#gets staked for hogging the leg press

[vamprisms]

i need to be the gothest person at the gym

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

Not sure how many chapters this will be but it will be slow burn 🖤

Crimson eyes. All that swims in your memory is the look of pure satisfaction in those eyes at the carnage that unfolds before you. Your mother and siblings laid drained and lifeless before you. Your father chanting prayers as he grovels at the feet of the man before you. He is sleek and pristine, with onyx colored hair and prestigious clothing now splattered with the blood of your loved ones. His lips form a nasty sneer, sharp canines glistening in the now dimly lit manor.

“You should have never made a wager you couldn’t keep, especially with a vampire.”

•••

Suddenly you are jolted away from the heart wrenching memory. Nightmares coming and going as blurs of reality swing past you. A tentacle creature. Some type of bug. But what alarms you now is the feeling of rock beneath you. You try to come to as your memories try to serve you. A ship, crashing said ship, others. Others! You jolt from the ground and look over. The Githyanki fighter is next to you as well as the other female you believed to have introduced herself as Shadowheart. You all look at eachother, relieved to be alive.

-

You all set foot to find any others that might have been held captive while in that demonic ship. So far you have found a tiefling named Karlach and the humans Gale and Wylls. You split up in search of any others with a designated spot to return to. You come upon one last survivor as you crest over a small hill. Silver hair rustles in the wind as the elf’s back faces you. He just barely looks over his shoulder at you, motioning you closer.

“Quickly! I have one of those brain things cornered over here! Come kill it!” He demands. He points towards the grass down the slope in front of him. You take cautious steps, moving silently towards where he mentions. You tense, hand ready at your weapon. A loud squeal comes bursting from the grass as a hog barrels out and away from you. You barely have a moment to turn around to the elf before a dagger is pressed to your throat. In seconds you are thrown to the ground tugging against strong arms ensnaring you.

“Now me and you are going to have a little chat. And you even think about pulling something and you’ll lose that darling neck of yours.” He all but purrs in your ear. You thrash against him, failing to pull the weapon away from your throat.

“Now I saw you on that ship, don’t even bother lying to me. What did you and those brain freaks do to me!?” He growls. You try to take a look at him but he has you pinned too tightly.

“I don’t have anything to do with those animals! I was taken, we all were!” You try to reason. Your temper begins to take over your fright. You escaped that hell hole. Fought tooth and bone to leave with your life. You would not be put down by some scared little elf. He bites back at you, focused on getting answers and not enough on how tight of a grip he has on you. Fury licks up the base of your body and fills your vision.

“Nice try but you’ll find me hard to convince, now what-“ you cut off his ranting as your leg wraps around one of his own. Your opposite arms elbow plants firmly in the ground as you swing yourself up and over the elf. You land him on his back; twisting his wrist in your right hand as your left hand reaches down to grab his now dropping blade. In one smooth motion your legs capture his frame under your own hip to hip as both of your hands ring around his stolen dagger. Confusion smears over his features as hands shoot up in defense. You just bring yourself to give into your anger, to drive the dagger directly into his heart for infuriating you with his insane tactics before your eyes meet. Crimson eyes meet your (e/c) ones. And the world falls out from beneath you. You plummet into a vast nothingness. Your heart gripped and laid bare. Vampire.

-

Astarions POV

-

Barely escaping out of a now wrecked ship with disguising brain maggots crawling from it was probably within the top ten worst days of Asatarion’s long life. His muscles ached and his neck throbbed from the impact of where he now found himself. Brushing off dirt from his sleeves, Asatarion rose to his nimble feet as he shook out the pains in his legs. He finds himself in a grassy plain. The ship that once held him hostage was now just over the horizon smashed in against a mountain. Wreckage spewed across the field with no hint as to where he now found himself. He had half a mind to just start walking and find somewhere someplace someone to end up in. But he remembered there were others, whether fellow captive or foe he was not sure. As if on cue, the crunch of feet on leaves and twigs ushered in behind him. A malicious smirk graced his handsome face. Now there was someone with answers. Or dinner. He could take it or leave it. The manic leer doesn’t leave his face as he feigns terror to his new audience. With a signal of his wagging hand he gestures for them to come forward.

“Quickly! I have one of those brain things cornered over here! Come kill it!” Soft steps quietly make their way towards and past him. Your frame comes into his view. Your (h/c) hair billows behind you as you step in front of him. He takes in your toned form flecked with blood and feels his hunger only grow. A tasty little treat. You appease his cries and look over into the clearing where grass covers most of what hides beneath. Just as you ready yourself for another battle a boar rushes out. Astarion jumps on your temporary confusion and pounces onto you. His blade reaches your neck as he hurls your joined bodies to the ground. You twist and curl from him as you listlessly fight from his grasp.

“Now me and you are going to have a little chat. And you even think about pulling something and you’ll lose that darling neck of yours.” Your face may be facing away from him but he can feel the anger pulsing in your rising blood pressure. Your suppulent artery thrums, tantalizing him under your (s/c) skin. He nearly loses himself there staring at your beating pulse. He reigns himself in, shaking the thoughts and desires to be dealt with momentarily.

“Now I saw you on that ship, don’t even bother lying to me. What did you and those brain freaks do to me!?” He spits. Your talon like nails dig into him as you fight back.

“I don’t have anything to do with those animals! I was taken, we all were!” You all but scream. Astarion snarls, the sound vibrating in his aching fangs. “Nice try but you’ll find me hard to convince, now what-“ Astarion finds himself interrupted as you maneuver your body to throw him under yourself. Your long legs hook under each of his own while you busy yourself with stealing his dagger. Astarion can’t help but be mildly impressed but confusion and annoyance soon take precedence. His hands shoot upwards to grab the weapon from your nimble hands. His gaze darts up to you and the moment your gazes lock it as if fire runs throughout his entire body. Every system, every neuron locks against his will. The rest of the world falls to the sidelines, the world blurring around you. You seem to have the same reaction as your muscles relax and a quizzical look takes over the fiery one of earlier.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” You sneer. Astarion puts on his most dazzling smile in hopes it covers the utter confusion he feels at what had just passed between the two of you.

“Astarion my dear, and what’s your name oh so deadly killer?” Your temper flares across your face at his teasing.

“(Y/n).” It sounds vaguely familiar. Like a name long forgotten wiggling in the back of his mind. Or it was the rabid worm that was placed there.

“If you are all done wrestling now, we have ground to cover!” Shadowheart yells. You look up at her, back to him and then back to her. Torn on whether to stab him or not, you decide on the latter. You hoist yourself up and side step away from him. Bringing himself up by the elbows Astarion takes a moment to look you over. Interesting.

Part 2 here

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

“Do you think they’re gonna get too hot?” Bob asks, concern carving his voice into a pitched utterance. “Like--you know, is the sun too much? Should we just take ‘em home?” 

Humming from beside Bob, settled onto the old sheets you have laid out across the sand, you just sigh with a fond smile tugging on your lips. 

Of course he’s concerned about the babies in this heat--he’s a good father, one that never has to be told what to do or when to do it, one that literally leaps out of bed in the night to change diapers. 

“They’re alright,” you assure Bob. “They’re covered! How could the sun get them at all?” 

It’s true--the babies are thoroughly covered. Linen shorts and cotton shirts, floppy little sunhats, sunscreen covering every inch of them. Not to mention the umbrellas Bob has staked in the sand behind you--which casts shade over the entirety of your family. 

“A freak accident,” Bob tells you, eyes slightly widened when he thinks about one of his precious babies--including you--getting burned. “Maybe we should--!” 

“--Baby,” you interrupt, laughing as you glance at him from the top of your glasses. “It’s good that they’re outside! Immunity! Vitamin D! Fresh air! They’ll be alright!” 

Bob sighs, glancing down at Jolene, who is sprawled out on your bent thighs, blinking in confusion at the floppy hat that just barely comes down over her eyes. Then he glances at Waylon, whose sound asleep on Bob’s thighs, little milk dribbling down his chin. 

“It isn’t too late to tell them that they can meet us at the house,” Bob tells you. He looks up at the sky--endless blue and the sun a fiery hole puncturing the sky. “If we want to do that.”

“We don’t,” you assure him. “And, besides--I think it is too late.” 

At that, Bob follows your gaze and turns. Yes--you’re right. It is too late. The squadron is already trailing down the beach, all in their aviators and swimming suits, grinning and zeroed in on yours and Bob’s beach setup. 

“Oh, Lord,” Bob says softly, a fond smile tugging on his lips now. “Rooster’s gonna try and steal them, I think.” 

“You’re only telling me this now?” You whisper, nudging him with your elbow teasingly. 

He has told you before, though, about Rooster’s affinity for children. He can’t get enough of ‘em--he’s always hogging whatever admiral’s child he can get his hands on, playing airplanes or tea party or somehow getting them to nap. And you know, somehow, that Rooster is the goofy looking one with the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt treading through the sand. 

“Sorry, honey,” Bob chuckles.  

You see how much this matters to Bob. Never mind that you know him better than anyone else in the world, having met in middle school and fallen in love straight away. Even if you didn’t know him better than anyone, if you were just a fly on the wall--you’d still know. He woke up too early this morning, pacing the kitchen as the coffee brewed, checking in on the twins every few minutes until he heard the first sounds of awakeness. He picked their outfits with you, chewing on his bottom lip. He had the car packed and ready to go before noon. He even called Phoenix a few times just to make sure that plans were still on--and was reminded, a few times, that the plans were absolutely still on. 

“You’re shaking the beach,” you whisper, pressing a hand to his bouncing leg.

“Sorry,” Bob mutters, distracted. He stops bouncing his leg. “I’m…I’m really--!” 

“--Nervous,” you finish for him, leaning forward to press your warm cheek against his bicep. You kiss him there, soft and sweet, and then sigh. “It’s alright, Bobby. The babies are perfect, the squadron loves you, I’m very personable, the sun is shining, the seagulls are crying! Everything’s gonna be okay!” 

“Yeah,” Bob sighs, scratching his head and giving you a quick peck on the forehead. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’m just--I don’t know. This is important to me.” 

“I know it,” you say, heart swollen. “And I know it’s important to them, too. It’ll be good!” 

“It’ll be good,” Bob repeats softly, glancing at you. You’re grinning at him--it makes his shoulders sink. “It’ll be good.” 

“Well, well, well,” Hangman says as his feet sink into the hot, hot sand. He grins, squinting even behind his aviators as the sun beats down on his face. “If it ain’t baby on board and his babies on board.” 

Bob grins at the sound of Jake’s voice--which surprises him, really. Before that never would’ve happened. But now Bob is back in Lemoore, with you and your babies, and everything feels distinctly better than it did before.

“Hangman,” Bob grins, sticking his hand out for Jake to take. “Good to see you, man.” 

Hangman, who’s holding two comically large stuffed rabbits, shuffles to put them under one arm and take Bob’s hand in his.  

“How goes it?” Jake asks. Then he glances at you--you’re grinning at him, holding your daughter still. “And this must be the Missus, huh? Pleasure to make your acquaintance!” 

Jake crosses the sheets to take your hand, which he promptly brings to his mouth to kiss. 

“Don’t mind him,” Rooster says as he appears, toting a cooler and a speaker. “The lack of oxygen in the cockpit really scrambled his brain.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” Hangman says, glancing at Rooster. “Did Bob tell you that Rooster is gonna try and steal them?” Jake asks, pointing to the babies with his brow perched. 

“Actually, yes,” you answer, smiling softly. “He did.” 

Rooster, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, sets the cooler in the sand before grinning at Bob and stretching his hands out. 

“Baby me and I’ll beer you,” Rooster says. 

“That doesn’t sound like a fair exchange,” Phoenix sighs, rounding out to clap Rooster on the shoulder before grinning at Bob and you. “Floyds!” 

“Hey, Nat,” Bob grins. “How are you?” 

“Oh, she’s great,” Payback answers, wiping sweat off his forehead as he sets his beach chair in the sand. “Super, even!” 

“She got the aux in the van,” Fanboy explains, resting his elbow on Payback’s shoulder. “Two words: Def Leppard.” 

“Lemme see those babies!” Coyote’s voice booms as he jogs up and rounds out the squadron. He’s grinning a broad grin, arms already outstretched. 

“Hey, I already called dibs!” Rooster says. 

“Yeah, but I got here first,” Hangman grins. 

Everyone looks at Bob like he’s the tie-breaker. 

“There’s only two of them,” Bob says, laughing quietly. 

“You’re gonna have to choose,” Rooster says seriously. 

“Here,” you suggest, leaning forward to put Jolene in Hangman’s extended arms. “Take one and pass it on.” 

Everyone laughs--it’s music to Bob’s ears. He watches you carefully transfer Jolene into Hangman’s arms, watches him turn absolutely gooey at the sight of your infant daughter. He cups her little head, holds her close to him, grins down at her. You readjust her sunhat and then lean back. 

“Oh, she’s too cute,” Hangman says, shaking his head seriously. “Rooster, you’re definitely gonna want to take this one.”

“Here,” Bob says, suddenly feeling more confident in his squadron’s ability than before. He leans forward and bestows Waylon upon Rooster, smiling softly and fondly as he Waylon coos and begins to blink himself awake. “You’re a natural.” 

Rooster, delighted, sinks into the sand and holds Waylon close to him. 

“Oh, I know,” he says--cocksure as ever. “Look at this little fella. Boy, does he look like a Floyd!” 

“Yes,” you agree, laughing. “My DNA didn’t even try.” 

As Hangman and Rooster hog the babies, everyone makes their rounds. You shake everyone’s hands, finally put faces to names, and collect all the presents for the babies and yourself. Bob keeps a watchful eye on the babies, but not because he’s stressed--but because he’s enamored that he has two perfect little beings to share with the important people in his life. 

The afternoon drifts forward. Your little spot on the beach becomes the spot on the beach, everyone spreading their blankets out and overlapping, coolers abundant and drinks icy. The babies get passed around, hardly even fussing, but always somehow end up back in Rooster’s arms. 

Even when everyone decides to get up and toss the pigskins, Rooster ends up staying on the palette with you and Bob and the babies. He’s somehow holding them both at the same time, grinning down at them as they blink up at him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hangman had said to Rooster, rolling his eyes. “A giant, gushy, manchild.” 

“Proud of it,” Rooster had said, cheeks pink. 

“They really like you,” you tell Bradley, sighing softly. “I’m still getting used to having all this help, you know? I’m a bit mind-blown right now.”

“Well, I’m here for any babysitting services,” Rooster says. “Hell, I’ll pay you!” 

“You’re my favorite already,” you tell Rooster.  

Bob looks at you--you’re smiling softly at Rooster and the babies. Your eyes are heavy and your back is curved and he knows that you’re that special kind of tired that is special to new motherhood. Bob understands. He knows. But his heart still squeezes at your sentence. He had to leave only two weeks after they were born, which broke his heart and yours. Of course, because you’re you, you’d put on a very brave face for him. But there were a few times--a few more times than Bob is comfortable with--when you answered his call with a tearful sniffle and a deep sigh. 

He reminds himself, as he gazes at you, that things are different now. He’s home for a while--and even after that, he’ll be close to home for the foreseeable future. He’ll never miss bath time or dinner or storytime. He’ll be here, beside you, through it all. 

“They really are beautiful,” Rooster tells the both of you. He looks between the two of you, tired and unsure parents with glittering eyes and soft smiles. “You’re doing a damn fine job of it.”

“Thanks, man,” Bob says. “It’s all her.” 

You have to swallow hard and roll your eyes, nudging him, to keep from crying pure tears of joy. 

Rooster gasps suddenly. “Okay, don’t call me crazy, but I swear to God that Jolene just smiled at me!” He says, elated. “Oh, God. Hangman’s gonna be so pissed.”

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Weaknesses

I watched Avatar: The Last Airbender and my hand slipped oops, I promise I have more spidey stuff coming soon!

Zuko is captured while pursuing the avatar gang. They want to know what he knows about the Fire Lord, but they don’t want to hurt him to get him to talk. A hungry Momo enlightens them on how to do just that. 

word count: 6,236

_________________________________

This was not the outcome Zuko had been anticipating. Bond to a chair made of earth, arms pinned behind his back, legs cemented in place, hands and feet encased in rock no amount of wrenching or fire bending could loosen. Caught and subdued by the avatar and his gang when he was certain he’d had the drop on them. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph stood around him, arms crossed and eyes steely. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t move. 

After his uncle had fallen asleep, Zuko had spotted the avatar’s bison flying overhead, and snuck away in the night to track them. When he found their campsite, he moved in to try to capture Aang, being as silent and stealthy as possible. But, much to his surprise, hardly a step and a half into his scheme, an earth bending girl rose from one of the tents and captured him instead, trapping him in his current position. Now, instead of the avatar being in his custody, the banished prince of the Fire Nation was in the avatar’s custody. And he was not happy about it.

“Let me go!” Zuko hissed, pulling at his restraints even though he knew it was pointless. Sokka scoffed.

“We’ll pass, thanks.” He and the others stood a few paces back from Zuko so that he couldn’t reach them with any breath-related fire moves—a threat they had deduced rather quickly. 

“Good work, Toph,” Katara said, patting the smaller girl on the back. “That could’ve been really bad.”

Toph shrugged and grinned at Zuko. “You should really learn how to pick up your feet there, princess. You’ve got the gait of a pregnant sloth bear.”

Zuko fumed with frustration, hating the fact he’d been caught so easily. Now he was at the mercy of his enemies instead of the other way around. Meaning they were free to taunt him to his face with zero repercussions. For now, he thought bitterly.

Aang looked at his friends. “Now what do we do? We can’t just leave him here.”

“But we can’t just let him go, either,” Sokka added. “He’s too dangerous.”

“We could knock him out and leave him in a bush,” Katara proposed.

“Or hog-tie him to a porcupig and send it running into the woods,” Toph offered, pounding her fist into her palm.

Aang shook his head. “Come on, guys. We’re not doing any of those things.”

“Wait a minute,” Sokka said, brightening. “He’s the son of the Fire Lord, right? I bet he has insight into his weaknesses, and how Aang can defeat him!” 

Zuko clenched his teeth. Aang grimaced. 

“What are you suggesting, Sokka?” 

“I’m saying, we should interrogate him! Find out what he knows!” Sokka snagged his boomerang from his bag and approached Zuko from behind. Zuko winced in surprise when the edge of Sokka’s weapon dug into his throat, pinning his head to the back of the chair. “Tell us everything you know about the Fire Lord, Fire Nation scum!”

His tone wasn’t intimidating in the slightest, but the feeling of the blade pressed against his neck was enough to send chills down Zuko’s spine. Fortunately, Aang stepped forward, jabbing his staff against the ground. 

“Sokka, stop! This isn’t how we do things!”

Sokka griped and grumbled, but eventually stepped away, withdrawing the weapon from Zuko’s throat. “Fine,” he said, pouting. “But think of all the juicy secrets he must know about the Fire Nation—secrets that could help us win the war and put an end to their tyranny! We may never get a chance like this again!”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Zuko growled.

Katara motioned for everyone to step out of Zuko’s earshot. The group huddled together beside Appa’s slumbering form.

“Aang, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Sokka might be right.”

Aang and Sokka gaped at her simultaneously. “Seriously?” they said in unison.

“We have to get him to tell us what he knows about the Fire Lord. Knowledge like that could help us save countless lives!”

“We didn’t even know he was in the same area as us three minutes ago!” Aang exclaimed. “Since when is wringing information out of our enemies a top priority?”

“It’s an opportunity we’ve never been presented with until now,” Toph said. “We should take advantage of it while we can.”

Aang scowled between his friends, shocked by their sweeping consensus on the matter. He peered around Sokka’s shoulder, eyeing Zuko as he struggled pitifully against Toph’s restraints, then bowed his head. 

“No. We’re not torturing someone for information. It’s not right.”

“No one ever said torture,” Sokka said cooly. “Think of it more as...highly effective persuasion.”

“Maybe we could do something really annoying,” Katara suggested. “Like blow your bison whistle in his ear, or have Sokka sing a bunch of Southern Water Tribe nursery rhymes.”

Toph shuddered. “But that would be torture for all of us. Not just him.”

“Hey! I thought everyone loved it when I sang those!” Sokka sulked. “At least, that’s what Gran-Gran always said...”

Aang swallowed and stared at his feet. “I don’t know. I don’t like this at all. Even if he’s our enemy, it feels wrong—hurting someone who can’t fight back so they’ll tell us something they don’t want to.”

Katara could see the weight of the morality at stake clouding over Aang’s eyes. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe there’s a way we can do it without hurting him. We could negotiate, or try trading something, or—”

“Hey! G-get off!”

Alarmed, the gang spun back toward Zuko. In the midst of their discussion, Momo had pounced on the fettered prince and was eagerly sniffing his midsection.

“Momo!” Aang cried. “Get away from him! He’s dangerous!”

“Get your stupid pet off me!” Zuko snapped. He moved as much as he could to try to shoo the lemur away, but it continued to snuffle around his torso, its nose prodding his stomach. The feeling took him by surprise, making his breath hitch and his muscles seize. He fought not to react, fought to keep his expression cold and his demeanor colder, but the insufferable little creature would not let up. It was after something underneath his shirt. 

Uncle’s lychee nuts! he realized. Iroh had a habit of stuffing his nephew’s pockets with the things in case the teen ever found himself lost, alone, and without another source of food. Although Zuko would never admit it, he appreciated the gesture—his uncle’s intuition had saved him from starvation in more pinches than one. 

But now was not one of those times. 

Zuko’s face began to burn as the corners of his lips twitched, threatening to turn upward if the lemur didn’t stop. He had to get it off! 

“Agh! S-scram, flea-bag, before I fry you to a—AH!”

To his horror, Momo pulled back his collar and darted down the neck-hole of his shirt. Paws scurried across his torso, a wet nose poked and nuzzled his belly, and a long, fuzzy body wriggled between his skin and the fabric of his clothes. Zuko yelped and sputtered, the heat in his face turning to fire, the laughter he’d been battling back suddenly barreling up his throat like a volcanic eruption. To his dismay, high-pitched giggles started slipping from his lips faster than he could stop them.

“Wha—ahack! Hehey! Get out! Gehet out!” He tugged harder than ever on his bonds, twisting and shifting to try to scare the varmint away, but all it did was make Momo weasel faster and wilder inside his shirt. The lemur’s long tail brushed under Zuko’s arms and wiggled against his neck and ears, sending goosebumps shooting across his skin. He squirmed and thrashed, shaking his head from side to side.

“Gehet it off me!” he squealed.

The four friends blinked as they watched the bizarre scene unfold. 

“Uh…” Sokka said, glancing between the prisoner and his team. “Should we do something?”

A few moments later, Momo crawled out of Zuko’s collar and perched on his shoulder, purring as he nibbled on a handful of nuts. The flustered prince puffed out his cheeks with a shudder, breathless and wide-eyed, his face tinted pink. He could feel his enemies staring at him, digesting what they had just witnessed, and he started to sweat.

“I—I’m gonna k-kill this thing if you don’t get it away from me,” he stammered, trying to feign some semblance of composure. But Momo’s tail continued to swish against the side of his neck as he spoke, making the task exceedingly difficult. He pursed his lips while straining to evade the feathery touch. 

The gang looked at Zuko, then each other, then back at Zuko. The realization dawned on all of them at once.

“Were you laughing just now?” Toph asked.

Zuko cringed, averting his gaze. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

“Oh man! You were!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before,” Katara said with a snort. “I didn’t think it was possible. And even if it was, I expected it to sound more…I don’t know. Evil?”

“Right? It’s so cute and squeaky!” Sokka snickered.

“I was not laughing!” Zuko shouted. Then Momo’s tail brushed his ear, making him wince and crack a smile.

Aang’s face lit up with delight. “It’s Momo! He’s tickling him and making him laugh!”

In unison, the gang turned on him with wide grins. Zuko bristled.

“What?”

“No way! Prince Zu-Zu is ticklish?” Toph cupped her hands over her heart and tilted her head to the side. “Awww. That’s adorable!”

“Quit patronizing me!” he roared. He tried to knock Momo off his shoulder with his head, but only managed to lightly nudge him. Momo responded by nuzzling into Zuko’s neck, purring loudly as he tucked under his chin and whisked his tail along his collarbone. The prince squawked, hiking his shoulders to his ears.

“Ehaha! No! G-get away!”

Toph crossed her arms smugly. “That’s what you get for trying to capture our friend.”

“Zuko: ticklish,” Aang giggled, as if his brain was having trouble comprehending the idea. “It just seems so out of character for him, you know? It’s funny.”

Katara chuckled in agreement. “I think Momo likes him.”

“No—Momo likes food,” Sokka corrected her. A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Which gives me an idea.”

He marched across the opening to stand at Zuko’s side. The banished prince didn’t notice him; he was too busy biting his lip in attempt to stay quiet, but couldn’t wipe the silly smile and embarrassing blush off his face. Sokka placed his hands on his hips.

“Zuko, tell us how to sneak into your father’s evil lair, or else!”

The request hardly made sense—his father lived in a giant palace, not some secret underground wolf bat cave. Even if he wanted to offer some kind of answer, he doubted he could speak more than a sentence or two before bubbles of laughter swallowed up his words. Still, he had to try to look unfazed. 

“Or ehelse what?” he shot back. His voice came out shrill and brittle, causing his blush to deepen. The stupid lemur would not give his neck a break!

Sokka cocked a threatening eyebrow. Then he extended his arm.

“Momo, look! I think you missed some!”

He opened his hand, revealing another pile of lychee nuts. Before Momo could snatch them out of his palm, Sokka dumped them down the neck-hole of Zuko’s shirt, making him leap.

“Ah! What’re you—w-wait!”

Instantly, the lemur dove back into his shirt, writhing and scampering all over his tummy. Try as he might to fight it, the sensation tickled too much to bear.

“Nohoho!” he giggled, twisting and bucking in protest. Whatever dwindling scraps were left of his facade fell away within seconds. In his hunt for the lychee nuts, the fuzzy little beast pawed and nibbled at Zuko’s bare skin while his ears and tail tickled him like feathers, leaving the poor prince in stitches. His cheeks flushed a shade pinker as he realized how ridiculous and pathetic he must’ve looked at that moment—and in front of his enemies, no less. Zuko’s current disposition was a far cry from his usual grumpy, scowling self, and there was nothing he could do to shake it. The smile spread across his face at that moment was so uncharacteristically bright, the gang couldn’t help but mirror it. 

“That’s what, fire boy!” Sokka replied fiendishly. “Get him, Momo! Do your worst!”

“Ahaha!” Zuko cackled. “I’ll—tohorch you!”

Aang laughed along with him, turning to Katara. “I guess this way isn’t so bad.”

Katara smiled fondly. “This is probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him. But I guess that depends on how you define ‘happy.’”

After circling his torso a couple more times in his lychee nut scavenger hunt, Momo must’ve gotten sick of being inside the twitchy teenager’s shirt. With a shriek and a warble, he shot out of Zuko’s sleeve and landed on Aang’s head, gorging himself on his findings. 

“Good lemur,” Aang said, giving his ear a scratch. Momo trilled contentedly. 

“Don’t let up now! We almost had him!” Sokka dashed toward Aang and tugged on Momo’s tail. “Come on! Do your duty! Your fuzziness is the key to bringing the Fire Nation to its knees!”

Momo hissed at him and took to the skies, winding through the air before disappearing into the woods. 

“I think Momo’s had enough,” Katara declared with a grin. The group turned back to Zuko, who was panting and smiling and flushed to his core. 

“How about you?” Sokka asked wryly. “Had enough yet?”

Even though he was still blushing, Zuko’s eyes flashed with rage. “Let me go!” he demanded again. “You can’t make me talk!”

“Alright, Appa! Your turn!” Sokka pulled on the flying bison’s foot, grunting with effort. “Go! Get him! Lick him into submission!”

“You know we can do this without animals, right?” Toph said, smirking. She strode toward Zuko, her steps pointedly slow and leisurely. The group exchanged a look. 

“Careful, Toph,” Katara called after her. “He can still shoot fire from his mouth.”

“Oh, I bet he can,” Toph said. She stopped a few paces back from him with her hands on her hips, grinning smugly. Zuko glared daggers through the girl even though she couldn’t see him. In the blink of an eye, the earth bender disappeared under the ground then emerged behind him, making the prince start, her icy voice sending a shiver down his spine.

“But I bet it’s hard to control your breathing enough to do so when you’re laughing.”

Zuko’s throat tightened. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. He could barely perform the move when he was fully concentrated and not strapped to a rock chair.

He almost wished they were hurting him to get him to talk. That would be a far more honorable defeat than succumbing to the childish threat they were making against him now. If he was broken by a bunch of kids sicing lemurs on him, he doubted he would ever live it down. But Toph seemed to have a different plan in mind.

“G-get away from me!” Zuko shouted. He didn’t know what else to do. He hated not being able to see where she was. “Whatever you’re insinuating isn’t going to work! You don’t scare me!”

Toph clicked her tongue. “Insinuating? I thought I was being obvious!” She pounded her heel against the ground, and a stool made of earth rose underneath her, giving her a place to sit right behind the restrained prince. She plopped down with a smile. “I’m going to tickle you.”

Zuko stiffened. She was talking loudly, so the whole group could hear.

“Does that not scare you? Are our assumptions wrong? Are you not ticklish?”

Zuko looked down at his torso. Toph’s hands were hovering a couple inches away from his exposed sides, her fingers spidering threateningly through the air. 

“And in case you weren’t aware, I can tell when you’re lying.”

The heat in Zuko’s neck bled into his ears. “IhI’m—” he stammered, nervous laughter already creeping into his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut. “No! I’m not!”

The other three approached, the devious delight in their eyes goading his anxiety further. 

“You sure about that, Zu-Zu?” Katara asked. “For someone who’s not ticklish, you were laughing an awful lot before.”

“And blushing like crazy!” Aang added cheerfully.

The teasing was enough to blow his top. Zuko strained against his bonds. 

“Y-you’re all insane!” he yelled. “As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll roast every last one of you like a chicken cow on a spi—AGH!”

Mid-sentence, Toph’s fingers started crawling up his sides, dancing delicately along the skin beneath his ribcage. Zuko gasped, his words cut short, an explosion of giggles already amassing behind his lips. 

“No, go ahead, Mister ‘I’m Not Ticklish.’ Finish it. You’ll roast us how? Like a chicken cow on a what?”

Zuko couldn’t even try to act poised. He’d always been exceptionally sensitive—a fact that irritated him to no end, one his mother used to take advantage of to cheer him up when he was little. Growing up, she was the only person in his immediate family who had ever been physically affectionate with him. His father barely even looked at him; the most attention he’d ever paid his son was when he’d scorched his face in front of the entire royal court. And Azula would never do anything to intentionally make her brother smile. 

After his disgraceful banishment, Iroh had been cautious about showing his headstrong nephew too much affection. He didn’t want to smother him or scare him away. Now, three years into their search for the avatar, he’d thrown almost all that caution to the wind. It didn’t take him long to discover his nephew’s sensitivity, the way he sputtered and flinched when his torso was touched in certain places. 

Iroh was kind enough not to exploit his findings in front of Zuko’s crew; the boy already had a hard enough time commanding their respect as it was, being a moody, exiled sixteen-year-old. But that didn’t stop him from tweaking his ribs or tasering him from behind whenever they were alone. The smiles and laughter these actions elicited were always worth it, despite the loud, long-winded protests that inevitably followed.

It embarrassed him how easy and often his uncle poked fun at his weakness. But he never imagined anyone using it against him as a weapon; a torture method to get him to talk. 

Yet here he sat, bound and helpless, giggling hysterically as Toph’s fingers scoured the lengths of his sides, already desperate for the tickling to stop.

“Hahaha! Quihit it!”

“But you said you weren’t ticklish,” Toph reminded him, scuttling her hands up and down the prince’s twitchy torso. “If you aren’t ticklish, then this shouldn’t bother you one bit.”

Katara, Aang, and Sokka watched in amusement as the once strong and fearsome Zuko dissolved into a squirmy, laughing mess beneath Toph’s wiggly fingers. The color of his face was beginning to resemble the dark red of his shirt.

“Yohou’re—y-you—” Zuko sputtered, grasping for something scathing to say. Toph didn’t give him a chance to find one. Her hands suddenly curled into claws, and she switched from the soft, gentle tickling to kneading mercilessly into both sides of his tummy, driving her fingers deep into his flesh with all the endurance and ferocity indicative of earth benders. Zuko jolted and shrieked, arching his spine to try to get away, his laughter jumping in both octave and volume. 

“AHAHAGH! Wahait—no—s-stohop! I cahan’t—eheeheehaha!”

“Come on, guys!” Toph called, waving them forward. “He won’t bite.”

Grinning, the three friends walked to stand directly in front of Zuko, who was floundering as much as his restraints would allow and smiling as wide as the sun. 

“Not so mean and scary when he’s laughing his butt off, is he?” Katara chuckled. Zuko’s laughter was shrill and happy—two characteristics that completely contradicted his usual demeanor. It was also outrageously contagious; she had to cover her mouth to try to contain her own flood of giggles. 

“I never knew the guy who’s been hunting me all this time could look so cute!” Aang concurred. Watching the Fire Nation prince crumble so spectacularly from such a kiddy tactic was strangely endearing. 

Sokka poked Zuko’s bouncy chest with his boomerang. “Now talk! Answer my question, or Toph will tickle you to death!”

To be honest, Zuko barely remembered what the original question was. Something about fire? And an evil lair? An evil fire lair? His head was too preoccupied with the hands pinching and squeezing his belly to think straight. He couldn’t recall another instance where he’d been tickled this intensely. Being unable to guard himself made the sensation a thousand times worse.

“Goho jump in a lahahake!” he laughed, cursing the cracks and squeaks in his voice. Toph cooed. 

“Aw! Fire Lord Zu-Zu’s trying to be tough!” She drilled into the soft spot underneath his ribs, making the poor prince thrash and squeal. No matter how much he squirmed or what way he angled his body, Toph’s hands stayed glued to his frame, exploring every ticklish inch of his defenseless midsection, targeting the spots that yielded the most frenzied reactions. She noticed the higher her tickle attack climbed up his torso, the shriller his laughter became, coupled with increasingly wilder attempts to escape. Moving maliciously slow, she began scaling Zuko’s ribcage with her hands, her fingers ascending each bone like a rung on a ladder, needling on top and around and in between.

“Ahahaha! Cut it ahahout!” Zuko cackled. She was terrifyingly good at this.

“How long you think you can stand it, tough guy? Five minutes? An hour? I could do this all night!” Her fingers were drawing closer and closer to his underarms, teasing and tickling every rib in between. His shirt did almost nothing to dull the increasingly unbearable sensation. 

Sokka yawned. “As fun as this is, I’d rather not stay up all night, waiting for him to break.”

Toph shrugged, smiling deviously. “I don’t mind. I’m having fun.” She cracked her knuckles and resumed her conquest, her hands inching higher, higher, higher. “Coochie-coochie-coo! Your laugh is so cute I could barf!”

“Stahahahap it!” Zuko giggled. His whole body sizzled with embarrassment; his face hurt from smiling so big for so long.

“Maybe we could help speed up the process,” Katara said, smirking. “If all of us worked together, I’m sure we could get him talking in no time.” 

Zuko was already splitting at the seams from just one person tickling him. If all four of them ganged up on him at once, he would most certainly die on the spot. 

“Ooh, good idea,” Sokka said, wiggling his fingers eagerly.

“Plus, it’d be a fun, benign way for each of us to get him back for all the times he’s personally slighted us.” Katara turned to Aang with a grin. “What do you think?”

At that moment, Toph’s hands reached his armpits. She dug in relentlessly, poking and scratching and prodding, her touch sending shocks through Zuko’s entire skeleton. He jerked and sputtered for a couple of seconds, reeling from how intensely it tickled, before exploding into a whole new caliber of laughter.

“AHANOHOHAHA!” he cried. “GAHA—STAHAHAP—IHI CAHAN’T—AAHAHAHAAAA!”

“Uh oh,” Toph said mockingly, kneading diabolical circles into his underarms. “Did I find your weak point? Prince Zu-Zu’s little tickle spot? You’re in for it now, your highness.”

Sharp, squeaky hiccups began punctuating Zuko’s laughing fit. Aang watched the giggly teen squirm and shriek and smiled sympathetically. 

“Let’s give him a break first. He looks like he’s about to burst.”

Sokka huffed, letting his arms fall to his sides. “You suck all the fun out of interrogating war prisoners,” he muttered. He pointed his boomerang at Toph. “Don’t let up completely, though. If he’s able to focus on his breathing, he might spew another fireball in my face. And I do not enjoy having fireballs spewed in my face.” 

“You got it,” Toph said exuberantly. She moved her hands back down to his belly and started tickling his sides with just her index fingers, changing location and technique every few seconds: wiggling one into his hip while the other poked at his ribs, then swirling one across his tummy while the other fluttered against his midriff, then tasering both into the full length of his torso, lingering in the areas that made him most jumpy, and on and on. 

It was much more tolerable than the previous torture, but still enough to keep him twitchy and giggly. He could never predict where her fingers would tickle him next, trapping him in a constant state of jittery nervousness. As soon as he got close to forcing the smile from his lips, another perfectly calculated poke would slap it right across his face again, paired with a yelp of surprise. 

As he fidgeted restlessly in place, breathless giggles bubbling in his throat, the three kids in front of him stepped closer, looking smug. 

“You ready to tell us how to defeat the Fire Lord?” Sokka asked. 

Zuko wheezed. He had to stall long enough to think of a way out of this. Or at least to catch his breath—as much as he could in his current position. 

“Whahat...does that even...mehean?” he panted. 

“Don’t play dumb!” Sokka snapped. “Your father has a weakness—in his army, his hideout, somewhere. You know what it is. Tell us.”

Toph laughed. “We should try tickling him, too,” she said, giving Zuko’s side a squeeze. “Maybe being super ticklish runs in the family.”

Zuko jolted. “Quihit it! Why would I knohow anything like that?”

“Because you’re his son!” Sokka poked him repeatedly in the ribs. “Evil, Fire Nation, devil spawn!”

“He doesn’t look evil to me,” Katara cooed. “How could someone evil have such a cute laugh?”

Zuko wasn’t sure which was worse: the constant teasing making him blush tomato-red, or the two stiff fingers endlessly probing his ticklish torso. He hung his head to hide his dumb, smiley face. “Sh-shuhut up!”

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Toph asked. “You don’t like being called cute?”

“Who doesn’t like being called cute?” Aang said, boasting a goofy grin.

“Stop wasting our time!” Sokka exclaimed. “If you don’t start talking, you’re going to regret it.”

Just then, amidst her tickling spree, Toph’s hands found the hem of Zuko’s shirt. A smirk touched her lips as she reached underneath the fabric and started scuttling her fingers against his bare sides. The moment her nails made contact with his skin, Zuko yelped.

“Waha! Hehey!” 

“You heard the man,” Toph said smugly. “Answer the question.”

She dragged her fingertips up and down his sides, letting her nails skate across his skin. Goosebumps flared along his arms and neck, spreading like wildfire. It was a gentler kind of tickling, but just as maddening in its own right. She started climbing toward his underarms again, this time with no clothing to dull the sensation. He didn’t think he’d survive if she reached her final destination.

“Ahahastahahap!” Zuko giggled. “I dohon’t know, okay? Yohour guess is as good as mihihine!”

“Liar,” Sokka hissed, looking over the prince’s shoulder. “Toph?”

The earth bender laid her palm against the back of the chair and snorted. “It’s kinda hard to tell whether or not he’s lying like this. His heart’s been hammering the entire time.” She clawed at his ribcage with her other hand, making him squirm helplessly. “But from what I can detect, it seems like he’s telling the truth.”

“No way,” Sokka spat. “He has to know something.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Aang ventured to say.

Toph’s hand slowed to a stop on either side of his ribcage. All ten of her fingers rested against his skin without moving. Even though she wasn’t currently tickling him, the imminent threat of her nails pressed into his defenseless torso kept him on edge. 

“I dohon’t,” Zuko whimpered. He dropped his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, smiling listlessly. “The only weakness he has is one you already knohow about.”

The gang looked at each other blankly. “Which is…?” Sokka began.

Zuko scoffed, nodding towards Aang. “Him, of course. The avatar. Why do you think my family has been searching for him for the past three generations? Why do you think my father has had me hunting him down since I was thirteen?”

The three kids in front of him exchanged frowns. Toph’s hands slipped out of his shirt. 

“He was definitely telling the truth that time.”

Sokka palmed his forehead. “Aw, man! So we got nothing from all this? No new information?” He stuck his finger in the prince’s chest. “What’s the point of you being the Fire Lord’s son if you don’t know anything about him that helps us?”

“At least it confirms what we already know,” Katara said, wrapping an arm around Aang’s shoulders. “Aang needs to master all the elements and defeat the Fire Lord to end the war.”

Aang smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Fantastic,” Zuko grumbled. “Now would you let me out of this stupid chair? My feet are going numb.”

Katara hinted a grin. “I think I like you better when you’re all giggly and smiley.”

Zuko blushed and stared sideways. “I don’t.”

“If we let him go, how are we going to keep him from attacking or chasing us?” Aang asked. 

Sokka tapped his chin, then cracked into a smirk. “Maybe we should give him a taste of what we’ll do to him if he does,” he suggested. “Avatar gang style.”

The four kids turned on Zuko with a mischievous gleam in their eyes. A fresh rush of heat washed over Zuko’s body.

“W-what?” he stammered, his gaze darting between them rapidly. Dread seized his throat as they approached him from four different sides, making him squirm with anticipation. “But—but you heard Toph! I told the truth! You’re not supposed to punish me for that! You’re supposed to let me go!”

“Don’t think of it as a punishment,” Sokka said innocently, rubbing his hands together. “Think of it as...I don’t know...a warning?”

“Plus, only Toph got to tickle you,” Aang added, forming his own rock stool next to Zuko’s right side. “I want a turn!”

Katara joined Toph behind the chair, leaving over the back rest. “And this is probably our last chance to hear your adorable little laugh,” Katara said. “You know, before you go back to being a moody grouch bent on chasing us to the ends of the earth.”

Zuko burned inside and out. There were four of them and one completely restrained him. He didn’t think he could take it. “W-what if I promise to leave you alone tonight? I’ll go back to my campsite and not bother you until morning. That’ll give you a big head start!”

“I thought that was a given,” Toph said, snaking her hands back under his shirt, her fingernails grazing his tummy. Zuko bristled from her delicate touch. It was already too much to bear. What remained of his fiery resolve crumbled away. 

“Aha! A week then! I wohon’t mess with you for a weeheek!”

“Aww. He’s trying so hard to negotiate his way out of this.” Katara’s fingers brushed both sides of his neck, making him cringe. “Sorry, Zuko. But this is too much fun!”

“Here, Sokka,” Toph said, retracting the earth up his ankles so that his feet were exposed. “Maybe you should try tickling some feeling back into his feet.”

Sokka grinned and sat on the ground, pulling off the prince’s shoes. “Good idea!”

“Noho!” Zuko yelped. He pulled at his bonds and curled his toes in protest. “Thihis isn’t fair! Guhuys—wait—AHAHAGH!”

Aang started poking around his torso, testing and teasing different spots with his soft but frenetic touch. This cued Toph to jump back to his underarms, her fingers fluttering lightly against the hollows. At the same moment, Sokka began gliding two fingers up and down his arches. All of them were tickling him relatively gently, aware of the fact that if they each gave it their all, Zuko might explode. Regardless, having eight hands prod and stroke the most sensitive areas of his body all at once was absolutely maddening, launching him into a hysterical giggle fit. 

“Ahahahaheehee!” He threw his head back, twisting and bucking frantically. “Guhuhuys!”

“This is what we’ll do to you every time you try to capture Aang,” Toph told him, giggling as she tickled the undersides of his upper arms. “Think about that the next time you’re feeling kidnappy.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able take regular ‘ol grumpy-pants Zuko seriously ever again,” Sokka chuckled. “Even when he’s back to shooting fire at us, all I’ll be thinking about is his silly little laugh and goofy smile!”

Hiccups started puncturing his giggles again. So many places on his body were being tickled at once, his brain couldn’t decide which one to focus on. Zuko didn’t care about trying to feign toughness anymore; he just needed this to end. 

“Stahahap! No mohohore! Pleeheehease!”

Katara spidered her nails against the back of his neck, making him shrink into himself with a squeak. “He did say please,” she pointed out.

Just then, a twig broke in the woods, followed by a figure emerging from the tree line. The four friends ceased their attack and glanced up fearfully.

Although he was still dizzy from the onslaught of tickling, Zuko lifted his head and spotted the silhouette as well. The person’s shape was oddly familiar. He realized who it was before the telltale voice rang across the clearing.

“Prince Zuko?” Iroh called, stepping out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight. “Is that you?”

“Uncle!” Zuko cried, relief rushing through him. He thrashed in place. “Hehelp me! I’m trapped!”

“What are you kids doing to my nephew?” Iroh asked, stopping in front of the five of them, although his tone wasn’t particularly angry or concerned. It was more intrigued. 

“We haven’t hurt him,” Katara insisted. “Toph caught him sneaking into our camp and restrained him. We were going to let him go, but then we thought he might have some information on the Fire Lord. So, uh…”

She felt weird about explaining the rest. Fortunately, Aang jumped in for her. 

“So then we tickled him!” Aang said, giving Zuko’s side a couple pinches. The prince flinched and giggled. “We wanted to get him to talk without harming him.”

Iroh smiled at the sound of Zuko's laughter and the happy expression on his face, neither of which had made an appearance in a very long time. They reminded him just how young the banished son of the crown truly was. He shook his head amusedly. “Poor Prince Zuko. It would seem your friends have discovered your weakness.”

“Thehey are nohot my friends!” Zuko cackled. “Just help me, Uncle! Gehet me out of here!”

“He has a very cute laugh, does he not?” Iroh chortled. 

“Disgustingly cute,” Toph agreed, poking his armpit. Zuko squirmed and squealed.

“And an even cuter smile,” Iroh observed. “It’s a shame I don’t get to witness both more often.”

“Uhuncle!” Zuko pleaded, spiraling into giggly shambles. Iroh smiled at Toph.

“Would you please consider sparing my nephew and handing him over to me? I promise he will not cause you any more trouble this evening.”

Toph turned toward the others, waiting for any objections. When none came, she offered Iroh a nod. 

“All right. Stand back, everyone.”

The rest of the group did as they were told. Once they had moved a safe distance away, she punched her fists toward the ground, and the chair fell apart, along with the rock cuffs on Zuko’s hands and feet. He hit the earth with a grunt, flustered and panting.

Iroh approached him and helped him stand. Zuko hugged his midsection with a moan.

“Uhugh...my sides,” he whined. His skin felt tingly and his belly still bubbled with hundreds of giggly butterflies, making it difficult to keep from smiling. He wanted to snarl at the group, to swear they were going to pay for what they’d done to him, but he was too exhausted and embarrassed by the whole situation to summon the energy. Iroh wrapped an arm under his shoulders to support him.

“Thank you for not harming my nephew,” Iroh said to the four kids. “I owe you all a great debt.”

“Don’t...th-thank them,” Zuko huffed.

“But I must,” Iroh retorted. He tweaked the young prince’s side. “They reminded me how to brighten you up whenever you’re being a downer.”

Zuko flinched away, trying to look angry but betrayed by a giggly grin. “Ahagh! Ehenough already!” He whirled around. “You’re all crazy! I’m leaving!”

Zuko stomped toward the woods, smoke hissing from his fists, blush burning through his face and ears. The group laughed.

“This was fun, Prince Zu-Zu. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Sokka waved. “Visit again soon! Next time, we’ll have Appa join the fun!”

Zuko did not like the sound of that. Although part of him found some tiny flicker of release in laughing authentically for the first time in almost three years, he was perfectly fine with waiting another three years for the next instance to occur. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

[96harmony96]

Chapter 19

Cary joined us in the living room for excellent Chinese, a sweet plum wine, and Monday night television. As we flipped channels and laughed over the hilarious names of some reality television shows, I watched as two of the most important people in my life enjoyed some relaxation time and each other. They got along well, ribbing and playfully insulting each other in that way friends had. I’d never seen that side of Lauren before and I loved it.

While I hogged one whole side of our sectional sofa, the two sat cross-legged on the floor and used the coffee table as a dining table. Both were wearing loose sweatpants and fitted T-shirts, and I appreciated the view. Was I a lucky girl or what?

Cracking his knuckles, Cary dramatically prepared to open his fortune cookie. “Let’s see. Will I be rich? Famous? About to meet Mr. or Ms. Tall, Dark, and Tasty? Traveling to distant lands? What’d you guys get?”

“Mine’s lame,” I said. “In the end all things will be known. Duh. I didn’t need a fortune to figure that out.”

Lauren opened hers and read, “Prosperity will knock on your door soon.”

I snorted.

Cary shot me a look. “I know, right? You snatched someone else’s cookie, Jauregui.”

“she better not be anywhere near someone else’s cookie,” I said dryly.

Reaching over, Lauren plucked half of mine out of my fingers. “Don’t worry, angel. Your cookie is the only one I want.” she popped it in her mouth with a wink.

“Gag,” Cary muttered. “Get a room.” He cracked his fortune with a flourish, and then scowled. “What the fuck?”

I leaned forward. “What’s it say?”

“Confucius say,” Lauren ad-libbed, “man with hand in pocket feel cocky all day.”

Cary threw half his cookie at Lauren, who caught it deftly and grinned.

“Give me that.” I snatched the fortune out from between Cary’s fingers and read it. Then laughed.

“Fuck you, Camila.”

“Well?” Lauren prodded.

“Pick another cookie.”

Lauren smiled. “Pwned by a fortune.”

Cary threw the other half of his cookie.

I was reminded of similar evenings spent with Cary when I was attending SDSU, which made me try and picture what Lauren had been like in college. From the articles I’d read, I knew she’d attended Columbia for her undergraduate studies, then left to focus on her expanding business interests.

Had she associated with the other students? Did she go to frat parties, screw around and/or drink too much? she was such a controlled woman, I had a hard time picturing her that carefree, and yet here she was being exactly that with me and Cary.

she glanced at me then, still smiling, and my heart turned over in my chest. she looked her age for once, young and seriously fine and so very normal. At that moment, we were just a twenty-something couple relaxing at home with a roommate and a remote control. she was just my girlfriend, hanging out. It was all so sweet and uncomplicated, and I found the illusion a poignant one.

The intercom buzzed and Cary leaped to his feet to answer it. He glanced at me with a smile. “Maybe it’s Trey.”

I held up a hand with my fingers crossed.

But when Cary answered the door a few minutes later, it was the leggy blonde from the other night who came in.

“Hey,” she said, taking in the remnants of dinner on the table. She eyed Lauren appraisingly as she politely unfolded and stood in that powerfully graceful way of her. She shot me a smirk; then unleashed a dazzling supermodel smile on Lauren and held out her hand. “Tatiana Cherlin.”

she shook her hand. “Camila’s girlfriend.”

My brows lifted at her introduction. Was she protecting her identity? Or her personal space? Either way, I liked her response.

Cary came back into the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Come on,” he said, gestured down the hallway to his bedroom.

Tatiana gave a little wave and preceded Cary out. I mouthed behind her back to Cary, What are you doing?

He winked and whispered, “Picking another cookie.”

Lauren and I called it a night shortly after and headed to my room. As we got ready for bed, I asked her something I’d wondered about earlier. “Did you have a fuck pad in college, too?”

Her T-shirt cleared her head. “Excuse me?”

“You know, like the hotel room. You’re a randy girl. I just wondered if you’d had some kind of setup even then.”

she was shaking her head as I ogled her divinely perfect torso and lean hips. “I’ve had as much sex since I met you as I’ve had in the last two years combined.”

“No way.”

“I work hard and I work out harder, both of which keep me pleasantly exhausted most of the time. Occasionally, I might’ve gotten an offer I didn’t refuse, but otherwise I could take or leave sex until I met you.”

“Bullshit.” I found that impossible to believe.

she shot me a look before she headed toward the bathroom with a black leather toiletry bag. “Keep doubting me, Camila. See what happens.”

“What?” I followed her, enjoying the sight of her delectable ass. “You’re going to prove that you can take or leave sex by doing me again?”

“It takes two.” she opened her bag and pulled out a new toothbrush that she extricated from its packaging and dropped into my toothbrush holder. “You’ve initiated sex between us as much as I have. You need the connection as much as I do.”

“You’re right. It’s just…”

“Just what?” she pulled open a drawer, frowned at finding it full, and moved on to pull open another.

“Other sink,” I said, smiling at her presumption that she would get drawers at my place, too, and her scowl when she couldn’t find them. “They’re all yours.”

Lauren moved over to the second sink and began unpacking her bag into the drawers. “Just what?” She repeated, taking shampoo and body wash over to my shower.

Leaning my hip into the sink and crossing my arms, I watched her stake her claim all over my bathroom. There was no doubt that’s what she was doing, just as there was no doubt that anyone walking into the room would know right away there was a someone in my life.

It struck me then that I had a similar claim on her private space. Her household staff had to know their boss was in a committed relationship now. The thought gave me a little thrill.

“I was thinking about you in college earlier,” I went on, “when we were eating dinner, imagining what it would be like to see you around on campus. I would’ve been obsessed with you. I would have gone out of my way to see you around just to enjoy the view. I would’ve tried to get in the same classes as you, so I could daydream during lectures about getting into your pants.”

“Sex maniac.” she kissed the tip of my nose as she passed me and went to brush her teeth. “We both know what would’ve happened once I saw you.”

I brushed my hair and teeth; then washed my face. “So…did you have a sex pad for the rare occasions some lucky bitch got you in bed?”

Her gaze caught my soapy reflection in the mirror. “I’ve always used the hotel.”

“That’s the only place you’ve had sex? Before me?”

“The only place I’ve had consensual sex,” she said quietly, “before you.”

“Oh.” My heart broke.

I walked over to her, hugging her from behind. I rubbed my cheek against her back.

We went to bed and wrapped ourselves around each other. I buried my face in her neck and breathed her in, snuggling. Her body was hard, yet it was wonderfully comfortable against mine. she was so warm and strong, so powerfully female. I only had to think of her to want her.

I slid my leg over her hips and rose above her, my hands splayed atop the ridges of her abdomen. It was dark, I couldn’t see her, but I didn’t need to. As much as I loved that face of hers—the one ahe resented at times—it was the way she touched me and murmured to me that really got to me. As if there was no one else in the world for her, nothing ahe wanted more.

“Lauren.” I didn’t need to say anything else.

Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me deeply. Then she rolled me beneath her and made love to me with a tender possessiveness that rocked me to the soul.

I woke with a jolt of surprise. A heavy weight crushed me and a harsh voice spit ugly, nasty words into my ear. Panic gripped me, cutting off my air.

Not again. No…Please, no…

My stepbrother’s hand covered my mouth and he yanked my legs apart. I felt the hard thing between his legs poking blindly, trying to push into my body. My scream was muffled by his palm smashed over my lips and I cringed away, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst. Nathan was so heavy. So heavy and strong. I couldn’t buck him off. I couldn’t shove him away.

Stop it! Get off me. Don’t touch me. Oh, God…please don’t do that to me…not again…

Where was Mama? Ma-ma!

I screamed, but Nathan’s hand covered my mouth. It pressed down on me, squashing my head into the pillow. The more I fought, the more excited he became. Panting like a dog, he rammed against me over and over…trying to shove himself inside me…

“You’re going to know what it feels like.”

I froze. I knew that voice. I knew it wasn’t Nathan’s.

Not a dream. Still a nightmare.

God, no. Blinking madly in the darkness, I struggled to see. The blood was roaring through my ears. I couldn’t hear.

But I knew the smell of her skin. Knew her touch, even when it was cruel. Knew the feel of her body on mine, even as it tried to invade me.

Lauren’s erection battered into the crease of my thigh. Panicked, I heaved upward with all my strength. Her hand on my face dislodged.

Sucking air into my lungs, I screamed.

Her chest heaved as she growled, “Not so neat and tidy when you’re the one getting fucked.”

“Crossfire,” I gasped.

A flash of light from the hallway blinded me, followed by the blessed removal of Lauren’s smothering weight. Rolling to my side, I sobbed, my eyes streaming tears that blurred my view of Cary shoving Lauren across the room and into the wall, denting the drywall.

“Camila! Are you okay?” Cary turned on the bedside light, cursing when he saw me curled in a fetal position, rocking violently.

When Lauren straightened, Cary rounded on her. “Move one fucking muscle before the cops get here and I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp!”

Swallowing past my burning throat, I pushed up to a seated position. My gaze locked with Lauren’s and I watched the haze of sleep leave her eyes, replaced by a dawning horror.

“Dream,” I choked out, catching Cary’s arm as he reached for the phone. “she’s d-dreaming.”

Cary glanced at where Lauren crouched naked on the floor like a wild animal. Cary’s arm dropped back to his side. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “And I thought I was fucked up.”

Sliding off the bed, I stood on shaky legs, sick with lingering fear. My knees gave out and Cary caught me, lowering to the floor with me and holding me as I cried.

“I’m gonna crash on the couch.” Cary ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and leaned into the hallway wall. The door to my bedroom was open behind me and Lauren was inside, looking pale and haunted. “I’ll set out some blankets and pillows for her, too. I don’t think she should go home alone. she’s shredded.”

“Thanks, Cary.” The arms I had wrapped around my middle tightened. “Is Tatiana still here?”

“Hell, no. It’s not like that. We just fuck.”

“What about Trey?” I asked quietly, my mind already drifting back to Lauren.

“I love Trey. I think he’s the best person I’ve ever met aside from you.” He bent forward and kissed my forehead. “And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Stop worrying about me and take care of you.”

I looked up at him, my eyes swimming in tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

Cary sighed, his green eyes dark and serious. “I think you need to decide if you’re in over your head, baby girl. Some people can’t be fixed. Look at me. I’ve got a great guy and I’m giving it to a girl I can’t stand.”

“Cary…” Reaching out, I touched his shoulder.

He caught my hand and squeezed it. “I’m here if you need me.”

Lauren was zipping up her duffel bag when I returned to my room. she looked at me and fear slithered in my gut. Not for me, but for her. I’d never seen anyone look so desolate, so utterly broken. The bleakness in her beautiful eyes frightened me. There was no life in her. she was gray as death with deep shadows in all the angles and planes of her breathtaking face.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

she backed up, as if she wanted to be as far away from me as she could get. “I can’t stay.”

It worried me that I felt a surge of relief at the thought of being alone. “We agreed—no running.”

“That was before I attacked you!” She snapped, showing the first sign of spirit in over an hour.

“You were unconscious.”

“You’re not going to be a victim ever again, Camila. My God…what I almost did to you…” she turned her back to me, her shoulders hunched in a way that scared me as much as the attack had.

“If you leave, we lose and our pasts win.” I saw my words hit her like a blow. Every light in my room was on, as if electricity alone could banish all the shadows on our souls. “If you give up now, I’m afraid it’ll be easier for you to stay away and for me to let you. We’ll be over, Lauren.”

“How can I stay? Why would you want me to?” Turning around, she looked at me with such longing it brought fresh tears to my eyes. “I’d kill myself before I hurt you.”

Which was one of my fears. I had a difficult time picturing the Lauren I knew—the dominant, willful force of nature—taking her own life, but the Lauren standing before me was an entirely different person. And she was the child of a suicidal parent.

My fingers plucked at the hem of my T-shirt. “You’d never hurt me.”

“You’re afraid of me,” she said hoarsely. “I can see it on your face. I’m afraid of me. Afraid of sleeping with you and doing something that will destroy us both.”

she was right. I was afraid. Dread chilled my stomach.

Now I knew the explosive violence in her. The festering fury. And we were so impassioned with each other. I’d slapped her face at the garden party, lashing out physically when I never did that.

It was the nature of our relationship to be lusty and emotional, earthy and raw. The trust that held us together also opened us up to each other in ways that made us both vulnerable and dangerous. And it would get worse before it got better.

she shoved a hand through her hair. “Camila, I—”

“I love you, Lauren.”

“God.” she looked at me with something that resembled disgust. Whether it was directed at me or herself, I didn’t know. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“You just see this”—she gestured at herself with a wave of her hand. “You’re not seeing the fucked-up, broken mess inside.”

I inhaled sharply. “You can say that to me? When you know I’m fucked up and broken, too?”

“Maybe you’re wired to go for someone who’s terrible for you,” she said bitterly.

“Stop it. I know you’re hurting, but lashing out at me is only going to make you hurt worse.” I glanced at the clock and saw it was four in the morning. I walked toward her, needing to get past my fear of touching her and being touched by her.

she held up a hand as if to hold me off. “I’m going home, Camila.”

“Sleep on the couch here. Don’t fight me about this, Lauren. Please. I’ll worry myself sick if you go.”

“You’ll be more worried if I stay.” she stared at me, looking lost and angry and filled with terrible yearning. Her eyes pleaded with me for forgiveness, but she wouldn’t accept it when I tried to give it to her.

I went to her and took her hand, fighting back the surge of apprehension that hit me when we touched. My nerves were still raw, my throat and mouth still sore, the memory of her attempts at penetration—so like Nathan’s—were still too fresh. “We’ll g-get through this,” I promised her, hating that my voice quavered. “You’ll talk to Dr. Petersen and we’ll go from there.”

Her hand lifted as if to touch my face. “If Cary hadn’t been here—”

“He was, and I’ll be fine. I love you. We’ll get past this.” I walked into her, hugging her, pushing my hands beneath her shirt to touch her bare skin. “We’re not going to let the past get in the way of what we have.”

I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince.

“Camila.” Her returning hug squeezed all of the air out of me. “I’m sorry. It’s killing me. Please. Forgive me…I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” My eyes closed, focusing on the feel of her. The smell of her. Remembering that I once feared nothing when I was with her.

“I’m so sorry.” Her shaking hands stroked the curve of my spine. “I’ll do anything…”

“Shh. I love you. We’ll be okay.”

Turning her head, she kissed me softly. “Forgive me, Camila. I need you. I’m afraid of what I’ll become if I lose you…”

“I’m not going anywhere.” My skin tingled beneath the restless glide of her hands on my back. “I’m right here. No more running.”

she paused, her breath gusting harshly against my lips. Then she tilted her head and sealed her mouth over mine. My body responded to the gentle coaxing of her kiss. I arched into her without volition, pulling her closer.

she cupped my breasts in her hands, kneading them, circling the pads of her thumbs over my nipples until they peaked and ached. I moaned with a mixture of fear and hunger, and she quivered at the sound.

“Camila…?”

“I—I can’t.” The memory of how I’d woken up was too fresh in my mind. It hurt me to deny her, knowing she needed the same thing from me as I’d needed from her when I told her about Nathan—proof that the desire was still there, that as ugly as the scars of our pasts were, they didn’t affect what we were to each other now.

But I couldn’t give her that. Not yet. I felt too raw and vulnerable. “Just hold me, Lauren. Please.”

she nodded, wrapping her arms around me.

I urged her to sink to the floor with me, hoping I could get her to fall asleep. I curled into her side, my leg thrown over her, my arm draped over her hard stomach. she squeezed me gently, pressing her lips to my forehead, whispering over and over again how sorry she was.

“Don’t leave me,” I whispered. “Stay.”

Lauren didn’t answer, didn’t make any promises, but she didn’t let me go either.

I woke sometime later, hearing Lauren’s heart beating steadily beneath my ear. All the lights were still on, and the carpeted floor was hard and uncomfortable.

Lauren lay on her back, her beautiful face youthful in sleep, her shirt lifted just enough to expose her navel and the ripped muscles of her abdomen.

This was the woman I loved. This was the woman whose body gave me such pleasure, whose thoughtfulness moved me over and over again. she was still here. And from the frown that marred the space between her brows, she was still hurting.

I slid my hand into her sweatpants. For the first time since we’d been together, she wasn’t hot steel in my palms, but she quickly swelled and thickened as I tentatively stroked her from root to tip. Fear lingered just beneath my arousal, but I was more afraid of losing her than of living with the demons inside her.

she stirred, her arm tightening around my back. “Camila…?”

This time I answered her the way I couldn’t before. “Let’s forget,” I breathed into her mouth. “Make us forget.”

“Camila.”

she rolled into me, peeling my shirt off with cautious movements. I was similarly tentative in undressing her. We approached each other as if each of us was breakable. The bond between us was fragile just then, both of us apprehensive about the future and the wounds we could inflict with all of our jagged edges.

Her lips wrapped around my nipple, her cheeks hollowing slowly, her seduction subdued. The tender suckling felt so good I gasped and arched into her hand. she caressed my side from breast to hip and back again, over and over, gentling me as my heart raced wildly.

she kissed across my chest to the other breast, murmuring words of apology and need in a voice broken by regret and misery. Her tongue lapped at the hardened point, worrying it, before surrounding it with wet heat and suction.

“lauren.” The delicate pulls expertly coaxed desire through my skittish mind. My body was already lost in her, greedily seeking the pleasure and beauty of her.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” she whispered. “Don’t pull away.”

she kissed my navel, and then moved lower, her hair caressing my stomach as she settled between my legs. she held me open with shaking hands and nuzzled my clit. her light, teasing licks through my cleft and the fluttering dips into my trembling sex took me to the edge of insanity.

My back bowed. Hoarse pleas left my lips. Tension spread through my body, tightening everything until I felt like I might snap under the pressure. And then she pushed me into orgasm with the softest nudge of the tip of her tongue.

I cried out, heated relief pulsing through my writhing body.

“I can’t let you go, camila.” lauren levered over me as I vibrated with pleasure. “I can’t.”

Brushing away the tear tracks from her face, I stared into her reddened eyes. Her torment was painful for me to witness, hurting my heart. “I wouldn’t let you if you tried.”

she took herself in hand and fed her cock slowly, carefully into me. My head pressed hard into the floor as she sank deeper, possessing my body one thick inch at a time.

When I’d taken all of her, she began to move in measured, deliberate thrusts. I closed my eyes and focused on the connection between us. Then she settled onto me, her stomach pressed to mine, and my pulse leaped with panic. Abruptly frightened, I hesitated.

“Look at me, camila.” Her voice was so hoarse it was unrecognizable.

I did, and saw her anguish.

“Make love to me,” she begged in a breathless whisper. “Make love with me. Touch me, angel. Put your hands on me.”

“Yes.” My palms pressed flat to her back; then stroked over the quivering muscles to her ass. Squeezing the hard flexing flesh, I urged her to move faster, plunge deeper.

The rhythmic strokes of her heavy cock through the clenching depths of my sex pushed ecstasy through me in heated waves. she felt so good. My legs wrapped around her plunging hips, my breath quickening as the cold knot inside me began to melt. Our gazes held.

Tears coursed down my temples. “I love you, lauren.”

“Please…” her eyes squeezed shut.

“I love you.”

she lured me to orgasm with the skilled rolling of her hips, stirring her cock inside me. My sex clenched tightly, trying to hold her, trying to keep her deep in me.

“Come, camila,” she gasped against my throat.

I struggled for it, struggled to get past the lingering apprehension that came from having her on top of me. The anxiety mingled with the desire, keeping me on edge.

she made a hoarse sound filled with pain and regret. “Need you to come, camila…need to feel you…Please…”

Cupping my buttocks, she angled my hips and stroked over and over that sensitive spot inside me. she was tireless, relentless, fucking me long and hard until my mind lost control of my body and I came violently. I bit her shoulder to stem my cries as I shook beneath her, the tiny muscles inside me trembling with ecstatic ripples. she groaned deep in her chest, a serrated sound of tormented pleasure.

“More,” she ordered, deepening her drives to give me that delectable bite of soreness. That she once again trusted us both enough to introduce that little touch of pain chased away the last of my reservations. As much as we trusted each other, we were learning to trust our instincts, too.

I came again, ferociously, my toes curling until they cramped. I felt the familiar tension grip lauren and tightened my grasp on her hips, spurring her on, desperate to feel her spurting inside me.

“No!” she wrenched away, falling to her back and throwing an arm over her eyes. Punishing herself by denying her body the comfort and pleasure of mine.

Her chest heaved and glistened with sweat. Her cock lay heavily on her belly, brutal-looking with its broad purpled head and thick roping of veins.

I dove for it with hands and mouth, ignoring her vicious curse. Pinning her torso with my forearm, I pumped her hard with my other fist and sucked voraciously on the sensitive crown. her thighs quivered, her legs kicking restlessly.

“Damn it, camila. Fuck.” she stiffened and gasped, her hands shoving into my hair, her hips bucking. “Oh, fuck. Suck it hard…Ah, Christ…”

she exploded in a powerful rush that almost choked me, coming hard, flooding my mouth. I took it all, my fist milking pulse after pulse up the throbbing length of her cock, swallowing repeatedly until she shuddered with the surfeit of sensation and begged me to stop.

I straightened and lauren sat up and wrapped herself around me. she took me back down to the floor where she buried her face in my throat and cried until dawn.

I wore a black long-sleeved silk blouse and slacks to work on Tuesday, feeling the need to have a barrier between myself and the world. In the kitchen, lauren cupped my face in her hands and brushed her mouth across mine with heartrending tenderness. her gaze remained haunted.

“Lunch?” I asked, feeling like we needed to cling to the connection between us.

“I have a business lunch.” she ran her fingers through my loose hair. “Would you come? I’ll make sure Angus gets you back to work on time.”

“I’d love to come along.” I thought of the schedule of evening events, meetings, and appointments she’d sent to my smartphone. “And tomorrow night we have a benefit dinner at the Waldorf=Astoria?”

Her gaze softened. Dressed for work, she looked somber yet collected. I knew she was anything but.

“You really won’t give up on me, will you?” she asked quietly.

I held up my right hand and showed her my ring. “You’re stuck with me, jauregui. Get used to it.”

On the drive to work, she cuddled me in her lap, and again on the ride to lunch at Jean Georges. I didn’t speak more than a dozen words during the meal, which lauren ordered for me and I enjoyed immensely.

I sat quietly at her side, my left hand resting on her hard thigh beneath the tablecloth, a wordless affirmation of my commitment to her. To us. One of her hands rested over mine, warm and strong, as she discussed a new property in development on St. Croix. We kept that connection throughout the entire meal, each of us choosing to eat one-handed rather than separate.

With each hour that passed, I felt the horror of the night before drain away from both of us. It would be another scar to add to her collection, another bitter memory she’d always have, a memory I would share and fear along with her, but it wouldn’t rule us. We wouldn’t let it.

Angus was waiting to take me home when my day ended. Lauren was working late, and then going directly from the Crossfire to Dr. Petersen’s office. I used the length of the drive to steel myself for the next round of training with Parker. I debated skipping it, but ended up deciding it was important to keep to a routine. So much in my life was uncontrollable at the moment. Following a schedule was one of the few things totally within my power.

After an hour and a half of tagging and groundwork with Parker at the studio, I was relieved when Clancy dropped me off at home and proud of myself for working out when it was the last thing I’d wanted to do.

When I stepped into the lobby, I found Trey talking to the front desk.

“Hey,” I greeted him. “Going up?”

He turned to face me, his brown eyes warm and his smile open. Trey had a gentleness to him, a kind of straightforward naïveté that was different from the other relationships Cary’d had before. Or maybe I should just say Trey was “normal,” which so few of the people in my and Cary’s lives were.

“Cary’s not in,” he said. “They just tried calling.”

“You’re welcome to come up with me and wait. I won’t be going out again.”

“If you really don’t mind.” He fell into step beside me as I waved at the gal at the front desk and moved toward the elevators. “I brought something for him.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I assured him, returning his sweet smile.

He eyed my yoga pants and tank top. “You just get back from the gym?”

“Yeah. Despite it being one of those days when I’d rather have done anything else.”

He laughed as we stepped into the elevator. “I know that feeling.”

As we rode up, silence descended. It was weighted.

“Everything all right?” I asked him.

“Well…” Trey adjusted the sling of his backpack. “Cary’s just seemed a little off the last few days.”

“Oh?” I bit my lower lip. “In what way?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I just feel like maybe something’s up with him and I’m missing what it is.”

I thought of the blonde and winced inwardly. “Maybe he’s stressed about the Grey Isles job and he doesn’t want to bother you with it. He knows you’ve got your hands full with your job and school.”

The tension in his shoulders softened. “Maybe that’s it. It makes sense. Okay. Thank you.”

I let us in to the apartment and told him to make himself at home. Trey headed to Cary’s room to drop his stuff, while I went to the phone to check the voicemail.

A shout from down the hallway had me reaching for the phone for a different reason, my heart thudding with thoughts of intruders and imminent danger. More yelling followed, with one voice clearly belonging to Cary.

I exhaled in a rush, relieved. With the phone in my hand, I ventured to see what the hell was going on. I was nearly run over by Tatiana rounding the hallway corner still buttoning her blouse.

“Oops,” she said, with an unapologetic grin. “See ya.”

I couldn’t hear the door shut behind her over Trey’s shouting.

“Fuck you, Cary. We talked about this! You promised!”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Cary barked. “It’s not what you think.”

Trey came storming out of Cary’s bedroom in such a rush that I plastered myself to the hallway wall to get out of his way. Cary followed, with a sheet slung around his waist. As he passed me, I shot him a narrow-eyed glance that earned me a fuck-off middle finger.

I left the two men alone and escaped into my shower, angry at Cary for once again ruining something good in his life. It was a pattern I kept hoping he’d break, but he couldn’t seem to kick it.

When I came out to the kitchen a half hour later, the stillness in the apartment was absolute. I focused on cooking dinner, deciding to go with a pork roast and new potatoes with asparagus, one of Cary’s favorite dinners, in case he was home for dinner and needed some cheering up.

The sight of Trey stepping into the hallway while I was putting the roast in the oven surprised me, and then it made me sad. I hated to see him leave looking flushed, disheveled, and crying. My pity turned to fierce disappointment when Cary joined me in the kitchen with the scent of male sweat and sex clinging to him. He shot me a scowl as he passed me on his way to the wine fridge.

I faced him with my arms crossed. “Screwing a heartbroken lover on the same sheets he’s just caught you cheating on isn’t going to make things better.”

“Shut up, camila.”

“He’s probably hating himself right now for giving in.”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“Fine.” I turned away from him and focused on seasoning the potatoes to put in the oven with the roast.

Cary grabbed wineglasses out of the cupboard. “I can feel you judging me. Stop it. He wouldn’t be half as pissed if it’d been a man he caught me fucking.”

“It’s all his fault, huh?”

“Newsflash: Your love life isn’t perfect either.”

“Low blow, Cary. I’m not going to be your punching bag over this. You messed up, and then you made it worse. It’s all on you.”

“Don’t get on your damn high horse. You’re sleeping with a woman who’s going to rape you any day now.”

“It’s not like that!”

He snorted and leaned his hip against the counter, his green eyes filled with pain and anger. “If you’re going to make excuses for her because she’s sleeping when she attacks you, you’ll have to make those same excuses for drunks and druggies. They don’t know what they’re doing either.”

The truth of his words struck me hard, as did the fact that he was deliberately trying to wound me. “You can put down a bottle. You can’t quit sleeping.”

Straightening, Cary opened the bottle he’d selected and poured two glasses, sliding one across the counter toward me. “If anyone knows what it’s like to be involved with people who hurt you, it’s me. You love her. You want to save her. But who’s going to save you, camila? I’m not always going to be around when you’re with her and he’s a ticking time bomb.”

“You wanna talk about being in relationships that hurt, Cary?” I shot back, deflecting him away from my painful truths. “Did you screw Trey over to protect yourself? Did you figure you’d push him away before he had the chance to disappoint you?”

Cary’s mouth curved bitterly. He tapped his glass to mine, which still sat on the counter. “Cheers to us, the seriously fucked up. At least we have each other.”

He stalked out of the room and I deflated. I’d known this was coming—the unraveling of circumstances too good to be true. Contentment and happiness didn’t exist in my life for more than a few moments at a time, and they were really only illusionary.

There was always something hidden. Lying in wait to spring up and ruin everything.

Lauren arrived just as dinner was coming out of the oven. she had a garment bag in one hand and a laptop case in the other. I’d worried that she would try to go home alone after her session with Dr. Petersen and was relieved when she’d called to say she was on her way. Still, when I first opened the door and saw her on the threshold, a shiver of unease slid through me.

“Hey,” she said quietly, following me back into the kitchen. “Smells delicious in here.”

“I hope you’re hungry. There’s a lot of food and I’ll be surprised if Cary joins us to help eat it all.”

lauren dropped her stuff on the breakfast bar and approached me cautiously, her gaze searching my face as she neared. “I brought some things with me to stay the night, but I’ll go if you want. At any time. Just tell me.”

I blew out my breath in a harsh rush, determined not to let fear dictate my actions. “I want you here.”

“I want to be here.” she paused beside me. “Can I hold you?”

I turned into her and squeezed her hard. “Please.”

she pressed her cheek against mine and hugged me close. The embrace wasn’t as natural and easy as we’d grown used to. There was a new wariness between us that was different from anything we’d felt before.

[shireness-says]

If I Could See Your Face Once More (3/6)

Summary: This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~6.6K. Chapter 1 Chapter 2

A/N: I ended up switching days to post my third @csmarchmadness, so here’s Chapter 3, a day earlier than expected! Thanks, as always, to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing the even and @snidgetsafan for beta-ing, as well as the discord ladies for helping me figure out where parts of this section were going. 

Thanks for all your wonderful feedback so far - I’m so glad you’re liking where I’ve taken this! I’ll have Chapter 4 up as soon as I can - it’s about half written now, so hopefully I can buckle down on the rest. Brace yourselves for the angst, guys. 

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

As far as rude awakenings go, the entire house shaking has to top the list.

While half asleep, Killian had been happy to write it off as Emma tossing around in bed, as she’s prone to do (his favorite little bed hog), but as the shaking continues, shaking him fully out of slumber and straight into panic instead, it becomes obvious that something is happening. Something dire, something unusual even for the Underworld. It makes him sit bolt upright in bed, alert and trying to safely discern what the hell is going on as Emma grumbles incoherently at the sudden removal of her human pillow.

“Wake up, love,” he says urgently. When she just groans, not willing to rouse herself from her hazy dreamland, Killian resorts to shaking her. “Emma, love, you’ve got to wake up, something’s the matter.”

Just then, the shaking abruptly stops. Emma blearily blinks up at at him, blessedly awake. “Was something… shaking?” She asks groggily.

“Aye. I don’t know what,” he replies, quickly getting out of bed and moving to retrieve his trousers and shirt. Unlike certain blondes in his life, he’s always careful to fold his laundry and either put it away or into the dirty clothes basket instead of tossing them into corners willy-nilly.

“Well we’ve got to go find out!” Emma shoots right back, tossing the covers back and swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

“Aye. I’d think it was an earthquake, but down here —” Killian’s train of thought is abruptly cut off as he hears a soft oof from Emma, followed by an alarming screech of bedsprings. When he whips back around from where he had been facing away from the bed, Emma is sitting wide-eyed, both hands gripping at the edge of the mattress.

Killian’s certain he’s never moved faster, crouching down in front of Emma in a flash and reaching for her hand. “Are you alright, Emma? Love, talk to me. Are you okay, is the baby okay?”

“Calm down, Captain. Everything’s fine, I just stood up too fast, blood rush or whatever.” Patting his hand briefly, she stands back up again, this time without any problems, and moves to collect her own jeans and sweater.

Emma may not seem too concerned, but the incident - small as it is - really throws things into harsh perspective. He’s already been wrestling with guilt over the fact that Emma’s here, in danger, in the first place - not to mention Henry and their unborn child - but this really reminds him of all the other, more mundane dangers facing them. Emma’s a woman of action; he’s always known that, it was one of the many myriad of things that made him fall in love with her in the first place. But that same impulsiveness, that same urge to help that drives her to action, puts her in a lot of dangerous situations - not just crazy things like this, things that would only happen to the Savior, but everyday dangers too. Her job as Sheriff doesn’t help; Storybrooke is a quiet town, but even quiet towns can host robberies gone wrong or domestic disputes or any number of other circumstances that might prove dangerous, or even deadly, to a bold sheriff too concerned with saving others to worry enough about herself.

“Maybe you should let us investigate this one, love,” he hazards cautiously. This will almost certainly come back to bite him, but he feels he can’t go without saying something. She already can only use her magic sparingly, and guns and swords won’t do much against the already deceased. Standing by while she charges into danger just feels like he’s playing a part in whatever harm might come to them.

Emma looks over at him as she pulls her jeans on, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in disapproval before turning back to button her pants. Their little one protrudes just enough that she’s had to rig up a new closure system with a hair binder, something Killian usually finds adorable, but today just reminds him of how much is at stake. “I’m fine, Killian,” she sighs, exasperation tinging her tone. “I’m not about to break.”

“I know you’re strong and hearty, love, but we don’t know what we’re facing out there. And there’s the babe to think about now, too,” he presses.

“What, so I’m supposed to just sit around here, twiddling my thumbs while everyone else rushes off into God only knows what? I’m supposed to be here to save you! I can’t do that just sitting on my ass!”

“I can’t let you do that though at the cost of your own life! I’m already dead, Emma - what the hell else can happen to me?”

Killian regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Still, seeing the tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes is like a stab through his heart. He hopes they’re a product of her fluctuating hormones, but he’s afraid they’re not; that feels like denying responsibility anyways, and those tears are certainly his fault.

“Emma, love…” he tries again, reaching for her, but she just shakes her head and leaves the room, leaving Killian all alone. With a sigh, he turns to finish securing his brace and shrugging on a shirt.

Give them both a moment to calm down; then he’ll turn his attention to fixing the mess he’s made.

He doesn’t get a chance, though, Regina already waiting in their living room when Killian finally makes it down the stairs. He wants to go straight to Emma, to try and make up (or, ideally, come to some kind of compromise that keeps her safe but still involved) and put this whole thing behind them, but they can’t do that with Regina standing right there.

“Madame Mayor,” he nods. Things have never been exactly natural between himself and the former Evil Queen; it’s easiest to fall back on practiced formalities. Still, that won’t stop him from asking why she’s here. It is still his own house, after all, and a man is entitled to such things. “May I ask what you’re doing here, Your Majesty? Or how, for that matter, since I didn’t hear the front door or doorbell?”

Regina sniffs in mild disdain at the questioning; he probably shouldn’t have expected any less. “Unlike your girlfriend here,” she emphasizes, “there’s nothing wrong with my magic.” At Killian’s blank stare - more unamused than confused, in truth - she elaborates. “I transported myself over into your living room. You felt the disturbance I assume, unless you’re even more oblivious than I gave you credit for?” Ignoring the jibe, Killian nods curtly. “Well, my sister dearest managed to get herself pulled into a portal. With the baby at that.”

“Are they both alright?” Emma asks, blessedly keeping the focus on the problem at hand before the Queen goes off on a rant about her sister (deserved or not).

“Zelena twisted her ankle upon landing, but Vera’s fine.” It’s obvious from Regina’s tone which person’s wellbeing she finds important. “Hades had some underling waiting, but Greenie was able to scare him off with her magic. As far as anyone can tell, he wanted the baby for some purpose, and Zelena was just collateral damage.”

“Robin must be relieved that the little one is alright,” Killian comments. What was the baby’s name? Vera? Soon enough, he and Emma will have to be picking out names for their own babe, if they can just both make it out of the Underworld in one piece.

“He is. We both are,” Regina agrees, a smile almost teasing at the edges of her mouth before she snaps back to her businesslike facade again. “Zelena thinks she might know something, however, and I’d really like to get home and away from the miserable bitch as soon as possible, so if you’re done with the small talk…” she trails off, fixing both Killian and Emma in turn with an expectant look.

Killian jumps to retrieve Emma’s heavy coat and his own leather jacket. They may not have a chance to talk for a while, not with the rush of everything happening, but maybe he can show his love, his care, his apology in smaller ways. She meets his eyes briefly as he opens the coat wide to slip her arms into, and he tries to put all the words he can’t yet say into a small smile; part apology, part reassurance, all love. Emma just looks away, though, reaching for her hat and gloves instead.

Not a good sign.

“I can only take you one at a time,” Regina warns brusquely, “so you’re going to have to wait a moment, Captain.”

“That’s fine,” he assures. “I should collect my brother anyways.”

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, after his little disappearing act the other day?” Regina demands. She’s always cut straight to the point, and Killian usually appreciates that - hell, would admire it in anyone else - but he finds himself wishing she would perhaps mince her words just a bit. There’s something to be said for tact in small doses. It also reminds him that while the group at large knows that something happened yesterday for both he and Liam to suddenly disappear for hours on end, they don’t know all the detail of Liam’s betrayal.

“No, but for better or worse, I’m hoping he’ll have insights that will be of use to us.” Killian keeps things as vague as possible, but Regina looks like she suspects something’s up all the same. Not that it’s not warranted. The first order of business today will have to be making Liam confess to everyone. It’s as good a penance as any; Killian certainly wouldn’t want to face an angry Regina, let alone the Lady Snow. As much as he’s looking forward to his brother being interrogated by the Evil Queen, however, he’s not keen on receiving the same treatment himself. It’ll be a miracle if he can get out of the house without her demanding any more answers. “I’ll meet you at the Mayor’s Mansion as soon as I can,” he excuses, moving to leave. Things are still unsettled between himself and Emma, but it feels wrong to just leave without any gesture towards her, so he quickly drops a kiss on her cheek on his way to the door, letting their fingers brush in passing. She doesn’t say anything, or move to make it a real kiss, but she doesn’t pull away from him either, which Killian is willing to take as a small success.

Getting better.

It’s only a short walk from the house to the harbor, where Liam is already up and about on the Jolly Roger. “Brother!” he calls. “Did you feel the quaking?”

A burst of irritation fizzles through Killian’s veins. What does Liam think he is, some kind of imbecile? Brother knows best. It makes him wonder if his brother was always like this, and Killian was just too blinded by devotion to see it.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” he grinds out. “Gather whatever you need, we’re expected back at the Mayor’s Mansion.”

“I take it you’re still mad at me,” Liam comments on his way down the gangplank.

“Aye, well, it’s not exactly something you get over in only one night,” Killian snipes back.

“Killian, please —”

“No, this is what’s going to happen,” Killian interrupts. “We’re going to go and face Emma’s family - my family and friends, and explain exactly what you did, what you told Hades, what was on those pages. You are going to do everything you can to help us. And it still won’t fully make up for what you tried to do to me, what you tried to take from me, but it will at least be a start, and we can evaluate from there. Understood?”

“Aye, Brother, but what do you think this —”

“Further discussion will not be necessary.”

The rest of their walk is pretty quiet after that.

To his credit, Liam does confess to the group at large without any extra prodding. Reactions are almost exactly what Killian would have expected: Henry is furious at the betrayal, Belle is shocked, Snow seems to be hovering somewhere around maternal disappointment, and Regina rolls her eyes.

“Can you at least tell us what was on the pages?” she sighs, her voice sounding absolutely exhausted for this early in the day. That’s a feat, Killian can’t help but think as he watches the haughty mayor rub at her temples as if to make a headache go away.

“I wasn’t exactly looking too closely at their contents,” Liam admits with a wince. “All I can tell you is that illustration depicted some sort of rock, or gemstone.”

“It’s a crystal,” Zelena’s voice calls from the doorway, where she’d apparently limped over. “The Olympian Crystal.” Killian hadn’t seen her when he came in; he assumes they got the inevitable sniping out of the way before Killian arrived back at the Mayor’s Mansion with Liam. Not that he regrets missing it; even if he wasn’t already predisposed to dislike the Wicked Witch, especially after the incidents of the Second Curse - he’s not likely to soon forget her attempt to manipulate and drown him, thank you very much - her particular brand of constant drama isn’t to Killian’s taste. In his opinion, it’s never a good sign when he, the man who devoted centuries of his life to the pursuit of revenge, thinks you’ve gone a little too far.

“How can you be so certain of that?” Robin bites back. It’s harsher than Killian is used to from the easy-going bandit, but after everything Zelena has done to him, Killian supposes that’s warranted.

“Hades and I have clashed before. And unlike some of us here,” she says pointedly, “I’m willing to dig up a little research about my enemies so I can attack them head-on, instead of rushing in with some half-cocked plan.” There’s no telling who that was aimed at; probably Regina, but it could frankly apply to half the people in the room.

“Yes, you’re a champion researcher, we bow to you in awe,” Regina drawls sarcastically. “Do you want to tell the rest of the class about this ‘Olympic Crystal’, or do you just want to brag?”

“It’s the Olympian Crystal, since you obviously weren’t listening,” Zelena snaps back. Ah, siblings. “Supposedly, it’s a divine weapon that can be used to defeat Hades.”

“And you never used it? What a go-getter you are, sis.”

“He never came back after that frankly bizarre attempt to snatch Oz from under my nose, and unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to go actively looking for trouble! I never needed to use it!”

“Well maybe if you had we wouldn’t —”

“Alright,” David interrupts, blessedly so in Killian’s opinion. “Do you know where we can find this… Crystal?”

“No, Blondie,” Zelena sneers. “Like I said: I never needed to.”

That sits with all of them for a moment. This had seemed like such a good lead, but there’s nowhere to take it. Maybe the Crystal wouldn’t bring Killian back to life, but it could take Hades out of the picture, remove a major hurdle to their quest. But without any idea of where to find it, they’re just stuck.

“We could talk to the Apprentice,” Henry suggests suddenly. “I mean, he’s got to be down here, right?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Regina comments, the pride and surprise warring in her voice.

“Well done, lad,” Killian murmurs, nudging Henry affectionately.

“Okay, so we go see the Apprentice,” David says, no small amount of impatience tinging his tone and no doubt fueling his decisiveness on the matter.

“You can do that. I’ll start here with the baby, I couldn’t possibly walk on my ankle,” Zelena sniffs. With that, the room dissolves into a chaos of Robin and Regina protesting and insisting she can’t be left alone with Vera, as David starts just as loudly insisting that they need to leave right now, they can’t afford to waste time.

In the midst of all that, Killian takes the opportunity to tug on Emma’s sleeve. “Can we talk for a moment, love?”

She nods and follows him readily to an unused office, but still doesn’t say anything, instead crossing her arms over her chest and shifting from foot to foot. She looks nervous about this conversation, he realizes, and that helps a little bit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, diving right in. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were putting the baby in danger.”

“I know,” she replies quietly, still shuffling her feet. “My emotions are running so high right now, and I just…” she pauses, apparently collecting herself. “I just want to go home. With you. As soon as we can.”

“I know, love, I do too. I’m just horribly afraid that it’ll be at some awful cost. You’re already trapped here by that headstone. I’m thankful for everything you’re doing to save me, but I’m terrified it’ll be at the cost of someone else’s life - your own, or the Bean’s, or anyone else’s. Especially our child. You and I…” he pauses, organizing his thoughts. “You and I, we didn’t have happy childhoods. We didn’t even have safe childhoods, and I’ve always known that if I was lucky enough to have a child, I’d do my damndest to protect them for anything that might hurt them. The little one isn’t even here, and I already feel like I’ve failed at keeping them safe. What kind of parent does that?” he begs.

“It’s not your fault, Killian,” Emma assures him, stepping forward to cup his cheek in her hand. “You’re doing your best, and the fact that you’re trying is what’s going to make you a great dad.”

Killian smiles weakly back at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he assures Emma. “It’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. But with everything that’s going on, I just…” Worry. Overreact. Wonder if I’m really worth it all.

“I know,” Emma says, and he really thinks she might. She’s always been able to see right through him, after all. “There’s going to come a time where I need to do that, take a backseat, and I’ll let you fuss over me all you want then. But for now…”

“For now, you’ve got it,” Killian finishes. He’ll still worry, of course, still try to protect her when they’re out in the field, fighting the forces of evil, but how is that different from before, really? He’s been by her side since Neverland, trying to keep her safe and happy. Now there’s just a little someone else to watch over as well. “I love you,” he says, making sure to look her in the eyes and attempt to impart exactly how much he means the words.

“I love you too,” Emma smiles back, pressing up for a kiss. Killian’s hand drops to her waist out of habit, allowing his thumb to brush over her growing stomach. “Now, you ready to go see a magician about a crystal?”

“Aye, love. Lead the way.”

———

The Apprentice lives in the same little cottage that he did in the living world, though his window boxes and garden beds are sadly empty. This place isn’t conducive to any form of life, even that of a more botanical bent. In truth, Killian dreads this visit due to all the messy history between himself and the mystical old man. The Apprentice may have seemed to forgive Killian before his untimely death at the hands of the Darkness, despite everything he had done, but Killian isn’t sure he’s forgiven himself. No matter how many times Emma and Henry tell him that he can’t be held responsible for trapping the fairies and the Apprentice in the hat, no matter the fact that he knows Gold was pulling the strings that whole episode, Killian still feels guilty. Even if he wasn’t in control of himself at the time, he was the one that sucked everyone into some unspeakable in-between world, that had to listen to their screams and watch them fight against the portal’s winds. It was a terrible reminder of all the darkness he’s capable of and had succumbed to in the past. Facing the Apprentice is a terrible reminder of all that.

He doesn’t offer any judgement as he opens the door, though, doesn’t slam it in Killian’s face (as would be well deserved) or even demand to know why they’re here. Instead, he just nods knowingly before opening the door wider to let everyone through.

“You’re here about the Olympian Crystal,” the Apprentice says as they file past into his little parlor. It’s a statement, a fact, not a question. He knows this, and is just waiting for everyone else to realize it.

“Yes, actually,” Killian replies. A not-insignificant part of himself wants to know how exactly the Apprentice knew what they were here for, but it seems rude somehow to ask. Looking through their little crowd, his companions seem to be wondering the same thing, if their confused expressions are anything to go by - Regina being the obvious exception, far too regal and refined for such emotional transparency. The man is a powerful magician; who are they to demand an explanation for his methods?

Thankfully, the old man seems to sense their puzzlement. “My master’s book of prophecies has foretold many things, both in life and now in death,” he explains. Ah, yes, Merlin. Killian had been impressed, if somewhat intimidated, by the man’s powers of foresight in Camelot; with so many centuries on his hands, it makes a certain amount of sense that he put some of his visions down to paper for his Apprentice’s reference. “Please, sit,” he offers, sweeping an arm towards the old fashioned upholstered chairs. “I assume you have many questions.”

“Yes, actually,” Snow replies, apparently taking the lead in this conversation. That might be for the best, actually; she has more tact than any of the rest of them. “What exactly is this Crystal? We’ve only just learned of the existence of the myths surrounding it.”

“And what did those legends say?”

“That it has the power to defeat Hades,” Emma replies, cutting to the point. Never one to mince words, his love. “And it’s a real thing? Not just a story?”

“It’s a real thing,” the Apprentice confirms, “one of Zeus’ thunderbolts made into solid form. Its efficacy against a god has never been tested, and so is yet to be seen, but I can tell you this for certain: it’s a powerful tool with the power of life and death.”

“Does that mean we could use it to help Killian?” Henry asks eagerly. Killian and Emma both lean forward in anticipation of the answer, as if the closer proximity will give them better - or at least faster - news. Could this be it, the solution to their problem?

“In the right hands, yes,” the Apprentice agrees. Even that conditional agreement makes Killian’s heart race with hope. “It is beyond my knowledge how to use it, however. I assume that it’s a conduit of some kind - a tool to amplify magic, a divine wand.”

“We can work with that,” David nods, his face set in determination. This must have been how he looked back in the Enchanted Forest as the consort of a bandit princess - a solid born leader. “Emma’s the Savior - if any magic could activate the powers of the Crystal, it’d be hers.”

“And do you know where it is?” Emma asks, steering the conversation back on topic.

“The book says that when it fell from Olympus, it landed in the River of Lost Souls. Unfortunately, it was less illustrative as to the specifics of where in the River.”

“And I suppose that’s the toxic river we already had to deal with to rescue Hook in the first place,” Regina deadpans, eliciting a nod of confirmation from the Apprentice. “Excellent.”

“Yeah but if this is the thing that can bring Killian back with us —” Emma starts to argue, before Regina cuts her off.

“Yes, that’s fine, don’t jump down my throat. I’m not suggesting we don’t pursue this, I’m just saying that it’s going to be difficult. Remember the part where the waters basically steal your soul and wipe your memories?”

“I don’t suppose you have a solution for that?” Killian asks the Apprentice, quickly redirecting before Emma and Regina can snipe at each other any more.

The other man just shakes his head in the negative though, sending a chill through Killian’s lifeless veins. “So what, that’s a one-way trip for someone?”

“Perhaps the Crystal can undo the River’s damage, but that’s never been tested, of course,” the old man explains.

“And there’s no other way?” Belle asks.

“There’s tales of an ambrosia bush, but it’s been lost for centuries. Even Merlin’s records don’t offer any clue to its whereabouts.”

“And I can’t just… write it into existence?” Henry cuts in.

“That’s beyond the abilities of the Author. Your job is merely to record. Argue all you like,” he tells the collected group, “but this is the best way as things currently stand.”

“Yes, but it’s not actually a viable option, you see, because we’re not sacrificing anyone,” Killian explains, his patience officially having run out. “We’ll just have to find this ambrosia bush, then, because —”

“I’ll do it.”

All heads snap towards Liam at the sound of his voice. Surely he didn’t just say what Killian thinks he said? As they stare at him in shock, however, he repeats the words with even more firmness and determination. “I’ll do it. I’ll retrieve the Crystal.”

“Liam, you can’t —” Killian tries to protest, but it gets him nowhere.

“I’m the expendable one here, Brother,” he reminds Killian. “You and I are the only ones not living, and we’ve got to get you home. It has to be me.” More quietly, he adds a private plea for Killian’s ears only. “Let me do this, Killian. Let me make up for the hurt I’ve caused.”

“I can’t let you do it this way,” Killian insists. Of course he’s been furious with Liam, and still is in many ways, but this? This is going too far. This could turn Liam into a shade of himself if it fails.

“You have to, Killian. It’s the only way. Though I wouldn’t say no if your lady love were to cast some sort of protection spell,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten to mood. It doesn’t work, not in the least.

“He’s right,” Regina says. “We’ll try the protection spell, but as much as I hate to admit it, Captain Jones is right. He’s the one we can spare.”

(Killian especially hates hearing it from Regina, and especially like that - like his brother is just some tool to be used and disposed of.)

As much as Killian’s heart screams in protest at the thought of his brother sacrificing himself to possibly become nothing more than an empty shell, another permanent farewell, his head knows they’re right. It’s the only way, and if Killian wants to return to his future in the living world, he’s going to have to accept that sacrifice.

“It’s the only way,” he echoes softly, nodding in resignation.

He may be mad at his brother, but he never wanted this.

———

The cave system beneath the Underworld through which the River of Lost Souls flows is cold and damp, fostering a foreboding air as the chill sinks into all their bones. The otherworldly green glow of the River’s waters doesn’t help matters either, making the whole thing feel even more nightmarish in an already unworldly place. Curiously, it reminds Killian of the catacombs he once saw in a far off land, so long ago that he can’t remember the name anymore. The glimpse of metal structuring or the stone ledges carefully carved out of the rock is a bare reminder of human presence in this empty space - that this is somehow a place built by people, but not truly intended for them. The only word for it, truly, is eerie.

It takes less time to find the Crystal than expected - only a day and a half of searching - but they seem to simultaneously pass in a blink and stretch on forever. They’d divided into small groups to punt up and down the waterways - Killian, Emma, and her parents in one boat with Regina, Robin, and Liam in the other. There’d been some debate about the divide - David in particular had wanted to be in the other boat, seemingly wanting to keep a closer eye on Liam. That’s reasonable, Killian supposes, after everything that had been revealed earlier that day. It takes a good deal of scolding from both Emma and Snow to convince him to climb into their skiff, all capped off by a very charming “You’re being ridiculous, Dad, get over here before you piss Mom off even more. You’re coming with us.”

(Whatever works, right?)

Still, the squabbling is a waste of time. One thing they can all agree upon, however, is to keep Henry as far away from the search as possible. No one knows exactly what those waters would do to a living being, and they don’t care to find out - especially not with Henry. No one wants him anywhere near that water. Instead, he’s persuaded to stay up above with Belle, doing research about how to use this Crystal once they find it. Henry’s not happy about it, but he agrees eventually - especially when it becomes obvious that no one is caving. Ultimately, Killian thinks the only reason Henry goes without anymore fuss is that he’s tasked with the responsibility of watching over Belle and the baby, and especially of ensuring that Zelena doesn’t try to stage a kidnapping in Robin and Regina’s absence or otherwise betray them. Whatever it takes, Killian tells himself, and at least this lets the lad feel helpful. They’re not all disconnected from each other anyways - Regina rigs up a system of handheld mirrors to talk to each other in case problems arise or one of the parties actually finds the Crystal.

It’s Regina’s party that ultimately locates the bloody thing, somehow glowing even brighter underneath the murky green of the River of Souls. Ultimately, they decide to wait until the next morning to attempt to retrieve the Crystal itself, due both to time and the need to form a more concrete plan, and instead head home to rest. There’s a lot of discussion that night, none of which Killian particularly likes - especially since it relies on Emma casting a protection spell over Liam.

“That’s not my expertise,” Regina sniffs when Killian suggests she do it herself.  “Savior magic would be much more effective in this circumstance.”

Savior magic or not, though, the fact remains that magic has exhausted Emma since she became pregnant. There’s no hospital down here to go to if she passes out again, and Killian is terrified of something happening.

“It’ll be fine,” Emma tries to reassure him quietly, squeezing his hand in an attempt at comfort. “It’ll just be a moment and then you can make me rest.”

Under other circumstances, maybe Killian would try to argue or find another way, but the fact of the matter is that they’ve been backed into a corner. This is the only plan they have to rescue him from the Underworld, and the only way they can both retrieve the Crystal and offer Liam some marginal protection from the danger of the green waters is to draw upon Emma’s powers. There’s no other way. When Emma insists that she can do it, too, there’s even less point in trying to argue. It’s just how things will have to be.

Killian sits up for a drink with Liam that night, the last before Gods only know what will happen. It’s impossible to find the right words to say, though: I wish things were different? I don’t know if I forgive you, but I want to try? Thank you for what you’re about to do? I never needed you to make up for your actions in this way? I’ve never needed a hero, just a brother? Ever since Liam’s betrayal, Killian has been a mess of emotions, and his brother’s volunteering to retrieve the Crystal, more than likely at his own peril, has only added more conflicting feelings to the mix. This is the brother he remembers from his youth - the born leader, the man who’d rather put himself in danger before anyone else, but it seems almost disingenuous. Too little, too late and all that.

Still, as Liam drops his head after dragging minutes of silence, rising to deposit his glass in the sink, Killian feels that rush of panic that this might be the last time. “Liam…” he starts, forcing himself to try one last time to say everything on his mind, maybe find some sort of closure with the brother he’s idolized more than anyone only for him to let Killianhim down more than anyone elseever has. It doesn’t work; the words don’t magically appear upon his tongue, and his words trail off into nothing.

Nevertheless, Liam smiles and drops his hand to pat Killian’s shoulder. “I know, Brother,” he assures. And maybe he does. Liam was always good at understanding the words unsaid, and something about his face says that he sees all the mess of love and hurt and anger and worry on Killian’s own visage.

It doesn’t make things any easier when the fateful moment comes and Liam stands at the edge of the stone landing, stripped out of his shoes and coat and tying the end of a rope around his waist. It had been decided that, should worst come to worst, they’d need a way to retrieve Liam, with or without the Crystal. It’s entirely possible that due to the water’s properties, he could reach the Crystal and just forget to swim back up. In fact, there’s so many ways that this could go wrong, but Killian is trying not to think of any of them. Trying.

(Failing. All his fault…)

A small blessing is that Emma had cast a protection spell around Liam without any problems. Killian had hovered anxiously at her side, just in case she’d become faint again, but it had been unnecessary. Put it down to a good breakfast or her previous abstinence from using magic. At Killian’s pestering, she’d admitted that her magic, that well of power within her she’s never been able to fully describe, feels depleted, but as close as he’s watching, it hasn’t seemed to exhaust her body and mind along with it.

“I’m fine,” she smiles, squeezing his forearm affectionately, and he doesn’t have any reason not to believe that. Before she can drop her hand back down to her side, Killian quickly catches it, lacing their fingers together and squeezing back as he turns towards his brother.

“You don’t have to do this,” Killian offers one last time as Liam eyes the glowing green waters and the Crystal sunken beneath them.

Liam exhales a breath before turning to face Killian. “You know I do.” The silence of so many words unsaid, so many things they could say and should say and need to say hangs heavy in the air. Everyone else has the tact to give them a little space. Liam breaks the oppressive stillness to pull Killian into an almost aggressive hug. “I love you, Brother,” he whispers fiercely.

And really, that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Beneath everything else Killian is feeling right now, he loves Liam. Always has, always will. That’s all that matters, especially now in what might be their last moments together is this goes poorly. “I love you too,” he whispers back into the flesh of Liam’s shoulder, the spot he always used to rest his head as a young lad, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

When they break apart, Liam nods briskly, his face settling again into an expression of determination as he turns towards the rest of their little group. “Are you ready with the rope?” he asks.

“Whenever you are, Captain,” Robin promises with his usual good humor.

“No sense in waiting, then,” Liam concludes. And with a final brave smile in Killian’s direction, he executes a neat dive into the River.

It feels like an eternity, watching Liam dive ever deeper towards the bottom of the riverbed. Killian feels like he’s holding his breath the entire while, disregarding the fact that he no longer has any breath to hold. It’s terrifying to watch. The Crystal doesn’t appear to be too far below the surface, but Liam keeps swimming and swimming and reaching and reaching and never quite getting there. All the while, they can see Emma’s protective spell spark and fizzle, visibly disintegrating under the erosion of the waters. Even as Killian thinks it, he spots pieces flaking off and floating to the surface even as Liam is still forced to keep going. It feels like watching his brother die right before his eyes again, and Killian can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

By some miracle, though, Liam keeps going. They all stand ready by the rope, ready to pull him back up, but his brother doesn’t show any signs of the confusion the River of Souls could visit upon him. Maybe this could work, maybe all hope isn’t lost —

And it isn’t. Liam grabs onto the Crystal and Killian lets out all that breath he’d been holding unnecessarily, slumping forward with relief. Below the surface, Liam kicks off from the bottom and swims for the surface, ascending at what seems a much quicker pace than his descent. That may just be an illusion though; Killian knows how time can drag when faced with that kind of dread.

Liam breaks the water’s surface with a grin, shaking his head and sending droplets flying. “It seems there might be some truth to the stories about this thing,” he declares. “It certainly healed me.”

Killian lurches forward to envelop his brother in a desperate hug as soon as Liam is back on dry land. He can’t even bring himself to be bothered by the way Liam is no doubt soaking his clothes, so great is his relief. “Thank the gods it did,” he mutters. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

“Of course I am, Brother,” Liam whispers back. “You thought I could leave you again?”

Killian holds tight for a moment longer before a pointed clearing of Regina’s throat breaks them apart. “Can we return to less humid ground now that we have the damn thing? Or are you two planning to stay down here for the foreseeable future?”

“After you, Your Majesty,” Killian gladly cedes. As they all settle back in the boats to make their way back towards the elevator and upper surface of the Underworld, Killian gladly pulls Emma into his side, dropping a kiss on the crown of her hair and drawing comfort from her presence. Finally, finally there’s a glimmer of hope that they might actually be able to save him.

When the elevator doors open, however, it’s to reveal their worst case scenario: Hades himself standing between the doors and where Belle is trying to protect Henry with her very body.

“So good of you to show up!” the god oozes. “Have I got a proposition for you!”

[darley1101]

Keeping It Real With Damien and Ava (Perfect Match)

A/N Over the last couple of days I have had requests for the OTP questionaire. I started to write them the way they are usually written: us writers answering the questions for the characters. And then I remembered how much fun I had writing Jenny's blog in my 'Birthday Surprise' one shot for #LoveHacks. The idea of treating each OTP pairing as an interview with Jenny for her blog came to me and it wouldn't go away. I am certain that someone, somewhere, has done something similar so credit for the idea goes to them. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! If not, I will revert back to the traditional manner in which these are done. XOXO -D-

Book(s) Perfect Match; #Love Hacks

Characters: Damien Nazario, Ava Park, Jenny Collins, with mention of other characters

Rating: Mature readers only as there is reference to sexual activity

Warning: This story does contain mention of sexual activity

tagging: @blackcatkita @boneandfur @josieschoices @endlessly-searching-for-you @flynnomalleys @lizeboredom @writtenbycandy @clarissafics @damienazariostan @mfackenthal @tmarie82 @flowerpowell @mrsnazario1223 @kingliamthirst @debramcg1106 @jadedpixiescribbles @penguininapinktuxedo @confessionsofabrokegirl @theroyalweisme @kinkykingliam 

Keeping It Real with Damien and Ava by Jenny Collins

On a daily basis we are bombarded with articles and interviews featuring famous couples who are trying to show the world how normal they are. Don't get me wrong, I think its great that Matt Rodriquez will go through the In and Out drive through to get his fiancee Ashton Jones a large order of french fries with extra ketchup; or that NFL quarterback Chris Powell and his wife Aria's idea of a perfect date is miniature golf. I love knowing that these larger than life people aren't so different from the rest of us; except, you know, their million dollar homes and eight figure bank accounts. Do you know what I love more? Exposing how awesome normal, every day couples can be, because lets face it the average couple isn't going to have the same issues Matt Rodriquez and Chris Powell have with their significant others. That's why I am starting my 'Keeping It Real' series. I want to show case how its not just famous couples that lead interesting lives, but regular couples as well. In the interest of being fair, I will be asking each couple the same questions.

When you know as many awesome couples as I do, figuring out who to interview first can be a bit tricky. As luck would have it, fate stepped in and made the choice form of my hubby Mark making a business trip to New York and inviting me to tag along. While in the Big Apple, I caught up with our friend Ben's sister Ava and her live in boyfriend Damien. We met at this fantastic little cafe near Central Park and over coffee, cronuts, and Damien's leeriness to invite strangers into his relationship (he's a legit private detective guys!) we delved right in to what makes Damien and Ava, the couple, tick! I hope you enjoy getting to know them as much as I did.

First, I just want to thank you guys for doing this!

Ava: Of course! There's nothing I love more than telling world how much I love this big lug! (she elbowed Damien in the side before hugging his arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek)

Damien: And there's not much I wouldn't do for Ava. (He's still a bit tense and leery at this point but willing to give it a try since Ava is so gun ho)

So, inquiring minds want to know how you met. (Its me. I'm the inquiring mind!)

Damien: (this adorable smirk comes over his face) It's kinda funny. I was out having a drink when I seen this little John Lennon wannabe hipster trying to kiss this girl who kept leaning back (he laughs at the memory) and I couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

Ava: (She starts giggling so hard its almost impossible to understand what she's saying) It was awful! My cousin Nadia set me up with him. The whole night he kept asking about how much I made because he needed a woman who could support him and his art. I had no idea how I was going to get out of kissing him when he kept coming at me with his lips like this (she purses her lips into an exaggerated fish pout and starts making kissy noises) Out of no where this guy (she jerks her head towards Damien) shows up and says 'That's my future wife you're trying to kiss!

Me: And you've been together ever since? (they look at each other and start laughing)

Ava: I wish! No, actually I just thanked him and we parted ways. It wasn't until a week later when my cousin Nadia was being stalked by some perverted cartoonist that we connected. And then it was just as friends. (She looks sad for a minute and Damien puts an arm around her)

Damien: We became such good friends that both of us were afraid to say we cared about the other as more than a friend. (He cuddles her closer and I swear my heart just about melted) It wasn't until I thought I might lose her for good that I made my move.

Ava: Excuse me! (She shot him a pointed look) I believe I was the one to make the first move!

Damien: (Laughing and throwing his hands up) Okay, okay, Ava was the one who actually made all the moves that resulted in us getting together.

You guys are too cute! I'm almost afraid to ask this though...who hogs the covers?

(They look at each other and then both answer)

Damien: Ava!

Ava: Me! (she laughs and gestures towards her body. She's super tiny, with very little body fat) I mean look at me. I literally blow away when the wind gets too strong. It's embarrassing, not to mention annoying. (She lets out a sigh and starts toying with the end of her long fishtail braid) I can never get warm enough in the winter. It's awful.

Damien: You should see her. She'll come to bed wearing this ugly thick socks, leggings, and this hideous sweatshirt that goes to her knees. (He gives her a bemused look) One of these days I'm going to burn it.

Ava: (gasps) You better not!

Damien: Don't worry, I will keep you warmer than that ratty old thing ever could. (He cuddles her again and I swear to God Mark you better be taking notes! I need cuddles like this in my life!)

I just want the record to show I don't support burning Ava's sweatshirt. (I say this while laughing) Next question. Hopefully this one doesn't result in threats: who texts or calls the most to check in throughout the day?

Damien: I think its about equal. (He seems a little hesitant while saying this)

Ava: (She raises one of her brows) Are you sure about that? (She then looks at me, smiling) He's not wrong, but it sort of depends on what's going on. If I'm working on an article and I know I have a deadline approaching, I tend to loose myself in my writing. (She smiles at me again) I'm sure you know how that is!

Me: (nodding) Absolutely!

Damien: Alright. Fine. I tend to text or call Ava more. I used to be a cop and am currently a private investiagtor, so I've seen some scary shit. (He shoots me an apologetic look) Is it okay to say that? Or is your blog one of those PG ones?

Me: (laughing) My last blog was about how to achieve orgasm while pregnant. I don't think a little curse word like shit is going to offend my readers. (The look on his face when I tell him about my last blog is priceless. His tan skin turns this adorable red color)

Damien: (he's shifting around now, like he's a little nervous.) Uh right. Well, like I said, I tend to do most of the random check in's...

Ava: But not always. Sometimes I'm the one with the free time and I blow up his phone.

Damien: Which is not cool when I'm trying to stake out a potential cheater.

Ava: (shrugs) What can I say? I'm needy. But (she grins at him and squeezes him around the waist) you know I love you!

You guys are literally the cutest! Speaking of cute...lets talk gifts! Whose the most creative when it comes to gift?

Ava: (she blushes a little) We both really suck at buying gifts.

Damien: Its true. My last gift to her was an iron because she said she was tired of paying extra at the laundry. (I can't help but wince. Guys, irons are not romantic gifts)

Ava: And my last gift to him was a years supply of notebooks and pens. (She has the decency to look at her cronut)

Boy, you guys weren't kidding when you said you both sucked at giving gifts! (The both nod at me, laughing)

(Ava enjoying her tea after we left the cafe)

We take a slight break while Damien goes to answer a phone call from a client and I take my pregnant butt to the bathroom. When I return, Ava had ordered us some boba tea and these little spinach quiches that are almost too cute to eat. She gives me a sheepish look and admits she's basically a bottomless pit and needed more to eat than the cronut she'd devoured during the first part of our interview. We decide to go ahead with a few easy questions while Damien soothes a client. She tells me about him being an early riser and her sleeping like the dead until noon. We laugh over Damien being a sap during movies about animals, especially if the animal lead dies.

Ava: He cried like a baby during A Dog's Life and Marley and Me. (She peeks over her shoulder to be sure he's still on the phone) And you should see him at the end of Old Yeller.

Things are going so well, I decided to just go for the big guns!

So...Ava...between us girls who suggests new things in bed?

Ava: (her cheeks flush a little) That's a tough one because we're both open to trying to things. If I read an article or Damien hears or sees something during a stake out. (She's really blushing at this point) Lets just say we both like keeping things interesting.

Damien: Sorry for that. (He sits down and I catch him up. He's a little embarrassed that Ava outed him for getting misty eyed during animal flicks but gets her back) Did she tell you about her handcuff kink?

Ava: (At this point she's the same color of red as the crop top she's wearing.) Damien!

Any chance you like to give her a massage or two while she's cuffed? (I'm such a bad girl! I even winked. Who wouldn't after an announcement like that!)

Damien: Not the sort we're going to talk about here. (He actually winked back at me! He's definitely lightened up and gotten into the spirit of things) Besides, Ava's the one whose good at massages. She'll surprise me at work with Gray Papaya hot dogs and a shoulder massage.

Me: That's sweet! (Note to self, I need to surprise Mark with hot dogs and shoulder massages at work. Well, maybe not the hot dogs because San Fran doesn't do a dog the way New York does)

Ava: He's always so tense! I can't help it!

Does that sweetness cross into nursing him while he's sick? Or...

Ava: (Covers her face with her hands) I'm the worse when it comes to being sick.

Damien: Let her contract a simple cold and she acts like its the Ebola virus and she's on the verge of death.

Ava: (She drops her hands and scowls at him) I'm not that bad! (He looks at me and mouths that yes, she is that bad. God, these two are cracking me up!)

Lets talk jealousy.

Ava: (She looks at Damien, an amused look on her pretty face) Yes, Damien lets talk jealousy!

Damien: (This time he's the one blushing!) It was an honest mistake!

Ava: (She looks at me, trying not to laugh.) You know my brother Ben? (I nod as Ben is a dear friend) Well he showed up unexpectedly one day and naturally I was super excited-

Damien: Come on, Ava, do we really need to tell people about this?

Ava: You tackled my brother to the ground for hugging me because you thought he was some guy trying to cop a feel! (I have to cover my mouth so Damien doesn't see me laughing)

Damien: I didn't realize he was your brother! All I seen was some schmuck with his hands on my girlfriend! (he looks at me) next question please?

Sure (I am openly laughing now) how about something fun. Like who has the most embarrassing taste in music.

Ava: (She's adopted this stoic look and keeps clearing her throat)

Damien: Five words. (He shoots Ava a sly look) New Kids On The Block. (Ava groans and buries her face in her hands as Damien starts making oh, oh oh, noises.) You got the right stuff...(he elbows Ava) baby...

Ava: Please stop.

Damien: I love the way you (he's cut off by Ava placing her hand over his mouth)

Ava: Okay, fine, so I might have a few New Kids On The Block songs on my play list but you...(she jabs Damien in the chest with her finger) you like to listen to the Pussycat Dolls!

Me: Hey, I listen to PCD! (It's true. I have at least five of their songs, plus I seen them in concert)

Damien: There. You see. Nothing wrong with a little PCD. (We fist bump at this point and I feel like I've officially made a new friend for life.)

I'm almost afraid to ask if either of you collect anything unusual.

Ava: Do robots count? (They share a laugh and a look that has me thinking there is more to this story than meets the eyes.)

Damien: Ava has trolls.

Ava: (if looks could kill, I'm pretty sure I would be performing CPR on Damien right now) You leave my trolls out of this. (She looks at me.) Yes, I have trolls. My grandma collected them and when she passed away we each got to pick our favorites. I don't collect them though. They're around for sentimental reasons.

So...real talk...who takes the longest to get ready?

Damien: Believe it or not, I do.

Ava: I can take a shower, do my hair and make up, get dressed, and he's still perfecting his hair style.

Damien: Hey, it takes work for hair to look this good! (Let the record show that Damien really does have fantastic hair!

Does that mean he's the more organized and tidy of you two?

Ava: Ha! (She bursts out laughing so loud other guests in the cafe turn to stare.) Damien's idea of organized is keeping his fast food wrapper pile to the left of his desk.

Damien: You'd think, given my job, that I would be more organized. (He frowns slightly) Okay, let me rephrase that. When it comes to cases, I'm very organized. Personal space...not so much.

With the 4th of July having just passed, I need to ask: whose the most excited about holidays?

Ava: Neither of us? (She shrugs) Don't get me wrong, we love Christmas and Thanksgiving as much as the next person but we don't really go all out. I think that's mostly because my cousin Nadia never does anything halfway and we sort of just know she's going to go all out...so we just enjoy her efforts.

Damien: Yeah. I would have to agree with that.

Aw that's kind of a bummer. (But it explains why Ben doesn't really do much during the holidays other than show up for dinner) Cheer me up. You guys are clearly very cuddly with each other. (They're cuddled up again and I'm telling you Mark, they've built up expectations that you must live up to!) Whose the big spoon and whose the little spoon?

Ava: We do enjoy our cuddles. (She lays her head on his shoulder, their fingers twining together. I'm seriously jelly right now) During the summer, I'm the big spoon. Damien doesn't like to be hot, so he tends to throw off the covers, which leaves me freezing, so I have to cling to his back in an effort to stay warm.

Damien: So she claims. (He chuckles, his eyes twinkling) What about all those nights I've kept you warm by wrapping you up in my arms, huh?

Ava: You interrupted me before I could get to that! (She looks at me and rolls her eyes.) Men! I swear. (She rolls her eyes again) Before the big baby has a melt down...he's the big spoon in the winter. My own personal space heater. (She presses a quick kiss to his lips) There. Happy now?

Damien: I'm getting there....

You guys are both very competitive aren't you?

Ava: I'm really not. If I play a game a game, I play for fun. To me, its not about winning, it's about fun. It's why I was never any good at spots.

Me: What about you Damien? Are you in it to win it or just having fun?

Damien: I hate losing, that's all I'm going to say.

Does that carry over into arguments? (They both stare at me in surprise before laughing)

Ava: Not really. We bicker a lot. Sort of like we've done here, today, but we don't really have arguments.

Damien: More like disagreements that get heated...and occasionally the police show up.

Ava: One time! (she looks mortified that he brought up the police being called. Meanwhile. I'm thrilled that he's comfortable enough to do so) And I know it was your neighbor Mrs. Godowlski. (She looks at me) He made mad so I dropped a water balloon on his head from the window and the old biddy called the police saying I was throwing things at him.

Yikes! Sounds like your neighbor is a real winner there Damien. (He shrugs but there's a smirk on his lips) Anyways, Ben was telling me  you guys have the cutest little dog. Whose idea was it to get a pet?

(Tell me that Buddy is not the cutest dog ever?!)

Ava: I don't think we really decided to get a pet so much as Buddy happened and it was love at first sight.

Damien: He was this little stray who hid under the bench outside my office building. One night Ava, was able to get him to come to her and he's been with us ever since.

That is awesome. Rescues make the best pets.

(They both agree with me and take another break. This time so Ava can respond to the twenty texts her cousin Nadia has sent. Hm. That could be a good blog, right? How many texts is too many texts...and how to stop yourself from sending them.) Damien and I briefly chat off the record about why I'm doing this and he even goes so far as to say he thinks its a cool idea. Thanks, Damien, I think its a cool idea too. I ask him how he keeps things romantic and he melts my heart by saying every night he stops by a local flower cart and picks up a single sunflower. “Some days my job is really dark. I spend a lot of time breaking up marriages...” I have to stop him here and remind him that he doesn't break up the marriages, the actions of the cheating partners do. “Okay, you're right. My point is, Ava's smile can take the worse day and make it better. Sunflowers make her smile.” He just gives this little shrug, as though he has not clue how freaking sweet that is.

(I managed to talk Damien into one silly picture)

Ava: And I'm back. (She drops into her seat next to Damien and grins apologetically) Sorry, if I hadn't answered she would have started calling and none of us want that!

Its cool. (I consult my notes to see where we had left off) So...what traditions do you have?

Ava: You mean like couple traditions? (I told her that yes, that was exactly what I mean) Well, Damien likes to bring me sunflowers every day...does that count?

Me: Most definitely!

Damien: We have a joint Pinterest and once a week, I will pin a meal I want her to cook.

Me: Ava's a good cook?

Damien: Oh yeah. (Ava blushes but doesn't refute what he's saying. I kind of want to invite myself over for dinner right now) I burn water.

Any tv shows you guys like to watch while eating those Pinterest inspired meals?

Ava: Oh! Yes! (She squirms around, all excited) We both love watching this show called The Social Season. Its kind of like a telenovela. (She squirms again, her cheeks flushed) Its about this girl named Eliza and....oh gosh Jenny you just have to watch it! (She squeals when I tell her that I do watch it. How could I not? It's just that good!)

Damien: It is pretty good. (He looks embarrassed to admit that he watches a trashy romance series but I tell him he has nothing to be ashamed of. I tell him that Mark likes this drama known as Consequences of Secrets, which seems to put him at ease.)

Are these meals and shows watched alone or do you invite over other couples?

Damien: We spent a lot of time with Ava's cousin Nadia and her...boyfriend...Steve, as well as our friends Sloane and Hayden.

Ava: Yeah, we try to get together at least once every two weeks for dinner and games.

Damien: Drinking games

Ava: Not always! Sometimes we play monopoly.

Damien: While drinking.

We spend a few more minutes chatting and make plans for dinner later that evening. They want to introduce Mark and I to Ava's co-worker Lucy and her soon to be husband Flynn, as well as Flynn's sister Kate and her boyfriend Grant. Of course I jump at the opportunity. Who knows...maybe my next blog will be about one of them!

A/N Do you guys enjoy this method of answering the OTP or do you want me to go back to regular style? Let me know in a comment or reblog! Want to know more about Ava and Damien's favorite “shows” check out the fics: The Social Season and The Consequences of Secrets. Also, I  currentl have requests for Flynn x Lucy, Jamison x Adam (AME) and Becca x Zig but anyone would like to see other couples ‘interviewed’ like this let me know!

[lastsonlost]

Feminist male-bashing has come to sound like a cliche — a misogynist caricature. Feminism, its loudest proponents vow, is about fighting for equality. The man-hating label is either a smear or a misunderstanding.

Yet a lot of feminist rhetoric today does cross the line from attacks on sexism into attacks on men, with a strong focus on personal behavior: the way they talk, the way they approach relationships, even the way they sit on public transit. Male faults are stated as sweeping condemnations; objecting to such generalizations is taken as a sign of complicity. Meanwhile, similar indictments of women would be considered grossly misogynistic.

This gender antagonism does nothing to advance the unfinished business of equality. If anything, the fixation on men behaving badly is a distraction from more fundamental issues, such as changes in the workplace to promote work-life balance. What’s more, male-bashing not only sours many men — and quite a few women — on feminism. It often drives them into Internet subcultures where critiques of feminism mix with hostility toward women.

* * *

To some extent, the challenge to men and male power has always been inherent in feminism, from the time the 1848 Seneca Falls Declaration of Sentiments catalogued the grievances of “woman” against “man.” However, these grievances were directed more at institutions than at individuals. In “The Feminine Mystique,” which sparked the great feminist revival of the 1960s, Betty Friedan saw men not as villains but as fellow victims burdened by societal pressures and by the expectations of their wives, who depended on them for both livelihood and identity.

That began to change in the 1970s with the rise of radical feminism. This movement, with its slogan, “The personal is political,” brought a wave of female anger at men’s collective and individual transgressions. Authors like Andrea Dworkin and Marilyn French depicted ordinary men as patriarchy’s brutal foot soldiers.

This tendency has reached a troubling new peak, as radical feminist theories that view modern Western civilization as a patriarchy have migrated from academic and activist fringes into mainstream conversation. One reason for this trend is social media, with its instant amplification of personal narratives and its addiction to outrage. We live in a time when jerky male attempts at cyber-flirting can be collected on a blog called Straight White Boys Texting (which carries a disclaimer that prejudice against white males is not racist or sexist, since it is not directed at the oppressed) and then deplored in an article titled “Dear Men: This Is Why Women Have Every Right To Be Disgusted With Us.”

Whatever the reasons for the current cycle of misandry — yes, that’s a word, derided but also adopted for ironic use by many feminists — its existence is quite real. Consider, for example, the number of neologisms that use “man” as a derogatory prefix and that have entered everyday media language: “mansplaining,” “manspreading” and “manterrupting.” Are these primarily male behaviors that justify the gender-specific terms? Not necessarily: The study that is cited as evidence of excessive male interruption of women actually found that the most frequent interrupting is female-on-female (“femterrupting”?).

Sitting with legs apart may be a guy thing, but there is plenty of visualdocumentation of women hogging extra space on public transit with purses, shopping bags and feet on seats. As for “mansplaining,” these days it seems to mean little more than a man making an argument a woman dislikes. Slate correspondent Dahlia Lithwick has admitted using the term to “dismiss anything said by men” in debates about Hillary Clinton. And the day after Clinton claimed the Democratic presidential nomination, political analyst David Axelrod was slammed as a “mansplainer” on Twitter for his observation that it’s a measure of our country’s “great progress” that “many younger women find the nomination of a woman unremarkable.”

Men who gripe about their ex-girlfriends and advise other men to avoid relationships with women are generally relegated to the seedy underbelly of the Internet — various forums and websites in the “manosphere,” recently chronicled by Stephen Marche in the Guardian. Yet a leading voice of the new feminist generation, British writer Laurie Penny, can use her column in the New Statesman to decry ex-boyfriends who “turned mean or walked away” and to urge straight young women to stay single instead of “wasting years in succession on lacklustre, unappreciative, boring child-men.”

Feminist commentary routinely puts the nastiest possible spin on male behavior and motives. Consider the backlash against the concept of the “friend zone,” or being relegated to “friends-only” status when seeking a romantic relationship — usually, though not exclusively, in reference to men being “friend zoned” by women. Since the term has a clear negative connotation, feminist critics say it reflects the assumption that a man is owed sex as a reward for treating a woman well. Yet it’s at least as likely that, as feminist writer Rachel Hills argued in a rare dissent in the Atlantic, the lament of the “friend zoned” is about “loneliness and romantic frustration,” not sexual entitlement.

Things have gotten to a point where casual low-level male-bashing is a constant white noise in the hip progressive online media. Take a recent pieceon Broadly, the women’s section of Vice, titled, “Men Are Creepy, New Study Confirms” — promoted with a Vice Facebook post that said: “Are you a man? You’re probably a creep.” The actual study found something very different: that both men and women overwhelmingly think someone described as “creepy” is more likely to be male. If a study had found that a negative trait was widely associated with women (or gays or Muslims), surely this would have been reported as deplorable stereotyping, not confirmation of reality.

Meanwhile, men can get raked over the (virtual) coals for voicing even the mildest unpopular opinion on something feminism-related. Just recently, YouTube film reviewer James Rolfe, who goes by “Angry Video Game Nerd,” was roundly vilified as a misogynistic “man-baby” in social media and the online press after announcing that he would not watch the female-led “Ghostbusters” remake because of what he felt was its failure to acknowledge the original franchise.

* * *

This matters, and not just because it can make men less sympathetic to the problems women face. At a time when we constantly hear that womanpower is triumphant and “the end of men” — or at least of traditional manhood — is nigh, men face some real problems of their own. Women are now earning about 60 percent of college degrees; male college enrollment after high school has stalled at 61 percent since 1994, even as female enrollment has risen from 63 percent to 71 percent. Predominantly male blue-collar jobs are on the decline, and the rise of single motherhood has left many men disconnected from family life. The old model of marriage and fatherhood has been declared obsolete, but new ideals remain elusive.

Perhaps mocking and berating men is not the way to show that the feminist revolution is about equality and that they have a stake in the new game. The message that feminism can help men, too — by placing equal value on their role as parents or by encouraging better mental health care and reducing male suicide — 

is undercut by gender warriors like Australian pundit Clementine Ford, whose “ironic misandry” 

often seems entirely non-ironic and who has angrily insisted that feminism stands only for women. Gibes about “male tears” — for instance, on a T-shirt sported by writer Jessica Valenti in a phototaunting her detractors — seem particularly unfortunate if feminists are serious about challenging the stereotype of the stoic, pain-suppressing male. Dismissing concerns about wrongful accusations of rape with a snarky “What about the menz” is not a great way to show that women’s liberation does not infringe on men’s civil rights. And telling men that their proper role in the movement for gender equality is to listen to women and patiently endure anti-male slams is not the best way to win support.

Valenti and others argue that man-hating cannot do any real damage because men have the power and privilege. Few would deny the historical reality of male dominance. But today, when men can lose their jobs because of sexist missteps and be expelled from college over allegations of sexual misconduct, that’s a blinkered view, particularly since the war on male sins can often target individuals’ trivial transgressions. Take the media shaming of former “Harry Potter” podcaster Benjamin Schoen, pilloried for some mildly obnoxious tweets (and then an insufficiently gracious email apology) to a woman who had blocked him on Facebook after an attempt at flirting. While sexist verbal abuse toward women online is widely deplored, there is little sympathy for men who are attacked as misogynists, mocked as “man-babies” or “angry virgins,” or even smeared as sexual predators in Internet disputes.

We are headed into an election with what is likely to be a nearly unprecedented gender gap among voters. To some extent, these numbers reflect policy differences. Yet it is not too far-fetched to see the pro-Donald Trump sentiment as fueled, at least in part, by a backlash against feminism. And while some of this backlash may be of the old-fashioned “put women in their place” variety, there is little doubt that for the younger generation, the perception of feminism as extremist and anti-male plays a role, too.

This theme emerged in Conor Friedersdorf’s recent interview in the Atlanticwith a Trump supporter, a college-educated, 22-year-old resident of San Francisco who considers himself a feminist and expects his career to take a back seat to that of his higher-earning fiancee — but who also complains about being “shamed” as a white man and voices concern about false accusations of rape.

As this campaign shows, our fractured culture is badly in need of healing — from the gender wars as well as other divisions. To be a part of this healing, feminism must include men, not just as supportive allies but as partners, with an equal voice and equal humanity.

Cathy Young is the author of two books, and a frequent contributor to Reason, Newsday, and RealClearPolitics.com. Follow @cathyyoung63

[superprincesspea]

The Honey House, Chapter 27

Fight or Flight

MASTERLIST

Rae slid her Glock from its holster. She knew Negan wouldn’t be in this barn just like she knew she wouldn’t shoot him if he was but she liked the weight of it in her hand. So with a racing heart and a fistful of pistol Rae crept past the bales of hay, her eyes scanning any potential hiding spaces until she was certain, Negan was gone.

Gone. Bile rouse in her throat as she turned around on autopilot, one foot stretching out in front of the other until she was sprinting from the barn, calling Tim’s name. She ran around the corner blind, colliding with Zuzu who was happily zipping around on a scooter that Tim had found before Jacob or Negan had ever existed.

“I told you to stay inside!” Rae scolded, her tone harsh with frustration that was trying to find an outlet.

One large tear rolled down Zuzu’s cheek, paving the way for a waterfall of followers and Rae felt more than a pang of regret as she abandoned her little niece and ran towards the front gate. How could she have let Negan escape? How could she have been so careless? She couldn’t even control a child so how had she expected to control a man like Negan?

“What’s going on?” Carly called, shifting her baby from one hip to the other, her eyes searching out Zuzu like a good Mother would.

“Negan’s gone!” Rae choked, any control she might have had now long lost. She was afraid. She’d been too harsh and now she didn’t know what might come of it.

“Tim took him,” Caryl replied quickly, her eyes darting around Rae’s face while the words seemed to echo across every wall and weave between every blade of frosted grass.

“What?”

Carly’s face fell, her words stuttering, “he said you knew. He said you’d asked him to take care of-”

“When?” Rae interrupted, already running to the red coupe that Negan had given her.

“He put Negan in one of the cars about fifteen minutes ago.”

Rae slid into the soft leather seat, the idea of Tim’s betrayal pounding her heart to a different tune as she reached into the glove box to find the keys gone from their usual spot. She wanted to think it was a coincidence as she yelled, “someone find me the keys for the goddamn car!” But when she ran into the house, upending the contents of her dresser drawer, to grab the map of Alexandria she realised that much like Tim and Negan, it was gone.

“Fuck!” Rae shouted, her hands shaking as the drawer clattered to the floor. A million different emotions were racing in competition and when her gaze landed on the bed, the comforter pulled over to one side, climbing under the covers seemed so tempting, letting the inevitable happen would be as easy as lying down and closing her eyes.

Grandma’s voice brought her back from hopeless feelings but when Rae turned wanting to find comfort she realised Grandma sounded less frightened than she looked, her face was pale, her hand worrying an old dishcloth. “What’s happening? What haven’t you told us?”

Rae took a deep breath, a moment to gather her thoughts, “nothing. Everything is gonna be okay. I’m gonna make everything right.” She smiled, she thought she almost sounded convincing and maybe that’s all it took to be a leader, smoke and mirrors and the whatever it took to stop you crawling under the covers.

She kicked the drawer out of her way and as she walked through the door Grandma stopped her, “we’re all counting on you and we’re all here for you.”

“I know.” Rae jumped down the stairs, hurrying outside, she knew just how much everyone needed her to make the right decision. “Did you find the keys?” she asked, keeping her voice even as her people all gathered below the porch steps, their eyes wide like children. She supposed it was her own fault that Negan had escaped, she hadn’t told anyone the real stakes and in trying to protect them she’d made them useless.

Carly held her baby in front of her like a safety net, her words a whisper almost masked by the breeze, “they’re gone.”

Rae knew they would be. She knew that she’d kept them in the glove box just like the map had been kept in her drawer, the only thing she didn’t know was how long Tim had been planning this. “Okay,” she held her chin up, her shoulders straight, “nobody comes in or out of these gates except for me, I want the children inside and everyone on guard duty, do you all understand?”

“What about Negan’s men?”

“If they come here looking for Negan tell them he’s with me and he wants them to wait for him at the other farm. Do not let them inside.”

“What if you can’t bring Negan back?”

It was probably what everyone was thinking and Rae didn’t answer it. She grabbed a rifle from one of her people, walking to the gate with conviction, as if the question was a ridiculous one. When the gate opened wide enough she slipped through, running as fast as she possibly could and knowing the answer was ‘I don’t know.’ If Tim took Negan to Rick then she had no idea what would happen next except that it would change everything.  

There was another car, a spare she kept hidden across the fields for moments not unlike this one and as she ran towards it every passing moment felt like a lifetime. She worried she wouldn’t know which way to go without a map, she worried she’d be too late but more than anything part of her worried that Negan would hate her for what she did to him today.

By the time Rae had made it to the car her lungs were burning, the taste of blood filling her throat and her worries had only intensified. She grabbed the keys from the glove box, her eyes filled with unshed tears as the engine spluttered to life on her fourth attempt.

It might have been stupid, it might even have been the wrong decision but Rae had planned on freeing Negan. She’d hoped that despite everything she didn’t know about him she knew enough to know he would never truly hurt her, at least in the physical sense. Emotional was something else. If she thought about it then she’d been a fool to put even the smallest amount of stock into a man guarding her feelings, it had never worked out for her in the past so why would it be different now? Negan had made her feel special, he’d taken her away from the world for a brief snapshot of time and she was grateful for that even if it had all been a fabrication. He���d told her there would be no poetry in being with him and he’d been right.

///

Negan worked his wrists and ankles against his restraints and Timmy might have been a little dweeb but the fucker sure knew how to tie a knot leaving any attempt at brute force utterly  useless. He had nothing more than brush burn where the rope was starting to slice through the tender skin of his wrists and as he lay on the backseat of the old sedan he wondered if it was Rae who had given little Timmy the go ahead to do her dirty work. He pictured the fire in her eyes when she’d shoved the taser in his chest and chuckled despite the sticky situation. Rae had been angry enough to chop off his balls, she wouldn’t have sent him away without a farewell ‘fuck you’. No, Timmy was working alone.

Negan watched the trees whizzing past the window, row after row as he decided not to accept his fate, “I need to go to the little boys room.”

“Hold it,” Tim spat with what sounded like sadistic satisfaction.

Negan held his tongue and with as much charm as a man hog tied like roadkill could muster he crooned, “I wish I could but I know how far we are from Alexandria, Timmy boy.”

Tim ignored him, his hands at ten and two and his eyes glued to the road.

It occurred to Negan that Tim hadn’t looked at him once, hadn’t spoken unless spoken to. Perhaps he was scared, either scared of Negan or scared of what he might do if he got started. Negan knew the second feeling well, he also knew how to push the right buttons to get a reaction. “What kind of man lets another man piss himself? Unless you like that? Maybe you wanna sit in a car with the stench of my piss for the next couple of hours. Fuck, maybe I should shit myself too? How about it Timmy? You can admit it, we’re just two men shooting the fucking...” Negan laughed, “shit.”

The car slammed to a halt, Negan couldn’t stop the way he fell into the footwell just as much as he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.  

“Maybe I should just kill you right now?” Timmy spluttered, “I don’t think Rick cares if you’re alive or dead when I bring you to him.”

Shit. Negan hadn’t planned on Timmy actually growing a pair of fucking balls here. He wanted him angry, not murderous. “You’re gonna kill a man because he needs to take a piss. Now what would Rae think about that?”

Timmy smiled, “she’ll probably be glad you’re finally gone. Then she won’t have to sleep with you in exchange for whatever it is she thinks you provide.”

Negan gritted his teeth, his hands balling into tight fists, “either kill me or take me to the little boys room but let's not try to pretend she didn’t wanna fuck me because we both know that she did.”

Tim pulled a pistol from his belt, sliding the safety with his thumb before pressing the barrel to Negan’s temple, “maybe she did but not anymore. You’re nothing now, you’re pathetic and when I give you to Rick he’s gonna give us all the help we need.”

“If you think you can trust that fucker Rick Grimes then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought. He’s a liar and he wouldn’t think twice about slitting your throat. Or Rae’s. So do me a fucking favour and kill me now because I don’t wanna see Rae, Grandma and Zuzu being killed in the middle of the night by that merry band of assholes.”

Tim hesitated, weighing his options before his face creased back into a snarl, “I don’t wanna hear your bullshit and if you try anything then I will kill you.”

Negan didn’t say anything. He held his tongue again and it worked. Tim pulled Negan from the car by the scruff of his neck before turning to lead the way into a clearing by the side of the road.

“You expect me to hop along like this?” Negan nodded to the rope that bound his legs. “Jesus Christ Timmy you are one inhumane motherfucker. You tie me up, shove a gun in my face and you can’t even let me walk to the john like a fucking man?”

It must have struck a chord with Timmy because no matter how tough little Timmy tried to be he was still just the dweeb that followed Rae like a lost puppy.  “Remember what I said,” Tim warned, waving the pistol in Negan’s face before he crouched on one knee, loosening the knot.

As soon as the rope was slack Negan did remember Timmy’s threat he just couldn’t care fucking less nor would he waste a golden opportunity to give little Timmy one swift knee to the face. Blood burst from his nose, his glasses hit the tarmac and it felt damned good. Negan laughed, even if he ended up being shot for his effort it was worth it to get one satisfying hit on the little prick.

Tim fell to the road, his nose pouring blood and Negan didn’t even consider stopping his attack. He had a whole boat load of pent up rage that he’d been savoring for this fucker and now he had the perfect excuse. He kicked him in the stomach and Tim rolled over with a groan, drawing his pistol in a pathetic attempt to line up a shot. Negan kicked Tim’s arm, the impact sounding out with a satisfying crunch followed by the bang of the gun, the bullet whizzing into the tree’s.

As Timmy began to scramble to his feet Negan kicked the pistol from his hand like he was kicking the football in a field goal and it flew through the air, over a short rail separating the road from a long ditch, landing in places unknown.

“You’re one dumb little fucker,” Negan couldn’t help but taunt, even with his hands literally tied behind his back he was about to kill this dweeb. He was going to stomp him down like an oversized roach and the blood lust was insatiable.

Timmy pulled a knife, it was a small thing made for gutting fish rather than men but he slashed it anyway, catching Negan’s chest in the process.

“Motherfucker,” Negan shouted as he noticed the slit that ran all the way across his leather jacket. Not deep enough to do any harm but deep enough to ruin the jacket. With his face twisted into an even angrier line Negan advanced on Timmy who’s eyes were like two saucers, his knife suddenly shaking in his hand. Tim thought better of a second attack instead sprinting towards the trees where the pistol had disappeared.

Negan chased him, no knife in a knife fight was one thing, no gun was another. He charged after Tim as hard as he could, shoulder barging him over the railing, the momentum sending them both tumbling down the side of a steep hill.

If he’d have been a cartoon character he’d have had a ring of stars twinkling a halo around his head. Instead, Negan had spots clouding his vision and he couldn't tell if he’d been out cold or just momentarily stunned as he lay still, letting his body register a list of injuries. His head was throbbing and his arms were uncomfortable under his weight but other than that he was okay.

When he rolled to his side Timmy was just lying there, motionless amongst the undergrowth and whether dead or unconscious Negan didn’t give a flying fuck.

He pulled himself to his feet, spotting a roamer clawing his way through the trees before he noticed Tim’s knife lodged in the grass. The sound of the gun firing had no doubt lured the dead and there would surely be more so he wasted no time before attempting to saw through the rope that was binding his wrists. He had barely begun when he heard the rumble of an engine.

“Shit,” he muttered, slowly standing and scanning the undergrowth for the pistol as he continued hacking away at the rope. He listened to the sound of a car door opening then slamming shut and what came next made his heart stop, the knife slipping from his fingers.

“Negan!”

It was Rae’s voice and he stood motionless in the wake of it before pulling his shit together, grabbing the knife and ducking behind the nearest tree. He couldn’t risk her capturing him again and he wasn’t going to fight if he didn’t have the advantage, if the end of the world had taught him one thing it had certainly been that. He peered around the trunk of the tree, scanning the road until he spotted her telltale red hair and the muzzle of a very large rifle.

She called his name again and he wondered for a moment why she wasn’t calling for Timmy only to decide it was because maybe she didn’t really give a crap about Timmy. The idea inched a smile across his face, maybe there really was still hope for him and Red.

One of the roamer’s was gaining on him and his hiding place was up if he didn’t want to get eaten alive so he only had one choice. “I’m here baby,” he admitted, kicking away the dead man that dived for him and finishing it with his boot when it tumbled to the ground.

“Negan?” Rae gasped and when he turned he could see her slowly climbing down the side of the hill, her rifle slung over her shoulder and her voice wary as she asked, “where’s Tim?”

Negan crept to a new hiding spot, making sure to keep Red in his line of sight “We had a fight, he’s out cold,” he said, he didn’t say the part where he might be dead, it wasn’t going to do him any favors. Instead he finished slicing through the rope, shaking it from his wrists as he watched Red finally make it to the forest floor. She crouched down, placing her fingers against Tim’s neck before shaking his shoulder and whispering his name.

“You ask Timmy to take me to Rick?” Negan prayed the sound of his voice wouldn’t give away his exact location. He was far enough away and there were enough trees to cause confusion.

Rae’s eyes darted towards him but he remained hidden, crouched behind a fallen tree. “No,” she called, standing, bringing her rifle in front of her. “I don’t trust you Negan, but I don’t trust Rick either. I know you might not believe me but I was gonna let you go, I don’t wanna be part of a war that might get my people killed.” She paused, her shoulders slumped and her voice had a broken edge, “I want you to leave and never come back, I don’t wanna see you or your people again.”

Negan wiped his hand over his face, his heart pounding, “you breaking up with me, Red?”

She held her rifle higher, her eyes searching down the scope like a trained riflewoman, “I’m not playing, Negan.”

“Neither am I, baby doll.” He rolled the knife in his hand and the snap of twigs catching his attention. He turned his head he could see more dead filtering through the trees, enough to be a problem and enough to cut a path right between himself and Rae. “You see that, Red?” he called, standing up and keeping cover away from prying green eyes.

She shifted her rifle towards the dead, her eyes darting everywhere else, “where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. We both know I’m not coming back with you right now so you better get your ass up on that road and into your car like a good girl before you get hurt.”

She hesitated, taking several steps forward and he wanted to spank her ass for even thinking about putting it on the line, “you can try and catch me Red or you can get Timmy to safety. He’s not gonna make it without you and you haven’t got time to fuck around baby.”

Rae glanced at Tim, huffing out a sigh before throwing her rifle back on her shoulder.

“I’ll stay here while you get to safety and I want you to know, this shit ain’t over between us Rachel Honey.”

“Are you threatening me?” she demanded and he could just picture the look that would be resting on her face.

“I’m just saying, I’m not finished with you, not by a long fucking shot sweetheart.”

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[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (17)

So I wrote ahead the other day and couldn’t let it just linger in my word doc anymore...so another update this week!

Alex has some childhood flashbacks...Alex is continually worried....

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   I   13  14   15   16

               His feet tread rapidly over dirt-covered ground, kicking up dust as he flies, chest heaving, over the familiar path. Rough sand spills into his well-worn sneakers, chafing against the bare and blistered feet inside. Alex barely notices. He continues to run.

               His arms pump wildly as his ‘chicken legs’ carry him, his mind hyper-focused on the task at hand. He can hear voices behind him, hooting and hollering and getting closer by the second. He blinks, gathering his courage in a deep and hearty breath from his stomach, before hopping over rusted railroad tracks, ducking into a rickety doorway.

               He knows this path by heart; lifted floorboard in what used to be the foyer, a doorjamb that’s just about to fall between the old kitchen and living room. Alex skillfully hops over a worn-out ottoman, blocking yet another doorway. And then there’s the stray dog that sits in the kitchen, nestled between a cabinet and a stack of decomposing cardboard. He looks feral; blonde fur matted against a bone-thin chest, teeth scraggly as he opens his mouth in a wide yawn. But Alex simply throws him a scrap of meat from the bag that bumps against his leg as he runs, and the animal is satisfied.

               Not once does he stop in his running.

               And the voices vary, coming closer until they meet the obstacles of the run-down shack, then fading into the distance. It’s the usual pace of the game, this cat-and-mouse that he plays. And there are two paths that weigh heavy on his mind; the probabilities that jump back and forth as the chasing intensifies. The way that he figures it, there is a certain calculated risk to what he is doing.

               One day, he could wake up slow; knees injured from the day before, legs unable to carry him…then, it would be all over. He could trip over an unforeseen obstacle; a new hurdle in the familiarity. At eleven years old, he was acutely aware of just how much was riding on him. He was fortunate…lucky that the people at the market weren’t cruel to him, lucky that they knew his mother. His slender frame let him run and duck and hide; his quick wit and ease of conversation had gotten him out of many a situation before; squabbles with merchants, arguments with the older village kids…

               All in all, Alexander Hamilton considers himself to be very, very lucky.

               Once he exits the abandoned house he climbs half-way up the sturdy palm (the third long branch is just about to break), shimmying along its rough and narrow surface before clinging to it with blistered, work-worn hands. With one long leg out, he can just barely reach the unhinged shingles of another rooftop. His toes curl in his shoes, his thighs burning from the extent of the stretch. He jumps, just in time to hear the clattering of metal on hard ground. The thugs are shouting now, watching as he clambers from rooftop to rooftop, ducking low and keeping himself covered as best he can. But although his heart is racing, this is the checkpoint where he can finally begin to let up on his pace a bit. He knows the complexity of the village below; the ins and outs it would take to even begin trying to keep up with him on foot below the rooftops. It’s this route, with its high climbs and dangerous stakes, that has sent him home free time and time again. So he sighs, successful once more, as his precious canvas bag bumps along his leg; a reminder of his victory.

               When he returns home he pushes back the cloth separating their doorway from the world, grinning wildly as he brushes the dirt from his torn clothing. He can hear his mother’s voice, sweet and demure, ringing out from their kitchen. He tips the canvas bag over onto the table, smiling with pride as his possessions spill out onto the wooden surface. His mother turns, crossing her arms over her chest.

               “Just look at you, you’re a mess.” Her warm eyes linger over his dirt-coated appearance. He kicks his shoes, split and worn, in embarrassment as his mother wets a finger, tracing it along his sand-caked cheek. “Mijo, my sweet brave boy, you need to stop putting yourself in danger like this.”

               “I’m not.” His mother does not scold, but her face has been traced with worry lines and sorrow from the year’s events; nobody had expected his father to leave them, and now that it’s just the two of them she worries often about her young son. Alexander watches as his mother thumbs through the contents of his rucksack; a small, ripe mango, a torn blanket of soft cloth, a loaf of hard bread…she smiles through warm eyes and cradles his face in her hands.

               “You know we can make do with what we have; we always find a way.”

               “You need your medicine.” There’s a small bottle hanging from a ragged piece of twine, kept safe underneath his shirt. A clear, chunky liquid sloshes around inside of it and eleven year old Alexander guides his mother to one of their low pillows, sitting her down before removing the necklace and handing her the vile. She sighs, looking him over; her scrawny, rooftop climbing boy. Her protector. He smiles back at her-tentative. His nerves are clear in his face, gaunt and determined through the near constant frown plastered on it. And his hands-his now blistered, bleeding hands-twitch with anxiety. He’s worked so hard.

               His mother chokes back the lump in her throat before sucking down the liquid, grimacing at the taste. But she smiles at Alexander, handing him the bottle before standing up again, moving to the basin of water in their kitchen.

               “How are you?”

               “-I’m feeling great, mijo. You’re doing a wonderful job going into town like that. I’m sure that we’ll be alright.” Her eyes are warm. She scrubs the dirt from his cheeks as she smiles at him, projects every ounce of herself onto him. And she radiates so much positivity, his mother, that he can’t help but believe her. He beams with pride, with warmth, and with love. “Now, we really should talk about cutting this hair of yours.”

…

               He wakes with the juxtaposition of serenity and sorrow; the dream-like feeling of damp cloth on sand-caked skin weighs heavy on him, as does the feeling of her love. Alexander wonders immediately what the purpose of a reminiscent dream like that might have been; lately, he’d been nothing but blissful. Is that what had brought on such a powerful memory? But then, why had he woken with such a knot of anxiety?

               He knew what happened in the story of his dream, how things had progressed. Surely, his mind wasn’t pretending to forget the moment his mother had died in his arms, how haunting it had been to sit in the scent of their sick. If he let himself trace the memory far enough Alexander could even feel her skin against his, the way it had gone cold so swiftly against his feverish body. But the moment of his dream had felt so real that none of it seemed to matter. It was almost as if his mother had been alive again, as if he had been back in the Caribbean. Before he had been ‘just call me Alex.’ Before the sound of his full name had become soothing again. Before he’d let Eliza, and only Eliza, say it. He liked the way it came from her lips, the way his ears translated it to a dream-like sigh; how she inflected the middle syllable, and always took great care in it.

               But maybe that was it; maybe there was some sort of connection from his dream to his reality. He sits up in bed, pulling a journal from his bedside table as he recounts every detail into it, pouring over it page after page. He wants to remember these feelings. And in some respect, on this morning, he wishes he could go back.

               The memory of his mother’s warm eyes and prideful smile brings him back to his youth; to feeling responsible, accepting the fate that had been bestowed upon him with his father’s absence. And as he breathes through the retelling of this dream, of the memory he’d been able to relive, his mother’s eyes warp between her own and Eliza’s. When he finally closes the journal he sits back in bed, allowing the plethora of emotions to swirl around him once more, a confusing cocktail that is nearly sickening. It’s too much at once, he decides, to linger on the past. It’s too hard.

               As he rises from bed and readies himself for the day, memories of his dream are replaced with thoughts about the night before, about Eliza. He recounts the night, guiding her through the downtown streets as she leaned up against him. He can nearly feel the urgency of her hands on his jacket as she had tried to come on to him…the shut-down when he’d told her no.

               He’d hated to tell her no; to make her upset. But her eyes had been clouded with mischief and incomplete judgment, her hands too quick and too weak to be interpreted as anything she’d been aware of doing on that night. So he’d taken care of her, instead. And she was quiet on their walk to the fry truck, shoulder laid heavy on his shoulder. She’d picked at the fries, too. Eliza hadn’t even picked her way through to all of the larger graham cracker pieces. Eliza always hogged the graham cracker pieces. And then he dropped her off at her dorm room, guiding her shoes from her feet before tucking her into bed. Eliza had looked up at him with eyes that were larger and darker and pooling with a sadness that was then easily readable. She hadn’t even tried to disguise whatever pain she was going through at that point, and it broke his heart. But then she’d fallen quickly asleep, so Alexander left some aspirin and some water on her bedside table, pressing his lips to her forehead and letting them linger there. She hummed happily in her sleep, as if she could feel his presence once more, before rolling back over.

               The moment plays on in his mind the entire morning.

               “Something’s upsetting Eliza.” He begins over the counter of the campus Starbucks, waiting on John to mix his cocktail of dark brew and espresso. His best friend nods, understanding, but does not look up from his work. Alexander knows that he’s listening by the slight hum of his voice, so he continues.

               “When we left last night, she was drunk…I’ve never seen her like that before. And when I think back on it she’d been drinking to get drunk all night-she never has as much as she did in such a short time.”

               “Maybe she’s stressed about student teaching.”

               “No, that’s not it. She likes the teacher now, understands her more. Last time we talked about that she seemed to be at peace with it. This is something bigger.”

               “Bigger how?” John spins around to hand Alex his coffee and stops upon seeing the look on his best friend’s face. His eyes are tired, dark circles engulfing his entire appearance. And he’s shrunken, leaning on the counter with worry-filled eyes. He hesitates, looking down at his cup as his hands play with the cardboard heat protector. He’s not sure how to proceed lightly, so he just continues.

               “Last night, when we first got outside…she was grabbing me, kissing me. She was all over me, but nothing about it felt right. She was so drunk, John. And I had to say no. There’s no way I would have forgiven myself if I’d let myself give in to her, if that had been our first time. I know that I love her, but,”

               “You were being respectful.”

               “I was. Because something was wrong, that’s not Eliza. And so I said no. And then something just clicks, and she’s sobbing. Hysterically. And she couldn’t compose herself, not for a long time. But when I asked she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. She wanted to, but I think she was so drunk and so upset that she couldn’t find the words. Or the composure. But this is something big, John. This is something that’s really bothering her. So what do I do?”

               “What do you mean?”

               “If she remembers last night-or if she doesn’t…how do I bring this up? This conversation…I know she wants it to happen, but I also know that it’s not something simple. I need to help her. I can’t let her hurt as much as she was last night. Seeing her like that…it killed me. I haven’t felt like that since…it’s been a while.”

               “You need to talk to her. If she’s not ready, it’s her decision. The possibility of an awkward conversation is nothing compared to how she must be feeling.”

               “You’re right. I’ll call her. Today, before she feels like that again. I don’t think I can stand to see her hurt again.”