aggressively punching the punching bag hanging from the ceiling, his AirPods blaring some type of heavy metal.

Kal was laid by the mirrors opposite August, watching his dad take out his energy on the bag. Kal's ears perked up when Grace walked into the room, and stood up to go and get pets from his mom, which alerted August that he wasn't alone anymore.

He turned his head and smiled when he noticed Grace. He took out his AirPods and placed them back in the charging case, before walking over to give his wife a kiss.

"Good morning, love," Grace said, as she wrapped her arms around her husbands sweaty midriff.  

"Good morning," August responded, as he took off his punching gloves.

"I'm going to make breakfast, so why don't you go and shower and we'll eat together?" Grace offered. August smiled. It had been weeks since he had had his wonderful wife amazing cooking.

"Sounds good to me, angel." He pressed another kiss to his wife's lips, before Grace led Kal upstairs with the promise of food. August cleaned up the gym from his morning workout, and headed up to their shared bathroom. He had wished Grace would join him, but he knew she didn't trust him enough for that amount of affection. August understood, and was going to do anything to earn that trust back.

He had a quick shower, and put on a t shirt that had Geralt of Rivia on it, from his favourite video game, The Witcher. He also pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants, and made his way down stairs, following the smell of bacon.

He walked into the kitchen but stopped in the doorway. Grace was stood at the stove, tending to their food. Harry Styles was playing from her phone, the sounds of 'She' echoing through their large kitchen. Two plates were sitting on the island, and there was a stack of books sitting on the same stool where he sat last night while Grace stitched him up. He walked over, and picked up the books, looking through them.

'What We Owe To Each Other , T.M. Scanlon,

A Treatise Of Human Nature, David Hume,

Groundwork in the Metaphysics of Morals, Immanuel Kant,

No Exit, Jean Paul Satre,

Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkegaard,

Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle.'

Ethics books. He knew these books were in the house, as he gave them to Grace for her birthday. She loved The Good Place, and wanted to know more about ethics, so August bought her all the books mentioned in the show, and she had read them all. He knew he would have to read ethics books when he came home, but he didn't expect it to start so soon.

Before he could think about anything else, Grace turned around, and emptied eggs on both of their plates, and smiled at him.

"You look much better," She said, as she turned back to the stove to grab the pan with the bacon.

"I feel better, other than I'm hungry, and my face stings a little still." He said.

Grace placed the bacon on their plates, and walked over to the medicine cabinet. She grabbed the creme she had put on his face last night, and handed it to him.

"My hands are dirty from food, so just put this over the whole scar tissue area. It'll help it heal and help with the pain." He nodded, and did as he was told.

A few minutes later, his face didn't sting anymore, only a cooling sensation, which felt amazing.

They were sat at the breakfast booth, with Kal laying underneath, on their feet.

"August, I have to tell you something," Grace said nervously.

"What is it?" August replied, slightly afraid of her response.

"Sloane is coming over today, with Hunt and his team."

He immediately dropped his fork. "What? Why?"

Grace immediately recognized he was starting to panic, and she reached over and grabbed his hand.

"I'm doing it to help you. I'm going to sit them down, and I'm going to explain to them that you want to redeem yourself and that you will do anything to win back their trust."

August stood up to pace, which scared Kal, who nuzzled his head into Grace's lap.

"What if they shoot me?" He asked.

"You know that I don't allow weapons in the house, other than our shot gun. They are aware of that rule too, and will not be bringing any weapons. It's going to be fine, Auggie."

August felt his anger bubbling up. "How can you be so sure Grace? How?"

Grace stood up, got in his space, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She decided to ignore the face that he called her by her actual name. "Because, you're going to go into the basement and stay there. I am going to tell them that you are alive and willing to do anything to earn back their trust. I will tell them that they are allowed to be mad at him, but to at least allow you to try and prove yourself. I know that Ethan is going to be the first one to trust you. You need to be his friend."

August rolled his eyes, sighed, and then placed his bandaged forehead on to hers. "Okay," He agreed. "When do they get here?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to her cheeks, which make Grace blush.

Grace glanced down at her Fitbit. "It's only 8:30, they're not coming until noon, so we have a few hours. During that time I want you to start reading," She said, unraveled herself from August, and walked over to where the books laid.

"We'll start off with Scanlon. You don't have to read this whole thing today, but I want  you to read as much as you can while I go and get groceries." She said, handed him 'What We Owe To Each Other', and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she headed to the door to the backyard to let Kal out for a pee.

He nodded at her and took the book into the living room to begin to read, clearly not hungry anymore.

'We all believe that some actions are morally wrong. But when we claim that an action is wrong, what kind of judgement are we making? Judgements about right and wrong cannot be straightforwardly understood as factual claims about the empirical world or about our own psychology. Yet they do seem to make claims about some subject matter, claims which are capable of being true or false. Moreover...'

'God this is going to be a long few hours,' August thought to himself, as he began to read.

Grace finished eating, peeked into the living room where she saw her husband reading the book, and she smiled to herself. She grabbed her keys, and left the house. She made sure to lock the door behind her, so no one who wasn't invited could get in.

She religiously checked her security app on her phone to ensure Augusts safety, and to her surprise, he continued to read the book. She knew he didn't want to read moral philosophy and ethics books, but she also knew that he realized he had to if he had a chance to gain back not only her trust, but his country's as well.

She grabbed all the essential groceries she would need, as well as a few treats for August. She decided to reward him for his good behaviour, much like a child, but she knew that would work.

August did not have a good childhood. He was an only child, but his parents barely paid attention to him. His dad also worked in the CIA, and was killed when August was 8, just a day before his 9th birthday. His mother became distant and cold almost instantly, and told her little 8 year old that 'she had nothing, and no one left,' after her husband died. August tried to please her the best he could, but nothing he ever did was good enough for her. On his 18th birthday, he had had enough. He told her that he didn't appreciate that she was not a good mother to him. That nothing he ever did was good enough. That he always had to do hard physical labour, and wasn't able to enjoy his teenage years. His mother, on that same day, told him that she wished he had died instead of his father, as she could replace him, but not her husband.

August didn't  forgive her for many years, and he still fully hadn't. He talked to her on her birthday, and only to wish her a happy birthday. The only time she was proud of him was when he joined the CIA. He had joined to figure out who killed his father, and subjected him to so many years of abuse and neglect.

Once he found out his father had gone rogue and was killed by the IMF, he became angry, and shut himself off from everyone in his life. He became what the world see's today. The Hammer. The guy who gunned down every single Syndicate agent he came across. The man who almost wiped out India, Pakistan and China, with two nuclear bombs.

Sometimes Grace couldn't believe how different their lives were before they met. Grace grew up in a loving and nurturing household. Grace was the youngest of four, her older sisters Melissa and Julia, and her big brother Rick. Melissa had moved out before she was born, but Julia and Rick were still in school, and both living at home. The only trauma that she had experienced in her life was when Julia was kidnapped, and she moved in with her sister Melissa so her mom could focus on finding Julia, and she was only 6 years old. Her sister was found soon after and everything went back to normal.

She had noticed August had severe childhood trauma just 5 weeks into dating. It was the first time she had spent the full night with him, and he woke up in a cold sweat, and screaming. He was inconsolable for multiple minutes, and only when Grace got him water and rubbed his back, did he calm down. He told her a little bit about it, but only his fathers side, not about his mothers abuse. His mothers abuse came out when they were planning their wedding, and Grace kept bugging him to invite his mother.

'"She's your mother August! She has a right to come and see her son get married!'"

"That doesn't change the fact that her and I don't get along, and I don't want her ruining our day."

"Why? Why don't you get along? She's your mother, she loves you."

"NO SHE FUCKING DOESN'T! I HAVE NEVER, IN MY ENTIRE TIME OF BEING ALIVE, HEARD HER TELL ME SHE LOVES ME! THE LAST CLOSE TO 'I LOVE YOU' WAS 'IM GLAD YOU JOINED THE CIA TO MAKE YOUR FATHERS MEMORY PROUD'! SHE NEVER WANTED ME, BUT WAS FUCKING STUCK WITH ME AND SHE MADE SURE I KNEW THAT!"

Grace immediately stood up and enveloped him in her arms. She felt his head hit her shoulder, and his sobs began to spill out.

"It's okay my lovely. I love you. I'm sorry you went through that, but the beauty of being an adult is you can make your own family. It's going to be okay."'

He had never expressed himself like that before, and Grace knew that marrying him would have its challenges, and the challenge she was currently facing was the biggest of them all.

She wrapped up at the store, and headed home. While she drove, she attempted to figure out how she was going to explain to Sloane and the IMF that August deserved a second chance, when she didn't fully trust him again yet. Although, he had begun to prove himself worthy of her help, even in less than 24 hours.

Just before pulling into the driveway, she remembered she needed to check the mail. She drove to the mail box, and checked their slot. There were a few bills, other junk mail, a package from Amazon for Grace, and package from Julia, which was also for Grace.

Her and Julia had stopped talking after she got engaged to August, who Julia didn't trust. Every once in a while, though, she would get letters and packages from Julia on holidays, and sometimes it would be something to give to Ethan. She put the mail in the passenger seat of her car, and headed back to the house.

She arrived home, and August took a break from reading to help her with putting away the groceries. She managed to hide his treats from him, and locking them up in a a secret compartment she had installed in the pantry while he was in Kashmir. She felt that if he knew she bought those for him, he wouldn't earn it.

She gave August a hug and kiss, told him she was proud of him, and went to her office to work on a binder to help Auggie, the package from Julia in tow.

She made a book tracker, and even made assignments based on the books he'd be reading, and what he'd be learning. She would add more when and if Sloane told him what he needed to do. He had a long few months, or possibly years ahead of him, and he would need all the structure, support and love he could get. She thought about reaching out to his mother to let her know that her son was not dead, but decided to wait and ask August, although she knew what his answer will be.

Her gaze drifted to the package, and decided to open it. She ripped the tape off, and the folds popped open. On top was a letter, labeled with Grace's name. She opened the letter and read the contents.

'My angel Gracie,

I heard about August, and I'm sorry. I know I never trusted him, but that's not why I'm writing.

I've been in your place. Maybe not exactly, but I've lost a husband too. It sucks. I can't imagine the pain and heart break you are feeling right now, and I wish I could be there with you.

I was in Kashmir at the time, and he looked very determined. I know that's not what you want to hear, honey, but I thought it was important to tell you. He also gave me a letter to give to you, which I've included. I don't know what it says, I didn't read it. I want you to know I'm back in the States, at Mom's house. If you want to visit, or if you want us to come to you, we can. Just let Mom know, okay?

I love you sweet girl,

Julia'

Grace felt tears fall onto her cheeks. She didn't know what to think. Finding out her sister knew what August was planning should have made her angry, but it made her sad. She placed the letter down on the desk, and picked up the other letter, which was labeled 'Baby girl" which was August's name for her.

She opened it, and began to read.

'My sweet angel.

I love you, baby. I'm so sorry for what I'm doing, and I know it means I may never see you again, especially after you find out I did it. I don't want you living in a world that is this cruel. You have so much of your life ahead of you, and you deserve the best.

I won't be coming home. You will get everything. The house is paid off, the cars are paid off and there is several million dollars in our bank account, provided to me by the Syndicate and Lane.

They will not hurt you. They will not touch you. Sloane and I had an agreement that if I was to be disavowed or killed, you would be protected no matter what. Both you and I know that if anything were to happen, Ethan will do anything to make sure you stay safe.

I never wanted to hurt you, and I know I promised not to, but I have to do this. I love you with my whole heart. I wish I could have given you a family like you wanted, but I couldn't bring a child into such a world.

You will never forgive me, but let me tell you this.

Julia is here, and I will make sure she is safe. I will try to get her to come with me, but there's no promises. I understand she could never trust me, and never will. I never wanted to hurt you or your family. I'm so sorry my love.

I hope you have an amazing life, and find someone who can love you like I couldn't, and gives you what I couldn't. I love you with all I am baby, and you'll be the best mama ever, when your time comes. Give Kal all the treats for me, and tell him that his Daddy loved him.

Auggie.'

Grace had tears pouring down her face now. All he was trying to do was protect her, but he was doing it in the wrong way. She wished he could see the good in himself, but he just wasn't there yet. He would be one day though.

There was also a picture of Julia and her on the day she was born. On the back, in Julia's handwriting, said:

' You and me on the day you were born. You were so innocent. I prayed you would stay that way. The moment I held you I told myself I would never let anything harm you. You're so special to me, and I love you angel. You're my favourite sibling, but don't tell Rick, he doesn't know ;)'

Grace giggled, and placed the picture on Julia's letter. It was pretty obvious to everyone that being the youngest, Grace was the favourite to all her siblings.

Julia had also included some other pictures throughout her life, like Julia's grad from med school, Grace's high school graduation, and their trips to Disney that they took. Julia had included some Kashmirian snacks and a bracelet that was hand stitch-monogrammed with her name. She smiled at everything she had been given by her big sister. She didn't talk to her, so she treasured everything Julia gave her.

There was another letter. Grace opened it to find similar bracelets with Ethan and Ilsa's name on them, as well as a Virginia post card. On the back of the post card read:

' Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.'

Grace put that envelope to the side, knowing it was meant for Ethan and Ilsa.

Her phone buzzed beside her to let her know that Sloane, Ethan, Ilsa, Benji, and Luther would be arriving soon, and Auggie needed to get to the basement.

She rushed down the stairs, and headed straight to the living room.

"They're gonna be here soon, come with me, bring the book." She said. She grabbed the gun off of the coffee table where she had dropped it the night before, and she headed to the basement, with August tagging along behind her.

They went to the basement, and headed through the gym, to a false door, which led to their emergency bunker. August had this installed incase of a threat of a terrorist attack. Being they lived in Washington, they knew a large enough terrorist attack could and would put them at risk as well.

He sat down, and took the gun from her hands.

"I will open the door when it is time for you to come up. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR UNTIL I SAY SO. Okay?" She said, her voice shaking with nerves. August noticed this, and put the book down.

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her body, and rested his head on hers.

"It's going to be okay, baby, alright? I'll be fine, you'll be fine, and if it all goes to shit I can get us out. You know that." He felt her nod, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, before she pulled away from him.

"I love you," She said.

"I love you too." He whispered, and watched her walk out of the bunker. He returned to his seat, and continued reading. He actually managed to admit to himself that he was liking Scanlon's book.

Upstairs, Sloane and the IMF team had just arrived and were sitting in her kitchen.

"Why are we here?" Hunt asked.

Grace took a deep breath and began.

"Before I begin, I need all of you to promise you will listen and not act without thinking about what I am going to propose greatly."

They all nodded in agreement.

She took another deep breath. "Okay. August is alive." All of their eyes widened, and Ilsa gasped but no one said anything.

"He is alive, and safe, and him and I would like to know if there's anything he can do to earn all of your guys's trust back. He is willing to do anything."

Everyone looked as Sloane, as her opinion was most important.

Sloane got very serious. "Yes there is. We do have a protocol to follow for rogue agents wanting to gain trust back again, but they have to request it in person, with proof that they are truly serious about it. Where is he currently?" She asked calmly.

"He is here." Grace said. "He came home last night. I would have called you but he had a large burn on his face, and a badly stitched forehead wound so I was more preoccupied with making sure he got fixed up."

Everyone nodded. They may not like or trust August, but as agents, they understood how important physical health was.

"Understandable. Bring him in, and we'll discuss it." Sloane said, and gave Grace a comforting smile, which let Grace know she wasn't going to pull any stunts.

Grace rushed down and got August, and headed back up. Grace saw Ethan's eyes darken in anger almost immediately upon August entering the kitchen.

August took a deep breath, ad began to speak. "I understand that you all probably hate me, and are angry at me, but I need your guys's help. I will do anything and everything to gain your trust back." He said, in a quiet tone of voice August had never used before.

Sloane was the first one to speak to him. "Walker, we are willing to help you, but you must do everything you are told. It's going to be a long few months."

August nodded. "I know. I'm already working to gain back Grace's trust, and she's helping me to be a better person, and as I said before, I am willing to do anything to gain that trust."

Ethan, Ilsa, Benji and Luther looked at each other, before they turned to August. "We'll help you too. I believe that everyone's capable of change, so we'll give you a chance," Ethan said. "But only one."

August nodded. "I understand." He looked up into Ethan's eyes. "Thank you." Ethan gave him a small smile.

They began to talk about what needed to be done, and how Grace was helping him. A few hours later, Ethan and Ilsa were getting ready to leave. Just before the headed to the door, Grace stopped them.

"I received a package from Julia this morning, and this was in it. She's back here, and she's safe." She said in a low voice to him.

Ethan smiled, and gave her a hug. "Thank you, Grace. If you happen to talk to her, let her know that I hope she's doing okay, and to stay safe. I appreciate you being able to make sure that she is always safe."

Grace smiled, and nodded. "She's my sister, and you're still my brother, wether or not you and Julia are together. It's my job," She said.

Ethan smiled, and gave her another hug, before Ilsa walked in from using the bathroom, and the trio said their goodbyes, before the door closed behind Ethan and Ilsa.

Grace ran up the stairs into her office and grabbed the letter. She headed back down to the living room, where she found Auggie reading. She took a seat next to him, making August look up.

"What's that?" August asked, and pointed to the paper in her hand.

"It's the letter that you gave to Julia to give to me, I got it in the mail this morning."

He put the book down, and turned towards her, his features portraying anxiety.

"And, um, what did you think?" He asked, nervously.

Grace smiled and looked at him.

"It made me cry. I know now all you care about was making the world a better place, but you were going about it the wrong way. You knew Julia would be there, but you wanted to make sure she was safe, all because she was my sister. It made me fall more in love with you," She said, tears coming to her eyes as she maintained eye contact with August.

August smiled, and reached a hand out for hers. Grace let him take it, and she ran her thumb on the back of his hand.

"All I ever want to do for you is to make sure you are safe, and you are happy." August whispered, and looked down to his lap, where Scanlon's book was laying.

"Auggie, I know. But I don't need you being taken away from me for the world to change. I read that manifesto, and yes, in certain situations, you must struggle before you succeed. But not the way you and Lane wanted to do it, honey." Grace said, quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry," August whispered, as tears started to fall from his eyes. Grace immediately looked up at the tone of his voice. Noticing his tears falling, she let the letter fall to the ground, and wrapped her arms around August, who sobbed into her shoulder.

"Auggie, shhhh, calm down," She said, as August's tears became louder and closer together. She ran her hands up and down his back, and whispered in his ear how much she loved him. a few minutes later, his tears started to subside.

Grace looked down, and saw his tired eyes begin to flutter closed. She sat up and lifted his head.

"Hey, hey, hey, you can't sleep yet," She began, brushing a few curls off of his forehead bandage. He groaned slightly, but opened his eyes. "I have to change your bandage on your head, and we need to put some more creme on your burn," She said, and helped August up.

He grumpily walked to the kitchen, and sat on a stool. Grace watched him as she gathered her tools, and laughed to herself about how child like he can become when he is tired.

She quickly took off the bandage, and looked at his stitches,

"They're healing, just slowly. They shouldn't leave too big of a scar, if a scar at all," She said. August nodded, too tired from todays events to talk.

She replaced the bandage and moved on to his burn. It was still noticeable what had happened, but it was healing. She gently lathered on the burn creme, and took a photo of his burn with her phone, in order to track it.

"Okay, baby, all done." She whispered to him. "You head up and go to bed, I'm going to put this away and let Kal out for a pee, and then I'll join you, okay?"

August smiled at her, and stood up. He wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Thank you, my love. I love you so much." He whispered into her ear.

Grace giggled and gave him a kiss on his lips. "I love you too, Snuffles," She replied, and used his nickname.

He gave her one last hug and kiss, and walked over to the stairs.

Grace began to clean up her medical supplies, and let Kal out for a pee. She walked into the living room, and saw the letter laying on the ground. She picked it up, placed it on the table. She then pulled out her phone and made a reminder to call her mom to talk to Julia and let her know what was happening and why she hasn't answered her lately.

She let the Akita back in the house, who went to his water bowl for a drink before heading up to the bedroom, where his dad was.

Grace made sure all the doors and windows were locked, and the alarm was armed, before she followed her boys.

"Kal! Leave Daddy alone!" Grace whisper yelled upon entering the bedroom, and seeing Kal nudging August with his nose for pets. Kal huffed at her, but then stalked over to his bed, immediately settling down.

Grace changed into her pyjamas, which consisted of one of August's shirts, and a pair of spandex shorts, before snuggling into bed with August.

She quickly fell asleep, and stayed that way until she was awoken at 5:30am by August shooting up from where he was laying. She rolled over and saw his shoulders shaking, his large hands covering his face. She shot up, and crawled so she was kneeling in front of him in the bed. She pulled his head from his hands, which forced him to reveal that he was crying and hyperventilating.

"What's wrong?" Grace said. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before running to the bathroom to get him a cup of water. She returned to his side, and placed the water down. He had a hand on his chest, and was hyperventilating to the point where Grace knew he couldn't breathe. She reached into his bedside drawer and grabber his 'bcalm' inhaler.

She bought him this inhaler after a particularly rough day at work, a few months previous.

He had come inside the house, and immediately walked up to where Grace was in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her, and began to breathe quickly. Grace, thinking he was just tired, gave him a hug, and continued to work on dinner when he released her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and followed Kal into the living room.

A few minutes later, as Grace was chopping up vegetables, Kal came running into the kitchen and began to bark and jerk his head towards the living room, before he ran back to August. Grace knew something was wrong, and followed him. She found August bent over on the couch, shaking, and his head in between his knees. Kal was nudging him, and attempting to get his face up unsuccessfully. Grace dropped to her knees in front of him, and lifted his head.

He looked up at her with pure fear in his eyes. His hands were on his chest, crumpled in his shirt. Grace immediately recognized what was wrong, and tried to calm him down.

'Baby, I need you to listen to me. You're okay, you're safe. Breathe with me." She said, and began to breathe calming breaths with him. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

They did that for a few moments, but his breathing barely calmed. She held her finger up in front of his mouth. "Pretend you're blowing out a candle, small, deep breaths."

August did as he was told, and his breath quickly slowed, and returned to normal.

Grace knew then that he had an anxiety disorder, but he had never gone to a doctor for it, and likely never would. She opted to educate herself on ways to help him, instead of forcing him into a situation where he wouldn't be comfortable.

She placed the inhaler up to his lips, and instructed him to breathe in. She removed the inhaler to allow him to exhale, before returning it to his lips. After 6-7 breaths, he was calm, and rested his head into Grace's neck.

"Here," Grace said. August lifted his head at her voice, and opened his mouth to drink from the cup that was presented at his mouth. He drank half the glass, before he wrapped his arms around his wife's waist.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Grace said in a quiet voice.

August took a few breaths, but began to explain. "I-I dreamed that Ethan didn't stop me in Kashmir, and Julia died. I was sent to prison. You visited me and told me how much you hated me, and wished you never married me. It scared me so much," He said, shakily.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here, I love you and you're going to be okay. You're safe." Grace said. She felt Kal's wet nose poking at her leg, and she looked at the dog. He had anxiety written all over his face, and knew he was scared for his dad.

Grace moved out of the way, and allowed Kal to climb up and put his large body where Graces once was. He rested his head on August's shoulder, and Grace put her hand on the back of his neck. August wrapped his arms around Kal a few moments later.

"Hey, buddy, daddy's okay." August whispered to the dog. Kal made a little whimper, but didn't move. After Kal was satisfied his dad was okay, he moved off, and settled his large body at the end of the bed. Grace laid down, and motioned for August to do the same. She wrapped her small body around his larger one, and they drifted off the sleep not long after.

Grace woke up before August the next morning, and allowed him to stay asleep. She walked into the bathroom and began to run him a bath. He was usually very clingy after an attack that bad, and she wanted him to feel calm, the way he calms her down.

She put a few drops of Lavender essential oil into the water, and Lavender scented bubble bath as well. Once it was full, she turned off the tap. She placed some fluffy towels on her vanity, and made her way to the closet. She grabbed sweats and a t shirt, as well as his superman boxers that he loved. Those were placed on top of his towels. She grabbed her laptop, so he could watch Netflix while he was in there.

Once everything was ready, she made her way back to her sleeping husband in the bed.

She knelt down beside him and began to run her fingers through his hair, gently coaxing him awake. "Auggie baby, wake up," She whispered. He groaned, but opened his eyes. Once his eyes landed on hers, his mouth molded into a smile.

"Good morning," He said, groggily. He reached out a hand and placed it on the side of her face, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth.

Grace leaned into his touch. "I ran a bath for you, follow me." She said. August smiled and got out of bed to follow his wife into the bathroom.

"It smells lovely, baby girl, thank you." He said, as soon as he entered the bathroom. Grace smiled, and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

"I have Netflix queued up on my laptop. I'll make us breakfast, and then I'll join you, okay?" She whispered in his ear. August nuzzled into her neck, and pressed a few kisses there, which made Grace smile. She missed his touch so much.

"Mmmm, sounds good." He whispered into her neck, which caused a shiver to run up and down her back.

She left him to get in the tub, and ventured down stairs. She made a quick breakfast of Eggo waffles, syrup and cold water bottles for the both of them. She made her way back up stairs, and found August settling into the tub.

Grace peeled off her clothes, knowing full well August was admiring her, which she loved. She got into the tub, settling herself in between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. She lifted the plank of wood she used to watch Netflix in the tub, and placed her laptop, and their food on it.

"What do you wanna watch?" She asked him, as she signed into Netflix.

"Mm, New Girl," He said quietly, and he ran a hand up and down her side, admiring his beautiful wife.

She put New Girl on, and settled back against August. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and began to pepper kisses on her neck. Grace moaned, and leaned back into his touch. Her hands ran up and down his thighs that had her body encased in his. August hit a particular spot that he knew would drive Grace crazy. She arched her back, and moaned out loudly. August felt himself begin to lose control, and removed his mouth from her.

"Why'd you stop?" Grace groaned out. "I was liking that,"

He chuckled. "I want you to trust me fully before we're intimate again. I don't want to make you feel like I'm being selfish."

Grace turned her head to look at him. "You won't baby. I love you, and miss you." She whispered.

August began to move his hands to her stomach. He immediately felt her body react to his, and that encouraged him to keep going. He removed his hands for a moment, in order to move the wood that had their food and laptop on it, to the ground where it couldn't be harmed.  

Grace turned around in his arms, and swung her right and then her left over his legs, so she was straddling him. She pressed their foreheads together, and moaned at the feeling of Augusts hands exploring her body. It had only been a week since the last time they made love, but somehow it felt like it had been a lifetime. Grace brushed her lips against his, and felt his hand slow to a stop. He reached up and enveloped her lips in a loving kiss. Her hands moved from his chest to his jaw.

His tongue swiped on her bottom lip, and she immediately allowed him to deepen the kiss. His right hand moved from her lower back, over her hip, her thigh, and then in between her legs, and Grace allowed her self to be lost in the pleasure.

For many minutes, time seemed to stop for the couple. Inside their little bubble, no one could harm them. No ethics reading needed to be done, no trust needed to be gained, and Kashmir never happened. All they felt was love, and passion.

As Grace rested her head on August's chest, she felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal. August had his right hand rubbing her back, and his left playing with her hair. She sighed in content, and tilted her head up at August. He smiled town at her, and gave her a kiss.

"That was amazing," August said. He noticed pure happiness on his wife's face. "I love you so much, I can't even believe it," He said, a stray tear falling from his welled up eyes. Grace lifted a hand and gently wiped it, being careful not to hit his burn area.

"I love you too. You've amazed me with how far you've come, even in just two days. I'm so proud of you, baby." She whispered to him. She noticed the tears escaping his eyes, and she knew that he was happy to hear her say that. That she was proud of him, that she loved him. Words he never heard from his parents.

She sat up and wrapped him up in her arms. "I'm proud of you. You make me proud to be your wife as every day goes by. You're so worthy of all my love. You're doing amazing," She whispered, tears came to her eyes, and she praised him over and over, meaning every word.

"I make you proud?" He whispered, clearly not believing her.

"Everyday angel. Marrying you was the best decision of my life." She said. Instantly, his sobs intensified, and his arms squeezed her closer.

She knew he needed to hear every word of praise she could give him, that he needed every kiss, hug, touch, and he needed her.

He may not be the perfect citizen, but Grace would be damned if she couldn't admit that he was on his way. And she would protect him, and guide him, until he didn't need it anymore. When that time came, she would stick by him, and love him.

[purplebunniboy]

Retrograde Character Masterlist

I lied, here are all the characters. I’ll do in depth backstories later.

This probably isn't EVERY character but it's damn near close and just some basics about them that are totally subject to be altered or expanded upon later

---

Afton Family

Michael Frederick Afton/ Fritz Smith/ Mike Schmidt:

Thick curly brown hair, hazel green eyes, grey tshirt with rolled sleeves, tucked into jeans// scars along his face, torso, and arms

Born October 7th, 1969 to Sandra Schmidt and William Afton

The oldest of the Afton children

Loved baseball, got his first bat from Henry

Scar across his nose came from a fight, hand scars came from attempting to pry open Fredbear's mouth during the bite, arm scar came from encounter with the Nightmares, torso scar came from getting scooped, various other scars from animatronic encounters

Fox mask bully, Dayshift worker at Freddy Fazbear’s in 1987, Technician at Circus Baby’s Pizza World and Party Rentals, Nightshift Security Guard at Freddy Fazbear’s in 1998

William David Afton:

Shiny dark hair, soft blue eyes that turned grey the first time he “died”, well-groomed and cared about his looks

Father of Michael, Elizabeth, and Cassidy Afton; Spouse of Sandra Afton

Co-owner of Fredbear’s Family Dinner, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, Circus Baby’s Pizza World, Fazbear Robotics and Fazbear Entertainment inc.; Owner of Afton Robotics LLC

Cunning, charming, and extremely persuasive, could find out absolutely anything about anyone and use it against them to get what he wanted

Extremely theatrical and loved going over the top in performances, 

Loved robotics and excelled at crafting learning AI, but could never perfect it how he wanted

Drove himself mad with the idea of immortality and legacy

Absolutely hated being called Billy

Did love his kids, at least originally, he’s only Somewhat a heartless monster, but there’s something still beating in that chest of his

Cassandra “Sandra” Bella Schmidt:

Denim jumpsuit, dyed blonde hair, hazel green eyes

Mother of Michael, Elizabeth, and Cassidy Afton. Spouse of William Afton

Was a Broadway actress but left her career behind to marry William and raise her family

Very soft-spoken, only confident when she was on a stage under the spotlight

Had a beautiful singing voice and would often sing her children to sleep, especially if they woke up from night terrors

Elizabeth “Lizzie” Rose Afton:

Dark strawberry blonde hair curled into tight ringlets and pulled back into two ponytails with red ribbon ties, bright green eyes, often wore a lot bright colors

Born May 12th, 1979. Died February 1986

The youngest of the Afton children

Suspected of being the product of an affair as her looks did not resemble her father’s

Did whatever it took to get her way and was very cunning about how she went about doing that

Liked to sing with her mother and was very musically inclined

Evan “Ev” Afton:

Thick brown curls that often fell in front of bright green eyes, white collared shirt a large black tshirt with two white stripes across the chest

Born October 31st, 1975. Bitten by Fredbear October 31st, 1983. “Died” November 5th, 1983

The middle child of the Afton children

Was never the best at communicating with others, complained a lot, fought with his brother constantly at home

After witnessing Charlie’s unaliving, became traumatized and cried all the time

Had a large collection of stuffed animals but was usually carrying around at least one of the Fazbear Plushies

---

Emily Family

Henry Emily

Shoulder length hair always swept or pulled back out of his face, dirty overalls, hands are never clean

Father of Charlotte and Samuel Emily. Spouse of Donna Emily

Treated all the robots the same way he did his own children

Caring and understanding but had a short temper and lacked patience, especially when under a lot of stress

Extremely talented in robotics, excelling in them from an early age. He could make anything look lifelike and real.

Preferred the comfort of his garage workshop over really showing his face

Donna Fitzgerald:

Big and poofy dark hair, dark eyes, high-waisted acid-wash jeans, pink wool turtleneck

Mother of Charlotte and Samuel Emily. Spouse of Henry Emily.

Strong-willed and very loud about her opinions on things.

Very supportive of Henry’s passion with robotics even if the whole topic gave her headaches when she attempted to wrap her brain around the concept

Charlotte “Charlie” Emily:

Denim overalls decorated with marker drawings of flowers, green striped tshirt, green wrist band, untamable brown hair pulled into two high pigtails

Born June 26th, 1978. Died April 5th, 1983

The younger of the Emily children

Extremely empathetic and caring, always went out of her way to care for children smaller than her, wanting them to feel loved and accepted

She was never afraid to get dirty, she always colored outside of the lines on purpose, she wanted to do the daring and unexpected.

Carried around a porcelain doll that was styled like a black and white jester

Her robotic counterpart was the spitting image of the real one

Robotic Charlie was much more sensitive and much more analytical of the world around her

Samuel “Sammy” Jeremy Emily/ Jeremy Fitzgerald:

Born June 24th, 1970. Bitten by Mangle October 7th, 1987

The older of the Emily children

He was always a very gifted child, excelling in mathematics from a very young age, but hit gifted kid burnout by the time he hit highschool

Never had much of an interest in robotics

Patient and gentle, he preferred to keep to himself and would often seek out quiet places he could be alone

Jennifer “Aunt Jen/Jenny” Emily:

Older sister of Henry Emily

Always had an interest in robotics and passed her skills on to her baby brother

Fiercely loyal to family she would do anything she could to protect them and keep them happy, especially Henry since he was the only family she really had left

She was strong-willed, even in her younger years, and able to hold her own very well

---

Before the Bite

Michelle “Mitchie” Peters:

Spiky short brown hair, green t shirt, blue boy shorts, green sweatbands

Bear mask bully

Older sister to Gabriel Peters

Died July 4th,1985

Michael’s closest childhood friend

A tomboy, closet case, and had a major superiority complex or at least pretended to have one

Called the Mama Bear of the group due to her caring deeply for her friends but aggressiveness towards everyone else

David “Davie” Kennedy:

Wavy black hair, red polo shirt with a popped collar, blue bunny mask

Bigger kid and designated meat shield of the group.

Willing to defend his friends to his dying breath.

Inside, he had a soft core. He was the one who would check on each of them, asking if they were ok and if they needed help. His soft core often got him teased by his friends but it never stopped him from wanting to make sure they were always safe

Bunny mask bully, Technician at Circus Baby’s Pizza World and Party Rentals

Christopher “Chris” Houghton:

Short curly dark hair, long sleeve blue shirt

Chicken mask bully

Never left the arcade, living that sweet gamer life

Liked to run his mouth and always needed to have the last word

Vanessa “Nessa/Ness” Abernathy

Dark hair, rainbow clip extensions, dark eyes

Born December 24th, 1970. 

Knew Michael in school, had a crush on him, he was the first one to ever call her Ness and the only one she ever let call her that

Took a robotics class because of him and also got really into coding

Influenced by William and eventually taken completely under his control. She was his eyes and ears in the outside world. Talks to him through the Spring Bonnie plush when non-possessed

Poses as Mike’s therapist to keep an eye on him for William

Matthew “Matt” Griffiths

Older man though no one was sure how old he actually is or if he can even die, choppy hair, thick rimmed glasses

Phone guy

Dayshift worker/ Training Manager at Fredbear’s Family Diner, General Manager of the first Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria

Loyal to the company but also put his own well being and safety before anyone else’s

Would not stick his neck out for anybody on his own

Blunt and standoffish, sometimes considered rude though he was never rude to customers or kids

One of Afton’s first “puppets”

---

Party of 1985

Susan “Susie” Waylar:

Messy golden blonde curls, blue eyes, pink shirt, bedazzled jeans

Older sister of Samantha Waylar

Best friends with Gabriel Peters

Died June 26th, 1985. Stuffed into Chica

Extremely energetic and always told she should settle and be quieter like her sister

Despite being super messy, constantly having gunk in her hair and under her nails, she had an unnatural ability to always keep her dresses clean

Gabriel “Gabe” Peters:

Straight light brown hair, striped shirt beneath denim overalls, missing front tooth

Younger brother of Mitchie Peters

Died June 26th, 1985. Stuffed into Freddy Fazbear

Stood up for the smaller kids whenever possible

Energetic, never able to settle, and outgoing. Impossible to ever see him not smiling

He was clumsy and always getting hurt accidently.

Best friends with Susie Waylar

Cassidy “Dee-Dee” Richards:

Dark hair always pulled into two uneven pigtails, always wearing yellow

Died June 26th, 1985. Stuffed into Golden Freddy

Pulled a lot of pranks, some lighthearted, some not so much.

Threw tantrums to get what she wanted.

Always wanting to be first, always wanting to come out ahead, always 

Jeremy Velasquez:

Died June 26th, 1985. Stuffed into Bonnie

A generally shy kid who’s loud and energetic around his friends

Started growing out of Freddy’s pretty early on

Susie felt bad for him and invited him to hang out with her and Gabe

Frederick “Fritz” Parker:

Messy auburn hair, pastel pink polo shirt

Died June 26th, 1985. Stuffed into Foxy

Aggressive and rude, rather abrasive and destructive

---

Party of 1987

Pete Dinglewood:

Brown hair, red letterman jacket, backwards baseball cap, prosthetic hand and glass eye after being hit by a car and barely surviving.

Died October 4th, 1987. Stuffed into Foxy

Older brother of Charles “Chuck” Dinglewood

Always sticking gum under the tables in the party rooms

Alec Wilkins:

Blonde curly rocker mullet, sci-fi movie shirt with cut off sleeves, braces

Died October 4th, 1987. Stuffed into Freddy

Older brother of Hazel Wilkins

Could be rude at times, always got himself into trouble and pinned with the “problem child” title

Toby Billings:

Fluffy brown hair, mullet, reminds Michael of Cass, pullover sweatshirt with an athletic team’s logo on the front, always putting stuff in his mouth

Died October 4th, 1987. Stuffed into Bonnie

Younger brother of Connor Billings

Wanted to have the highest scores in the arcade

Cracks his knuckles when he’s lying or when he’s nervous which most people will loudly say is gross and annoying

Millicent “Millie” Fitzsimmons:

Dyed black hair always teased and pinned on one side, always wears a lot of black and intense black makeup

Died October 4th, 1987, stuffed into Chica

Best friends with Alec

Lives alone with her grandfather, who is sometimes hired by Fazbear’s or Afton Robotics to fix any minor technical malfunctions with the animatronics

Was there during the grand opening event of Circuse Baby’s when Elizabeth was killed in 1986

---

Around Town

Connor Billings:

Brown hair, square face, very hyper and always laughing even if the joke isn’t funny

Phone dude

Older brother of Toby Billings

Became obsessed with the mysteries of the place after looking into the 1987 deaths more

Collected old remnants of the closed down restaurants.

Hired by Henry to find the stuff still haunted to put into Fazbear’s Frights, no questions asked

Lowkey scared of Michael saying, quote, “the guy just gives me bad vibes”

Samantha Waylar:

Older sister of Susie Waylar

Quieter, though who’s to say that equals maturity 

Preferred to keep to herself and her books

She knew how to stand up for herself and was actually better at telling kids off than her sister was

Swear she loved Oliver more

Stanley Martinez:

Technician at Circus Baby’s Pizza World and Party Rentals

Was into tech most of his life.

Known to be a generally kind man, putting others and their well being before himself

He was never one to snoop around and would prefer staying out of other’s business

Clayton “Clay” Burke:

Father of Carlton Burke. Spouse of Betty Burke

Chief of police. Was a detective when the 5 murders happened, worked on the case.

Though he is at times a little air headed, he is very caring of those around him

Carlton Burke:

Ginger hair, dark clothing

Only son of Carlton and Betty Burke

Childhood friends of Charlie, John, and Jessica

Always the kind to crack jokes when the mood was down and laugh in the face of danger.

Art and theatre kid

John Aowyn:

Messy brown hair, white shirt, brown leather jacket

Childhood friend of Charlie, John and Carlton. Had a crush on Charlie

He was a writer and constantly lost in his own fantasy world that sometimes it was hard to pull him out of

Jessica Sinclair:

Shiny light brown hair, brown doe-eyes, always clean cut, fashionable clothing, contagious smile

Childhood friend of Charlie, John and Carlton

Fiercely loyal to her friends, and would do anything to protect them. She hated seeing them sad or hurt and was always there with bandaids and snacks the moment they needed her

Very perceptive and smart, she had a love of forensics and her friends would often put on mystery hunts just for her

Leslie Dunn:

Round face, light hair, police uniform

Police officer/ Detective

A bit blunt at times though not with the intention of being rude

A bit awkward at times

Jack Flores:

Younger man, greasy hair, bright eyes

Nightshift Security Guard at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria

Overly curious, couldn’t keep his nose out of other’s business

[tickletastic]

Everything’s Growing In Our Garden

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Ship: Thiam

Summary: Theo learns what it's like to finally have a family, and Jenna, David, and Liam are more than happy to help him along the way.

Living with the Dunbar-Geyers was… different for Theo, to say the absolute least.

Before the dread doctors, he was always coming second to his sister. He was sick, and asthmatic, and terrible at sports. Tara was the star of her middle school’s soccer team, and in the off-seasons she juggled piano lessons and debate team. Theo had things of his own: he did dance when his asthma wasn’t acting up, and he could write circles around the other kids thanks to his reading addiction, but it was never enough for his parents. They wanted trophies and medals to show off, and cute pictures in uniforms, and Theo could just never give them that. He didn’t really understand it as a kid. He thought that most kids were vying for the attention of their parents and Tara was just an exception. He wanted to feel special too.

When the dread doctors enticed him to join them, they had made him feel special. They said that he was so unique for being chosen by them, and once he gave them what they needed he could have everything he ever wanted.

The doctors never fulfilled their promises. Instead, Theo was threatened on a daily basis, and prodded with needles and x-rays until he was blue in the face.

Theo never did feel special. At least, not until he started living with Liam and his parents.

Liam was constantly around, bubbly and jumpy as always, making sure Theo was comfortable. Liam spent two days trying to figure out the perfect plan to convince Theo to move in when he found out that Theo was homeless. In the end, he took the easy way out and stole Theo’s truck. He refused to return the keys until Theo promised he would take the Dunbar-Geyers’ guest bedroom.

Liam’s parents welcomed him with open arms. They both did everything they could to make sure that Theo would be comfortable after Liam described the older boy’s flighty nature to them. It wasn’t hard for either of them, they both took a liking to the boy instantly, and Jenna found it easier than Liam had described to read Theo’s emotions. Mothering a teenage boy will do that to you.

Dr. Geyer loved talking biology with Theo. He even offered Theo an internship at the hospital before the Geyers had found out that Theo needed to graduate high school. The second the doctor came home, he would often talk with Theo while helping Jenna with what was left of dinner. The two of them got along very well, and Dr. Geyer found it refreshing discussing medicine with someone who wasn’t a colleague.

Jenna and Theo had many, many things in common: they both loved to read, they both loved to cook, and they both loved to annoy Liam to wit’s end. Jenna was actually one of Theo’s favourite contemporary authors before the two had even met, and he would be embarrassed to admit to the fanboy moment he had when they first met. Jenna had written a popular fantasy children’s series under her maiden name, Tate, before transitioning into adult fiction under her current name. Liam hadn’t even known that Theo was a fan of his mom until Theo met her. Jenna barely had time to introduce herself before Theo was turning bright red and gushing: “I have read Noire Kingdom seven times!” Jenna laughed, and Liam swore that he would never let Theo live it down. Liam quickly learned not to mention it when his mom and his new housemate had started to gang up on him with the teasing.

It was really strange to Theo to be treated like he was part of the family. It was weird to have two parent-figures that had grown to love him. Theo didn’t really know what he imagined parents to be like. He couldn’t remember much of his own, and fake parents never quite fit the bill.

Dr. Geyer was understanding and pensive. He would check in on Liam and Theo when the security bell would alert his phone of their homecoming, and he would bring home sweets from the bakery near the hospital once a week. When Theo first arrived he had believed it was already a tradition: Dr. Geyer would bring home an assortment of treats every week; tarts for Liam, muffins for Jenna, cookies for himself, and an assortment of others. One week, Dr. Geyer’s usual box of goodies changed from an assortment to just four. The tarts, muffins, and cookies remained the same, but instead of the usual variety of extra sweets, there were sprinkled donuts. Dr. Geyer never mentioned it, so Theo never did figure out how the doctor had realized they were his favourite. It wasn’t until months after that Liam let it slip that the sweets hadn’t been tradition before Theo’s arrival, but his dad had instead decided to create new traditions to include Theo.

Dr. Geyer showed his affections through small, silent acts of kindness, and even that was a bit overwhelming for Theo.

Jenna? Well.. some of her maternal habits were kind of strange, Liam was completely willing to admit it. He had filled Theo in on a few of them:

- Simply for her own peace of mind, Jenna would try to make Liam smile at least once a day - Jenna called Liam by his first name only when she was angry, otherwise, it would always be some variation or nickname, and last but not least; - Jenna packs Liam’s lunch, always slipping a little note into it

Theo didn’t really see what the point was in Liam telling him all of this, after all, Theo was definitely not planning on passing judgement on the woman who had given him a home.

Theo didn’t understand until he had been helping Jenna cook dinner one day.

“Baby face, could you pass me the flour?”

Theo hadn’t heard Liam, or even smelled Liam enter the house, so he turned to the entrance of the kitchen, his brow furrowed. When he turned around, the entrance was empty, the house only occupied by Theo and Jenna, as expected.

Theo’s brow furrowed, and he looked over at Jenna, who was humming peacefully as she mixed the dough in front of her. She looked up at Theo when she realized he had yet to pass her the ingredient.

“Theo, sweetheart: the flour?”

Even Theo’s crazy ability to hide his emotions couldn’t help the furious blush that made its way over his face. He nodded frantically before turning around and handing Jenna the bag of flour.

“Are you okay, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Theo nods frantically again, “yup, perfectly fine, Mrs. Geyer.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jenna?” She tuts before continuing dinner.

Some of the nicknames do get absurd, but others are so cute and fond that they force a blush to rise over Theo’s cheeks no matter how many times he’s called them.

Theo finally understands why Liam felt the need to fill him in on all of the strange maternal habits that Jenna has developed when Theo opens his backpack one morning, finding a brown paper bag in it. He eyes it strangely, but it doesn’t smell suspicious... In fact, it smells delicious.

Three periods later, Theo sits down for lunch with Liam and the puppy pack, taking out the bag and placing it on the cafeteria table in front of him, eyeing it with suspicion. He’s so deep in wonder that he doesn’t even notice when Liam stops his conversation with Alec mid-sentence, eyeing Theo with the same suspicious look that Theo is giving the bag.

“Dude, it’s just the lunch my mom packed for you, I promise she didn’t lace it with wolfsbane or anything.”

Theo scowls, looking down in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. When he finally does open the bag, the effort to hide is rendered completely worthless as he reads out the note written on a heart-shaped sticky note stuck to the container of his sandwich.

The rest of the table certainly notices, and Corey, the little shit that he is, grabs for the note, tearing it straight from the container.

“Have an amazing day at school, sweet boy. I know you’ll do perfect on your biology midterm. Xoxo Jenna.”

Theo grabs for it, but of course, that doesn’t stop Corey from reading it out to everyone else present at the table. His face is bright red, and Liam jokingly leans in to pinch his cheek. Theo glares before hastily grabbing the brown paper bag, getting up and tossing his backpack over his shoulder as he grumbles under his breath.

The moment that Liam realizes that he has forgotten to fill Theo in on everything comes a moment too late, but Liam ends up being grateful in the end.

Jenna has a habit of touching her family on whatever body part happens to be closest to her. Liam thinks that she doesn’t even know that she’s doing it, it has just always been a calming ritual for her. Usually, it would be a normal body part, she would scratch Liam’s scalp while asking him about his day at school, or she would rub David’s shoulder while asking him to pick up groceries. Today, David was on a shift at the hospital and, while Jenna was actively working on her next novel, she was home for the time being. It was after school on a weekday, so she figured she could spare the night away from her office to feed her favourite boys.

When the two teens had arrived home, they had greeted Jenna in the kitchen before heading to the living room. Liam had gravitated to the floor directly in front of the TV, playing video games on his PS4, and Theo had gravitated to the couch behind the younger teen. Liam was sitting with his back against the couch, and Theo was curled up on the couch, trying his hardest to keep his eyes open despite his long day at school.

Jenna rounded the couch from the kitchen, standing next to Liam in front of the couch. She started to absentmindedly scratch Liam’s head, and he leaned into the touch, practically purring. She stopped when she realized that Theo’s eyes were closed, and she cleared her throat. Theo’s eyes squinting back open.

“Hey, kiddo, long day at school? You should head up and take a nap before dinner,” Jenna started, smiling softly at the boy that she now considered her second son. “What do you want for di-”

Jenna was interrupted by a frantic giggle from Theo, as he quickly rushed to cover his face with his hands. Liam hadn’t been paying much attention, but he starts to when the sweet sound of Theo’s laughter floats through the air.

While she had been preparing to ask Theo what he wanted for dinner, her hand had wandered down to his socked foot, pulling at his toes without even realizing.

Jenna repeats the action and smiles fondly when Theo tries to curl up, calling out through giggles, “Jenna!”

She stops when the boy tries to scramble off the couch, moving her hand to his shoulder in a calming effort to ensure that he stays comfortable. She can’t help but coo, the flush on Theo’s cheeks worsening in response. “That’s adorable.”

Liam was confused as to what had happened, his back to Theo, until Jenna had rounded the couch and leaned over to whisper in Theo’s ear, “don’t worry, Liam’s ticklish too.”

Now both Liam and Theo were blushing, Liam because his mother had revealed his secret, and Theo because Jenna’s words could confirm Liam’s suspicions of his own sensitivity. When she pulls away, she ruffles Theo’s hair. “What do you want for dinner, honey?”

Theo stammered for a moment, his brain a cloud of embarrassment and anticipation, “could we have pasta?”

“Of course, babydoll.” Jenna walks back into the kitchen, Liam sure that she would make bowtie pasta since it seemed to be Theo’s favourite, even though Liam preferred rigatoni.

As much as Theo would like to test out Liam’s ticklishness, his tired brain doesn’t even think of it until Liam is pinning him to the couch, his game abandoned completely as Brett and Alec’s voices sound out through his headset.

Theo had a nervous smile on his face, his tiredness still unceasing. Liam was grinning like he had just discovered Atlantis. “You’re ticklish? Mom’s right, that is adorable.”

Theo couldn’t prevent the blush that grew to line his cheeks. He shook his head, his voice breathy in anticipation, “I mean, not r-really?”

“‘Not really’ as in you’re not ticklish?” Liam pinched Theo’s ribs, the older boy writhing beneath him, “or ‘not really’ as in you’re not adorable? ‘Cus they both seem to be true according to my information.”

Theo had gripped Liam’s wrists and was attempting to push them further away without trying to push Liam off altogether, failing horribly. Liam had always been stronger, though the chimera was usually faster, not only on his feet but with his mind as well.

Theo groaned, a look in his eyes that Liam couldn’t quite place, a look that would’ve signaled that Theo was frustrated had he been with anybody else but Liam. “If you’re going to insist on doing this, can we just get it over with? I’m exhausted Li.”

“Sorry babe, I’m about to make it worse.”

Theo didn’t even have the time to respond to the abnormal nickname before he was trying his very best to stay silent. As good as he had always been at handling interrogation methods, the dread doctors never did teach him how to handle this. He was trying to make his brain think quicker, but his thoughts were starting to fog up. He tried to decide between masking his chemosignals and masking his heartbeat, but his heart had quickly betrayed him in its pace.

He had always found it so easy to mask his heartbeat and chemosignals, it had always come so easy to him, but trying to hold in his laughter while hiding his chemosignals felt like he was running a marathon. He thought that he was doing a pretty good job until he saw the wicked smile on Liam’s face.

He wondered what kind of chemosignals he was sending out, because the only thing that he felt was panic. Liam’s fingers poked over his toned tummy, wiggling and twitching against Theo’s skin. He couldn’t let his laughter escape him, he needed to have at least one thing under control, but he was quickly losing it beneath the younger boy.

Theo almost bucked Liam off entirely when his fingers moved to his ribs, absolute terror running through his mind. He didn’t even realize he was shaking his head until Liam’s own beautiful laugh cut through the air.

“No, Theo? No what? What is it that you don’t want me to do?”

Theo frantically reached around, managing to grab both of Liam’s wrists and pushing them away ever so slightly, forcing Liam to stop. Liam just looked amused, a hint of glee in his eyes and a soft, pleased smile on his lips with his head quirked to the side.

Theo wanted to grimace, but instead he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his own face, breathy giggles escaping as he tried to reason. “Liam. Li. Just leave me alone. If you keep touching me then I swear I’ll make you regret it. I will break your nose in more ways than you could even count. I will-”

Liam stretched his fingers and wiggled, the corner of his lips further quirking when Theo let out a soft giggle when Liam’s fingers barely even brushed Theo’s skin. Liam’s fingers were just barely close enough for Liam to do anything but brush Theo with the very tips of his nails, yet there were enough to get the chimera on edge. “I swehehear I will- Holy shihit Liam don’t!”

Jenna was swift with her scorn, a quick call of ‘Theodore Karl Raeken’, reminding Theo to watch his language. In a swift movement Liam had gathered both of Theo’s wrists into one of his hands and pinned them above his head. It was enough to catch Theo off guard, giving Liam time to surprise him with his newly planned attack.

Theo’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he started to giggle despite himself. Liam was also hit with a wall of scent as Theo unknowingly lost control of his chemosignals. Liam felt something warm simmer in his chest, and he let it bloom until he found himself momentarily releasing Theo’s wrist and reaching for his phone. He opened his phone to his desired application and tasered Theo, snapping a quick photo as the chimera squeaked, his nose scrunching up in a way that made Liam’s heart skip. When the distinct snapping resounded from Liam’s phone, he was hit by the distinct scent of embarrassment from Theo.

“Delete it!”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be making any demands, T.”

Liam’s fingers resumed their scritchy scratching over Theo’s ribs: stuttered, carefree giggles softly flowing from the older boy.

Theo’s laughter adopted a panicked tone the higher that Liam’s fingers rose. A spot between two of his top ribs had him snorting softly, words completely dying in his throat. When Liam’s hands slipped under Theo’s arms, his eyes, which had been just barely open, shot wide, giving Liam a look similar to his own infamous puppy-dog eyes.

“Fuck, Liam stahap!” Theo’s laughter had risen an octave, and Liam was satisfied that he had been able to force the older boy to lose control. Liam hadn’t realized until now how satisfying it would be to see Theo as anything other than completely calm and collected.

Theo had gone limp for a moment when Liam had been tickling his ribs, but now his fight was back in full force. Theo had managed to pull his wrists down from Liam’s hold and was now desperately flailing his arms in defense as Liam poked and tickled wherever he could reach.

“Aww, someone’s a giggly mess.” red hot embarrassment scented through the open air once again as the colour of Theo’s cheeks began to rival that of tomatoes.

Theo had his head thrown back, his eyes shut as he blindly tried to defend himself. Could Deucalion train him on this? Liam took a moment to quickly film a video on snapchat, making a mental note to send it to Mason as proof that Theo, the big, bad chimera of death, does in fact giggle, and he looks pretty fucking cute while he’s doing it.

Liam had admittedly gotten a little carried away with tickling Theo silly, not even detecting another heartbeat near him until there was nimble, knowing fingers poking him in the tummy from behind.

“H-hey!” Liam fell backwards onto his back on the couch, bringing his knees up in an attempt to curl up while his mother hovered over him, rapidly poking him in one of his most sensitive areas.

“I think it’s time that you let Theo get his nap, don’t you think?” Jenna threw a wink Theo’s way that he just barely caught as he curled in on himself, still giggling softly.

Liam nodded frantically as a cacophony of sounds spilled from his lips: snorts, squeals, and cackles. To Theo, he resembled a turtle stuck on its back, desperately trying to flip over, as Liam flailed his arms in an attempt to protect himself. “Okahahay, mom! I’ll leave Theo alone!”

“That’s more like it!” Jenna exclaimed, blowing a raspberry to Liam’s neck before backing away. “Dinner will be ready soon boys, hope you’re hungry.”

Jenna walked back into the kitchen while Liam recovered, scratching and swatting at himself as if he could still feel his mother’s fingers. When he finally sat up, a small smile breached his face. Theo was curled up in a ball, facing the inside of the couch, fast asleep.

His breathing was slow, and his expression was soft and worry-free. Liam could once again feel the familiar flutter in his chest as he reached for the throw blanket folded on the arm of the couch, softly placing it over Theo as the boy softly snored.

A year ago, Theo barely felt safe sleeping in Beacon Hills at all, but now, Liam was glad that he finally had a place to call home, and that he finally had people he could call family.

[gstqaobc]

CBC THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, April 09, 2021

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

Prince Philip’s life of duty

(Adrian Dennis/Getty Images)

For so many years, Prince Philip was at Queen Elizabeth’s side — or walking just behind — deeply devoted in his duty as consort to the woman who is now the longest-reigning monarch in British history.

But the Duke of Edinburgh, who died this morning aged 99 at Windsor Castle, was seen by many as having his own role in helping an institution steeped in tradition try to find its way toward the future.

Much of that began nearly 70 years ago, after the former sailor who gave up a successful naval career saw his wife ascend the throne.

“What Prince Philip did was help modernize the monarchy in the 1950s,” Michael Jackson, president of the Institute for the Study of the Crown in Canada, said in an interview this morning.

“It was still a very tradition-bound institution…. We can credit Prince Philip, with the Queen’s full support, of course, with modernizing [its] finances, protocols, how Buckingham Palace was run … its outreach to the Commonwealth.”

Philip pushed to have Elizabeth’s coronation televised in 1953, an idea she did not wholeheartedly welcome at first.

“He was the modern person,” John Fraser, author of The Secret of the Crown: Canada’s Affair with Royalty, said in an interview this morning. “He was in touch with real people, non-royal people, and so he always had the instinct to reach out. He understood both the dark side of the media presence as well as the necessity of it.”

Fraser credits Philip’s profoundly unsettled early years, after he was “born in poverty and insecurity,” with how he looked toward the future of the Royal Family, and the monarchy.

“I do think those early years were the single biggest factor in his life and how he approached life,” said Fraser. “I think he never assumed things would last forever because he didn’t make any assumptions like that, and I think he certainly assumed the monarchy wouldn’t survive if it didn’t reach out more to the constituency that it had to serve.”

Fraser met Philip, and recalled him as a man who would revel in asking questions and challenging others.

“He was — charming is not the word I would use — but he was an invigorating person to speak to.”

Jackson, who was Saskatchewan’s chief of protocol from 1980 until 2005, met Philip during four visits to the province — three with the Queen and one on his own — and remembered a man with “a great sense of humour.”

“Sometimes people found him a bit abrasive, a bit abrupt, but that’s the way he was,” said Jackson.

“He was a straight shooter and he complemented the Queen beautifully because the Queen is a very soft-spoken, more laid-back person. Prince Philip really spoke his mind and occasionally made jokes and … put everyone at ease. I found him very refreshing, good to work with.”

With Philip’s death, there is an inevitable sadness for the Queen, and inevitable concern for how she will cope with the passing of her husband of more than 73 years.

Both Fraser and Jackson say the Queen will carry on, with Jackson noting “That’s the way she is. She’s a very strong person” with a deep religious faith that will sustain her.

“She’ll do her duty,” said Fraser. “And I think that’s the big lesson of him. He did his duty.”

For a full obituary of Prince Philip, click here.

For photos from Prince Philip's royal career, click here.

Family dysfunction

When Philip Mountbatten married Princess Elizabeth in 1947, the family he was joining was in marked contrast to the fractured one he had known in his youth. His parents' marriage broke down and offered him nothing like the nuclear family arrangement (mom, dad and two kids) that Elizabeth had known throughout her childhood. "In marrying the Queen, [Philip] gained that sort of stable home life that he didn't have when he was younger," royal author and historian Carolyn Harris has said in an interview. Philip's parents were Prince Andrew of Greece and Princess Alice of Battenberg, a great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria. Philip was born a prince of both Greece and Denmark on June 10, 1921, on the dining room table at Mon Repos, a villa that was the summer home for the Greek royals on the island of Corfu. He was the last of five children — his four older siblings were all girls. At the time, he was sixth in line to the Greek throne. But life in Greece didn't last long. His father, a professional soldier, was exiled from Greece in 1922 as his uncle, King Constantine I, was forced to abdicate. Philip's family fled, with the story being that Philip was nestled into an orange box as the family was evacuated from Greece on a Royal Navy ship. They eventually made their way to Paris. Philip's childhood took a "dysfunctional turn," author Sally Bedell Smith wrote in her book, Elizabeth The Queen, when he was sent by his parents at the age of eight to England for boarding school. The family eventually broke down. Philip's mother, who was born deaf, was ill periodically, diagnosed with schizophrenia and spent time in a sanitarium in Switzerland. His father went off with his mistress to Monte Carlo, where he died in 1944. Philip was left to be brought up in the U.K. by his mother's family, shuffled among various relatives and boarding schools throughout his youth. He didn't see or have any word from his mother between the summer of 1932 and the spring of 1937. "It's simply what happened," Philip said matter-of-factly in an excerpt from a book by Philip Eade, Young Prince Philip, Turbulent Early Years, published in the Telegraph. "The family broke up. My mother was ill, my sisters were married, my father was in the south of France. I just had to get on with it. You do. One does." As life went on, there really was no father to guide, consult or do anything else a father can do for his child. Several other close relatives died in his early years, including his favourite sister, Cecile, and her family in a plane crash in 1937. The following year, the 2nd Marquess of Milford Haven, his uncle and guardian, died of bone cancer. That left the marquess's younger brother, Louis Mountbatten, to bring up Philip. His family ties also extended into Germany. Three of his sisters were married to German princes involved in the Nazi party. Cecile and her husband, Don, had just joined the Nazi party before they died. Those family alliances had a visible repercussion when Philip and Elizabeth were married in 1947. "His sisters were not invited to the wedding as they were married to German princes who had been involved in the Nazi party during World War Two," Harris said. Philip's mother, Princess Alice, however, was at the wedding, and in her later years, came to live at Buckingham Palace. Alice had her own moment in the cultural conscience in 2019, as an episode during the third season of the Netflix drama, The Crown, focused on her. "She's just the most extraordinary character," Crown creator Peter Morgan told Vanity Fair. She set up charities for Greek refugees and later established a nursing order of Greek Orthodox nuns. During the Second World War, while her son was serving with the Royal Navy and her German sons-in-law fought for the Nazis, she was hiding Jews in Athens. As much as there was the distance between Philip and his mother in his younger years, there was a closeness later. Alice came to live at Buckingham Palace in 1967. Alice died at the palace in 1969 and was interred in the royal crypt at Windsor Castle. In 1988, her remains were transferred, as she had wished, to the church of St. Mary Magdalene in east Jerusalem. In a 1994 visit to the Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial in Jerusalem, Philip planted a tree in his mother's honour and visited her gravesite. "I suspect that it never occurred to her that her action was in any way special," Philip said during his visit. "She was a person with deep religious faith and she would have considered it to be a totally human action to fellow human beings in distress."

No stranger to Canada

(Frank Gunn/The Canadian Press)

Prince Philip's last visit to Canada was a short one in 2013 — on his own, without the Queen — to present a ceremonial flag to the Royal Canadian Regiment's 3rd Battalion. It came as something of a surprise. Philip had experienced a few health scares in the 18 months prior. So overseas travel was not necessarily a given for the Duke of Edinburgh at the time. But given Philip's feisty personality, dedication to his role and some of the interests he showed over the years, his return to Canada — he made more than 70 visits or stopovers between 1950 and 2013 — may not really have been a complete surprise. The 2013 trip was billed as a private working visit and was only a few days long. But while he was here, he was finally able to pick up the insignias he had been awarded as companion of the Order of Canada and commander of the Order of Military Merit from David Johnston, then Canada's governor general.

To read more about Philip’s time in Canada, click here.

Royally quotable

“He is someone who doesn't take easily to compliments but he has, quite simply, been my strength and stay all these years, and I, and his whole family, and this and many other countries, owe him a debt greater than he would ever claim, or we shall ever know.”

— Queen Elizabeth, publicly acknowledging Prince Philip’s importance to her during a speech on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary in 1997.

To read more on what Philip meant to the Queen, click here.

Remembering Prince Philip

Royal Fascinator readers are welcome to share their thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip, and any memories they may have of meeting him over the years. We’ll include some in the next edition of the newsletter.

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

royalfascinator@cbc.ca

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (2/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | AO3 | 3.9k words

A/N: I was going to post this update yesterday but *life*. We really get into the story, though—I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​ for her amazing art; and to @kmomof4​ and @cssns​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

say what you will about Glee, but Darren Criss’s version of this song is amazing

part two— the air is humming, and something great is coming...

2020

The sun was setting on another day, just like it had for the last 5000-plus. At least, Emma figured the number was up there; she’d stopped counting around day 4,588. Which was really an absurdly long time to count considering her days were no longer numbered, but old habits died hard, even if she never would.

She’d accepted that fact somewhere around day 4,040, which ironically was her 40th birthday. But instead of dealing with gray hairs and wrinkles and aching joints, she was still in her 28-year-old body, fairly spry and with exactly one white hair blended into her blonde. (Not that she could see it in the mirror anymore—or, you know, anything—but she knew it was there and that was all that mattered.)

She knew she’d finally settled into her new life when she was looking forward to drinking the deer blood she had at home and not longing for chocolate cake like she had the past several birthdays. Well, she still wished she could eat it—real food didn’t digest properly anymore—but the blood sounded just as good.

“It probably took me about that long to come to terms with it, too. Longer for your dad,” her mom had told her about the revelation.

That had been another epiphany: that the kindly undead couple she’d somehow ended up on the doorstep of—David and Snow Nolan—were her parents. Her actual birth parents. You know, the ones she’d been looking for her entire mortal life? (Had once dreamed would save her from one shitty foster home after another until she finally gave up hope, and instead turned to counting the days until she moved again?)

As it turned out, they’d been attacked and turned shortly after she’d been born—which apparently had been in a backwoods cottage in Maine that her grandparents had owned—and were taking her to the hospital for checkup after the fact. They didn’t trust themselves to face their new reality while also in charge of an infant (an infant with delicious-smelling blood, no less—creepy, but true) and so finished the journey to the hospital, but left her there alone.

Coming to terms with that had taken 1,187 days. There would have been lots of tears, were any of them able to cry; but instead, there was just a lot of emotion, which Emma had never dealt well with. But she was getting better. Who knew the kind of personal growth one could achieve after death? And it was a good lesson in how to handle (or not handle) things should the son she herself gave up ever manage to track her down.

(She looked—once, before she was turned. All she’d been able to find out was that he ended up in the foster system, too. She just hoped he was having a better time of it than she did. Well, had—he’d be an adult by now, wouldn’t he? Damn.)

So. Anyways. Sunset. Which Emma was watching from the roof of their building, which had become something of a refuge for her over the past 15 years. She had her own bedroom, but after so long on her own, being an adult suddenly under the same roof as her parents (who, despite being physically younger than her, still acted like her parents) was a bit stifling at times.

It wasn’t much, but it was her own space: she’d cobbled together a tent with some reclaimed tarps, filled with gently-used cushions, and on nice nights, would bring out a sleeping bag and let the lights and sounds of the city wash over her. It had been overwhelming at first—she kind of envied that her parents only had to deal with forest smells when they turned, and not the incredible everything of New York—but it had dulled over time, which she probably should have expected; it had only taken her a week or so to get used to the smell the first time, right?

That’s to say—the overwhelmingness did; she learned to tune things out and let them fall to the background. But her senses themselves were the sharpest they’d ever been, consequently making her even better at her job than she’d been pre-death. Having ethereal beauty compared to a mere mortal easily drew in most of her targets; her preternatural sight, hearing, and strength made it pretty simple to track them down and subdue them (she loved it when they ran); and she’d found out they were extra willing to comply with her demands when they were down a bit of blood. (It probably was connected to the whole your-sire-can-control-you thing but it didn’t last once they’d recovered from the blood loss and it kept her from murdering random ne'er-do-wells on the street; the lower a body count a vampire kept, the better.)

On a normal night, she’d be getting ready to catch another skip: either gussying up for a honeytrap, revving up her old Bug for a stakeout, or trying to track them down on Tinder while binging Netflix in the background (they kept up on technology...for the most part; she still wasn’t sure what a TikTok was). One thing a lot of the stories leave out is that it takes a long time to build up the kind of wealth and decadence you see with old vampires; even Emma’s parents still had to work, 40-odd years into this thing (David was an after-hours vet and Snow taught night school) and their townhouse was not rent-controlled. 

Of all the vampire media out there, their existence was far more What We Do In The Shadows than Twilight.

(Emma had always preferred comedy anyways.)

God, she was really getting sidetracked tonight. Anyways. No one was working because it was the anniversary of her being turned—her rebirthday, so to speak—and her mom was very much Leslie Knope when it came to anniversaries, but especially this one, given that it marked them finally coming together as a family.

That, and they were all going to get drunk.

“My class is a bunch of assholes this semester—I need this,” Snow had gushed earlier that week, grading papers behind their blackout curtains. (Vampires didn’t sparkle, thank god—at least, not without the help of glitter—but they were dangerously susceptible to sunburns, so the whole pale thing was accurate.) “And David—you’ve worked every weekend the last month; they can definitely operate without you for one night.”

“I put in for it a month ago, dear,” he tutted as he gathered the laundry, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went. 

They were definitely one of those nauseatingly cute couples, so it was a good thing Emma’s gag reflex was dormant. And, though she’d never admit it, she was a bit jealous that they’d been able to find—and keep—something that had evaded her her entire mortal life, and likely would for her afterlife, too.

Every now and then, a flash of blue eyes blinked into her vision; the same pair she’d seen on the night she transitioned. She still wasn’t sure they were real, and her parents genuinely knew nothing when she’d asked, so she never did again. The fact that she hadn’t ever seen them again, despite knowing just about all the vampires in this part of town (for better or worse), had her pretty convinced it was a mania-induced hallucination. But damn, was it a good one.

“Emma, are you ready?” Snow’s voice pulled Emma from her daydreams (nightdreams?). “It’s time to go,” she shouted—not loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but enough for Emma to hear.

“Coming,” she replied, then took one last glance at the night sky. Maybe there was something different in the stars? She didn’t know; she just had this feeling that something was going to change tonight. 

She brushed her hands down the skirt of her light pink dress; it wasn’t what she’d usually wear, but since this wasn’t her typical honey trap, she’d borrowed a dress from Snow. It was definitely sweeter than her taste, with its pastel color and A-line skirt, but just cut low enough to not be demure. Her high ponytail fell somewhere in between. Her fangs would probably take it in another direction, but it’s not like she was going to pose for photos—she only just showed up in those.

In a moment, she was back in the house, grabbing her purse and joining her parents (who equally straddled the line of sweet and seductive; it was a vampire thing). 

Out of nowhere, a flash of light blinded her. “Seriously?” she cursed, blinking away the temporary blindness, only to see her mother holding a Polaroid camera. That was the one thing that could document them; thank god the hipsters over in Greenwich Village had clung to them.

Snow just grinned and shook the picture while David lectured, “It’s not like we got to see you off to prom or anything.”

“Yeah, but are you going to do this every year?”

“Yes,” Snow stated matter-of-factly, smiling at the photo before setting it aside. “Now come on; there’s a bloody mary calling my name.”

“Where are we going?” 

“That new underground club at 43rd and 10th. Figured we should try it, and it should be trouble-free.”

‘Trouble’ meaning the Aurum coven. Emma still hadn’t figured out the reason for this centuries-long blood feud, but she did know that she’d been dragged in on the side of Coroza, under a woman named Cora; turns out Walsh had been one of her cronies. And it normally wouldn’t affect her, save for the fact that her parents were turned by someone in Aurum (led by the mysteriously mononymed Gold) and that had dangerous implications, not to mention the rising tensions between the two groups as they began to encroach on each other (and each other’s feeding grounds) on the Upper West Side. 

“You sure? That’s awfully close.” 43rd had become an arbitrary border between the two factions, and there had been more than a few skirmishes while people were on the prowl for a midnight snack. She’d had a couple close calls of her own while tracking down skips in the part of town, but had somehow managed to evade notice.

“It’s on our side of the street,” her mom shrugged in response and grabbed her purse.

(Why one side couldn’t just move to another part of town, Emma didn’t know, but she was definitely aware of how stubborn vampires could be. And she wasn’t going to move; there’s no way they’d be able to get a place like this anywhere else for a reasonable price.)

She’d hardly gotten out the door when a familiar scent caught her nose—and not necessarily a welcome one: Graham.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he stammered, while giving her a shy yet adorable grin.

“Hey,” she answered back, not meeting his eyes—and instead finding Snow’s, who was intently studying the sky. Snow had been trying to get the two of them together for at least 10 years, and while Graham was a great guy, a good friend, and handsome to boot, Emma had never been attracted to him like that. A fact that seemed to keep falling silent on Snow’s ears despite her enhanced hearing. 

(His blue eyes were pretty, but they weren’t the pair that kept haunting her.)

Given the sudden awkwardness that settled over the group—because that was apparently something you had to deal with whether you were dead or alive—it was up to Emma to break it. Not that she had any skill in that department.

“Alright, uh, let’s go,” she said with little confidence, and set off towards the club, with the others falling in behind her; Graham stayed close and if she wasn’t mistaken, attempted to put an arm around her, but she walked a bit faster to avoid his reach. The bar was only a few blocks away, which they could normally cover in less than a minute, but they had decided to blend in with the crowd tonight; it was nice to be normal every now and then.

But still—every now and then, the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose, and it had nothing to do with Graham’s proximity. Something was coming; she just didn’t know what. 

That wasn’t for her to worry about tonight, though. Tonight was for fun and drinks and dancing. And once they got to the darkly-lit club, that’s what she focused on for the next hour or so—

—Until her gaze locked with the blue eyes from her dreams.

★��・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian took a deep breath as soon as he exited the jetway—and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why he expected LaGuardia to have changed at all in the past 15 years. Despite all the reconstruction, it still smelled the same: of old coffee, questionable sushi, and stale humans. (The latter was a double-edged sword: despite eating shortly before he got to Heathrow, there had been a few delays before takeoff and he was feeling rather peckish now, although nothing here seemed appetizing. Which was probably something he had in common with mortals at the moment.)

He didn’t know why he’d assumed that he might have been routed through JFK this time—why would he think Gold would care enough to properly welcome home his best operative from abroad after 15 years?—but he tried to push that ire to the back of his mind as he summoned an Uber.

At least the delays meant he landed just as the sun was setting; his previous plan had been to hang around the terminal until dusk, so at least this prevented any awkward encounters with some overtalkative Midwesterner on their way back to Cleveland. Signs pointed him to the ride share lot, and a gentleman named Marco was waiting to take him home.

On the ride into the city, he marveled at how New York always seemed like a living, breathing thing, constantly evolving and changing. He could still sharply remember the dusty bustle of the town more than 200 years ago, the sound of carriages running over dirt and cobbled streets. He’d watched as the city grew, sprawling both across and beyond the Manhattan island and up into the sky, the smell of horses and people and sweat replaced by the acrid stench of exhaust (although, even his extra-sensitive nose had gotten used to it in short order). 

So it was both surprising and not to see how much the city had changed even in the last 15 years, most noticeably in the skyline: the Twin Towers were still fresh in everyone’s memory when he’d left, so to see the new One World Trade Center in their place was a bit jarring. But the sun still glinted golden off the skyscrapers the same way; pedestrians still hardly waited for the crossing signals to give the okay to go; and though he wasn’t in a yellow cab, a language barrier still lay between him and his driver. 

Cash tips were understandable to all, though, which Killian handed over once they’d arrived at his apartment building on 34th—the Chelsea side. He’d owned his flat since the building was constructed, which was fairly impressive, but did require him to occasionally change the name on the paperwork lest anyone notice anything suspicious. 

(Someone had figured out at some point that it was helpful to have an ally in both the Social Security office and the DMV; Archie and Jefferson traded off every 20 years or so in order to help create revolving identities for the members of the vampire community. The name on his ID at the moment was Kyle Johnson, and during the past 100 or so years since he’d been required to have one, he’d also been Killian James, Ian Joseph, and—though he had to admit, he’d picked this one just to see if he could get away with it—James Hook.)

And thankfully, he’d had a reliable roommate for the past 80 years. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out after braving the still-shaky lift to the top floor.

“About bloody time,” Robin called back from the couch. “You know I had dinner ready for you before you left?”

“Ha,” Killian answered. “I’d hate to see what that looks like after all this time.”

“Oh, I let him go. And good thing, too—he ended up writing Hamilton.”

Killian had barely poked his head into his musty bedroom before he returned to the living room. “You didn’t actually have Lin-Manuel Miranda in here, did you?” To most people’s surprise, Killian was a bit of a theater nerd; the West End was great, but he was looking forward to catching up on Broadway again. 

“No. But maybe that’s a good strategy if we want to get tickets.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

His stomach grumbled in agreement.

Robin chuckled. “There’s a bottle in the fridge you can have; figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

Killian tossed his luggage in his room and emerged again. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Maybe a few times over the past several decades.”

He downed the bottle quickly; the black blood market never gave the best stuff—considering the type of mortals who would be willing to sell their blood for money and didn’t qualify to sell plasma—but it hit the spot in a pinch, and every now and then had something good. This definitely wasn’t, but it sated his thirst long enough to take a shower and wash the airplane off of him.

As he stared at the fogged mirror with nothing looking back at him, rubbing his palm over his permanently well-trimmed scruff, he realized he hadn’t yet checked in with Gold. Even if he’d spent the last decade-plus doing the man’s bidding from abroad, it was still easy to forget about him.

Well, mostly—until he glanced back down at his blunted left wrist. Then it just brought ancient memories to the surface, as fresh as the day they’d happened, no matter how many centuries had intervened.

Which reminded him: he was still missing something. He shot off a quick missive to Gold as he pulled some clothes out of his depressingly dated closet (having left anything more modern in a consignment shop in London), managing to put together something vaguely timeless. But before he dressed, he turned his attention on the nightstand drawer.

He slowly pulled it open, though he knew what would be inside: his hook, as sturdy and sharp as ever, with its well-worn leather brace. Sure, he had a fairly modern prosthetic hand—one that TSA didn’t mind so much—but the hook had come first, and was definitely his preferred artificial appendage. He hadn’t meant to go so long without it, but then again, he hadn’t expected his London assignment to take so long. 

(Although, 15 years to him was roughly the same as 2 or 3 to the average mortal.)

Slipping on the soft leather was like greeting an old friend (well, another one, albeit he’d known this one longer than Robin). And snapping in the hook settled a part of him that he hadn’t realized had been adrift all these years. It didn’t fully still the odd sense of anticipation he’d had ever since he landed, but he definitely felt more at ease.

With that settled, he finished dressing and then headed back to the living room and flopped on the sofa next to Robin. “When did we get a new couch?” he asked indignantly, inspecting the unfamiliar upholstery.

“As soon as you left.”

“And what was so wrong with the previous one?”

“It was from the 70s! It was hideous and uncomfortable and you know it.”

Killian could only sigh; Robin was completely right. 

“Anyways,” Robin continued. “We’ve plenty of time to argue about furniture but very little to decide what we’re doing tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“You arrive back in North America for the first time in a decade and a half and you think that’s not a reason to celebrate?”

“Well, I was in Toronto a few years ago.”

“Still the Commonwealth. Doesn’t count. What do you want to do? There are quite a few people anxious to see you.” 

Well that’s good for them, he thought, but he wasn’t so sure of the same. The time away in the UK had definitely made him reconsider some of his connections back here in the States; getting away from the drama with Coroza had made him realize how petty he found it all. Though he’d never be completely extricated given that Gold was his sire, he’d definitely be alright with staying distant from the other frivolous disputes.

(And after spending a bit too much time in Brighton—particularly with some headstones bearing the name Jones and some rather divy taverns that were still somehow open all these centuries later—he wished more than ever to be free of Gold’s influence. Alas.)

He supposed he could placate them for one night, though; it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. “Are there any new clubs to check out?”

“For you—plenty. For all of us...aye, there’s one that’s just opened up about...10 blocks away? Ish?”

“In which direction?”

“Up, but kind of midtown so it should be in the clear.” Meaning no one from Coroza would be there.

“Sounds fine, then,” he replied; after so many years, every club started to feel the same, but he was willing to give it a shot.  

It wasn’t long before he found himself dressed in a waistcoat and slacks that were trendy a decade ago, hoping his hair was styled appropriately (he stopped caring about 130 years ago), and waiting outside the apartment building of Robin’s girlfriend Regina.

“Jones, it’s the 21st century; why do you still have a fish hook on the end of that arm?” she greeted when she emerged from the tower, with a young vampire behind her. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Regina,” he tossed back. They’d known each other for well over a couple hundred years and this was just how they communicated. Nodding at the young man, he continued, “Who’s this?”

“This is Henry; he’s new.” The statement was matter-of-fact enough that Killian knew she wouldn’t say anything else. But he seemed friendly, albeit nervous, and Gold never complained about new vampires on their side—just Coroza.

It didn't take much for him to immediately think of Emma. His thoughts had drifted to her more than he cared to admit over the past years, wondering if she’d acclimated or if she’d burned out. It was definitely odd that such a brief encounter had left such a lasting impression, but at the same time, it had taken him well over 250 years to get over his first love; he was a romantic at heart, even if that heart no longer beat. 

He of course said nothing about it as they continued on; if no one had discovered what he’d done that night by now, he was content to leave it that way. There were other ways of him finding out if she was still around, such as—

—Such as the green eyes staring at him from the other side of the club, barely a minute after he’d entered it, freezing him in place.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @shireness-says​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @bleebug​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​​ @lenfaz​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @lfh1226-linda​

[tabloidtoc]

People, November 30

Cover: Sexiest Man Alive Michael B. Jordan 

Page 7: Chatter -- Dolly Parton on parenthood, Jason Momoa on wearing pink, Kurt Russell on making a negative first impression with longtime love Goldie Hawn, Taylor Swift on dating Joe Alwyn, Keke Palmer on preferring leggings, Viola Davis on processing the state of the world 

Page 8: 5 Things We’re Talking About This Week -- stars prep a seasonal singalong, a Baby Yoda cocktail wins over famous fans, The Bachelor mansion hits Airbnb, Arnold Schwarzenegger heads to Netflix, Blue Ivy narrates an audiobook 

Page 11: Contents 

Page 12: Contents, Editor’s Letter 

Page 14: StarTracks -- Famous Families -- John Legend and Chrissy Teigen attended the drive-in premiere of Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey in L.A. with their kids Miles and Luna 

Page 15: LeBron James with mom Gloria, Gabrielle Union backyard with daughter Kaavia, Chris Hemsworth and his mother Leonie, Rupert Grint and daughter Wednesday G. Grint

Page 16: Kit Harington filmed a scene for the second season of Modern Love in Dublin, Tiger Woods awarded a green jacket to 2020 Masters champion Dustin Johnson, Patricia Clarkson showed off a shimmering gown at Housing Works’ annual Fashion for Action Benefit 

Page 17: Nashville’s Biggest Night -- Carrie Underwood and husband Mike Fisher attended the 54th annual Country Music Association Awards, Charley Pride performed with Jimmie Allen before accepting his CMA Lifetime Achievement Award, Miranda Lambert with husband Brendan McLoughlin, Maren Morris won three awards and shone a light on Black female country artists 

Page 19: Timothee Chalamet packed on some layers for a bike ride along Manhattan’s Hudson River Park, Molly Bernard and Sutton Foster and Hilary Duff during a break from filming for Younger in New York City’s Upper West Side, Mandy Moore cradled her pregnant belly at the E! People’s Choice Awards in Santa Monica, Tyler Perry at the E! People’s Choice Awards 

Page 23: Scoop -- Healing on Grey’s Anatomy -- inside Patrick Dempsey’s surprise return 

Page 24: Lena Dunham reveals her struggle with infertility and IVF 

Page 26: Heart Monitor -- Olivia Wilde and Jason Sudeikis surprise split, Ryan Cabrera and Alexa Bliss engaged, Michelle Pfeiffer and David E. Kelley happy anniversary, Kristin Cavallari and Jeff Dye dating 

Page 29: Britney Spears’ battle with her dad continues, Britney and Sam Asghari’s island getaway 

Page 30: Ciara and Russell Wilson’s new family moves, Buddy Valastro making progress after his accident 

Page 32: Rebel Wilson -- my year of health and love, Pioneer Woman Ree Drummond becomes a proud foster mom 

Page 34: Passages, Why I Care -- after losing her mother to pancreatic cancer in 2012 Mindy Kaling is raising awareness about the disease 

Page 37: Stories to Make You Smile -- there’s no debate about who won the popular vote in Rabbit Hash in Kentucky: a 6-month-old dog named Wilbur, a tiny preemie grows into a healthy 4-year-old with Superman by his side 

Page 41: People Picks -- The Flight Attendant 

Page 42: Hillbilly Elegy, Happiest Season, Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, Q&A Lindsey Vonn 

Page 43: Lego Star Wars Holiday Special, People Presents: Once upon a Main Street, Small Axe, One to Watch -- The Christmas Chronicles: Part Two’s Darby Camp 

Page 45: Books 

Page 47: Jewel -- what I know now -- she went from homelessness to pop stardom 25 years ago and now the singer gets candid about healing from her abusive childhood and finding true happiness 

Page 53: At home with The Undertaker -- the (family) man behind the WWE legend -- after 30 years in the ring Mark Calaway reflects on his career and catching up on lost time as a dad 

Page 56: At 51 Julie Loving becomes her daughter’s surrogate -- a mother’s amazing gift -- after years of struggling with infertility Breanna Lockwood thought she’d never have a child and then her mom stepped up and gave birth to a healthy baby girl 

Page 60: John Belushi -- the private world of a comedy legend -- nearly four decades after the groundbreaking actor’s tragic death at age 33 those closest to him open up about the legacy he left behind 

Page 64: Emma Stone and Ryan Reynolds -- kids asked and they answered -- the stars of The Croods: A New Age take questions from their youngest fans 

Page 66: A High School Coach’s Betrayal -- shattered justice -- Emilie Morris told police her former track coach had sexually abused her but charges were dropped when she died; now her family hopes a new TV special will bring fresh attention to the case 

Page 72: Michael B. Jordan is the Sexiest Man Alive -- he’s driven and compassionate and playful and doing more than his fair share to help change the world 

Page 83: Men of the Year -- Chris Evans 

Page 84: Harry Styles 

Page 85: Trevor Noah, Kevin Costner, Maluma, Lakeith Stanfield 

Page 86: Paul Rudd, Steve Kornacki, William Zabka, Ryan Seacrest, Darren Barnet 

Page 87: Brad Pitt, The Weeknd, Paul Mescal, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II 

Page 88: Manny Jacinto, Dr. Elvis Francois, Stephen Colbert, Robert Pattinson 

Page 89: John David Washington 

Page 90: Dwayne Johnson, Lucas Bravo, Dr. Anthony Fauci 

Page 91: Pedro Pascal 

Page 92: Chris Rock, Matt Bomer, Penn Badgley, Andrew Cuomo, Justin Bieber, Jonathan Majors 

Page 98: The People Have Spoken -- readers exercised their right to vote by picking their favorites in an online poll 

* Sexiest Star Who Kept Us Smiling -- John Krasinski 

* Sexiest Small-Screen Star -- Jensen Ackles 

* Sexiest Royal -- Prince Harry 

Page 99: Sexiest International Man -- Jeon Jungkook 

* Sexiest New Dad -- Joe Jonas 

* Sexiest Happily Settled Guy -- Ryan Reynolds 

Page 100: Sexiest Sports Star -- Patrick Mahomes 

* Sexiest Social Media Star -- Shawn Mendes 

* Sexiest Brothers -- Liam Hemsworth and Chris Hemsworth

* Sexiest Netflix Heartthrob -- Noah Centineo 

Page 106: Dan Levy -- sexiest man in quarantine -- baking and jigsaw puzzles and so many Zooms: whatever quarantine had to offer the Schitt’s Creek co-creator and star tried it all 

Page 115: Hottest Couples -- these twosomes make being in love look good -- Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, Matthew and Camila McConaughey, Kevin and Eniko Hart, Katherine Schwarzenegger Pratt and Chris Pratt, Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid, Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade, Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez 

Page 117: The Eyes Have It -- in the era of face masks these men are still able to flaunt their finest feature -- Idris Elba, Bradley Cooper, Jesse Williams, Mark Consuelos, Boris Kodjoe, Henry Golding, Zac Efron, Ian Somerhalder 

Page 120: A Sexy Man’s Best (Instafamous) Friend -- Nick Jonas with Gino Chopra Jonas 

Page 123: Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka with Gidget and Spike 

Page 124: Harry Connick Jr. with Tuka 

Page 127: Cats Are Instafamous Too -- these felines and their sexy celeb owners prove they’re just as worthy of social media stardom -- Ed Sheeran with Calippo, Bobby Flay with Nacho, Keegan Allen with Tyn, Ricky Gervais with Pickle 

Page 129: Sexy at Every Age 

Page 130: Silver Foxes -- they’ve still got it -- these former cover stars are as smoldering as ever proving sexiness gets better with age -- Richard Gere, Harrison Ford 

Page 131: Pierce Brosnan, Harry Hamlin, Mark Harmon 

Page 132: All Glowed Up -- this group of guys outgrew their sweet baby faces to become dashingly handsome men -- Adam Rippon, Charlie Puth, Josh Peck, Mario Lopez, Michele Morrone, Skylar Astin 

Page 133: Orlando Bloom, Ramy Youssef, Brooklyn Beckham, Hunter Hayes, Wilson Cruz, Chase Stokes, Jordan Fisher 

Page 134: A Change of Scenery -- we’re all sick of staying home so luckily these sizzling guys have found plenty of ways to get things done outdoors -- Paul Wesley goes camping in his yard 

Page 136: Cole Hauser takes a bath 

Page 137: Common gets a shave and a haircut 

Page 138: Edgar Ramirez enjoys coffee and a book 

Page 140: Derek Hough does his laundry 

Page 143: Cutest Baby Alive -- CNN anchor Anderson Cooper’s sweet son Wyatt 

Page 151: Second Look -- Melissa McCarthy in Superintelligence 

Page 152: One Last Thing -- Kate Mara -- the actress stars in the new limited series A Teacher

[justforbooks]

Terence Conran, Designer and Retail Magnate, Is Dead at 88

An entrepreneur of mercurial moods and missionary zeal, he created an empire to market his designs and later opened restaurants in London, Paris and New York.

Terence Conran, a London designer and retailing magnate who eased the gloom of postwar British austerity with stylish home furnishings affordable on a teacher’s salary, and then suffered financial reverses before reinventing himself as an international restaurateur and doyen of modern design, died on Saturday at his country home in Berkshire, England. He was 88.

His family confirmed the death in a statement, without specifying the cause.

Blind in one eye since childhood, Mr. Conran was an entrepreneur of mercurial moods and missionary zeal who created an empire to market his designs, stores known in Europe as Habitat and in America as Conran Shops. After his business declined, he opened restaurants in London, Paris and New York — notably Guastavino’s, a dining cathedral under the tiled terracotta arches of the Queensboro Bridge in Manhattan.

He wrote scores of books on design, cooking and other subjects; turned a London warehouse riverfront into a fashionable South Bank commercial development; founded the Design Museum, Britain’s only museum for contemporary products and architectural designs; and was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II. He also married four times, had five children and collected wildflowers, butterflies, old master paintings and Bugatti pedal cars.

Detractors called him a cynical self-promoter who sold simplistic ideas to the masses, like “democratized luxury,” and struck it rich with a sure thing: the inevitable desire of Britons to climb from grinding wartime privations into a consumer class that could afford to replace the threadbare old sofa with something seen as “modern” and in “good taste.”

But admirers said he tried, with remarkable success, to revolutionize the sensibilities of a rising British middle class, offering not just better food but an idea of what a sunlit breakfast on Sunday should be; not just mod touches for the drab suburban semi detached but a taste of la dolce vita: Scandinavian furniture, Italian lighting, French cookware, Bauhaus-style modular shelving and splashes of Pop Art on the walls.

In a career that spanned six decades, he had only one actual job: At 19, he worked briefly for an architect who helped design the 1951 Festival of Britain, a national exposition intended to give Britons a sense of recovery from the war. It also gave him a frank look at a people weary of shortages, and a glimpse of the future of commercial design.

“They came along in their dreary wartime mackintoshes, gas-mask cases filled with Spam sandwiches, and found bright cafes, music, flowers, modern furniture and a spirit of something that none of them had ever experienced in their lives,” Mr. Conran told The Daily Telegraph, the British newspaper, in 2011.

Over the next decade, he designed simple furniture and sold it in an arcade in Piccadilly; opened his first restaurant, a sandwich-and-salad bar called Soup Kitchen that had one of London’s first espresso makers; and created new lines of fabrics and moderately priced, functional home furnishings.

In 1964, he opened his first Habitat store in Chelsea. Its staff had uniforms by Mary Quant and hairstyles by Vidal Sassoon.

By the late 1980s, after acquiring other chains, he owned 900 stores in Britain, Europe, Japan and America, selling furniture, housewares and clothing. His company, the Storehouse Group, had 35,000 employees and billions in revenues.

But overexpansion — including additions to the upscale Butler’s Wharf on the Thames, where he installed his Design Museum in 1989 and lived in a glass penthouse — corroded his empire. So did his failure to integrate interests reaching into publishing, office products, architecture and real estate. He resigned as chairman in 1990. Storehouse was dismantled, and Habitat was taken over by Ikea, the Swedish furniture giant.

Mr. Conran kept some Conran Shops and recovered in the 1990s, opening many theatrically dazzling restaurants, including Le Pont de la Tour and Mezzo in London, Alcazar in Paris and Berns Salonger in Stockholm. In New York, he and his partner, Joel Kissin, opened Guastavino’s in 2000 under the Queensboro Bridge. The site was dramatic but out of the way, and a few years later became a catered event space.

In 2005, he was named the most influential restaurateur in Britain by CatererSearch, the website of Caterer and Hotelkeeper magazine, and his resurrected fortune was estimated at more than $100 million.

Terence Orby Conran was born on Oct. 4, 1931, in the London suburb Kingston upon Thames, to Gerard and Christina (Halstead) Conran. His father was a businessman. His mother, who had a taste for art, nurtured Terence’s creative talents. When he was 13, his left eye was permanently blinded by a sliver of metal that flew up from a lathe he was using.

He attended Bryanston, a private school in Dorset, and the Central School of Arts and Crafts in London. He did not graduate, but a teacher there, the sculptor Eduardo Paolozzi, became a lifelong friend and mentor.

His first marriage, at the age of 19 to the architect Brenda Davison, lasted six months. He and his second wife, the novelist Shirley Pearce, had two children, Sebastian and Jasper, designers who held various professional and executive positions with their father’s enterprises over the years; they were divorced in 1962. He and his third wife, the food writer Caroline Herbert, had three children, Edmund (known as Ned), Tom and Sophie, and were divorced in 1996. He married his fourth wife, Victoria Davis, in 2000.

He is survived by his wife and his children, as well as 14 grandchildren, one great-grandchild and a sister, Priscilla, a designer and restaurateur.

Mr. Conran became a disciple of Elizabeth David, whose books Europeanized British cooking. Besides design and cooking, his own books explored home furnishings, textiles, gardening and other subjects. An authorized biography, “Terence Conran,” by Nicholas Ind, was published in 1995.

In addition to his 145-acre estate in Berkshire, Barton Court, Mr. Conran had an apartment in London.

From 2003 to 2011, Mr. Conran was provost of the Royal College of Art in London. Besides his 1983 knighthood, a title he said he used only to make reservations, his honors included the Minerva Medal, the highest award of the Chartered Society of Designers, and the Prince Philip Designers Prize for lifetime achievement.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[donteattheappleshook]

AU Prompt: Emma pushed Killian away when he confessed his feelings to her. He’s finally returned home, a bit broken by the world. Will she finally have the guts to tell him what she always regretted not saying? (Can be smutty or not)

Sorry this took a few weeks but here it is! Thank you for my first ever prompt! I don’t know if this is what you wanted but this is what it turned into... nearly 10000 words of friends to lovers angst.

You can read it on Ao3

Send me your prompts!

Emma met Killian Jones when she was seventeen years old and she hadn’t liked him one bit. From the moment he’d first said hello to her she’d read him as a cocky, smooth talking broody type who probably liked to win over girls with his accent and his Edward Cullen like aloofness. She had not been a fan. She’d let him know too, on multiple occasions. 

She’d spent most of her time avoiding him for the first month of the semester and she was doing a pretty good job of it actually. That is, until she got detention. For being late. How unfair was that? It wasn’t her fault that Ruth’s car wouldn’t start in the morning and so she and David had had to walk to school. David got away with it, he always did. He was sweet and friendly and he could charm teachers like it was nobody’s business. 

Emma had scowled and defended her innocence and had ended up with detention. She loved the guy, really. Ever since he and Ruth had taken her in a year ago she was nothing but grateful for their kindness and love. She’d even started referring to him as her brother. She just hated how much better he was at being a person than she was sometimes. 

That was the second time she met Killian Jones. She was shocked to find him there. Despite her first impression she had managed to discover that he was, at his core, a nerd. He may dress like the love interest in a teen movie but he spent most of his time in the library or sitting under trees reading or doing homework. He even wore glasses sometimes, these big, awful square things that took over half his face. So what was he doing in detention?

“Afternoon, Swan,” he said when she walked in. He was immediately shushed by the teacher who had gotten the unfortunate role of supervising them. “I’m just being friendly,” she heard him mutter under his breath. 

They were the only two in there today. They had to stay for an hour after school. She guessed the punishment for being late to class was being late to dinner. They were told to sit silently and to either do homework or read. Emma figured she might as well try to get through some of her English homework. She was crap at it and it was the one subject that David couldn’t help her with. She’d rather do it here then at home. 

She started working through the questions for Act 1. Why the hell did they still study Shakespeare? The guy was dead four hundred years now. Give it up already - let him rest in peace. She was working on the third question - guessing the answer to the third question was more like it - when she heard a small cough beside her. She looked up to find Killian leaning over in his seat, his own homework in front of him.

“That’s the wrong answer,” he said quietly and she raised a brow at him.

“What?”

“Your answer, Mercutio isn’t Romeo’s cousin. Benvolio is. Mercutio is just his friend.” Her eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t being condescending or self-righteous. He was just… letting her know. Trying to help her, she realised. He looked nervous as he glanced at her and then back at his book. 

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“I’m in your English class,” he said, looking down, ears turning red. Right. And she was a jerk. She felt bad, he looked a little dejected and it was her fault. She hadn’t seen him hanging around with many people, he was usually alone. Like her. She wondered then, a bit sadly, if maybe he wasn’t alone because he wanted to be. Maybe he was alone because he didn’t have anyone - like her. 

“Thanks,” she said with a smile and he gave her a small one in return. “Um, do you know who the hell Tybalt is?” 

His smile widened and he nodded as he leaned over to help her. The teacher told them to knock it off but he insisted that they were trying to help each other complete the same homework. He even argued that it was more character building than just sitting in silence. He was damn lucky that he seemed to have some of that same charm that David had when it came to teachers. The teacher waved them away, letting them continue to work together. 

She finished her homework a lot faster than she would have without him. And she understood the story a little better than she had coming in to detention. She was reminded then that that was where they were and as she looked at Killian, with his red ears and his shy smile and hunched shoulders and his dumb glasses, she had to ask. 

“What did you do to get in here?” His smile faltered just a tad. He scratched behind his ear nervously. 

“I, um, I punched Eric.”

“You what?” she demanded, loud enough that the teacher glared. Of all the things she’d expected - that was not one of them. 

“He was picking on Belle. He threw her book in the snow and made fun of her for liking to read - I mean, who the hell makes fun of someone for reading?” 

Emma felt her lips curling up a bit at his incredulous tone. “What, is Belle your girlfriend or something,” she teased. He frowned at her, looking confused.

“No,” he said. “She’s with that strange Scottish exchange student who’s name I can’t pronounce. But she’s a person and she’s sweet and Eric is an asshole and well, Belle is only about yea big,” he said, bringing his thumb and index finger close together. “I couldn’t do nothing,” he insisted. Emma laughed. 

Two things changed that day. One, Emma understood Shakespeare for the first (and last) time in her life. And two, she decided to make Killian Jones her friend. 

They were inseparable after that. At school  they spent almost all of their time together. In class they sat next to each other, they chatted in the halls between bells, they ate lunch together, and Killian ate dinner at their house regularly. Emma learned fairly quickly that his own home wasn’t a place he liked to be when he could avoid it. 

His mother had died when he was young and his father had raised him and his brother for a few years but finally decided that he couldn’t handle raising his sons on his own so when Killian’s brother went off to university, he had sent him to live with his aunt Cora in Boston. She was, in Killian’s own words, not a very nice woman. 

It was then that Emma realised how similar she and Killian were. They’d both been abandoned and left behind by the people who were supposed to care about them more than anyone. His father had sent him away. Her parents had abandoned her by the side of the road. Both their parents had chosen to give them up. And so she invited him for dinner, because Ruth and David were the best thing that had ever happened to her and she thought he could use a little bit of the Nolans in his life. 

He and David got along like a house on fire. She was surprised considering how David was such a jock, and Killian revealed dorkier and dorkier interests with every day that she knew him. But they were similar, she could see that, in their friendliness and openness and their humor. Killian told her that David reminded him of his brother and that made him miss him less. 

David also quickly became the bane of her existence, insisting that she and Killian were secretly in love with each other and getting on her case to just admit it already so that they could get married and have lots of babies like they both clearly wanted. Emma usually punched him for that. 

She and Killian were friends. That was all. She’d had few real friends in her life and she wasn’t going to screw this one up by developing feelings for him. No matter how cute he looked when his hair fell onto his forehead despite his best efforts to push it back. No matter how much he made her laugh or how much she enjoyed when they watched a movie late on the weekend and he let her fall asleep with her head in his lap. No matter how she thought he looked kind of hot when he got mad every time she beat him at Scrabble - which was all the time. They were friends. 

Emma had tried love once. She was sixteen, just when Ruth and David had first taken her in. There had been a guy. He had been in one of her group homes a while back, before he aged out and they had stayed in touch. They’d reunited when they found themselves both in the same city. 

He was older but she didn’t think that mattered. What was five years when they’d lived so many of the same experiences? Ruth hadn’t approved of the situation but she’d stayed mostly quiet about it - their relationship not strong enough for her to impose her views yet. 

She’d thought Neal was the love of her life. But then, she’d had a pregnancy scare and he’d run away faster than a bat outta hell. She’d never heard from him since. She hadn’t been pregnant, thank god. She was not ready to be a mother. But to see how little she meant to him, how despite all his pretty words and promises he had left her so easily the second he was faced with her being in his life forever… it had hurt. It had destroyed her, really. So she figured love wasn’t really worth it in the end. 

She’d met Killian less than a year later and at first she’d hated him because that easy charisma and confidence and air of a damaged soul had reminded her so strongly of Neal that she’d headed for the hills. But after she’d gotten to know him she realised how different they were, and so she did love him - not in that way, maybe in that way- but in the way she loved David. She trusted him and liked being around him. 

He was her friend - even if she had had that weird dream about him one time… several times… too many times. It wasn’t her fault that she thought about him when she woke up and before she went to sleep. He was usually texting her at that time - what else could she think about? They were friends. He was her best friend and he had been for nearly a year when everything changed. 

“I um, I got in,” he told her when they were sitting at the kitchen table one weekend near the end of their senior year. They’d decided to open their letters together. Emma had applied to a few colleges nearby and the local community college. She had her sights set on becoming a police officer or a social worker. She wasn’t sure which yet. Killian wanted to be an English professor. He’d told her so one of the first days they’d hung out. She’d called him a nerd but gave him credit for at least finding a way to make money off of it. 

“Got in where?” she asked. She’d missed which envelope he’d opened. He had a lot - they were all the big envelopes too. 

“Oxford,” he said, his eyes wide in disbelief and amazement. 

“Holy shit, Killian!” she shouted, standing up and throwing her arms around him, nearly knocking him right off his chair. “That’s amazing! Isn’t that where your brother studies? That’s an amazing school! Oh my god, professor Jones here you come!” 

She was beaming, so proud of him, so happy for him. She knew this was his dream school. But there was something off. He didn’t look as thrilled as she expected him to. Maybe it was just shock but she thought he could at least smile about it. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, nudging his shoulder. “I thought this was what you wanted?” 

“It is - sort of. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s in England,” he said and for the first time since he’d opened that letter it hit her. Oh. Oh. That meant… that meant he’d be leaving. Moving hundreds of miles away. 

“I don’t have to go there,” he said, giving her an awkward, embarrassed smile. “I got into Harvard too.” 

“You what?” she practically screamed. She punched his arm. “You weren’t supposed to open letters without me!” 

“It was Harvard, Emma,” he deadpanned and she couldn’t really be mad at him. She wouldn’t have been able to wait either. 

“Where do you want to go?” she asked and he looked at her hesitantly. She tried not to think about the way her heart was racing in her chest. Or about how blue his eyes were. Or about how she might not get to see them every day if he went to Oxford. 

“I don’t know,” he started and she knew he was lying. 

“Yes you do.” He looked away, not meeting her eye. “Killian, I know you hate it here,” he opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. “I know you like me and David and Belle and some of the others but… I know you miss home. I know you miss your brother. I also know it’s the better program because you’ve told me so. Multiple times.” She held her breath for a moment, surprised at how much it hurt to encourage him to follow his dream. “Oxford is everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

“Not everything,” he said and she tried to meet his eye. He wouldn’t look at her. 

“What do you mean? What’s missing.” 

“You,” he answered, finally looking at her and her breath caught in her throat. Not just at his words, but at the way he was looking at her, like he’d been holding something back a long time and now the floodgates had opened and it was rushing out, plain on his face. “Oxford doesn’t have you,” he said. 

“If I stay here,” he continued, “we could go to school in the same city. We could keep hanging out between classes and on the weekends - we could even get a flat together!” he said a little excitedly and Emma’s chest hurt because she wanted all of those things, so badly. But she couldn’t have them. She couldn’t let him choose her over his future. They were friends. They were seventeen. He would regret it and resent her for the rest of his life. 

“But Oxford is your dream, everything you said you wanted,” she reminded him. “Oxford is where your family is, your brother and your old friends.” Her argument sounded weak to her own ears. 

“Maybe I have other dreams, other things I want more,” he said, looking at her that way again. It scared her. 

“What dreams,” she asked, barely whispering. 

“Emma,” he said, taking her hand and her heart started racing. “Emma you have to know, there’s no way you couldn’t. The whole school knows, your brother knows.” Her breath was coming quickly now, all of her senses on high alert and her blood rushing in her ears as he leaned in.

He pressed his lips to hers, tentatively, nervously, but with a passion that Killian always had for anything he did, anything he cared about. She shouldn’t let him kiss her, she thought. She couldn’t. She couldn’t because she wanted him to and if she wanted that then she had to admit to everything she wanted, to how much she wanted him. 

Of course she knew. She’d always known and… he knew too. But this was his life. His future. She couldn't let him throw it away for her. She loved him, regardless of which way, and so she had to let him go. So she did let him kiss her, for a moment, let her lips slide over his own, let herself enjoy how natural it felt, how right it felt - because she knew she’d never get to again. She pulled away first. 

“Killian -” she started and he must have heard it in her voice because he raised his hand, cupped her cheek.

“No,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. His words were frantic, desperate, like he was trying to hold on to something he knew was slipping away. “I love you, Emma. Ask me not to go. Ask me to stay.” 

She couldn’t. She couldn’t ask him that. It was selfish and she couldn’t let him give up his dreams for her. She wasn’t worth it. She knew he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let her convince him to leave just like that. She’d have to hurt him - for his own sake. And it would hurt her just as much. 

“I can’t,” she said and she felt his hand tighten slightly in her hair. She pulled back. “Killian. Don’t stay for me. Whatever it is you feel for me… I don’t,” she lied. “I’m sorry. But you can’t stay in Boston for me. Not if you’re staying because you hope something will happen because… it’s never going to happen.”

She felt him tense. His hand still in her hair, her hand still clasped in his. Then he pulled back all at once, looked down, and then back at her. He was hurt, but there was guilt there too. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Emma, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine.”

“Will you still be my friend?” he asked. “Even after…”

“Yes,” she promised. 

“You really want me to go?” he asked. She nodded, hoped he didn’t see the tears she was struggling to hold off. 

“Yeah. I really want you to go,” she said. 

When Killian went home that night, earlier than usual, Emma let herself cry. 

Killian left in the summer. Their goodbye was awkward, as had most of their interactions been since his confession. They’d tried not to make it awkward, to go back to how they’d been but now he had this huge vulnerability hanging between them and she had this huge lie hanging between them. It tore at the fabric that made them what they were, that made their friendship what it had been. It stained it. 

“Keep in touch,” she said as she hugged him outside his aunt’s house, the cab waiting behind them. 

“Aye,” he promised. He got in the cab and David’s arm was around her suddenly. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine,” she lied again. She was getting good at it. 

***

They were still sort of friends, for the first year they kept in touch - really made an effort. Killian told her about the residence and the people he had met and his professors and Emma told him about her forensics courses. She’d decided on becoming a police officer - but she wanted to be a detective. David was in the same program. It was nice to do it with someone else. 

But slowly, unavoidably, life got in the way. The phone calls were few and farther between, he didn’t have the money to go to Boston for Thanksgiving and she didn’t have the money to go to England for Christmas. Plans were broken, texts went unanswered, new friends were made, new interests developed and slowly, they drifted. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just one of those sad, unavoidable realities of life. Only, he and David still talked, still texted and emailed and spoke on the phone. So maybe it wasn’t so unavoidable. Maybe they’d both needed it. 

She still had him on Facebook, still checked in on his profile despite the years that passed, trying to stay aware of the things that were happening in his life. She learned about his brother’s death from David. She sent him a card with her condolences but she didn’t go to the funeral. It had been three years since he left, two since they’d spoken. He probably wouldn’t have wanted her there anyway. He hadn’t come down for David and Mary Margaret’s wedding a year later, despite having known both of them since high school. He’d had exams and had sent his apologies and a gift by mail. 

She saw online that he was in a long-term relationship, someone called Milah, a pretty dark haired woman who looked a few years older than him, a professor at his school she discovered after a little bit of snooping. He was with her for two years during which Emma was accosted with pictures of the two of them, until finally, one day they just stopped. She wondered what had happened there. 

She smiled when she learned that he got his PhD. He’d posted a picture of himself with a beer in one hand and his diploma in the other. He’d captioned it ‘that’s DOCTOR Killian Jones to you’. She hit the like button. He changed his job status to ‘employed’ at one of the smaller nearby colleges shortly after and she was proud of him. He’d done it. He’d gotten everything he wanted. It had taken ten years, but he was exactly who he’d hoped to be. 

So was she. She had made detective a few years ago, alongside David. They were even allowed to be partners since technically they weren’t related. She was happy, she had a job she loved, a nice apartment that was all her own, good friends, family… but she still checked his Facebook. She still spent evenings sometimes with a glass of wine looking up the boy who had told her he loved her when she was seventeen. 

She and David were sitting in their patrol car, staking out a coffee shop of all places that they’d been told their perp liked to use to make his drops, when he told her Killian was moving back. 

“What?” she demanded, her voice practically squeaking. 

“He got a job at Harvard,” David said dismissively, as though he hadn’t just turned her world upside down. “He’s got a one year teaching contract. I guess they liked the idea of a Brit teaching British lit,” he smirked a little at his own joke. 

Emma was reeling. She wasn’t prepared for this. She didn’t know how to handle the guy that she’d loved in high school and then stalked on Facebook for ten years suddenly coming back into her life. 

“You okay?” David asked, looking at her strangely. 

“Fine,” she said quickly and he rolled his eyes, not buying it. 

“Whatever,” he said, picking his battles. “We’re having a party at our house to welcome him home,” he told her. “You should come.” Emma forgot sometimes that David and Killian were still friends, even after all these years. He and Mary Margaret had even taken the time to visit him when they’d gone to Europe for their anniversary last year.

“Maybe,” she said dismissively. 

“He still asks about you, you know,” David said after a moment. Emma stayed silent, pretending to look through her binoculars at the front door of the cafe. Pretending her heart wasn’t racing in her chest at the idea of seeing the man whose heart she’d broken a decade ago. 

She’d debated not going to the party. Had walked to her front door and back into her kitchen a few times, had hesitated at her car, but she’d finally told herself to snap out of it. It had been ten years ago. They’d been teenagers. He was surely over it by now and she should be too. So she went. 

She hadn’t been prepared. She thought she was but when she walked in and saw him standing with David and Mary Margaret, smiling at something one of them was saying… it was brutal. It was brutal because he was different. She’d expected him to be different of course, but not like this. 

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sadder and older. He held himself more confidently than he had in high school, but something about it told her it was a facade. Maybe she just knew him, she thought. But she didn’t anymore, did she, she was reminded. Her heart stopped when he looked over, met her eyes. He smiled a little but it wasn’t the easy smile she’d loved so much. He raised his bottle at her and she gave an awkward wave. 

“Long time no see, stranger,” he said later, coming up behind her to say hello and honestly scaring the absolute shit out of her.

“Jesus, Killian,” she said, hand to her chest. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on a cop like that?”

He smiled, that teasing smile she remembered. “I think I could take David if we’re honest.” She laughed. “I heard you made detective,” he said. “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks. I hear you’re finally Professor Jones.”

“Aye. It seems we both got what we wanted in the end,” he said and there was a bit of sadness in the way he said it, the kind that she could tell was unintentional. 

“So,” she started awkwardly when the silence dragged on. “How have you been?”

“Good, good,” he said. “You?” This was brutal. They continued the small talk for a while. She missed how easy things used to be between them. She missed all the stupid, fun things they did when they were kids and they didn’t have all this baggage hanging between them. 

“You know what I miss?” she said out loud and he raised a brow at her. 

“No, Swan, what do you miss?” 

“I miss when we used to steal Ruth’s whiskey and climb up onto the roof and drink it there,” she smiled, remembering how many long, slightly drunken conversations they’d had as kids on the roof of Ruth’s house. 

Killian smiled, fondly and then a little mischievously. He leaned in a little and Emma couldn’t help but notice the way his face had changed. His jaw was sharper, some of the roundness of his cheeks having faded with age, and he’d grown into his nose. He was sporting a short beard now too, something he’d always wanted to complete his professor look but hadn’t been able to grow. He dressed better too, no more jeans and band tshirts. Now he wore… well, jeans and a tshirt but nicer ones with a jacket and boots instead of converse. It was pretty unfair, Emma thought, that he'd gotten better looking with age. He’d been good-looking enough to begin with. 

“I think I spy a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen there,” he hinted and Emma smirked. 

“This place does have a roof,” she said, matching his tone. 

“I’ll get the bottle, you distract Dave,” he said, winking - well, trying to. He’d never mastered that one and it made her smile a bit to see that some things hadn’t changed. 

They successfully managed to steal the bottle and hurry their way up to the guest room that Emma knew had a window they could walk out onto the roof from. They sat there, knees pulled up, passing the bottle between them as they looked out at the slowly darkening sky. Emma let the liquor warm her, let it make her a little looser, a little braver. 

“How are you really, Killian?” she asked eventually. He sighed, reaching for the bottle and taking a sip. 

“Tired,” he said. “It’s been a rough few years.” 

“I saw, about your brother,” she said. “I’m sorry.” 

He nodded. “Thank you. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“There was a woman too,” she said, not quick enough to catch the words before they slipped out. He raised an eyebrow at her teasingly.

“Been stalking my facebook, have you, Swan?”

She shrugged, deciding to be honest. “Only a little.” He looked surprised at her confession, a small smile breaking out on his face. 

“Aye, there was a woman,” he said and she wanted to roll her eyes at the fact that he sounded like some old dandy poet, lamenting over a lost love. “Milah. She went back to her husband.” Emma’s eyes shot up to her hairline. Husband? Wow. That was not what she’d expected. “There was a child involved,” he said, not turning to see her surprised look. “It was for the best.” 

He didn’t sound like he totally believed what he said, but he sounded like he’d made peace with it. Emma felt for him. His life had continued on the way it had been when they met. He’d lost more people, been left behind by more people he cared about, loved. She’d managed to avoid that. But she hadn’t let herself love anyone new. Not since him. 

“And what about you?” he asked, turning to hand her back the bottle. “What great loves have you lived and lost? Or is there a great love now?” he asked with a cheeky smile. She laughed.

“Nah, not for me,” she said. “My love affairs usually only last until the next morning.” He huffed out a laugh as she took another drink from the bottle. 

“Ah, you’ll find it someday,” he said. “One day there will be a man that you can’t dream of living without and that one will last a long time.”

“Two nights?” she joked and he laughed again. His laugh was the same, she thought with a small smile. 

“Aye, two nights.” 

They sat in silence for a while, continuing to share the bottle and Emma decided to blame that for what she said next. “I’ve missed you,” she told him and he turned his head to face her, away from the stars they’d been gazing up at. 

“I’ve missed you too, Swan,” he told her. He lay back, stretched his arm out and she took the invitation, snuggled up next to him like they had when they were teenagers watching scary movies and she lay her head on his shoulder. 

They stayed out there for another hour before David came to find them, scolding Killian for sneaking out of his own party. But he smiled at them as they climbed back through the window and Emma knew he was happy they’d found their way back to each other - that they were finding their way back to the friendship she’d once valued more than anything.

The next night, Emma invited him out for a drink with her and some of her friends from college. He’d made a comment about going out two nights in a row and she’d mocked him for being an old man - ‘I’m sorry, has it been ten years or fifty since we last saw each other?’ - and he agreed to join her. 

Emma was surprised, tough not really, at how well he fit in with her friends. They all loved him, loved his stories from teaching and the fact that he had dirt on Emma from before any of them knew her. He and Will and Robin hit it off immediately and she figured it was probably a brit thing. They spent over an hour talking about soccer. 

He fit in well here. Emma tried not to think about the fact that he fit so well into her life. Or about how much she liked that he fit there, how much she’d missed having him there. She also, really tried to ignore the way that his shirt clung to his biceps. He hadn’t had those in high school. It was difficult when Ruby seemed so intent on pointing it out. Ruby was being herself, pretending to be more salacious than she really was for a laugh, making comments about how she could just spread him on a cracker, when she looked at Emma and her face changed. 

“Oh,” she said and Emma didn’t like the knowing tone of her voice.

“What?” Emma asked, realising that her arms were crossed over her chest. She let them fall, tried to strike a more casual pose. 

“I didn’t realise… you like him,” she said with a sly smile. Emma scoffed.

“We’re friends,” she said flatly. 

“Mhm,” Ruby smirked. “You don’t look at me like that,” she pointed out. “Or Will, or Robin, or even Graham.” 

“Shut up,” Emma said, crossing her arms again as Killian looked over and she accidentally, automatically smiled at him. Ruby only laughed. 

They were friends. They’d only just started being friends again. She wasn’t going to ruin it now. She’d been the one to ensure that they would always, only be friends. ‘It’s never going to happen’, she’d told him. She’d made her bed. Now she had to lie in it - alone. 

She still couldn’t help wondering though if he still kissed the same way. She’d only kissed him once but she’d had yet to have another that lived up to it. And he’d been a teenager then, she was pretty sure she was the second girl he’d ever kissed. She wondered what it would be like now. 

She pushed the thought away. She’d thrown that possibility out the window a long time ago. She’d done it for his own good. And look who he was now, a professor, he had a goddamn PhD. He’d gotten everything he wanted. So why did he look so sad most of the time? Why was she so sad most of the time? She hadn’t noticed that she was before - it had only been since he came back and she had become aware of the gaping hole where something had been missing from her life. 

Having him back helped a bit. Like a bandaid over an open wound. She just hoped that the awkwardness would fade and they would find their way back to the friendship she had mourned for so long, had never really gotten over. She hoped he would let her earn it back. She looked at him laughing at something Robin said and she realised that regardless of time, her life was a little better with him in it. 

The awkwardness did fade. It wasn’t instant and it wasn’t necessarily easy - there was a lot between them, a lot of years and disappointments and broken trust, but soon, they found their way back to what they’d had as kids. It wasn’t long before they were spending evenings in each other's apartments, curling up on the couch and watching bad movies. She found herself smiling a lot throughout the day when he would text her a funny message or a stupid meme.

He was there for Christmas, only the second they’d gotten to celebrate together. They’d both spent the night at David and Mary Margaret’s and Emma had only been disappointed for a second that there were two guest rooms. She’d been looking forward to staying up late talking with him and laughing… and flirting. She’d noticed that there had been a bit more flirting, more than there used to be. On second thought, having to share a bed might not have been a good thing. Not if she wanted to keep him as a friend. She bought him a tweed jacket with leather patches on the shoulders that year. It was meant to be a joke but he’d worn it every day for a month. 

He was there for New Years and Emma felt her heart skip a beat when he kissed her at midnight. It was a small thing, a peck on the lips, barely a second, and he’d smiled at her in a way that made her feel that she shouldn’t read into it - no matter how much she wanted to. It was just a European thing, she insisted, weird boundaries. 

There had been a moment, once, when they’d been sitting on her couch in her apartment, watching another terrible movie. Nothing had happened, nothing specifically, but suddenly she found herself looking at him and he was watching her too, something heavy hanging in the air between them. 

Their hands were close and he moved his little finger, brushed it over hers and it made her breath stop. It was ridiculous, considering her legs were thrown over his and they were already sitting so close, but her breath stopped anyway. It was the way he was looking at her, the uncertainty and the affection and just a tiny bit of longing - there was no other word for it. She recognized it because she’d felt it every day since he’d come home - every day since he’d left ten years ago. 

His fingers had continued, collecting more of hers and slowly intertwining them. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. She was pretty sure that he would for a moment. He held their hands up between them, looked at them and then at her, pulled her a little closer. And then a loud noise had come from the TV and he’d jumped, dropping her hands and scratching at his ear. They didn’t bring it up again. 

He was there for St Patty’s Day and Easter and the Fourth of July and birthdays, and before she knew it a year had passed. Well, nearly a year, eleven months to be exact. She knew that because it was August and he was complaining about having to go back to teaching the ‘little entitled shit’s’ as he called them. 

“Weren't you one of those students a few years ago?” she reminded him, flicking at his ear as she walked around him into her kitchen to grab them a snack. He was sitting on her sofa a few feet away. Her apartment was small, but it was cozy.

“I was a little shit,” he allowed, batting at her hand. “But I was never entitled. It’s the entiledness that really gets to me.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” she taunted, as she put the popcorn in the microwave and turned it on. 

He turned, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and looking over his shoulder at her. “You really want to question an English Literature professor?” 

“Being a professor doesn’t mean you get to make up words,” she told him. “Besides, I still beat you in Scrabble so I’m pretty sure I’m the expert.” 

He scoffed, hopping over the back of the couch and joining her in the kitchen. “Scrabble is a game of luck, nothing more,” he told her. “You can’t make words if you don’t get the right letters.” 

“Sounds like something a loser would say,” she shrugged. He looked at her in shock and Emma saw the glint in his eye a second before he moved. “Don’t,” she tried to warn him but he was too fast. He grabbed her and the idiot started tickling her, actually tickling her like he was seven years old. 

“Admit I have a superior mastery of the English language,” he demanded. She shrieked as she laughed, her sides burning, cursing him. He had her trapped against his body, his arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her back to his chest.

“Never!” she saw her opportunity and she took it. She grabbed his arm and spun him around, managed to pin him against the fridge, her arm braced against his chest, holding one of his wrists, she held the other down at his side. 

“Woah,” he said, eyes wide. 

“I keep telling you not to mess with cops,” she pointed out. 

“That was kind of hot,” he admitted, looking more impressed than turned on really. But that was enough for Emma to realise that she had him pushed up against the fridge, her whole body pressed to his. She could feel her face warming, could feel all of her skin warming where she touched his. Oh. She saw it in his eyes when he noticed too. 

She let him go, moved to step back but he caught her, putting his hand on her lower back and pulling her back in. Her heart rate picked up as he pressed her against him, that look in his eyes he’d had that night on her couch back again. He licked his bottom lip and Emma’s eyes darted down to it immediately. 

She saw the way his expression changed a little when she did, curiosity there as he cocked his head, looking her over. He seemed unable to settle on a single part of her face until he stopped at her lips. His own parted, his chin tilting slightly, drawing closer and she couldn’t think of anything except the heat of him against her and her heart running a marathon in her chest. She could feel his breath on her face and that he looked so damn handsome and she just really, really wanted him to kiss her. 

The microwave beeped and Emma cursed the shitty timing that seemed to keep ripping them apart anytime she was given the smallest bit of hope that there could be something more, that they could be something more. Because that was what she wanted. She’d stopped denying it that night on her couch. 

She wanted Killian. She loved Killian. She had since she was seventeen years old. She’d thought it would go away, had almost believed it had at one point. But then he’d come back into her life and that part of her that had been on mute, on pause but never truly gone had reared its head, made sure she knew that she was still, completely and hopelessly in love with the boy she’d met in detention. 

Killian released her, cleared his throat and she stepped back. She held back her sigh, her disappointment. She couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not after all they went through, not now that they were back to who they’d been. She’d turned him down ten years ago. She’d broken his heart. To tell him now that she loved him, that she’d always loved him... She feared his reaction, feared his rejection. 

“I have to tell you something.” He said to her back. She was pouring popcorn into a bowl. 

“If it’s that you don’t want Milkduds in your popcorn you’re shit outta luck,” she said, trying to lighten the heavy mood between them. 

“No, well, yes, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” She turned around, recognizing the serious tone of his voice. She leaned back against the counter, waiting for him to say whatever he needed to say. “I’ve been offered a job,” he told her. 

“Killian that’s amazing!” she started but he stopped her. 

“It’s at Oxford.” She felt her heart drop into her stomach. No. Not again. She’d only just gotten him back. “A former professor of mine, Nemo, he pulled some strings when one of the faculty announced her retirement. He says the job is mine if I can get there for the fall semester.” 

It took Emma a moment to speak, trying to process what he was saying, trying to cope with the way it was ripping out her heart. “What about Harvard?” she asked, a little hopefully. 

He scratched that spot behind his ear like he always did when he was nervous. “That position is still up in the air. They’re still reviewing my candidacy.” 

She didn’t say anything, not for a long time. She couldn’t think of what to say. She felt like she was seventeen again, having the exact same conversation they’d had then. Please don’t go, she wanted to beg. Don’t leave. Stay here with me. Be with me. Choose me. But he’d chosen her once before. He’d chosen her and she’d practically thrown it back in his face. 

“It’s a pretty great opportunity,” he continued. “Rare too. It usually takes years to get a position like that.” She could hear him speaking, was aware that he was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the thoughts that were rolling around in her head. She couldn’t lose him again. Not like last time. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. 

“The English program there is renowned and-”

“Don’t go.” 

He froze. “What?” 

Shit. Shit, she’d said it out loud. He was looking at her with disbelief and shock and maybe a tiny bit of hope, but maybe she’d imagined that. Well, it was too late now to take it back. 

“Don’t go,” she repeated, stronger this time. She watched the emotions playing over his face, so many that she couldn’t track all of them. But the last one was anger, a desperate kind. 

“What do you mean don’t go?” he reeled on her. “How - How can you ask me that? After all these years?” 

“I know,” she said, hanging her head. “I’m sorry but I just,” she took a deep breath. “I let you leave once and it was the worst mistake I ever made. I was in love with you and when you left I lost you and... Don’t go.” His eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping. If this moment hadn’t been so serious it would have been almost comical.

“You were in love with me?” he demanded, disbelief clear in his voice. He stepped forward. “Why didn’t you tell me that ten years ago? Why did you push me away?” His voice cracked a little. “I was in love with you, Emma. I’d have done anything for you and you - You broke my heart.” 

“I know,” she could feel tears burning her eyes. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought that if you stayed you’d resent me, that you’d hate me eventually. I wanted you to get everything you wanted.”

“You were what I wanted!” he practically shouted at her. She flinched a little. “I wanted to be with you but you turned me down. And then you cut me out of your life.”

“I didn’t-”

“You did, Emma. You stopped answering my calls, my texts, my emails. You didn’t come to the funeral…” She hung her head again. “And now, now we’re finally speaking again, finally back in each other’s lives, finally friends again and now you say you loved me? Now you ask me to stay?”

“Are you not anymore?” she asked and he looked at her in confusion. “In love with me," she clarified. She shouldn’t be asking him. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer. Just because her feelings hadn’t changed in ten years didn’t mean his wouldn’t. He tensed, stood up straighter.

“Are you?” he demanded. 

Emma bit her lip. She was. She was as in love with him now as she was at seventeen but it was different now. She was an adult, she understood the difference between love and infatuation, knew how they were different. Her love had grown from missing him for a decade, had grown more from being with him this last year. It was all consuming, all she thought about. All she wanted was him, if he turned her down now… she didn’t know if she’d recover. 

“Emma, how can you ask me to stay if you can’t even tell me how you feel? What are you asking me to stay for?” She didn’t have an answer. She just stared at her feet. He waited for a while, and she heard as his breath slowed and became a heavy sigh. “I should go,” he said, walking back over to the couch to grab his jacket. 

He was at the door when the panic seized her. The dread and the fear that he was leaving, that he was walking out of her life again, that it was her fault again, that she would surely lose him for good this time, overwhelmed her, reared its head and took over. What are you asking me to stay for? he’d asked. He hadn’t answered her question, hadn’t told her he didn’t love her. He’d just wanted a reason. She’d give him a reason if it meant he would stay. He’d been the one to put his heart on the line last time. Now it was her turn.

“Don’t go,” she said again and he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t go. Don’t leave the apartment. Don’t go back to England. Don’t leave again. Please,” she begged.

He didn’t turn around but she heard him speak. “Why not?” 

“Because I love you,” she nearly shouted at him. “Okay? I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen and I thought I could get over it but I can’t. I lost you once and I can’t lose you again so please,” she paused, a small sob leaving her. He turned around finally, walked back over to where she still stood against the counter. 

“Please just don’t go,” she said again, quieter this time. “I should have said it then but I’m saying it now. I’m being selfish and asking you to pass on your amazing opportunity. I’m asking you to choose me and be with me instead.”

He took her chin between his thumb and his finger dragged her gaze up from where it had been staring at her feet, met her eyes and her heart jumped at the softness there, the anger from earlier gone. “I’ll stay,” he said and she thought her knees would give out with the force of the relief, the hope hitting her all at once.

“What about your job?” she said hesitantly. Shut up, Emma. You got what you wanted. But she still cared - about his success and his dreams, even as she asked him to give them up.

“Fuck my job,” he said before his hand moved to her cheek and he slid his mouth over hers. Emma wanted to cry as she felt his lips move over her own. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, slanting his mouth over hers and she opened beneath him, let him explore her with lips and tongue, and his hands on her body. 

Her hands came up around his neck, tangling in his hair and dragging him closer, pressing herself against him until here was no room left between them at all. He backed her against the counter and she didn’t care even as she felt the hard ridge digging into her back. He groaned when she rolled her hips against the hard ridge digging into her belly. 

“Wait, wait,” he said, breath heavy and ragged as he pulled his lips away from hers.

“What?” she asked, suddenly nervous. That had been the best moment in her entire life and now she feared it would come crashing down, that he’d changed his mind. 

“I forgot to tell you that I love you too,” he said, sounding panicked. She looked at him in disbelief and in that moment he was exactly the boy she’d fallen in love with, awkward and sweet and nervous and just so stupid for such a smart person. “I love you,” he said. “I have for a decade. It never stopped for me either.” Whatever quip she had planned died on her tongue at the sincerity in his voice and on his face. 

She smiled before pulling his lips back to hers, standing on her tiptoes so that she could kiss him properly, the way she’d wanted to for ten years and hadn’t been able to. He kissed her back just as eagerly, lips and teeth and tongue driving her nearly as mad as his hands, which were everywhere at once, stoking the fire that had been burning inside of her since she’d pinned him against the fridge. 

“You’ve gotten better at this,” she teased when they pulled back a moment to catch their breath. He gave her a truly wicked grin. 

“I’ve gotten better at a great many things,” he promised, and she knew where he was going with it, was definitely on board with his plan… but she couldn’t help herself.

“Not Scrabble…” 

He bent down then, grabbing her around the knees and hoisting her up over his shoulder. She shrieked, laughing as he carried her the short distance to her bedroom, dropping her unceremoniously on the mattress. He was such a sore loser. 

He looked at her for a moment, standing at the edge of the bed before leaning down over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head, and lowering his face to hers so their lips nearly brushed as he spoke.

“Not Scrabble,” he conceded before that smile came back. “But a great many things.” 

[everlastingcaptainswan]

Contractual Attraction (11/?)

Enchanted Forest AU 

Summary: The war had raged on for many years, the people of Misthaven would say too many, and there was only one way to end it, only one way to quiet talks of rebellion. Princess Emma of Misthaven would have to marry the enemy, Prince Killian of Montave.

Notes: It’s finals week and let me tell you online school is terrible, but I’m almost done with my bachelors! It’s exciting and exhausting. Hopefully you guys enjoy the chapter! 

FF        Ao3

Chapter Eleven: Imminent Danger 

Emma gathered her parents and Leo the next morning deciding that she should tell them about Killian’s plan without him. Let them be angry at her then bring him in later, after cooler heads prevailed. 

“This is what he wanted his ship for?” Snow asked, truly stumped. 

“But why not ask for something in the treaty?” David wondered out loud. 

“Cause the brothers are used to using their military minds, not being diplomats,” Emma sighed. 

“What do you want to do?” Snow raised an eyebrow at her daughter, unsure of what she will ask for. 

“I want to help them. We can’t let their people starve. How much can we afford to give them?” Emma began pacing in their war room, worrying running throughout her entire body. 

“Depends on what they could give us in return.” Emma stopped pacing and looked at her mother. 

“But-” 

“No buts, Emma. Nothing is free in this world. I’m willing to help, but they viciously attacked our farmers in the war, we have less than I would like, in case of god knows what. If they could propose a trade, something for our people then I’d be willing to give more.” Snow gave her daughter a stern look. Emma was about to plead their case when David stood, “Why don’t you go get the prince, he can help negotiate a trade.” Her father almost pushed her out of the room. When the door shut behind her Emma glared at it. She stomped her way up to Killian’s room, knocking on his door. 

Killian opened his door in a hurry, worry on his face, “what have they decided?” Emma pushed past him into his room. Killian stood cautiously in the doorway, looking back at her. 

“They- ugh my mother. I-” Emma shook her head. Killian stalked over to Emma, placing his hands on her shoulders. 

“Take a deep breath. Gather yourself.” Emma closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. When she opened them, his blue ones were staring deeply into hers. 

“What happened?” he asked her with all the calm he could muster. 

“Mom wants a trade. Whatever you could give, I wanted to just help. She can hold a grudge and didn’t take kindly to the fact that your men burned our farmer’s fields.” Killian dropped his hold on her and shook his head. 

“I never felt right about doing that. Our father always initiated that move and our generals continued it after his death. Anyway, we can trade the sins of the father and all that.”  He nodded solemnly. Emma wanted to say something, but knew they didn’t have time. 

Emma turned and held out her hand to him, he took it without hesitation. Killian followed her down to the war room, hell he’d probably follow her to the ends of the realm, maybe even time itself. 

Emma let go of his hand once they reached the door of the war room. Killian opened the door for her and waited for her to go through. Emma began to pace again, watching the interaction between Killian and Snow. The door shut behind Killian, who strode up to the table. 

“I hear a trade is in order.” 

“Our people need to eat too; I can’t abandon them for yours.” Snow quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“I understand. When we came into port, I noticed there weren’t many fishing boats in the harbor. We have plenty of fish, we could trade fish for some grain, seeds.” 

“We have a deal. Emma write down the details.” Emma glared at her mother and gathered a scroll and quill. As Killian and Snow talked Emma scribbled down the details of their agreement. Leo left to sit as proxy in a meeting Snow was supposed to be in. David chimed in occasionally, never taking his eyes off the prince. 

“Your ship should be here next week. We will quietly begin to gather what you need, and you can meet your men in the safe house to give them the details.” Snow straightened her back 

“Where is the safe house?” Killian asked. 

“Emma can show you later. Now, I have other matters to attend to. Make sure that paperwork gets to Doc and we’ll sign it,” Snow addressed the last part to Emma. Snow and David left swiftly. Emma gathered the papers off the table. As she moved toward the door, Killian reached out and grazed her hand with his. 

“Thank you, love.” Emma nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“At dusk we’ll go down to the safe house. Meet me at the stables.” Emma shut the door behind her and Killian sighed. He felt like they were back at square one. 

      Killian does as he was told and went to the stables at dusk. He wore his black vest, pants, and his long leather jacket. Killian was trying to blend in tonight, and it didn’t hurt that he always caught Emma eyeing his chest hair when he wore his vests. 

      Killian chose Orion again when Emma came in wearing a plain grey dress and dark green cloak. Aside from her beauty she could almost pass for a villager. Emma goes to Buttercup, uttering soothing words. 

      “How long will it take to get there, love?” Emma flicked up the hood of her cloak and tucked her blonde curls into it. 

      “About an hour more or less. We’re taking the back roads into town.” She told him. He caught her eye and she quickly looked away. They rode out of the stables in silence, Killian supposed he had earned her distance and silent treatment, but it hurt, nonetheless. They made their way swiftly through the countryside and into the village. They took the back roads as Emma said and ended up tying up their horses in the back of a house that was close to the harbor. Killian paid attention to every twist and turn they had taken through town in case he ever had to come alone. Neither of them said a word until Emma unlocked the back door and shut it behind them. 

      The house was pitch black and Emma deftly moved her way around the house lighting a couple candles so they could see. 

      “You’ve been here a lot?” Killian glanced around the house, taking in the cozy surroundings. Emma was moving toward the fireplace when Killian stopped her. 

      “You’re going to have to look at me at some point, love.” Her jaw clenched when he called her that. She sighed and turned her head in his direction. Emma opened her mouth then shut it again. 

      “Are you going to be mad at me forever?” 

      “Perhaps, I hadn’t decided yet,” she mumbled, “After my parents forbade me from being on the battlefield, I was a nurse. Eventually that was too hard for me to be so close to the battlefield and not be out there with my men. I was held back several times, eventually I had to leave. I had to do something however I was never much for sitting still. So, we ran spies from this house. They would get their assignments from me, come back, and debrief here.” 

      “Did you live here the whole time?” He asked, noting her ease and knowledge of the house as she began looking through cabinets. 

      “Mostly yes, occasionally I went home. Ruby joined me here more often than not to bring supplies and whatnot.”

      “What are you looking for?” 

      “I was just seeing what food stores we left here, if any. The house was cleaned out of anything.” Emma sighed, flopping into a chair tired after the events of the day. Killian pulled out a flask and handed it to her. 

      “Not dinner, but will keep you warm while I get this fire started.” Her hand brushed his as she accepted the flask. Killian turned his back on her and found some flint, kindling, and logs beside the fireplace. Emma took a big gulp, knowing they weren’t going anywhere tonight. 

      “Rum?” 

      “Never far without it, doesn’t hurt to have it in a pinch.” Emma hummed, taking another swig. 

      “I know you feel like I betrayed you by not telling you about my intentions. I am sorry about that, but I was doing so to protect and save my people. Can you tell me you wouldn’t do the same?” Killian turned back to her after the fire was started. She blinked a few times. 

      “No, I suppose I can’t.” Killian stood at her side, the fire roaring behind him. His hand rested on her shoulder. Her jade eyes caught his blue ones. 

      “It won’t happen again. You’re right we’re partners, that being said there’s one last thing I have to tell you.” His tone and demeanor were serious. It caught her attention. He pulled a chair out from the table she was sitting at. 

      “What is it?” 

      “Liam and I have been looking for a way to end this war for five years now.” The words hit Emma like a brick wall. 

      “What?” 

      “This war was our father’s idea, his ultimate legacy he used to say. He was right in that sense, he died before it was over, and it lasted even when he was gone. Liam and I spent most of our formative years training and leading our men, we spent time on the front lines. Our father never did. He didn’t see the carnage, the true horrors of war. He didn’t see what it did to our villages, our people. He just cared about the land gained, resources that were now his. My father was a harsh man and didn’t take well to our dissent, so eventually we stopped voicing it and found little ways to ruin his plans that could never be brought back on us. We thought that when he died that we could end it and bring peace back to the realm.” He said steadily, as if he had practiced this speech before. 

      “Your father died five years ago…” 

      “Yes, then the problem was his generals after years of being under his rule they were just as hungry for war as he was and had grievances of their own by then. Our people were mad too, their King dead, everyone still wanted the war to be a victorious win. Otherwise if we ended this war a coup would’ve taken place. Liam and I decided to bide our time. Liam wanted to insure one final victory before ultimately leading to stalemate.”

“The capture of Arendelle..” Emma was in shock and he kept talking, kept telling her everything. 

“Aye, our advisors were also urging him to pick a bride and soon. They wanted to secure the line of succession.” He barreled on. Emma stood up at this point. Killian’s eyes widened; he was watching her every move. 

“I lost my magic six years ago…” She trailed off. All the scenarios running through her head. Maybe if the brothers were successful and Montave was seen to be surrendering Emma wouldn’t have lost her magic. Regina wouldn’t have been as big of a threat. Her family could’ve come together to defeat Regina, not just Emma. The plan would’ve been different, everything would’ve been different. All of the maybes and what ifs were making her head spin. 

“Emma, I-” She cut him off with a glare. 

“No, you really should stop talking now. You’re telling me that war has been pointless for years now, that we were always headed here. That our men died for nothing, all because you two didn’t have the support to end it. Don’t get me wrong, I get it you couldn’t come out against your father, but Killian everything I’ve done has been for nothing! That the curse was for nothing! That losing my magic was for nothing!” She practically yelled at him. 

“I-” Killian stuttered. He was just trying to be honest with her and have her understand that he was on her side. He opened his mouth and stuck his own damn foot in it. 

“Why now? Why have Elsa propose the treaty?” She snapped. 

“The people’s opinion turned on the war, there were talks of riots and rebellions. With that we were able to change our general’s minds.” He answered not sure of what she would ask next. Emma curled her hand into a ball. What she wanted to do was to lash out and use her magic, she wanted that familiar warmth back in her body. His revelation gave her a flicker of hope and she hated herself for feeling it. 

“Emma, I’m sorry I never thought- I didn’t want another secret to come out and hurt you, hurt us.” Killian stood up once more and moved to her. Emma stepped out of his reach, backing away towards the door. Every step she took hurt his heart. 

“I understand, I need a minute.” Emma so badly wanted to run away, but they couldn’t reveal their location. Instead she left the room and went upstairs to the room she used while running the house. Emma slammed the door behind her. She paced in front of the window, trying to calm down. For the first time since Killian placed the ring on her finger, she wanted to rip it off. Her hand traced over it, but she couldn’t do it and she didn’t know why. 

Emma couldn’t change the past even if she wanted to, even if she had her magic. It was one of those things that was part of dark magic that Emma never dared to touch or even consider. She just longed for a world that wasn’t consumed and torn apart by war. Emma wanted her magic back. A sob ripped through her, she had never admitted those words to herself because what was the point, she couldn’t have it back, why want it?

Emma kicked her boots off and climbed into the bed, letting the warm blankets envelope her. Her tears soaking the pillow beneath her, sleep overcoming her. 

Killian sighed when he heard a door somewhere slam shut. He just rocked her world and he knew it. He never imagined how this news would change everything for her. He can’t seem to get it right with her. He took several swigs of rum and decided to roam about the house and become familiar with it. If his men would be stationed here for the time being, then he would have to be here too. Killian wandered through several bedrooms on the ground floor, an office, and the kitchen once more. The office had been cleared of any materials or documents. Killian found some paper and ink with a quill. He snatched it up and wrote out a letter to Liam. His brother could reason with him better than anyone, he would know what to do about this predicament with Emma. Liam would have the best advice for him because Killian watched Liam struggle with his feelings for Elsa for many years now. 

Killian left the cold dark office to pen his letter next to the light and warmth of the fire. It took him a while to find the right words to explain what had happened between him and Emma. He was so absorbed in the letter he didn’t hear her descend the stairs. 

Emma was barefoot with a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes slightly puffy and red. Killian hadn’t dared go up the stairs where she had gone. He wanted to give her the appropriate space to process everything. 

“Just grabbing some water.” Emma went to her pack and grabbed her canteen. She took a swig and gave him a sheepish look. 

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

“No, love I understand completely why you did. I should’ve- honestly, I don’t know what I should’ve done. Not telling you meant it could’ve come out later and telling you seemed to have hurt you too.” Killian shook his head. 

“A double-edged sword.” He blinked a few times before nodding. 

“Aye, it was. Do you miss your magic?” He watched her as she took the chair across from him. 

“Every day, it was like losing a limb. My magic manifested when I was five, scared my parents to death,” when he gave her a questioning look, she continued on, “I didn’t want to play with Leo, so I put an invisible barrier between the two of us.” Killian laughed at that. 

“I can’t deny that sounds like something you would do...you barely ever mention it.” 

“It seemed pointless to want or hope for such things when it’s not possible,” she shrugged. Her hand ghosting over the scars on her right arm. 

“There’s no hope you could ever get it back?” Emma shook her head. 

“We searched for a way to reverse the spell for a couple years. Nothing ever came of it, I eventually told them to give up. The glimmer of hope just to be let down again was too painful.” Killian reached out for her hand and she let him have it. 

“I’m sorry, love.” She gave him a faint, weak smile. 

“It’s okay there’s nothing you can do about it. See you found the office, who’s the letter to?” She nodded toward the paper scattered on the table. 

“If I could do something I would. And ah Liam, just ramblings of a younger brother who has few friends in a strange kingdom.” He smirked as did she. Killian gathered up the papers and folded them to place in an envelope he took from the desk. 

“I’m going to bed; you can pick any of the rooms to sleep in. We’ll head back to the castle before sunrise.” Her hand slipped out of his hold as she stood up, adjusting her grip on the blanket. 

“Aye goodnight, love.” 

“Goodnight.” She brushed her lips across his cheek, a blush rising in his cheeks after realizing what she had done. Maybe there was hope for them after all. With her body so close to his Killian clenched his fist, he wanted so badly to reach up to her hip and hold her close to his side. He had to reign in those feelings. 

Emma gave him one last lingering look before heading back up the stairs. When she looked at him like that his heart would stop, it’s like she saw him. Killian sighed and placed the letter in his pack before heading up to get some shut eye as well. 

They reached the castle just as the sun was rising in the morning. Neither of them got much sleep last night and Emma desperately wanted to slip into her bed and sleep for a couple more hours. Ruby met them at the door, her arms crossed. Never a good sign. 

“Rubs not that I don’t love you, but why the hell are you up and waiting for us?” Emma approached her. 

“Emergency council meeting, everyone is waiting for you two actually.” Ruby told them, a nervous glint in her eye. 

“Any hint to what this is about?” Killian asked, looking from Emma to Ruby then to Emma again. 

“It’s urgent, Snow didn’t say more than that.” Ruby shook her head. 

“Great, well let’s not keep them waiting.” Emma said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Ruby gave her a sympathetic smile and led the way. Without thinking about it Emma fumbled for Killian’s hand. He grabbed it and squeezed it tightly. Emma looked at him with worry in her eyes. He knew whatever was coming wasn’t good if she was looking at him like that. Ruby didn’t miss their connected hands or the looks they exchanged, she simply smiled and kept her mouth shut, for once. 

They entered the war room and Leo, David, Snow, Graham, and August were sitting there waiting for them. August straightened up when they entered. Ruby, Emma, and Killian took their seats quickly. 

“You may begin,” Snow nodded. Graham looked to August. 

“This was more your quest than mine. Tell them what you found.” 

“I guess it was. In Arendelle the Dark One’s visit bothered me, it seemed odd that he would just show up. How did he even know Emma used magic for mere seconds, from far away? It didn’t add up, he couldn’t be watching her at all times. So, when we were there, I asked around seeing if maybe he had another reason to visit, really to find out if anything out of the ordinary had happened. The same day he was there a magical vase went missing. I didn’t think this was a coincidence, so his visit had two purposes and his proximity might explain how he knew Emma used magic. The vase apparently can hold people indefinitely. It got me thinking what he was up to, so I started looking around more to see if there were other stolen objects. There were, a wand hidden in a mountain cave that vanished last week, a gauntlet that is supposed to give the user courage was taken, the mirror in the Evil Queen’s castle is now gone, and I’m sure there are more I don’t know about.” David leaned forward on the table,

“What do you think all this means?” 

“That he’s planning something big and we need to be prepared.” August concluded. Emma stood up from her seat and went to the frosted window, her hands gripping the windowsill. If she still had her magic this wouldn’t be a problem. It almost made her blood boil, it was so frustrating to have it close, but not be able to use it. 

“We still have the protections from the fairies, or do you mean something more?” Leo asked, looking around the room. 

“More. We need Emma to have her magic.” August said nervously. Emma spun around at this point. 

“I would like that too, but we explored all the options last time it’s not possible.” Emma crossed her arms. Snow and David exchanged a guilty look. 

“Emma, it is. We just never…” Snow shuddered. 

“None of us could stomach it. There’s a difference,” Emma snapped. 

“The Dark One is gearing up for a fight or some big terrible plan of his. We don’t have a choice. He’s not just a threat to everyone in this room, but also the kingdom,” Graham told her sternly. Emma narrowed her gaze at him. They hadn’t spoken since the ball, he needed space and time to get over her. His tone told her that Graham was still upset with her. 

“Will someone please tell me what is going on? I thought there wasn’t a way to get it back.” Killian only has eyes for Emma. Sometimes she thought that those piercing blue eyes could stare straight through to her soul, like he could see her heart. The rest of the world would melt away when he did that, like nothing else mattered. 

“There isn’t.” 

“There is, technically the spell can be reversed if the spell is not actively holding someone anymore,” David explained, “If the Evil Queen is dead the curse won’t have anything to hold onto, Emma’s magic will come back.” 

“In theory it’s never been confirmed, we think that’s what will happen,” Emma added, shaking her head. 

“Why didn’t this happen?” Killian’s brow furrows, confusion on his face. 

“Snow was almost raised by the woman, and couldn’t. The rest of us…” David trailed off. 

“Didn’t feel right killing someone who was defenseless,” Leo finished for his father. Killian’s gaze snapped toward Emma. 

“You have plenty of loyal knights who I’m sure would do it for you…”

“We don’t do that here,” Snow started, “If the royal family can’t carry out the execution then it doesn’t happen. We can’t ask our men to do what we aren’t willing to do.” Emma was perched on the windowsill, her hands gripping the edge. 

“I’ll do it.” Emma’s gaze snapped to Killian. 

“No!” 

“Emma, I told you last night I would do anything to help you with your magic, those weren’t empty words. I have no qualms about killing her, she’s caused you enough pain.” He stood from his spot at the table, turning toward her. 

“It’s too dangerous, the cave she’s kept in has traps all over it. You’ll be lucky to get out alive,” she argued. He can’t be this stupid, this reckless, not for her. 

“I can manage just fine; I have my wits about me.” He dismissed her concerns. 

“I don’t want anyone risking their life for my mistake!” Killian walked over to her at this point, tilting her chin up. 

“I don’t want that bloody Dark One near anyone I care about. I don’t want you defenseless.” 

“I don’t want you dead!” She practically shouted at him, to make him understand. This wasn’t some simple mission, everything with this damn curse had consequences. This would not be the exception.

David cleared his throat and Emma and Killian jumped apart. Emma hadn’t realized how close they were. Killian scratched his ear, a blush evident in his cheeks. 

“I’m serious, Killian. Nothing good will come from going after her. This damn curse has already taken something precious from me, I won’t let it take you too. Please, don’t do it.” Emma wasn’t sure if her pleas were falling on deaf ears, but she couldn’t stand here anymore. She needed a minute to breathe. This man couldn't be ready to go headfirst into danger for her. Emma stalked out of the war room and slammed the door behind her.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

just an original story snippet because that anon i got yesterday flattered me (and because i love my girls and my idea)

  “The moon will fall February 17th, 4350--”

  “Oh dear. THAT’S an embarrassing situation to be in. Better take the long way to class to avoid that--”

  “The sun will explode way before then, but I can’t see when it’s too blurry too blurry can’t see further--”

  “MY PARENTS ARE GETTING ME A PUPPY?! Oh shoot. I just ruined the surprise--”

  “A plague will come. A plague will come. A plague will come--”

  “I know the answers to the exam and my peers don’t, hehe--”

  “I know when my mother will die, but I don’t know how to save her. I can’t save her. When I try to save her, she dies--”

There are hundreds of voices in this room. Hundreds of people talking over each other, rambling silly teenage thoughts and dark prophets of the future, babbling and gibbering and chattering like noisy jungle birds. Listen to what I have to say, they whisper. Listen to what I Saw. But they aren’t listened to, no one listens, so they keep shouting over each other until it’s a din of conflicting comments and arguments.

The weird thing is, though...the voices didn’t come from any person. The only people in the room were Lee and Keaton, behind one of the doors, and Michael, wearing an old, ripped trench coat and pacing between two tables covered in wicked-looking knives, scissors in various sizes of huge, and wrinkled papers filled to the brim with information. None of them were speaking.

  “I should warn Olivia to not try out for the school musical, she’s just going to embarrass herself--”

Keaton began to tremble against Lee’s side. Her eyes are wide and glazed with terror. Lee followed her gaze, tilting ever so slightly around the door so she could see more inside, and froze.

Nearly-depleted bulbs cast dim, horror movie-like lighting across polished wooden shelves and carved out cubbyholes, and the jars full of disembodied tongues that hold them. The muscular remains of finished lives howl and thrash, repeating themselves ad infinitum, slapping the glass walls of their confines until they clank and jiggle. The stench of it is thick and ripe. A choir of dead voices vying for attention.

Lee nearly vomited. Keaton trembled harder, and she can see tears glinting in her multicolored eyes. How many times has she seen this scene in her visions? Could she still hear their thoughts without a brain to read from?

  “Oh, that’s it!!!” Michael suddenly roared. Lee flinched, but tightened her muscles to keep from hitting anything in her surprise. “Shut it!!”

He reared around to glower at a particularly rowdy group of tongues that were writhing so violently that their jars were about to topple right over. They don’t obey his command, they can’t, and continue to speak: “I make the team in soccer?! Oh my god--” “Mom and dad are getting a divorce--” “The fire alarm on Thursday won’t be a drill--” “John F. Kennedy will be shot on November 22, 1963--”

That last comment from a spongy, paler tongue on the top row of jars. It does damage to itself as it threw itself against aged glass.

  “Just take a breath, Michael,” Michael began to mutter to himself. He rubbed his temples with his middle and index finger. “It’ll all be worth it. This will all pay off soon. Just focus.”

  “DAVID IS CHEATING ON JESSIE?! OH THAT GODDAMN BITC--”

  “I can’t take this!!” Michael stormed out the door, his long trench coat fluttering darkly behind him like the wings of a black moth. Lee and Keaton wait for a minute, with Keaton confirming that he wasn’t coming back by listening to his receding thoughts, and then crept out into the room.

The smell was so much worse inside, like a mix of fresh rot and week-old decay. There was a certain humidity in the room, too, most likely to preserve the tongues, and it made the odor that much worse. Lee tried to breathe through her mouth, but the air was so thick with stench that she could taste decomposition on her tongue. She careened sharply to the left and vomited into a small black trash can- the most normal thing in the entire place.

  “Well,” She breathed out shakily. “He’s probably going to notice this.” She set the trash can down tentatively and turned to Keaton with a wry smile. “Is there any way that you could rewind to before we enter and warn me to NOT breathe through my mouth?”

Keaton didn’t answer. 

She’s staring intently at the wall of jars. Her cropped, coppery hair has gone all tufty and frizzy, as though the relentless noise around her has made it stand on end. She kept clenching and unclenching her fists like she thought this just was a bad dream or vision she could claw herself out of. But it was very, very real. And the next ear-piercing prophecy proved that.

  “I’M ADOPTED?! AND MOM AND DAD ARE GOING TO TELL ME AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY?! ARE YOU SERIOUS--”

  “I didn’t know.” 

The whisper was mute beneath the din of cries. Lee moved closer to hear her young companion better, but didn’t ask her to repeat herself. Keaton looked up at her with terror in her eyes.

  “I didn’t know about this.” She said. “I didn’t see it.”

  “Ever?” Lee asked. “Not once?”

  “Not once,” Keaton confirmed. Her voice is painfully tight and she looked like she was about to spiral into a panic attack. “I didn’t know...”

She stepped forward slowly, cautiously, like she thought the tongues may suddenly grow bodies and attack her. She gently picked up a jar that held a soft pink tongue with a blue blemish over the bumpy expanse of taste buds, remnants of a blueberry slushy. It did wild flips in its confinements, fresh and sinewy as eels, squawking out things about boys her bad-at-love best friend was crushing on, but then went still when raised. It now sat silently at the bottom of the jar with its tip flicking patiently like the tail of a slithering snake.

  “I didn’t know her,” Keaton whispered. She really is shaking- the jar is being rattled so badly that Lee was afraid that she might drop it or it may completely shatter. Her sun-moon eyes are hazy with tears on the reflection against the glass.

Lee crept closer and peered over her shoulder. The tongue flicked its tip again, like it was addressing that she was there, that it knew who she was and it could spit out prophecies about her at any moment. At the top of its jar winked a small gold plaque that read: Hayley Grace Ross | Age: 17 | Best known for: Visions of an alternate universe where time runs backwards | Death: January 13, 2019 |

  “I didn’t know any of them.” Keaton choked out. She’s crying, now. She gently cradled the jar close to her chest with a haunted expression and the tongue inside squirmed its way against the glass like it was returning the embrace in a strange, but sad postmortem, disembodied way.

Lee gave her a saddened expression. She’s gotten quite good at comforting Keaton, but she knew not to pry right now. Not when she was so obviously shaken by this.

She turned, wanting to give the girl some space, and saw a jar on one of the several tables. It’s decorated, unlike the others, swathed with sparkling threads of silver and gold around the lid and studded with small sun and moon pendants. She picked it up and read the plaque, which looked like it had been recently shined: Keaton Morgan Fox | Age: 15 | Best known for: Very specific and clear visions into the future, perfected mind reading, time loops | Death: N/A |

It was empty.

There was no death date.

  “Beware the one born of the sun and the moon,” Whispered a wrinkly old tongue with cracks over its surface. “Seething with darkness and sparkling with anger.”

  “Awakened from the blood of an unwanted womb,” Chimed in another tongue that was missing taste buds. 

  “And drenched in the carnage of the futures she hides.” Murmured a third.

  “Beware the one born of the sun and the moon,” Said all the tongues together. “With too many secrets and too many eyes.”

Lee shuddered and turned to Keaton, finally realizing why she was so distraught.

They were standing in a room full of the severed tongues of murdered Seers. 

She was surrounded by her own kind, dead and trapped forever.

[jewish-privilege]

Eric Lidji is a man who cares deeply about modest ambitions. He has lived in Pittsburgh on and off for 20 years. It is a city perfectly sized to his sensibility, neither very small nor very large—a place known to but mostly ignored by those who do not live there. Lidji, 36, has held many jobs; most recently, in late 2017, he became the director and only permanent staff member of the Rauh Jewish History Program & Archives, a repository of early-20th-century local Yiddish-theater posters as well as records from dozens of small-town synagogues in western Pennsylvania. But even before he became an archivist, Lidji’s work has always been the same: He is a diarist of small delights, a chronicler of curios, an ardent psalmist of Pittsburgh’s quirky charms.

Like many of the 49,000 other Jews in the Pittsburgh area, Lidji was socializing at a local synagogue on the final Saturday in October last year when he heard the first rumors of a shooting at the nearby Tree of Life synagogue. The news was soon confirmed: Eleven Jewish worshippers had been murdered. Lidji felt paralyzed: Shabbat, the Jewish day of rest, was still ongoing, and he wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t until a few hours later that something clicked, and Lidji felt a certain desperation stirring alongside his sorrow. Already, people were laying artwork and stones, which Jews customarily place on graves, on the sidewalk around the synagogue where the shooting had taken place. Many of the accumulating objects were fragile and homemade, with no clear owner or steward, left outside without protection against Pittsburgh’s notoriously wet weather. This was not just an outpouring of grief, but a proliferation of artifacts—artifacts that, in Lidji’s view, should be preserved.

On the Monday morning after the shooting, Lidji met with half a dozen colleagues who work in other divisions of Pittsburgh’s Heinz History Center, where the Jewish archives are housed. Together they formed a task force, fanning out to as many vigils, funerals, and religious services as they could. They filled their bags with copies of programs and approached speakers after public events, asking them for their notes. Whenever Lidji spotted someone carrying a sign, he would hurry over and hand them a business card, hoping they would call him when the card reappeared at the bottom of a purse or in a pocket emptied for laundry and offer to donate what they had made. Sometimes he felt overwhelmed. On the Tuesday after the shooting, he showed up at a protest against President Donald Trump in Squirrel Hill, Pittsburgh’s historic Jewish neighborhood, to find thousands of people gathered in the streets carrying signs and banners. “It felt like … archiving the ocean,” he told me.

The grim reality of Jewish history is that Lidji is not the first archivist of his kind. Medieval Jews buried family heirlooms in the walls of their houses in times of plague, fearing that they might be blamed for the disease. Scholars founded the Yiddish institute YIVO in the early 20th century, recruiting ordinary Eastern European villagers to collect photographs and folktales of a culture threatened by pogroms and mass migration. Emanuel Ringelblum led a covert effort to collect and bury artifacts documenting life in the Warsaw Ghetto in the early years of the Holocaust, before its inhabitants were murdered and its remaining structures burned to the ground.

...Since the attack, Lidji has experienced a personal religious transformation: After nearly 15 years of haphazard Jewish observance, he started attending services every day. But there were other reasons to show up for prayer: It has proved a useful venue for winning people over to the cause of archival collection.

...After the attack, Lidji’s first big challenge was becoming more visible to the community: being unobtrusively, insistently present at memorial events, and building relationships with community leaders. His second big challenge was convincing the Pittsburgh Jewish community that its history is worth preserving.

The first time Lidji felt “any sense of accomplishment,” he told me, was when a man who had been “polite but reticent” about the archival project came over during morning minyan one day and announced that he had found “the perfect object.” On the day of the shooting, a boy had been celebrating his bar mitzvah at an Orthodox synagogue about a mile away from Tree of Life, and continued the service even as news of the shooting reached the community. The bentscher, or book containing the prayers said after meals, captured the moment perfectly, the man told Lidji: It featured the boy’s name and the starry Pittsburgh Steelers logo wrapped around the date, 10.27.18. Lidji eventually got hold of one of the bentschers.

The most significant items Lidji has collected have what he calls “the shine,” a certain raw, emotional quality that indicates an object’s clear connection to the past. In the week after the attack, students at the Hillel Jewish University Center of Pittsburgh gathered and expressed their feelings on Post-its. “My childhood illusion of security as a Jew was shattered,” one student wrote. Lidji and his colleagues collected programs from memorial events, some more pointed than others: A community with a large Bhutanese population hosted a vigil, where attendees seemed to feel acutely the dangers of being an ethnic minority. A large Reform Jewish congregation, Rodef Shalom, hosted a small event where the preschool director reported that ever since the attack, the children had been obsessed with building elaborate protective structures out of blocks.

...A few weeks after the attack, Lidji got a call from a local family who wanted to donate a sign they made for the first memorial vigil, on the night of the shooting. When the mother brought her two children, 3 and 5, to the archives, the older child asked why they had to give the sign away. Sometimes, Lidji told her, things are so important that we have to make sure they will be around for a really long time. Right, the girl’s mom added. One day, you will be able to bring your grandchildren to see this sign.

In late summer, Lidji picked up several vanloads’ worth of material from Jewish organizations around town, ranging from condolence notes to quilts to paper cranes they had received in the preceding months. Lidji said it will probably take him at least a year to go through it all. And there’s more: Tree of Life and the other two congregations that were in the building during the shooting received an estimated 10,000 letters in the days after the attack. It is unclear where they will end up.

“People will tell this story someday, and they’re going to tell it using this information that we’ve all left behind for them,” Lidji told me. “We’ve only done as good a job as we could do. We couldn’t save everything.”

...Lidji has had to figure out how to start telling the story of the Pittsburgh shooting, a story with much larger and darker implications than any he’s had to tell before. At first, it was Jewish organizations in and around Pittsburgh that approached him to help them make sense of the shooting—the Orthodox yeshiva where he went to high school, an area synagogue where one of the victims’ children attend services. Eventually, he started getting requests from people who live farther afield. In June, Lidji spoke at a convention in Colorado of mostly non-Orthodox chevrot kadisha, or sacred societies, made up of the members of Jewish communities who oversee the washing and burial of the dead. The convention was held not long after a gunman allegedly killed 51 people and wounded dozens more in a mosque in Christchurch, New Zealand, and also not long after a 19-year-old man allegedly opened fire in a synagogue in Poway, California, murdering one woman and injuring three others, including a rabbi and an 8-year-old girl.

Lidji began his talk with a story he sometimes tells when he’s trying to explain the deeper meaning of the archives project. Psalm 90 begins, “A prayer of Moses, the man of God.” According to Jewish tradition, most of the Psalms were composed by King David, who was born centuries after Moses died. How, Lidji asked, could David have known what Moses had said in his prayers?

In answer, Lidji offered his interpretation of a line from the Radak, a medieval Jewish commentator, painting a scene of dramatic discovery: King David, unable to sleep and wandering around his palace at night, finds a pottery jar containing a mysterious scroll bearing Moses’s prayers. How meaningful it must have been, Lidji said, for David to hold in his hands the words of the Jewish tradition’s greatest prophet. Psalm 90 itself describes how insignificant human events must seem to God: For in Your sight, a thousand years are like … a watch of the night. And yet the Jewish people, Lidji explained, have been able to maintain continuity in part because their archives have let them “come back later and be reminded.”

The bar mitzvah boy who persevered through his prayers even as his synagogue went on lockdown will one day die. The little girl who gave her sign to the archives will one day die. From dust to dust: A century hence, no one who witnessed the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting and its aftermath will be around to explain why they loved Squirrel Hill. If it survives, Lidji’s archive will be all that’s left to tell a more textured story. Depending on what comes next, those stones and signs and notes of grief could tell radically different stories: of a rare aberration in American Jewish history, or the restarting of an ancient clock.