#i wake up early because henry winter wakes up early

[light-lanterne]

This story is set in the universe of one of my main stories, The Darkest Eyes, which I post in AO3 and for which I’ll provide a link below this. You don't really need to read the story to understand this, but it could help understand some of the characterisation I've gone for. For context, this happens around a year before the start of the story, just a few months after they've defeated Vecna. The only information you need if you haven't read the main thing is that Mike was attacked and almost killed during the final battle. - - - - - - - - - - - ao3 || masterpost || support me on ko-fi!

As he looked up, Mike was greeted with the beautiful sight of the evening sky, the receding burnished gold ushering indigo and crimson hues across the firmament, its velvety surface broken only by fluffy clouds of wonders and dreams.

They moved a little. The clouds. Gusts of westerly wind kept stirring them delicately, shaping them into thin strands that closely resembled candy floss, or perhaps ivory foam atop the glistening ripples of the ocean. And he’d only been there once, to the sea, a family trip at the tender age of eight taking him across the country and into the cold waters of the East Coast in early spring, but he remembered the texture of the spume and he was willing to bet the cirrus above him felt just the same.

Fingers sinking into fuzz, disappearing amidst spectre-like froth that swirled around upon touch… He wished he could feel it.

For now, however, he’d have to make do with just observing from afar, back pressed against the grounding bark of an ancient cedar, worn-out sneakers surrounded by a tapestry of celandines breaking up the homogeneity of the meadow, their yellow petals fully unfurled to absorb even the last ray from the reckoning sun. A fresh breeze danced across the cedar’s leaves, their soft rustling accompanying the song of a nearby goldfinch as it prepared for the night, the cold raking its fingers over Mike’s skin.

His breath billowed, cheeks turning ruddy and nose pinching at the sensation of the zephyr, goosebumps covering his freckled arms as a shiver ran down his spine. He knew he should’ve worn a thicker sweater, or perhaps a coat over his current ensemble, but he’d insisted on the lightweight garments for he enjoyed the cold. The eidolon of winter, the ghost of its relentless bite… Bearable yet unpleasant, Mike had recently discovered his affinity for the numbing frost for it was a confirmation. Reassurance, even, that he was still alive.

That despite everything they’d gone through, everything they’d seen and been forced to do, they’d all made it through the end of the world.

And it was still rather fresh. A gaping wound that had not closed yet, blood oozing in a disorderly manner that no longer made any sense, waking terrors finding him in every dark corner, every shadow, every abandoned building and in the face of every neighbour he ever had. The pain in their faces… The loss they’d all been through… Everywhere he went, Mike found a reminder of the horrors that had destroyed their town and stolen away part of his soul and that of the ones he loved the most, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the searing fear that sometimes took over his brain.

It was agony, to know with certainty how everything had occurred and how it had all ended, yet still being unconvinced at the fact that they were now safe, unable to retreat to the blissful peace of his childhood memories because even those had been tarnished now. Corrupted. Rewritten to be a part of the nightmare, a maelstrom of broken thoughts being everything he had left in his mind.

Henry. Vecna. One. Whoever the monster had been, he’d really enjoyed messing with Mike’s head and it was still too soon for him to accept he no longer was shackled to the kismet the Devil had chosen for him.

It was… overwhelming, sometimes. Most times. Closing his eyes still produced abominable sights he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy, and today was one of the days when it was harder to focus on anything beyond keeping his breath steady and avoiding the inquisitive eyes of the population of Hawkins at large. As a former member of Hellfire —the coven they’d chosen to blame for the destruction of their quiet lives—, the town had turned their back on him and it was still hard to digest that he had somehow become a personification of everything they hated.

An omen of bad luck. Their reminder of what had happened.

As if he needed more stress in his life, his days had evolved into a continuous cycle of hostility that he wasn’t sure he could endure for too long, lingering dread and trauma already making it hard to get up in the mornings, the pain on the side of his neck and up his jaw being the only thing that could constantly convince him that he was genuinely not a corpse. A husk… a shell of who he’d once been, maybe. But still very much a living being.

He hated it, how peace seemed within reach yet always eluded him like a feather floating in the air, but there was nothing he could do to change his fate. There was no enemy to defeat this time; no battle to fight. Just endless days to get through, the promise of a beautiful sunset every day being the second main reason he even went through the meaningless static mess that time had become.

As for the first main reason…

Well, that one was even better than the scenery before him. Better than the dappled light that danced in the raindrops clinging to the surrounding grass, a result from an earlier squall. Better than the silvering gibbous moon that now reigned the sea of twinkling stars. Better than the daffodils and violets that tripped through the lawn, nearby hydrangeas filling the air with their sweet jasmine-like fragrance as a sweet robin chirped its “Goodnight” to the world.

By all definitions, Mike had found himself in a painting. A canvas full of colour, harmonious strokes creating the closest thing to Eden a human could aspire to see, the closest thing to a safe place Mike had come to know in the post-apocalypse world he now existed in.

And yet, the beauty he found himself surrounded with paled in comparison to that of his companion. To that of Mike’s best friend, partner in crime, beloved.

Will Byers.

The boy who’d survived; the boy who’d saved Mike in more ways than he could even imagine.

The boy he was irrefutably in love with.

It was still weird to think like that. To allow himself to think like that. But he was done denying the truth, and the truth was that he adored Will with all of his heart. That he wanted to spend the rest of his life alongside him, go to college together, live in a shitty flat on top of a rundown convenience store and watch marathons of all their favourite films every weekend. That he wanted to sing annoying tunes as they did homework or prepared dinner, take care of the other when he fell ill, and wake Will up when their alarm clock inevitably malfunctioned and they were running late.

Mike wanted to keep Will company on the days when he felt as though he was stuck in the Upside Down again, and relish on the calming sensation of Will drawing on his arms when it was his turn to be having a bad day.

Of course, it made sense in retrospect. It was a natural progression of their relationship, the only way things could’ve ever been, and now that he had come to terms with it, Mike was eager: eager to spend as much time with Will as he could, eager to explore the possibilities he hadn’t even allowed himself to dream of, eager to slowly expand their bond to new, exciting lands which filled Mike with happiness by merely thinking about them, and eager to meet his favourite person in a new, completely different light.

It was an exciting thought. One that was slowly turning into a genuine option because they weren’t in a romantic relationship, not yet, but it was undeniable that their friendship had slowly evolved beyond the realms of the platonic and, as nerve-wracking as it was to think about the likelihood of everything going awry, Mike was willing to give it a try.

After all, all of his insecurities, their shattered lives, Eldritch beings from hellish dimensions and Death itself had all conspired to keep them away from the other and yet, somehow, despite all odds, they had always found their way back to each other. Like gravity pushing them together, a quantum pattern from which neither of them could ever escape. Mike would forever be in Will’s life and the other way around, so why should they resist their shared craving of gifting each other more of themselves? More of their fractured souls and corroded beings?

It was only logical to give in to the desire, the rest of the world be damned. They deserved it after everything they’d gone through, after all the time they had lost and the innocence they would never recover.

And they’d agreed to go slow; heal from the aches of growing up in a world that hated them for what they were, fighting a different reality that hated them for who they were. They’d only started holding hands recently, were slowly re-learning to exchange a variety of hugs with different meanings —some far more intimate than others—, and it’d only been a few days since the first time Will kissed Mike’s cheek before going home. Threading carefully like deer in a field of flowers, they were taking every precaution to not destroy what they already had as they built something new, advancing at a leisurely pace that would’ve decidedly driven Mike nuts if he were younger and less experienced.

But right now, sitting in a field on the outskirts of town, watching the sun disappear beyond the horizon as the cicadas started up their eternal song, Mike thought things were going well.

He nudged his knee against Will’s, the rip of his jeans allowing for his bare skin to brush against the coarse denim of Will’s hand-me-down pants, touch gentle as to not disrupt the illustration his friend was making and Mike wasn’t an expert in many things, but he knew Will Byers well enough to understand that the frantic turning of pages and closing of the sketchbook was probably because Will was drawing him again.

Their eyes met. Mike smirked and rose an eyebrow, Will glared at him for a moment then shook his head and chuckled. A dusting of pink coated his face, embarrassment from being caught, but his expression was that of curiosity.

Looking up from between the curtains of soft hazelnut bangs, Will rose his eyebrows and pointed at Mike, tongue darting out for a moment to wet his chapped lips because he had a big problem with staying hydrated, always too busy reimagining world around him to remember to take proper care of himself. Mike wished he could scold Will for that, but he knew he’d only be setting himself up for he was the worse offender out of the two of them.

He still rolled his eyes, though. Quick and offhandedly as to not give ammunition to Will, yet visible enough to earn himself another brief glare. Mike didn’t pay it any mind and instead pointed towards the front of them, towards the hidden sun and the ebony dome that was now the sky. A silent question, an invitation to get going because Joyce was cool and always gave Will space, but she still got rather nervous about them being out in the middle of the night and it wasn’t the greatest idea to let her get antsy. Not so much because of her anxiety, for she now had Hopper to calm her down, but because she was supposed to make dinner tonight and she already struggled to make passable food on the good days, let alone when she was nervous.

Will seemed to read his mind, lips breaking into a grin that mirrored Mike’s own.

And many things had happened in the last few years. Mike’s life was no longer simple, his preoccupations far beyond anything anyone his age should think about, the scars on his face and body evidence of fights no one should’ve ever had to endure. Getting up from bed was a challenge every single morning, pain and fear entwining to form a debilitating cocktail that kept him on edge all day, his mind slowly turning into his own worst enemy as time went by. People in Hawkins hated him for associating himself with a dead man who hadn’t even done anything wrong, and his parents despised him for failing to become the person they’d wished he’d been from the moment he was born.

However, right then, at that moment, seeing the small gap between Will’s front teeth, the peachy tinge of his round cheeks, and the star-like glow in the kaleidoscope of green, brown and golden that were his eyes, Mike knew everything would be alright.

[studywurfavwasian]

i was overly excited today because i saw a colourised phrasikleia kore sculpture and that's how you know you're maybe a bit too into your degree

[allisonreader]

A Morning Walk

Jess wakes up from a nightmare and takes a walk to try and clear her head.

Next part in Tales Of A Frozen Sailor. @inklings-challenge

She jolted up in bed, panting heavily. Tears quietly leaking out as she squeezed her eyes tight.

She strained to hear if she had woken anyone with her nightmare. Her breath was still coming out ragged; but no one was crying, nor sounded like they were heading her way.

Thankfully.

There was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep after that. Not with the time it was.

Besides, she needed to move, get out of her room. Preferably without waking anyone. As it was still early for anyone else in the house yet.

Ruth probably wouldn’t need to be up for at least an hour yet. And she’d need that sleep.

Inside wasn’t really where she wanted to be anyway. Not at the moment.

She needed fresh air. To move freely and not be trapped within four walls.

She dressed quickly and warmly. It was winter and the slightest chill, would leave her freezing.

She carefully made her way downstairs and out the back way to start her walk.

She didn’t have anywhere in particular in mind and found herself following the low stone wall at the back of the garden. She’d have to go back eventually. But not yet.

Walls were not something that she wanted to be surrounded by at the moment still. The nightmare replaying of that night still fresh in her mind again. She was sure that her nightmare had come because John had mentioned that with all the activities around Christmas, he had had one himself the other night. Waking in a panic that she had been left behind and hadn’t made it off.

She couldn’t even claim that wasn’t true. It was, her being here shouldn’t be.

Though John had taken comfort from knowing that she was fine now. That he could talk to her now. It left her thinking about how she couldn’t forever remain with Ruth and John.

They were going to need the space the homestead provided as their kids grew. She’d need to find her own way in this time again. Maybe find a husband.

If she could learn to trust another man again.

Erik had felt like an exception. But then she hadn’t dared try to spend much time with other men than him. The only other male around her age she had spent much time with in Erik’s time was Jonathan. And Jonathan was family.

She had meant what she had said in her letter to Erik. She did miss him. Time separated them though and it was unlikely that even if her letter did make it to him, that she’d ever see him again.

At least that way he no longer had to handle her break downs and nightmares. He could go on and live his life. Without interruptions from her. She needed to stop thinking about him.

She should also start to turn back.

Ruth and John would either be awake now, or would be so soon. As long as she was living in their home, she would like to do as much as she could to help. Like starting breakfast for them.

The nightmare wasn’t so fresh now that she had been outside for a bit. A chill was starting to take over her a bit as well. A shiver went through her as she caught movement around the house as she came upon it.

It didn’t look like Ruth or John.

It was much too early for Henry to be over unless he had some kind of emergency. But it didn’t look like him either.

She picked up a rock, just in case.

Slowly she crept forward.

Dropping her rock in surprise when the man turned around.

“Erik?! What are you doing here?”

“Jess, hi. I got your letter- sorry if I startled you. I miscalculated and ended up arriving a bit sooner than I meant to. I hope I haven’t woken anyone up. I didn’t want to knock just in case- I was trying to see if anyone was awake.”

“I was already awake. Just out for a walk. If Ruth and John aren’t awake yet, they will be soon. You got my letter?”

“Yes.”

“I only took it to the post office yesterday.”

“I don’t think that matters with time travel.” He smiled at her. Leaving her dazed; he was actually here, when she had just been trying to convince herself that he wasn’t going to come.

“Come on in. I’ll start coffee and breakfast, if you would like to join us.”

“I would.”

She ushered him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table as she started the coffee and preparing food. Erik was watching her quietly, not wanting to speak too loud or much, in case it might disturb those from sleep prematurely.

Even once they heard some movement upstairs, they didn’t start a conversation. By the time John came downstairs, she was at the stove starting to cook the meal she was making. Making it easy for him to miss Erik at the table.

“Good morning Jess, thank-you for starting breakfast. The girls are still asleep, but Ruth should be down soon. She’s just feeding the little man. Hungry little fella this morning.”

She scoffed. “Isn’t he always hungry when he wakes?”

“Yes, but as his father, I love seeing him eat. A healthy appetite is good for a growing boy. He keeps this up and he’ll be chasing his sisters around before we know it.”

Erik let out a little chuckle at that, drawing her and John’s attention.

“How long have you been here?” John asked Erik in surprise.

“Just a bit before Jess put the coffee on. I hope you don’t mind if I stay a few days again? I hate to intrude without warning, but I don’t exactly have a way to say that I’m going to drop by."

"I don’t have an issue with it, but I’m afraid I won’t be here long. I have to head to work today. I don’t think you’re here to see Ruth or I anyway. You just want to meet the new baby." John winked at Erik, leaving him look startled before she turned back to what she was doing.

Master List

[freedom-of-writing]

The Stable Girl

Wayhaught AU: 

Waverly of the house Earp is a young princess supposed to marry the champion of the tournament organized by her father, the king, for her 21st birthday. Nicole is the new stable girl with big dreams of becoming a knight of the king's guard. What will happen when these two elements, minding their own business, finally connect? Will they become love?

Chapter 1 – Waverly’s birthday

Her 21st birthday was supposed to be the most magical day of her life. She’d been planning that day for years now. But unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. Actually, for her it seemed like they never went as planned. Her eldest sister Willa had gotten married 4 years prior, and she had moved to another castle with her husband, prince Robert Svane. Not that she missed her. Willa had always been a bully to her. As for her other big sister Wynonna, she was a knight of the king’s guard, their father’s army, and she’d been away for ten months now. She was probably still fighting some battle, or just getting really drunk in some tavern with the rest of the knights. She’d promised she’d be back for her birthday, but she must’ve forgotten. As always. And that was it. The only other people she talked to in the castle were her two handmaids, Stephanie and Chrissy. When they were younger, she used to consider them her friends, but with time she’d come to realize they only cared about gossip, beautiful dresses and boys. She was way too educated to settle for their company. What she really needed was someone with whom she could talk about literature and science, and do all kinds of things that were not necessarily girly.

When she was a kid, she and Wynonna used to hang out with the stable boys, or the king’s guard rookies. They would wrestle each other and spar with wooden swords, and in the hot season they would ride to a lake only a few miles away from the castle, and they would swim, and talk, and play around… She missed doing all those things. But mostly, she missed being allowed to hang with her sister and the boys. It’d been so long since she’d felt that carefree and happy. Seven years to be precise. On her 14th birthday her father told her she was no longer a kid, and it was time for her to start behaving like a proper lady. She’d never understood why Wynonna was allowed to be a tomboy, while she had to give it all up. But maybe it’s because their father simply viewed his middle daughter as a lost cause. Which might also be why he had given her an ultimatum: either she got married and started acting like a lady, or she trained to become a knight of the king’s guard. But Waverly, she wasn’t stubborn enough to go against her father’s will. And that led her to years spent following Willa around and mimicking her every move, while her sister basically treated her like her personal slave. Finally, when Willa got married, Waverly was left alone. Apart from some brief visits from Wynonna, she’d been alone for 4 years now. At first it had felt very lonely, but with time she got used to the peace and quiet, and most of all, to the company of a good book or some music. She would spend most of her days in the library, reading books, playing piano and singing. When her father wasn’t at home, she would go to the stables and spend hours with the horses, the dogs and Lady Jane, a ginger cat who seemed to dislike every human but her. But she would always make sure not to be alone with the stable boys. She could see the hungry looks on their faces whenever they saw her, and that made her extremely uncomfortable. Wynonna had warned her about that: “beware of the boy who’s turned into a man, for he wants a woman not a friend”. Sometimes her sister could be quite poetic. But she was right. Those who used to be her friends now scared her, and she did not want to be alone in their presence.

Anyways, back to her birthday. You’d think having to spend it all alone was the worst of it, but no. It gets even worse. Apparently, her father had decided 21 was the perfect age for her to become officially a lady. Someone’s lady, to be precise. Her dreams of travelling and exploring the world after coming of age were all shattered by the king’s wish to find her a husband. He would have never said it out loud, but Waverly knew her father couldn’t wait to get rid of her, as bad as it sounds. She never understood why he hated her so much. He was always so attentive when it came to Willa and Wynonna, but with her… sometimes she felt like he didn’t even remember he had a third daughter. Wynonna had always told her he only became so harsh when their mother left. But why punishing his six-year-old kid for a decision his wife had made? It was not her fault she chose to leave her family behind and start a new life somewhere else. If it were for Waverly, she would have gladly left with her mother. At least the queen had always been caring and loving with her. Everything her father had never been. He had never given a damn about what she wanted, nor had he ever bothered giving her a choice.

“You’ll be a grown woman soon. It’s time we find you a husband. You can’t live under your father’s roof forever.” He had told her a month before.

Not wasting any time, he had come up with the perfect plan to find a suitor for his daughter: in honor of the princess’s birthday, the king was to host a week-long tournament, and lords and princes from all over the realm were to come and fight for a chance to win her hand.

Waverly had lost count of how many men she had to welcome and greet in the past couple of days. And it wasn’t even over yet. The last of the party were to arrive that morning, so not even on her birthday was she allowed to have some time for herself and do something she liked. That’s why she had ordered her handmaids to come wake her up early that morning. Obedient as always, Chrissy and Stephanie had knocked on her door at 7 am, two hours before the first guests would be arriving to meet her. In just a little over an hour she was up and ready, which meant she had quite some time to spend on her own before meeting her father in the throne room. The two girls had tried to convince her to let them stay so they could celebrate her birthday together over breakfast, but she had a long day ahead of her, and she really needed some peace and quiet before it started.

When the two had left, she sat down by the window to look out at the garden. Opening it a little, she let the cool breeze run through her stray locks, and she took a deep breath in. She was wearing a huge silver gown with high-heeled shoes. And her hair was tied up behind her head with little lilac flowers in it. The fresh air and the peaceful atmosphere of the garden made her forget about how uncomfortable those clothes were, and for a moment she imagined being little carefree Waverly, running barefoot in the grass chasing butterflies and dreaming about flying up in the sky with them. Her mother would be sitting under a tree making her a flower crown, while Wynonna would be chasing squirrels up the trees like a little monkey. And Willa… well she would be inside with their father, learning how to rule a kingdom. As far as Waverly could remember, Willa had never played outside with them. Wynonna used to say her big sister loved playing with her when they were little, but she was the heir and their father wanted to be sure she knew how to rule the kingdom once he was gone. That’s why Willa had stopped being a kid quite early on.

It was almost the end of summer, and the trees were starting to look less green than before. A light shade of yellow tinted the leaves, and the grass was no longer covered in flowers. In just a few weeks most of the birds would be gone as well, flying away to look for a warmer place to spend the winter. Waverly remembered a conversation she had with her mother on her sixth birthday. The last they spent together.

“The garden is a magical place, my little one. The grass, the trees, the animals moving around… everything’s alive. And everything keeps changing. I could stare at it every day for the rest of my life and never get tired. If you look closely, there’s always something new to admire.”

“But in winter it gets kinda sad. The birds all leave, and the squirrels hide. It all looks kind of naked without leaves and flowers.”

“Life’s a circle, baby girl. The old die so the new can thrive. But there’s beauty even in the silence of a sleeping garden.”

“I miss you, mama.” Waverly whispered at the wind as a tear fell down her cheek.

The king had told everyone the queen had died of a sudden illness, but the three princesses knew she had just left because she couldn’t take that life any longer. Wherever she was, Waverly imagined her sitting in the grass with her eyes closed as she listened to what nature had to say around her. And she was happy. At peace.

Speaking of, her own peace was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was time. Two of his father’s guards had come to escort her to the throne room, where the king was already waiting for her. With a heavy sigh, Waverly got up and closed the window, taking one last deep breath in. Then she turned and followed the guards outside.

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“Father.” She greeted with a slight bow when she reached the throne.

Her father barely bowed his head in return before motioning for her to take her seat by his right side. Once she was seated, she noticed lord John Henry Holliday, the king’s hand, had also taken his place on the other side of the throne. Doc, as he liked to be called, was a middle-aged man, with black hair and a thick black mustache. His beautiful blue eyes met hers briefly and he smiled warmly at her. She had never spent much time with him, but the man had always been really nice and sweet with her.

“Happy birthday, princess.” He mouthed at her.

“Thank you.” She mouthed back with a bright smile.

It was in that moment that she realized her father had not even bothered wishing her a happy birthday when she entered the room. But he probably didn’t even remember it was today. He had never really been aware of her birthday. If it weren’t for Doc, she was sure, he wouldn’t have even remembered she was turning 21 that year.

The noise of heavy footsteps approaching the room brought her back to reality. The captain of the guards, who had been charged to escort each guest to the throne room, entered the room and announced the first lord.

“Welcome to Purgatory, lord Lance” Doc greeted him once the man was standing in front of the throne.

Lord Lance nodded briefly at him, before bowing to the king. “Your majesty.” Then, turning towards Waverly, he bowed slightly to her as well. “Princess.”

“If you will, please, follow the guards, they’ll show you to your room. You can rest and get changed. The king and the princess will see you at lunch.” Doc told him.

“Thank you, lord Holliday.” He nodded again, and then he turned to follow the guards out of the room.

“These Lance… are they rich?” The king asked once the man had left.

“Very rich, your majesty.”

“Good. He seems nice too.”

“He could be father…” Waverly whispered making sure her father wouldn’t hear her.

If she really had no choice but to get married, couldn’t she at least marry a man her age? She thought to herself with a heavy sigh. This birthday was slowly turning into her worst nightmare. She could almost feel tears forming in her eyes, but she could not cry right now. The morning had just begun, she had to keep it together. With a deep breath, she pushed back the tears, and she put on a smile as the next guest was admitted into the room.

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The morning had seemed to last forever. The last of the guests arrived when everyone was ready to go to lunch, and the king refused to meet him. Doc had tried to convince Waverly to go with the king, but she refused. She hated this whole meeting and greeting the guests, but these men had come from all over the realm just for her, and the least she could do was welcoming them into her home as a princess should do. Obviously, her gesture did not go unnoticed, and the lord made sure she knew how grateful he was for her patience. He was an old man, almost completely bold, but at least he’d proved to be very polite, offering Waverly his arm as they walked to the dining room.

After an hour, Waverly was getting a terrific headache, and she just couldn’t take the noise anymore. Being the only woman in a room full of men was bad enough, but being the only woman in a room full of screaming drunk men was too much.

“Father, I’m not feeling well, I think I might retreat to the library for a while.” She tried to tell him, but the king was too drunk to process what she’d just said.

Luckily, Doc heard her and granted her permission to go. “We’ll see you at four. Have some rest, princess.”

She smiled gratefully at him, and then she turned towards the guests excusing herself. Once she was out, she ran down the hallway and out into the garden. As the fresh air filled her lungs, she felt her head beginning to pound less and less. She was free, at least for an hour or so. After a moment of reflection, she decided that going for a walk in the garden would be much better than closing herself in the library. The cool breeze would surely make her headache to go away. She just hoped no one went looking for her inside, or she would be in great trouble.

She’d been walking for forty minutes when she found herself in front of the stables. It had been a while since the last time she went in. In the past year the king had barely ever left the castle to go haunting with his lords. Taking a look around to make sure nobody could see her, she decided to go in. She was immediately greeted by lady Jane who came running towards her.

“Hey, little one. Did you miss me? Yeah?” She said as she leaned down to pet her, and the cat happily purred in response.

She stayed like that for a while, but suddenly the cat took off looking for a place to hide.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Waverly asked as she got up to see where she had gone.

“I didn’t know princesses were allowed in the stables.” A voice said from behind, startling her.

“God!” Waverly exclaimed with a little jump. “You scared me...” She said turning around to face the other person.

In front of her was a beautiful tall young woman with long red hair and big brown eyes, which seemed like they could stare right into her soul. She was wearing a pair of khakis and a sleeveless brown leather jacket over a creme shirt. She must have been a new servant or something, because Waverly couldn’t recall having seen her before. And it’s not like there were many ginger heads around there.

“Are you okay?” The redhead asked with a chuckle.

Waverly couldn’t help but stare at her. The woman was giving her the most beautiful smile Waverly had ever seen. And the dimples on the side of her mouth made her look even cuter.

“Yeah, I’m… I just had a crazy morning.” She managed to answer after a moment.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to see it.” The woman said with a smirk.

Was she… was this woman flirting with her? Waverly couldn’t help but blush a little at her cheeky behavior.

“I’ve been… I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught. The new stable girl.” The redhead said trying to break the awkward silence. Offering her hand for the princess to take, she continued. “And you are… Waverly Earp. Quite a popular girl around here.” She smiled before kissing the back of Waverly’s hand, making the princess blush in the process.

In her life, she had been greeted like that from gentlemen a thousand times, but no one had ever made her feel butterflies in her stomach. Waverly felt so shy and small as Nicole’s soft lips grazed her skin.

“So… why is a princess like you hiding from her perfect life?” Nicole asked letting go of Waverly’s hand.  

“I’m not hiding!” Waverly answered harshly, catching Nicole off guard. “I’m sorry… I’m not usually like this.” She apologized when she noticed the shocked look on the redhead’s face.

“Hey… I get it. No one’s life is perfect.” She reassured her with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, mine’s feeling more like hell than a perfect life lately…” Waverly said more to herself than to Nicole, but the stable girl still heard her loud and clear and gave her a questioning look.

“I’ve spent the past couple of days smiling and waving at lords and princes who came here for the tournament. My father wants me to marry the champion.” She explained with a sigh.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve spent all morning cleaning your stables. Looks like my morning was shittier than yours. Both literally and figuratively.” Nicole joked hoping to lighten Waverly’s mood.  

“Might be hard to believe, but… I kinda envy you.”

“Oh, c’mon, how bad can it be? You get to marry a rich prince, or some brave knight…”

“Most of the men I’ve greeted are like forty years old! And what if I just don’t wanna get married?!” Waverly exclaimed in an exasperated tone.

Couldn’t everyone just leave her be for one freaking minute, and let her choose whether she wanted to get married or not?! All her life, she’d had to be what others expected her to be, but no one ever bothered asking what it was that she really wanted. Willa got to marry a rich prince, yeah, but he was also the man she’d been in love with ever since they were kids. And even Wynonna was given a choice. Okay, it was more of an ultimatum, but still… she wasn’t forced to marry a man twice her age. But what about her? Her father had never given her a chance to find her place in this world. All these years spent trying to be the perfect little girl her family wanted her to be, hoping to enter her father’s graces, and nothing had changed.

“What do you want?” Waverly was taken aback by that question. Nicole was the first person who’d ever asked her that.

“I… I don’t know.” She realized in that moment that she’d never really thought about that question, so used to tailor herself to the people she was with.

“Well, what do you like? There’s gotta be something that’s just… yours. A dream, a wish, a passion…”

“I… I’ve always wanted to see the world, and visit the places I’ve read about in my books. And… and I wanna drink beer at the tavern with my friends, or… hold a sword, a real sword. I wanna travel around with the king’s guard and fight in battles like my sister does. Why does she get to be a hero, while I get to be just…” She trailed off.

“Just what?”

“Me.” Waverly concluded in a sad tone.

“Hey… look, you as you are, are okay. You don’t have to be a hero to be special.” Nicole tried to comfort her by grabbing her hand and giving it a light squeeze.

Waverly looked down at their joined hands for a moment, and then she looked up only to be met by the brightest and warmest smile ever. Nicole was looking at her with so much love and compassion that she felt like she could get lost in those big brown eyes of hers.

“You’re special, baby girl. Don’t ever forget that.”

So far, mama had been the only one to ever call her that.

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, until it became too much. Retracting her hand from Nicole’s, Waverly tried to break the awkward silence. “So, hum… what about you? What do you want?” Waverly asked while sitting down on a trunk nearby.

“Me? I’m just a stable girl…”

“And don’t stable girls have dreams too?”

“I should probably get back to work now. Those horses won’t brush themselves.” Nicole said, clearly avoiding the question.

“You know, when I was a little kid I used to come here every day and would spend hours with my horse. But when I turned 14, my father forbade me to come to come to stables. I could still ride my horse if I we had to go somewhere, but he said I wasn’t a kid anymore, and ladies can’t get covered in mud and dust. The only times I can come to the stables are when he’s not at home.”

“So why are you here?”

“I needed a break. And he thinks I’m in the library.”

“I see…” Nicole said, then she got an idea. “Hey, do you wanna help out?”

“Oh, I’d love to! Like… like to. But I can’t.” She tried to correct herself.

What the hell, girl? Get your shit together! She mentally scolded herself. You see one hot girl, and suddenly your brain can’t work anymore? OMG, did she just think Nicole was hot?

She took a deep breath in order to gain some control again, and then she continued explaining. “If I get dirt on my gown, my father’s gonna kill me.”

“I got some spare clothes if you want… you could just get changed.” Nicole offered with a smile. Or was it a smirk?

“It’s not that simple, it took me like 40 minutes to get into this gown.”

“40 minutes, huh? I bet I could get you out of it faster…” Nicole said to herself, but it was still loud enough for Waverly to hear it.

“What?”

“Help. I bet I could help you out of it faster. If… if you wanted to get changed.” She tried to correct herself.

Damn it, Haught! Couldn’t you keep the comment to yourself? This time it was Nicole’s turn to mentally scold herself.

“Right. Hum…” Waverly didn’t really know where to go from there. She had never actually flirted with someone before. Let alone with a woman. She needed an excuse to leave, fast. She couldn’t do this right now. “I… I’d better go back now. Before my father finds out I’m not actually in the library.”

“Sure, yeah. Then maybe some other time.” Nicole smiled at her. “I mean it.” She added with a hint of a smirk.

Waverly smiled briefly at her, and then she turned to leave before the other woman could notice just how bad she was blushing.

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

Chapter 2 - The night shift

[demivampirew]

Dry-leaves

(photos taken from Pinterest. Credits to the owners//collage made by me)

Henry x 1st person reader one shot.

A/N: First of all, I want to thank the people who showed me a lot of love in the post that I explained who I felt these last few days about writing (and in general). I decided to push through the negative thoughts and write. I used the mood I was in to write this one shot. Even thought this character is fictional, there are plenty of things for my personal experience I used for her background. I tried to make it a feel good story, but the issues reader thinks about are pretty real.

Triggers: depression; family drama;  stress (college, job, family)

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Tag list: @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @mary-ann84 @desperate-and-broken @peakygroupie @summersong69 @ivvitm1109 @madbaddic7ed @iloveyouyen @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @whyyoudothistomecavill @thetaoofzoe​ @thereisa8ella​  @darkbooksarwin

The sound of the dry-leaves crunching as I step over them made me tingle and relax. I've been so stressed lately that I often forget to appreciate the beauty of the simple things like this.

If I have to be honest, I never truly value the little pleasures nature gift us: the Orage-ish leaves falling from the trees covering the floor and grass on Autumn; the cosiness of watching a movie while covering yourself with a blanket in the cold winter. The display of beautiful and vibrant colours of the blooming flowers in the spring, which release an often delicious and refreshing scent and,  the longer days in the summer filled with sunshine.

When I was younger, my parents set this expectation that the only way to succeed in life was to get a degree in college and find a well-paid job; so, as I grew up I became more and more obsessed with the idea of achieving this goal, that I completely ignored important things in life: my happiness being the main one. Unconsciously, I convinced myself that all I wanted in life was to get a degree, I thought that was my ultimate destiny. It was only the moment when I felt as if I was drowning when I realized that the only reason I was working hard on graduating from college was to make my parents happy, or to be more specific, not to disappoint them.

In life, there always that point when you're doing something you don't want to do, even if you pressured yourself to believe that it is, and you finally realized that that's not for you. My moment came last year when I was in a job that made me extremely unhappy and to top that, I was -for the third time in my life- in college trying hard to keep up with it and don't give up like the times before. I worked almost every day and with all I had to study for classes, I didn't have the time to do the simple things in life that I adore: watching my favourite shows and movies, listen to music I like, read books or see my friends. I achieve a level of unhappiness, that I would go to sleep every night wishing never to wake up again. I was done with my job, college and life.

Thankfully, there was a part of me that still believed in the possibility of a happy future and that's what gave me the energy to rescue myself from that dark hole. I started therapy, sought for a new job and decided to quit college - at least for now, maybe someday, when things are different and I have more time or maybe when I'm older I'll give it another try if I want to. But, the most important thing is that for the first time I would do what I wish; I'll work hard on building the life I want for me and not what others, my parents, for example, want for me. I might not be in my early twenties anymore, I might be at the age in which society expects you to have your life figured out and just starting to work on the future I want, but it's ok. It's ok just to walk through the park, enjoying watching the wind carry the falling tree-leaves and the little bear play with them, rolling over them and barking at the kids playing as if he was asking permission to join them.

"Here's your hot chocolate, babe," Henry said, handing me a Starbucks coffee cup full of a steamy milky infusion. He chuckled as he saw Kal play with two boys and a girl -the boys around ten and the girl must have been around five or six years old.

I met him a year ago at this same park. He saw me sitting on a bench, crying while I looked at my phone. The reason behind my tears was that I received a message from my mum telling me how disappointed she was for my decision of quitting college - it wasn't like me that was not the exact answer I expected from her, but still hurt to see her words. Henry asked me what was wrong and then sat next to me and had a long chat about life and how he dealt with the negative opinions others had of him. That day I thanked him and walked away, thinking that I'll never see him again. As it turns out, he walked his furry best mate in that park every single chance he got. Me on the other hand, I would go every now and then to that place because I found it hauntingly beautiful and peaceful. It's in a fancy neighbourhood and a bit far for the place I live, but it filled me with good energy so I didn't mind having to travel for an hour or so to get there to be able to enjoy its beauty.

The second time we saw each other was almost a month after that afternoon. I immediately recognized that unique creature that was the Akita and sought for his human with my eyes. And there he was, sitting alone on the same bench we met, watching his dog with an enormous smile on his face. I went into the Starbucks nearby and bought a coffee for him and a latte for me. Thankfully he was still there went I came back from the coffee-shop. Giving the fact that we spent an entire afternoon talking, I was sure he would remember me, but I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he remembered my name as well. We chat for hours again, only this time the topics were more cheerful. That time he was the one who left first, but not without asking for my number first. For the following weeks, there wasn't a day we would not text each other, talking about absolutely everything: from games, books and movies, to family, friends, and ambitions in life. After a few weeks, he finally asked me out - I was dying for him to do that, but I wasn't exactly expecting him to do so, after all, he was a breath-taking gorgeous and very famous man and me, just a simple girl in her late twenties trying to figure out what I wanted to do with life and "breath-taking" isn't exactly an adjective that could be used to describe myself, simple and pretty enough could be more accurate - I might not be ugly, but for sure I'm not a femme fatale.

Living with my parents as I got closer to be thirty wasn't exactly an issue for my age, but rather because I decided to quit college. If I ever wanted to get better, I needed to live in another place, which is extremely difficult when you don't have a big salary. I earned enough money for expenses and other things but I could not afford to rent a flat. Henry offered to help me but I refused at first, until I couldn't stand to be in the house I lived anymore. It was then when I decided to accept his alternative proposal: to move in with him. This option was better than the other 1) because it wouldn't cost him any extra money and 2) we would be able to spend more time together.

"Thanks, baby, " I replied after grabbing the hot chocolate and took a couple of sips. My right arm grabbed his left one and we walked around the park, always keeping an eye on Kal as the bear played with those kids.

I'm happy to know that it's ok to not have things figured out. It's ok to take your time to enjoy the simple things in life. And when someone gives you a hand and tries to help you when you need it the most, you're not less independent, weak for accepting it.

[wendimydarling]

The First Time

Title: The First Time

Summary: A collection of Henry’s firsts.

Pairing: Henry x First Person Reader

Word Count: 2549

Warnings: 18+, some sex, potentially NSFW

A/N: Was flexing my creative and descriptive writing today, and had all the sentimental feels today. Hope you like it.

Tags: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​ @fucking-hell-cavill​

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

Never in my life had I thought that a business trip would lead me to the most significant moment of my life.

There was beauty in the park, surrounded by the city. Kensington Gardens was similar to Central Park that way. I made certain that when my company booked this trip I would be staying near enough to go for a run in the morning, and this particular morning was absolutely stunning. The sun was just barely cresting through the tops of the trees, its burning rays penetrating into the mist as if to say, “it’s my turn now.” The music in my headphones changed to a song I didn’t care for in the moment, so I looked down at my watch to change it. Before I could switch the song, I crashed into someone very large and solid, the impact knocking me straight to the ground, flat on my back. 

The situation struck me funny, and I began to laugh, hard. Squeezing my eyes closed, I shook with mirth and dropped my headphones from my ears to around my neck, the upbeat tempo no longer drowning out the incessant apologies tumbling from the man’s mouth. Strong hands grabbed my arms and helped me stand, as the man continued apologizing. I focused on his voice.

“... my god, are you okay? I was muckin’ about with my phone and I wasn’t watching where I was going, I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”

I recognize his voice, I thought, still smiling as I brushed off my backside. Looking up at the stranger, I realized why. Oh my god.

“Henry.”

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

The night air had a slight chill in it, leftover from the long, brutal winter. The trees showed the promise of life, as their buds had begun the arduous task of breaking through the tough outer shell of their branches. We ambled down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, drinking up the sights and sounds of twilight. I’d asked him to show me around the mews homes district, and seeing as though he lived in the area, he knew the place well. The street lamps came on as we perused the streets, and he showed me some of his favorite houses. I went to cross the street but he caught my hand, pulling me close to his chest as a car barrelled too near us around a corner.

“Does that happen often?” I asked him, breathing hard.

“You get used to it I guess,” he grinned.

I expected him to let go and he did, mostly. He kept my hand in his as we continued the tour. I didn’t really hear what he said next, as my heart was pounding in my ears, focused solely on the way his hand felt around mine. It was big and the insides of his knuckles were calloused, but he’d laced our fingers together and the pads of his fingertips were soft. Strength radiated from his palm, and a sudden wave of overwhelming security washed over me. I felt safe with him, and not just in the sense that I could trust him, but that if anyone were to attempt to hurt me he could rip them apart with his bare hands. The thought was comforting.

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

We neared the small bed and breakfast I was staying at. It was late, and yet our pace had slowed from ambling to a crawl. Neither of us wanted the night to be over, as much as we knew it was. As we came upon the inn, I swung my purse around to fish my keys out of the abyss of it’s center-most pocket.

“Wait.” Henry said. He pulled me into a small alley next to the building and I looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to say goodnight in private.”

Henry looked down at me, pushing a lock of hair that had fallen in front of my eye out of the way. His eyes weren’t looking at mine, they were resting squarely on my lips. My heart pounded. All of the air left my lungs in a hurry. I tilted my head, wordlessly granting him permission, and he began his descent, dropping his head down painfully slowly. At the first brush of his lips my nerves lit on fire, feeling every slight movement of his mouth through mine. My hands trembled as I raised them to caress his jaw, pulling him in closer, deeper. Uninhibited, he slipped his tongue along the outer rim of my lips. His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding my head gently, yet firmly, so that he could taste every part of my mouth. 

We finally broke away from each other, panting. Henry rested his forehead on mine, staring into my eyes with a wistful look that I didn’t quite understand.

“When does your flight leave?” he whispered.

Never. 

“Tomorrow morning, early.”

“So I won’t get the chance to see you again I suppose.”

You can stay the night with me.

“No, I suppose you’re right, this is goodbye.”

Henry closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling softly.

“Is it crazy that I only just met you, and yet I feel like my heart is breaking at the thought of you leaving?”

I stroked his cheek with my thumb, wishing with all my heart that I could come up with the words to express just how much I felt exactly the same way.

“It’s not crazy at all, Henry.”

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

Four months. It had been four, long agonizing months of nothing but text messages and video chats since that night in England. Henry referred to me as his girlfriend to others, and yet nearly the entirety of our relationship had been technological. Though we’d done some dirty talk, the wonderfully physical aspect of a new relationship just wasn’t there, and I missed him terribly. I wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him pressed against me. I wanted to make love to him, I wanted to fuck him into the wall. I wanted to wake up in the morning and see him lying there next to me, I wanted to be able to reach out and hold his hand if I wanted. I wanted to smell him again, wrapped in a bear hug at the end of a long day. I wanted his presence. I wanted him. 

He was coming to the states. To my house, in the states. I only had him for forty-eight hours, but it was enough. I heard the car door shut outside my house and bolted outside, throwing my arms around his shoulders as he picked me up and walked into the house.

“So this is my house,” I breathed, barely taking the time to talk instead of kiss. 

“You can give me a tour later,” Henry mumbled around my lips, “For now, the bedroom will do.”

Okay.

I pointed behind me, murdering his face with my mouth. I didn’t care how sloppy I was being; it had been too long. Henry didn’t seem to mind either. He found the bed and dropped me on it, pulling his shirt over his head. I stared at him as he did; I know it sounds cliche, but he really was even more beautiful in person. He grinned and tugged at my clothes, bringing me back to the moment. I stripped as fast as he did and he was on my body in a flash, his hands snaking instantly between my legs and into my center.

“This isn’t going to be long, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you later,” he apologized.

“That’s okay, I don’t take much,” I breathed, gasping as his fingers worked their magic. He discovered quickly that I was right, I was over the edge in moments, writhing beneath him. Henry stared at me in awe as he brought me through my orgasm, relishing the sounds I made and the way my face scrunched up in pleasure. As the wave subsided he kissed my neck, nibbling up to my earlobe.

“Condom?”

“I’m on the pill and I’m clean, go for it.”

Go for it he did. He slid his large, heavy girth seamlessly into my core and stilled, much to my wanton chagrin.

“Oh my god, Henry, I’m not that fragile, would you fucking move?” 

With his eyebrow raised, Henry quickly established a punishing rhythm. I couldn’t get enough of him. My hands were everywhere, squeezing his thighs, his biceps, his chest. I pulled his mouth to mine, kissing him as if he was going off to war. I let him use me completely, chasing his release as he thrust into me with reckless abandon. The air grew thick and the only sounds to be heard was that of skin slapping skin, ragged breaths and weighted sighs as need overtook everything else important. Because it wasn’t important. This… this was what mattered. Him, and me, together. 

Finally. 

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

I had gotten in the shower, followed closely by Henry. We were talking about something while washing our bodies, and I felt a long hair tangled in the crevasse of my thighs. I pulled it out and both of us looked at it incredulously as I stuck it to the wall. 

“That’s quite a magic trick,” Henry quipped, smirking.

“I know, right? I should go to Vegas,” I joked, “I’d have my very own side show. ‘Come one, come all; come and see the girl who can pull the hairs from the top of her head, through her body and out of her vagina!’” 

Henry put his hand on his chest and laughed, deep, throaty, and beautiful. I laughed with him, enjoying his reaction. It took a lot to make the man laugh, but somehow I was able to do it all the time. I relished that fact. I closed my eyes and rinsed my hair as Henry wiped his face on the towel, removing the last traces of mirth from his eyes.

“God, I love you.”

My eyes shot open.

“What?”

Henry looked at me, bashful. He clearly hadn’t meant to share that thought out loud just yet. It was out though, so he squared his shoulders and looked at me, a soft warmth over taking his features.

“I love you.”

I love you too!

“I’m… I’m not quite ready to say it. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine, love. It doesn’t change how I feel. Come here.”

Henry pulled me close, lifting  me up as he often did so that my head was at his height. He kissed me deliberately, trying to show me with his lips the truth he spoke with his words. I kissed him in return, hoping that he would know that I was almost where he was. Almost.

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

“You don’t get to walk away from me when we’re fighting, that’s not how this works.”

“We’re going circles, and you are too upset right now to see anything but your side, so that’s exactly how this works.”

“I thought you’d like the surprise!”

I sighed, whirling on him in anger.

“Of course I like the surprise, I love the surprise. But you can’t just book a flight for me and expect me to be happy about it, Henry, that’s not how this works! I have a job, and a limited amount of vacation time, and I can’t just drop everything and leave if I want to. You don’t get to make those decisions for me, especially if we’ve already agreed to something else!”

Henry blanched at my words.

“I wasn’t trying to make a decision for you. I wanted to see you.”

“Then come and see me, babe, but we make decisions together. We already agreed that I wasn’t going to Durrell, you can’t just decide that I am and then expect me to go along with it. I have friends, and commitments, and I can’t back out of them just because you bought me a plane ticket.”

Henry stared at me, hurt, his eyes boring into me as if he could will me to see things his way. I softened my gaze, stepping over to him and placing my hand on his arm.

“Look, I spent years in a relationship where I didn’t get to make choices for myself. I wasn’t allowed to do things, or say no to things, and I don’t like when decisions are made for me. If you had really wanted me there that badly, then you should have talked to me about it. You and I are a team; I want us to make big decisions together.”

This knowledge broke the tension; Henry’s anger abated at once. 

“You’re right, I should have come to you. I just hate to seem like a clingy sap is all; I miss you like crazy.”

I pushed the curl on his forehead that had shaken loose in his fury back into his well-tamed mop, cupping his cheek in my hand.

“You know I miss you too, right? That I’m absolutely crazy about you, and wish more than anything that I could come see you whenever I want. We’re just not there yet, and that’s okay. But I can see us being there at some point.”

“You can?”

Oh my heart. When is he going to realize just how valuable he is?

“Of course I can, Henry. I love you.”

The smile on Henry’s face at my admission couldn’t have been bigger if he’d tried. He scooped me up, wrapping his arms around me in the tightest embrace he could manage. I held him close, running my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as the weight of my words sank in. I did love him. I love everything about him. I love his drive, his compassion, his love for his job. I love his ability to care, and to make you feel like when you spoke, you were the only person in the room. I love the goofy way he plays with others, the way he can crack a joke at the most inopportune moment. I love his hair in the morning, wild and untamed. I love how hard he works. And I love the way he loves me, caring for me and making me feel more alive and cherished than I’d ever felt in my lifetime. Yes, I love him.

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

We were standing on the rocks in Jersey, dressed to the nines. Twilight had just taken over the bay, and a balmy breeze blew in, gently covering my arms with goosebumps. Everything in sight was the perfect shade of beautiful, but the world around us had completely faded; it was just me and Henry. He had swept me into a deep kiss, dipping me low as his mouth claimed mine. 

I hope I never forget this.

I could hear our closest family and friends whooping and hollering, but the only thing I cared about was him. Time stood still as we sunk into this moment, searing it’s memory into our brains, into our hearts, into our flesh. He was mine, and I was his. We surfaced for air, grinning stupidly at each other, and turned to face the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you for the first time, Mr., and Mrs., Henry Cavill!”

[notagamersdey]

The Dream

Painting by: Henri Rousseau

Photo (2021) and Story By Tyler D. Ortiz

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k~

Warnings: bad language, panic attacks

A/N: So this story is inspired by the Pedro Pascal episode of the podcast Talk Art (31:14-34:15). Go check that out if you want to hear some fun stories by the hosts and pp.

Summary: Matias, after losing his chance to act in a popular TV show, is taken to the Museum of Modern Art by his sister where he realizes he has nothing to lose.

~~~

Today, I’m supposed to meet my sister Lyanna here at East Village Pizza. She said it was a special treat for getting my first “big” role on Law & Order. When I told her the news, she had jumped up for joy, squealing my ear off. It wasn’t a big deal, just another job for the bills, but she was adamant that this job was a life changer. She’s says that about every job.

I came to the pizza parlor early, grabbing my favorite seat in front of the window. We normally sat here when we came because it gave us the perfect view of cold, angry New Yorkers. I had ordered our pizza, waiting for her to arrive when my phone starts to buzz.

I open it up and put it against my ear, holding it with my shoulder, “This is Matias.”

“Matias, I'm sorry to tell you…” Fuck, “…but we’ve decided to go in a different direction...” It’s the fucking casting director, droning on, saying those same fucking words, “You have wonderful talent.,” “You didn’t fit the director's vision.,” etcetera. Etcetera. ETCETERA. It's all movie-talk for “You weren't good enough.”

Grabbing the scruff behind my neck, I slammed my phone shut and stuffing it into my jacket pocket. What the hell was I going to do now? Three hundred bucks – gone in an instant.

“Here’s your order, Sir,” A waiter places the small pizza in front of me, and you know, today was one of the rare days I was able to scrounge enough money to afford the luxury of a decent slice of pizza, and now I can’t even enjoy it.

“God dammit,” It’s moments like these when memories of my father came hit me like a freight train. He used to berate me about goals and aspirations, telling me, “It’s never going to happen, Matias,” and “It’s not a job. You won’t get anywhere with that.” In high school, I used to constantly fight with him, telling him my dreams were achievable. That I would succeed as an actor. He would laugh in my face; tell me they were unobtainable. I mean... Maybe he was right.

Now, I’m living in one of the most expensive cities with over 300,000 dollars in debt, 40 bucks to my name, and a dead-beat waiter job at Planet Hollywood that barely pays for food let alone the bills. I have no back-up plan, no emergency fund. I just had my bachelor's degree in acting, which won't pay for shit.

I shake my head. My neck and back start to ache, an oncoming migraine sitting on my temples.

Matias, the fuck do you want to do that for?

Matias, you’re not good enough.

Matias, you will always be alone.

I stand to leave, throwing the untouched pizza in the trash on my way out the door. The cold winter air bites at my nose when I step outside. I pull my scarf up closer to my neck and make my way down East 9th Street.

Leaving the restaurant doesn’t help. Hopelessness rushes over me like a tsunami. The texture of the wool sweater underneath my jacket scratched annoyingly at the exposed skin on my wrists. It’s a cold wintery day but I feel incredibly hot underneath the layers. A nervous sweat builds underneath my beanie. Everyone’s staring, I know it. They know I've failed yet again. They know I’m just a naïve child.

His voice repeats in my head like a tornado siren, yelling, screaming at me, “You will not survive.”

You will not make an income.

You will not have healthcare.

You are setting yourself up for failure.

…You will die- My phone starts to buzz again. I really want to fucking ignore it but if it’s Lyanna, she’d have every cop in the city on my ass within the hour.

“Hey.” I cough, trying to clear my throat. Act normal.

“Mat! I’m sorry I’m late, I’m-” She sounds like she’s running.

“Actually, Sis, I left…” I stop in the middle of the pavement, getting shoved and cursed at by the impetuous crowd around me.

“What? Why?” Her concerned voice seeps through the phone. Suddenly, heat shoots up my back. She’s going to be upset.

I move off to the side, leaning up against a wall of graffiti, “I didn’t get the job after all.”

I hear her let out a breath, “Different direction?” She asks, knowingly.

I nod, “Yea... said I could act the part, but I didn’t fit the type of Latino they were going for... whatever the hell that means.” I spit out, bitterly.

“Means they’re bigoted.” I can hear the annoyed twinge in her voice.

“Yea... probably...” Lyanna stays quiet. “Hey... So, I’m not really up for doing anything... Can we just go home?”

“Umm...” She hums, clicking her tongue, “No.”

“Lyanna...” Please.

“No, no, I’m serious, I know you. Once you get home you're going to sulk in your room for days. Let's bypass the self-pity and go have fun. Take your mind off it.”

I’m silent for a moment, feeling my anxiety subside as I focus on her words, “What do I get if your wrong?”

“A fresh slice of cheese pizza to replace the one you probably threw away...” She laughs, “Now, how ‘bout MoMA?”

“Sure… MoMA sounds good.”

I’ve always found it difficult to find the Museum of Modern Art. The only way anyone would be able to tell where this museum was is with the three bright red banners hanging off the side of the building holding their acronym in an even darker shade of red. This was basically every building in New York so, of course, I pass right by it. Lyanna managed to catch me before I got too far. She runs up to me and immediately linked her arm into mine.

“Hey stranger, took you long enough.” She greats, warmly.

“You know how it is.”

“Oh common, where’s that smile? We are celebrating!” She starts to pull me into the museum, warm air painting my face when she opens one of the doors.

“Celebrating a failure.”

“Celebrating life.”

We walk in and are bombarded with hordes of people packed in front of every corner of the room. It's as if every single person visiting New York had decided that they would all collectively visit the museum on this specific day. Maybe they were having an event. People of all shapes and sizes were packed in front of each art piece, creating a thick barrier preventing outsiders from looking in on their beauty. In the corner of the room is a balloon man handing out replicas of Jeff Koon’s Balloon Dog to children. I clench my teeth at the disgusting sound of rubber and latex rubbing together. I feel a hot prickling in my neck at the sight of a child squeezing the neck of their bright metallic green Balloon Dog, another child on the edge of crying as she violently hit her blue Balloon Dog onto her stroller seat.

Someone bumps into me. I feel myself tense up. Don’t touch me. I take my arms away from Lyanna, hiding them in my pockets. Lyanna looks up at me, “Hey, are you okay?”

Fuck no,“Yes.”

“You sure? You seem tense,” she raises her eyebrow.

“No. No... I'm good... There’s just.” Act normal, “A lot of people.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Everyone is breathing my air - of course I’m not sure. “You wanna start off this way then make our way around?” she asks pointing to her left. I nod.

She guides me to the fifth floor, to our first painting. Shes pushing through the crowds so we could get a closer look. It’s a dark painting with a black, shadowy silhouette of an elephant trudging on an upwards incline. The air around him grey, as if he was pushing through a sandstorm. He is struggling to get to wherever he was headed. I’m suddenly pushed closer to the struggling elephant. Lyanna snaps at someone behind me. A balloon pop’s. A child's scream echo around the room. The dark clouds surrounding the elephant fill my edge of my vision as my eyes zoom into the lonely elephant. My throat begins to close. My heart hurts. A voice in my head whispers “You’re dying. You’re dying.” in a joyous chant. I try to breathe but nothing can get through. My hands prickle. My chest stutters. The elephant fades. Only the shadowing and silhouettes of people fill my vision. I still feel the pain in my throat, as I try to breath in air.

Lyanna speaks but her voice is muffled. The darkness that had overtaken my vision slowly fades away. I sit up straight, feeling the soft leather beneath me, becoming aware of my surroundings. We are in different exhibit. It's completely empty. I shift, feeling the leather bench beneath my finger tips. The silence is soothing.

“You feeling better?” Lyanna sits next to me with a cup of water in her hands, causing the leather beneath creaked.

I close my eyes. God. She grabs at my hand but I pull away. Please go away. I can feel her eyes burning into my soul. It’s unbearable. I turn away from her. Please go away. She grips at the cup tightly. The crunch of the cup is excruciating.

“Matias.” She attempts to grab my hand again. I see it coming from a mile away. Like in slow motion. The closer she got, the more I dreaded the contact.

“Fuck! Stop! Can you please just give me a God damn minute?” I stand up trying to get away.

“What is happening?” She’s mad. You’ve ruined everything.

“I don’t want to be fucking touched, Lyanna. Just stop. Stop everything. Leave me alone.” I’m staring at the floor. If I look at her, I’m going to lose it. Shameful. Embarrassing.

“I’m only trying to help.” You’re an embarrassment.

“You’re not!” She’s going to never going to forgive you.

“Okay…” She stands slowly, “Let’s relax for a moment… I’ll be back in a few minutes… Just text me if you need anything.” I don’t say anything while she walks away, the sound of her shoes fading. I sit back down onto the chair, head in my hands.

I take a few deep breaths, focusing on the ground beneath me. The floor is smooth, my hair is soft and messy, the pressure of my elbows on my knees grow. My eyes leave the floor only to be met with a flood of green. A naked woman waking up on a large red couch in the middle of a jungle. Light green paints the leaves towards the bottom of the canvas and becomes darker going up towards the sky. The bright flowers burst up in different directions as the moon peaks through the canopy. The woman is surrounded by hidden animals. I spot a few hidden tigers, a white bird on the top left, a person hidden in the shadows playing an instrument, a few monkeys in the trees and an elephant beyond the trees staring back at me. It was a paradise. So sure of herself, she sits there facing away from me as if she has nothing to lose. She sits unafraid of the world around her.

I can’t relate. I’ll never get my chance. I’ll never not be afraid. I continue to stare at her, trying to understand what she may have done differently. Maybe she kept going. Maybe she stopped caring. Or maybe someone gave her a chance. Whatever she did must’ve worked because she continues to sit as if she has nothing left to lose –

“Henri Rousseau’s The Dream,” I jump. Lyanna stands on my right, staring at the painting with a hand on her hip, “Most people hate this painting.”

“I don’t see why…”

“Eh… Everybody has their own opinions…” She approaches cautiously, “Do you feel any better?”

I nod. “S-sorry,” I look back to the painting, “I just needed a moment to myself.”

“Don’t apologize… I should’ve… I don’t know, been more mindful, I guess.” She sits down next to me. I can see her hesitate before she puts a hand on my shoulder, “Are you going to be okay?”

I don’t answer at first. I look back at the painting. The Dream she called it. Maybe, this was the woman’s dream. Maybe she is like me. Our chances will arise. She strives towards her peace with nature around her as I strive for success in the asphalt jungle. Just as she has nothing left to lose, I, too, have nothing to lose. We are the same.

“Yea… I think I will be.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! Let me know if I missed a tag or a warning.

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Till Next Time!

-Dey

[pawprintsmoon]

Inevitable

Henry Knew

Part IV

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28968006/chapters/71734731

Henry started to admit to himself what he had always known: they were inevitable.

When Alex called him to talk about his parent’s fight on Christmas Eve, Henry wanted nothing more than to be there for him, as his best friend. He had been listening to Christmas madrigals and commiserating with Bea about the absurdity of how many Christmas trees filled the palace, when his phone buzzed. A distressed and uncharacteristically apologetic Alex needed him. The younger man had nobody else to talk to and Henry’s heart swelled up with gratitude. 

He was the lucky person that Alex needed. He was allowed to listen and support. The intimacy of it! For the next couple days, he found himself reminding Alex to eat and sleep and he knew. He knew he was falling in love.

It was all way too fast, but somehow, it was also slow. So gentle the way they opened up to each other, petal by petal. The five days between Christmas Eve and #YoungAmericanGala2019, when they would see each other in person, were slow and fast as well. There was enough time for the two boys to become lazily closer and closer, yet not nearly enough time to prepare Henry to see the first son in person.

For those five days, Alex was as goofy as ever, and more than once Henry would burst out laughing in the middle of a quiet teatime or stuffy meeting. Bea would give him a knowing look and Philip would glare. It came to a point that sometimes when Henry was in meetings he’d have to turn off his notifications, lest his phone would buzz every ten minutes. While they mostly exchanged stupid memes and mockingly combative comments, occasionally the tone of some texts were softer.

When it’s 7:00am in London it’s 1:00am in Washington D.C.

Alex: so, what do you think the likelihood of me being able to fall asleep tonight is?

Henry: Did you have an entire pot of coffee after 8pm again?

Alex: well…

Henry: We may have found a cause for your insomnia then. You okay though?

Alex: yeah of course, why?

Henry: I worry about you sometimes… idk.

Henry: Like, I’m here. You know?

Alex: awwwww yeah I know, man. ditto.

They continued with a conversation about nothing while Henry ate sipped his morning tea, and every 30 minutes, he told Alex he ought to try harder to go to sleep.This became a routine for them. Alex, unable to sleep and waking Henry up with morning memes. Henry getting dressed, eating breakfast, starting the day until around nine, when Alex would text something like “good night” or “I’m out :-P ” or one time, “sweet dreams xo”. Did he really think he was being sarcastic?

One afternoon, it snowed in London. Kensington palace was so rarely covered in snow, and Henry felt that childish glee of first snow fall. He knew he could bear the cold if it meant he could see the long lines of winter light glittering through frosted trees. So he grabbed David and took him on a walk through the snowy rose garden. Bewitched by the magic of the winter wonderland, Henry succumbed to the impulse to call Alex. This was a first, so far they only talked when Alex called him.

He distracted Alex from studying for hours. His heels were blistering by the time they hung up, because he hadn’t planned on such a long walk and his snow boots were new and stiff. That’s one way to break in shoes, he supposed. All at once, while wandering lovesick in the gardens. Oh how the blistered skin ached.

Come the morning of December 31st, Henry couldn’t figure out what to wear to the New Years Gala. He knew Alex was planning on a burgundy velvet suit (how queer, dear lord boy) and he was pretty sure the dress code to this type of party disallowed boring black ties. His simple tailored Gucci suit would be fine, but what to do about that vulnerable spot at his throat? In a panic, he begged Pez to help and they conspired with his stylist. An hour later, about two dozen ties covered his floor.

“This one,” Pez suggested holding up a bright, coppery mustard tie in a narrow cut.

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Definitely not,” Pez said, tying it around Henry’s neck in a half windsor. “And it’ll look fantastic next to Alex’s burgundy.”

“I’m sure that’s neither here nor there,” said Henry, looking in the mirror. Pez rolled his eyes, and collapsed onto the couch. Luckily the stylist’s expression was neutral as she cleaned up the discarded ties. Henry busied himself with helping her and switched the conversation to June which could reliably distract Pez indefinitely.

As they flew across the Atlantic, Pez had to continually kick Henry to stop jiggling his legs. The nerves had him going batty and when he finally saw Alex, his nerves lit on fire. Once Alex spoke however, he remembered that they were best friends and his shoulders relaxed. This was the guy who had a Great Turkey Calamity after all.

“Nice tie,” Alex said.

Thanks, you look lovely too, thought Henry. He replied, “Thought I might be escorted off the premises for anything less exciting.”

It was so easy to flirt. So easy to walk, side by side through the crowd. To fall from conversation to easy conversation. To drink and dance and mingle. It was easy, even, to talk to June when she pulled him away from Alex to chat at the bar.

“So,” she said as the bartender gave them each a lemon drop shot. “What are your intentions with my baby brother?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nope, try again,” June scolded him. “He likes you.”

Henry laughed, and let the vodka to loosen his tongue. “I know.”

“He doesn’t know that he’s into guys yet though, does he?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“And he doesn’t know that you want to stargaze, and sing love ballads? Hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings?”

“I’m pretty sure he has no idea,” he agreed, ruefully. For a conversation about Henry’s deepest feelings, the mood was light. June seemed like a good type of person, the kind that he could be friends with. She reminded him of Bea, so maybe it’s a sister vibe that fueled their instant connection.

She fakes a frown and pats the top of his head. “It’s a cruel joke the world’s playing on you, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright, I have a fantastic sense of humor.” Henry sloppily poured himself champagne. “I’m rather hilarious, actually.”

“Prove it,” she challenged.

Oh dear.

“Your brother is like dandruff,” he began. “In that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get him out of my head.”

June nearly fell off her bar stool, laughing. “That was possibly the worst joke I have ever heard.”

“And yet you can’t breathe for laughter,” said Henry, lifting an eyebrow.

“You’re just lucky I’m drinking and in the holiday spirit.” They smiled at each other for a moment. “You know, I’m glad I invited you.”

“You invited me?” Henry asked. “Not Al-”

“No, no, Alex was far too nervous to invite the guy whose texts made him blush and giggle, like, fifty times a day.”

“Oh god.”

“Yes,” June said with a nod. “Speaking of, he’s staring at you again. You should probably attend to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my-”

“Maybe not yet.” She gave him a pensive look, suddenly sincere. “You might need to help him figure it out though.”

Oh god.

And then there was Alex, coming to drag him back to the dance floor. Beautiful beautiful Alex. And Henry was just thinking about how June was right, how he wanted to hold Alex’s hand, and kiss under the stars. The fantasy of kissing progressed into more sensual imaginings as he watched Alex dance. What would those hips feel like, grinding against him? What would it feel like for Alex to run fingers through his hair?

When the ridiculous dancing American put his hands on Henry’s hips, it was nearly impossible to breathe. When Alex told Henry to look at him, he thought it was absurd to suggest that he’d be looking anywhere else. Stupid songs from the early 2000s filled the room, and Alex grabbed Henry by the lapel and ordered him to dance. In what must have been an act of mercy, Nora pulled Alex away to dance with her instead. As he jealously watched them grind, he imagined how it would feel to dance like that in public with somebody you like. He could never have that. Any relationship they could have would be doomed from the start.

But still, they were inevitable.

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - A Bird’s Life

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 18 | Part 19 A Bird’s Life | Part 20 >

Disclaimer: Some strong language

Author’s note: I hope you can survive my attempt at writing poetry.🤓

Word count: 1.475

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

When I was young my school reports always had one and the same comment; “Alice should try to get a bit more out of her shell”. I was simply said the shy kid, the nerdy girl, the one who always got the good grades and didn’t want to upset anyone. For the longest time I always put everyone before me. I was the giver, not the receiver, of attention and whenever someone wished to give me that attention, be it as a friend or lover, I pushed them away. I just didn’t know how to cope.

And even now after all these years it still, at times, makes me feel a little weirded out. I do not like to be the centre of attention. Not even when it’s the attention of just one person. Why I exactly feel like that, I don’t know. Is it a form of self protection? Building up walls? Perhaps. In any way, I will have to deal with it. Because me and chocolate cake are getting pretty serious about a lot of things. Adult things.

It happens to just be so that part of these adult things is caring for each other in equal measure. Being there for one another. Letting lust and demand grow into love and care. Or, as U.A. Fanthorpe lovingly described it in her poem Atlas; “There is a kind of love, called maintenance.”

And I, dear readers, want that maintenance kind of love, I do.

Ali

‘I didn’t know you read poetry.’ Henry said, your bodies huddled close together in the mid December wind. It was a small but unfortunate side effect of living near the sea; it seemed to always be windy. And in winter, that gave you a whole new sense of “fuck it’s cold”. I shivered into his chest, watching Kal zoom through the bushes like it was just another fine summers day.

‘Every now and then. It’s a bit of a left over habit from college.’

’Twas a nice poem. The whole collection of poems on that website actually.’ He smiled. ‘You read them all?’ I raised an eyebrow and looked up at his now outgrowing beard. Henry was growing a beard and I did not mind it one bit - it made me feel all kinds of literal and figurative tingles. He snickered. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Henry the poetry man! Makes me wonder actually. You are good with words, but do you ever write yourself?’ I looked back at the stone cobbled path ahead of us, our booted feet tapping in joined rhythm on the cold rock. I really, really enjoyed our walks together and from the fact Henry always near forced me to join him for his walks no matter how bad the weather, I derived he did so too.

‘Perhaps.’ He finally said, earning a inquisitive eyebrow raise from me. ‘Perhaps? Mr. Cavill, please do not dare and keep secrets from me!’ I prodded him in his side and he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t dare. I just hadn’t ..come around to sharing it with you yet.’

‘Sounds like a secret to me.’ I laughed, seeing Kal had found himself a nice stick. ‘Oh Kal bear! At least you keep no secrets huh?’ I ruffled my fingers through his fur when he came to present his new found treasure to us, Henry’s hand near automatically taking it from the friendly Akita to throw it a bit further down the road, for the dog to fetch.

‘Okay. Something I wrote a while ago..don’t judge me though. It’s..-‘ ‘A secret.’ I squeezed my lips tight as if promising to keep my lips shut from here on. He sniffled. ‘Something like that.’

Clearing his throat and gazing out over the wintery landscape, he started:

‘A bird’s life

Before their singing rings I wake, an early riser Come morning do I take On the day, again a little whiter

Striding feet I follow Black and white, his beard too grey I hear my mothers voice speak again Do your duty come what may

But as I follow my winged friends Around the world I sink Dragging feet that stall and linger Not always can this be so, I think

My nests though many Are fewer my home My coffins are filled With gold silver and woe

As days then end I reach Yet another homeless nest Its branches prickle and when I look Hours more not to rest

Sun rises burning and Sore feet hit cold levels Long distances I go more Until sweet dreams too unravel

This journey’s not mine Too lonesome to stay I flicker my wings And yet again for love, do I pray.’

Silence fell as the last of his words filtered through the morning air, my ears still peeked as I now listened to his slow, calm breath, my hand wrapped around his arm. He had spoken as if his poem was directed at the birds in the trees themselves, his eyes reaching up to the empty branches in the near distance, no birds to be seen. It was just us two. Or three actually, as Kal, though blissfully aware of this magical moment, was there too, roaming around freely in the thicket.

‘When did you write that?’ I finally asked, looking up at him, his face calm. ‘The day after you left London. I actually hadn’t slept a wink that night before you had to fly back. I…gosh I’m such a foo-‘ - ‘Stop that.’ I halted my feet and gave him a fiery gaze. ‘Don’t apologise for your feelings.’ I admonished, then gently rubbed his arm. ‘And that was a terribly beautiful poem Hen.’

‘Hmm.’ He smiled, slightly unsure. ‘Thank you Ali.’

‘No thank you. And to answer your bird’s heart.’ I cupped his cheek in both hands. ‘I love you and I want to make that journey with you, I do.’

‘Even after all the surrogate mother shit and..’ - ‘Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill. Did you just haphazardly skip the first half of my blog this morning?’ I raised a teasing, yet authoritative eyebrow at him. He bit his lip to hide a chuckle. ‘I’m doing it too, huh?’

‘Yep. Take my love you fool! Take it! TAKE IT!’ I used both my hands to shake him like a salt shaker - though little did I actually get him to move as this man was about as built as the empire state building. His smile grew and grew and before long he was laughing aloud, his head nodding in amusement. ‘Okay Ali. Ali. You can stop now. I surrender.’

‘Then kiss me like you mea-‘ I wasn’t even allowed to finish that sentence, his lips crashing down onto mine. Soft and plushy, the after taste of his morning coffee still lingering, he was not going to let the moment go to waste.

We probably stood there for a few minutes. Just kissing, our cheeks burning like hot coals despite the icy wind around us, his hands carefully wrapped around my head, keeping me where he wanted me to be. His fellow bird, ready to fly out together.

Or well, almost; first I had to take my employer up on that hiatus proposal.  

—

‘I got the okay! She’s going to check for a temp writer and once that person’s all settled in, I could..go with you.’ I cheered, flying around Henry’s neck, not minding the fact that his parents were also near - his mom just peeking her head around the corner of the kitchen and his dad probably reading his newspaper in the living room.

‘What?! Really?!’ Henry’s smile grew from ear to ear as he wrapped me, winter coat and all, in his arms. ‘Baby that’s..’ He leaned back again. ‘Wow.’ He near giggled.

‘Are you staying for dinner, Ali?’ His mom inquired, infiltrating on our little moment. We quickly awoke from our little bubble and Henry muttered some quiet apology, pushing the still opened front door closed behind us.

‘Eh…’ I blinked at Henry. He smiled and nodded, bidding me to accept her offer. ‘Yes please. Thank you Marianne.’ I looked over at her and she gave me a most adoring wink. ‘You are practically family Ali.’ She mused, disappearing back into the kitchen where dinner was already well on the way.

I watched her waddle off, feeling Henry’s strong arms pull me in for a full-circled swoop through the air, making me fly like the birds in his poem. ‘I love you so much!’ He exclaimed, making me laugh with pure giddiness. ‘Hen! Carefu— OHH — HEN- put me down, put me down hahahah. Oh gosh.’ I squirmed until finally he put me back on my feet, his wide teethed grin causing sweet dimples to crease his cheeks.

‘I love you too, silly.’

‘Then I better start calling my agent, hmm?’

‘Mhm. You better.’

--

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[geekoutforgothfic]

Elizabeth and the lil lab of horrors (aka the Frankenstein’s Monsters)

You didn’t think I forgot about ole Elizabeth did you? Well.

She, like the rest of Victor’s relations, get very concerned when contact with him slowly turns to silence while he is supposedly studying in Germany. Henry volunteers to track him down and does so successfully after a while, but while his letter confirming Victor’s location is a relief he’s still annoyingly vague about what Victor has been up too.

Then Victor disappears. It’s sudden, traumatic, his father is beside himself with worry. Henry once again decides to play hero of the hour and go off into deepest darkest Europe on the trail of Victor; who may or may not be dead....

Henry confides only to Elizabeth the more troublesome details. Victor is chasing, or being chased by, a man who may in fact be some sort of demon... and the rumours circulating around Victor himself range from bizarre to horrifying.

Elizabeth grows tired of being idle. Despite her adoptive father’s pleas she (with Justine’s help of course) steals away into the night and gets on the first train headed East.

A few months behind, she manages to at last catch up with Henry in early winter. They reunite warmly but Henry begs her not to seek Victor out at his house, insisting it isn’t safe there and she’ll have to wait till Victor comes to them.

This will absolutely NOT stand. Elizabeth snoops around in Henry’s personal affects till she finds what she needs to locate Victor’s creepy hiding place.

The creatures’ experience with women vary from ‘never seen one ever’ to ‘ran away because she was screaming’ so they naturally freak OUT when a real lady is in their house. Adam, being the oldest, volounteers to try and shoo her off using his intimidation factor but he it just DOESNT WORK WOMAN WHAT ARE YOU.

Lucifer has a go next. Elizabeth swats him with her umbrella and calls him a brute. He retreats under a table hissing like a cat.

Victor finally wakes up from an impromptu scientific nap to discover Elizabeth sitting on his couch flicking through a novel with a cup of tea, with his creations sat around her; gazing up adoringly as if beholding a goddess in their midst.

He thinks he’s finally lost the plot until Elizabeth pipes up ‘oh there you are Victor how good of you to join us at last, do be a lamb and check on those biscuits in the oven won’t you?’

[thejollyroger-writer]

Heart and Soul - Part 1 - A CS Concert Series Fic

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument -- though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry's mother, Emma Swan. 

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary 

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet -- though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi​) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it. 

Thanks to @csconcertseries​ and @clockadile​, who gave me a reason to finish this story! 

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

There aren’t many unusual things Killian truly hates.

Sure, he hates things like seeing horrific stories on the news, bigots, and people on the road who don’t utilize their turn signals. But those all seemed fairly normal within the realm of things that are passionately disliked.

The one standout thing he despises, however, is the recorder. 

His animosity toward the instrument — if one can even call it an instrument — feels like a betrayal to his career at times. He spends his weekdays teaching both children and adults to play music, helping them discover hidden talents and find as much comfort and happiness within the notes as he does. The piano and the guitar are his most popular contenders among students. But he’s also had a bit of experience teaching violin and harmonica, along with one memorable incident with the drum set in his basement that resulted in several complaints from the neighbors. 

Recorders? He intentionally keeps a fair distance from those.

If he’s being honest, it’s probably hindered his career a bit over the past few years. Since he moved to Storybrooke and word got out across the small town that he was a music teacher, he’s had countless parents approach him whose children had brought home recorders from school, asking him to give them lessons to improve their playing and put the rest of the family out of their misery. 

Killian has always declined. He’ll offer to help by teaching the child another instrument instead, but recorders are out of the question. It’s simply not worth his time, not when there are so many better options available. 

Needless to say, he’s less than pleased when he’s woken up before seven one morning by the sound of “Hot Cross Buns” being played on the dreaded instrument. 

Something’s not right. He has to be hearing things, isn’t he? The house to the left of his is vacant, and the one to the right is the home of his neighbor and her son, the latter of whom should be resting as much as he can before the beginning of his school year. 

What reason would he have to be playing the recorder this early in the— bloody hell, he thinks to himself. Yesterday was the first school day for the year. He should have remembered considering the extensive adjustments he's had to make to his schedule from lessons over the summer. 

Killian doesn't know all that much about Henry Swan and his mother. They'd moved into the house next door last fall and the lad had introduced himself not long after. He knows that Henry is about nine or ten years old, is a student at Storybrooke Elementary School, and is a Star Wars fan, judging by the number of printed t-shirts he's seen him wearing when they come across each other arriving to and leaving their respective houses.

He knows just as much, if not even less, about Emma Swan. Only that she works as a sheriff's deputy for her older brother, and favors beanies and leather jackets during the fall and winter months. Killian assumes that she’s single considering she and Henry are the only two occupants of the house, and he’s never seen any visitors there aside from her family.

Which is a relief, because he's also infatuated with her. 

Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch considering the few interactions they’ve shared. Killian is aware that he doesn’t exactly know her well enough for any type of infatuation to really exist. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s managed to make him feel like an awkward schoolboy who can’t maintain some sense of dignity around a girl. 

Their most recent interaction had taken place the Monday prior; he was getting ready for his morning run when Emma returned from what he assumed was the night shift at the sheriff’s station. She’d given him a brief smile and waved as she unlocked her front door. He was so surprised that he tripped and almost fell over his shoelace that he’d forgotten to tie thanks to the unexpected gesture.

(It was hard to tell whether she noticed. He’s hoping the answer is no.)

All of this to say, he likes the Swans. But he’s not sure just how long he’ll be able to tolerate what has to be Henry and his recorder, especially this early in the bloody morning.

Of all the songs in the world, what would bring him to choose “Hot Cross Buns” anyway?

 Killian gets his answer a few weeks later. Every afternoon since the end of the school year save one or two (plus a few choice mornings), he’s been treated to the sound of Henry attempting to play a number of different songs, each one a tad more annoying than the last. There’s been “Yankee Doodle,” “Skip to My Lou,” and, oddly enough, “Jingle Bells.”

Something has to be done before Henry tries to learn “Baby Shark.”

He knows he should act his age and learn to embrace his young neighbor’s new hobby. (Or buy a good pair of earplugs.) After all, Henry’s a child, and Killian is glad he’s chosen to dedicate part of his free time to learning music.

But he really needs to choose a different instrument.

It’s what leads him to knock on the Swan’s front door on a Saturday morning a month into the school year. Emma and Henry are both home judging by the yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway and the squeaky recorder notes coming from an open window on the second floor.

Emma answers the door. Her blonde hair is tied into a messy knot on the top of her head, and she’s sipping coffee from a bright red mug and wearing running shorts and a faded t-shirt that he’s willing to bet are her pajamas. 

He’s never felt more attracted to her. But that’s not the reason he came by.

“Oh, hi, Killian,” she greets him, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Her reaction makes him consider if he should have given some kind of notice before coming over. 

“Good morning, Swan. I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I heard the lad playing and assumed you were both up.”

“Yeah. He’s been at it for a while.” Emma bites her lower lip and glances back and forth from him to the staircase he can just make out behind her. “I’m really sorry if he’s been annoying you with the music recently. I’ve suggested he only play later in the afternoon, especially since I've been trying to have the windows open more often so we don't have to keep running the air conditioning, but he always makes some comment about liking to start his day off with music, and I hate to discourage him when he’s finally found a hobby he’s enjoying.” 

Hearing these words causes Killian to feel guilty for being irritated with Henry’s playing, but it also makes the reason he came by seem even more appropriate. “Think nothing of it. I’m quite happy to hear the lad has taken an interest in music. But if you don’t mind my input, lass, I think he could do well with a more versatile instrument that allows him to explore his capabilities even further.” It’s the nicest way he can think of to discourage her son from ever touching a recorder again.

Emma is quiet for a moment, brow furrowing as she contemplates his suggestion. “I don’t think I understand— oh!” A look of realization crosses her face. “That’s right. You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and he’s great!” The face of Henry Swan pops up behind his mother; he’s already almost as tall as she is. “Hi, Mr. Jones,” he says. Killian smiles at him before he turns back to Emma. “Remember, Mom? He played with some other parents at the last school fundraiser. You were there.”

Killian remembers the night in question vividly. He and a handful of other parents who played music had been asked to perform a selection of songs at Storybrooke Elementary’s annual spring event. (Emma had worn a tight red dress and heels. He was playing the piano and had come close to butchering the opening of their first song when he’d noticed her.)

She remembers the event, too, if the blush on her cheeks is anything to go by. “Yeah, kid, I remember. I just...haven’t had enough caffeine yet this morning.” She takes a long sip from the mug she’s holding as if to prove a point. 

“Aye. Well.” Killian pauses, the shift in conversation having made him briefly forget the purpose for his visit. “I was just telling your mother, Henry, that I’m quite glad that you’re interested in playing music. I didn’t know how you felt about possibly trying other instruments as well? Guitar, piano, saxophone, triangle…” he trails off. 

He knows the bare minimum about saxophones and doesn’t think Henry would actually want to play the triangle. But he’ll offer to give him harmonica lessons so long as he never touches a recorder again.

Henry considers his suggestion. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Miss Greene just gave us the recorders to take home so we could practice.” (Killian knows of the Miss Greene he is referring to, and resists the urge to message Tink and suggest she not guide her fourth graders in that direction ever again.) “I guess it would be cool to play something else though.” He smiles up at Killian. “Do you think if I tried to play the piano that I could be as good as you someday?”

Killian’s heart swells with pride at the boy’s admiration. Truth be told, he’s been complimented for his talent on numerous occasions by all kinds of people from different walks of life. But something about hearing his abilities praised from a ten year old with excitement in his eyes means more to him than any recognition has in quite some time. 

“Perhaps,” he tells Henry. “If you utilize as much practice and dedication as you seem to be doing for that recorder, I’m sure you’ll be a seasoned pianist in no time.”

Killian is so thrilled by the smile that spreads across the lad’s face that he almost misses the wince that crosses his mother’s. 

Almost. 

“Henry…” she starts, her eyes turned down to the ground, and Killian’s eyes are drawn to her hands wringing in front of her. 

“What, mom? Mr. Jones wants to teach me how to play the piano, please let me learn how to play the piano!” 

The shadow of a smile crosses over her face, but it doesn’t stay. “It’s not—” she pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, gently sucking on it for a moment before releasing it and finally raising her eyes to meet Killian’s. “We don’t have a piano, and, well… I don’t think we can afford to get one for him to practice on.” 

Henry’s expression, his shoulders, his excitement, physically fall. “But mom, don’t—” 

Killian doesn’t even let the boy pose his argument, because he already has the solution — hopefully a solution that works for all three of them. “That’s really not a problem, love,” he says, his smile growing when her bright green eyes start to sparkle with the hope he is giving her son. “As it happens, I just bought a new piano for the studio, so I have one that I’m hoping to get rid of. If you want it, it’s yours.” 

It’s not quite the truth: he has his baby grand in his living room, the one that he practices on himself; and he has the two uprights in his studio, one much newer than the other, and as much as he has wanted to replace the older one with an updated model, he hasn’t gotten around to it. Getting rid of one of them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and it would certainly clear up some space in the basement, though it would keep some of his students from practicing while he’s in another lesson.

But with the smile that grows across Henry’s face, and Emma’s to match it, the little white lie seems like the worst of his problems. Because, gods above, he has it bad for this woman. 

Moving the old upright piano from his basement to the Swan’s living room the following Saturday proves much more difficult than lying to them about it. It’s an adventure that requires his brother, Emma’s brother, and Emma — and not, he doesn't fall to notice, the man who he assumes to be Henry’s father, who shows up with the boy right as they’re struggling to get through the front door. 

Killian hates him before he even opens his mouth to speak, seemingly the only one to notice his run-down dark green pick-up truck parked by the curb while he stands in Emma’s entryway, trying to keep the piano from tipping over. The only one to notice him, sitting in the driver’s seat and making no motion to get out, even as Henry jumps down from the passenger seat and begins collecting his soccer gear from the back seat. 

“This thing really doesn’t look like it would be this hard to move,” Emma’s brother — David — grunts, trying his hardest to help ease the piano up over Emma’s front step. 

“Oh, come on, Nolan,” they all hear from behind them, everyone else finally noticing. “You having a little trouble with that?” 

“You know, Cassidy,” David calls out, and Killian notices a vein in his forehead popping out as they try to lift it from the bottom and up the single step. “You could always get your ass over here and be helpful.” 

Emma laughs from the other side of the piano. “Yeah, right.” 

The guy in the truck laughs louder, turning his head in a way that makes Killian sure that he’s staring at Emma. His words make him even more sure: “I prefer the view from where I am, actually.” 

“Asshole,” David says, either a bit louder than he meant or exactly as loud as he meant; Killian has a feeling it’s the second. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Henry asks, dropping his soccer stuff on the porch behind Emma. At least the lad has manners, Killian tells himself, finally guiding the piano into the entryway. He gets them from his mother. 

“Just stay out of the way, bud,” David tells him between gritted teeth, the three of them pushing the piano the rest of the way through the door. 

“Are you the lucky lad who gets to play this piano?” Liam asks once they’ve all made it into the entryway, Killian tossing one last glare towards Henry’s father pulling away from the curb as he closes the front door. When he turns to Henry, he’s beaming. 

“Yep! Killian offered to teach me so he could stop hearing me practice the recorder every morning!” 

The bluntness of Henry’s statement pulls a laugh from all of them.

 Henry takes to the piano like a fish to water, which doesn't surprise Killian in the least. The lad is bright, Killian has learned that just from talking with him during their time as neighbors, but when he is able to play most of his scales and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" by their second lesson, he knows he has stumbled upon true talent. 

And spending time with his mother certainly doesn't hurt, either. 

(The way her laughter carries through the open windows when Henry plays through a song brightens up his days in ways he didn't think was possible anymore, as well, but that's a secret he plans to keep to himself for a while.) 

But by the end of September, four o'clock on Tuesday comes by slowly, especially since his and Emma's schedules have apparently shifted so they're never coming or going at the same time, but when she answers his knock on her door, he immediately feels a calm wash over him. Sure, he feels his heart in his throat, and when she smiles at him and takes a step back to let him in the house, he can swear that he has never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. 

Shit, he's in deep. 

"Hello, love," he says, returning her smile as he steps through the doorway. 

"Hey, Killian," she says back, leaning back against the door to push it shut. "I, uh, thought I already said something to you, but Henry's not here right now." 

"Oh." He tries not to let his upset show on his face. This time that he spends with Henry Swan and his mother has become the highlight of his week, but since Henry isn't here, he assumes that means he should go home. 

But neither of them move. 

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, as it does every time he's found himself in this gorgeous woman's presence, and he counts the moments that pass through his heartbeats: one, two, three, four. 

"Where is the lad, if you don't mind me asking?" 

She shrugs, still physically blocking him from leaving. "He's with his dad." 

"On a Tuesday night?"

She looks down at the floor, holding out her hands out into her line of vision. "We’re going away next weekend with David and Mary Margaret, so it’s to make up for the time he’s missing. But believe me, he would much rather be here with you." 

“I’ve only ever heard him say good things about his father.” 

“Do you really think that he would tell a stranger about the bad things?” she snaps, and he reels back immediately, regretting ever bringing it up in the first place. Biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, he tries to push memories of doing the same thing from his mind, tries not to think of all the times he wanted to tell someone other than his brother of the way he was being treated — and he, of course, remembers the embarrassment that came whenever someone tried to bring it up. 

Killian thinks back to the only time he’s met Henry’s father, after helping move the piano into their living room, and he begs once again that this man is nothing like Brennan Jones. 

“Of course,” he says finally, his voice soft with regret and the memory of his own father’s drunken escapades, and he swallows the memories down like bile. 

A beat passes between them, long enough to make Killian sure that he should simply excuse himself and go home, but it’s the last thing he wants to do. 

“Do you want to come in for lunch?” she blurts, her eyes quickly flitting away from his when he tries to find them. 

“Pardon?” He’s not thrown off by the question, really, as much as he is the sentiment. 

“I just — I feel bad that I forgot to tell you that Henry’s with Neal, and now you don’t have anything to do for the next hour, and I was already reheating some of Marg's soup and making sandwiches, so I can — you know what, just… forget it, forget that I asked—” 

“I would love to.”

The look on her face when she finally brings her eyes to meet him makes him sure that his acceptance is the last thing she expects. 

Her kitchen is much more welcoming than his, bright and colorful with the fitting smell of chicken soup wafting from it. "Grilled cheese alright?" she asks, moving past him towards the fridge after gesturing for him to take a seat at the table. 

"Is it ever not?" 

The twinkling laugh she lets out actually seems to brighten the kitchen even further, which he would not have thought possible. 

"I knew I liked you for a reason." 

If the words affect her nearly as much as they do him, she hides it well, moving daintily through the kitchen to gather the rest of the supplies for the sandwiches. He is thankful for the moment of silence that passes between them, noticing for the first time the soft music coming from a small speaker on top of the fridge — he half-recognizes the song, he thinks from Harry Potter? — as he regains his composure, settles the pounding of his heart in his chest. 

"What made you start playing music?" 

And just like that, the pounding comes back. It's an innocent question, one that he gets asked a lot, and one he usually brushes over with a mention of his mother and her affinity for the piano. But, in the welcoming warmth of Emma Swan’s kitchen, he finds himself wanting to tell her everything, wanting to tell the whole story for the first time in a very long time, all the broken bottles and broken promises and broken wrists, the happy songs and the sad songs and one too many damn funeral marches, the drunken spat with the drunken man that almost made him lose his hand, and the life of sobriety that he swore himself into, exchanging his hatred for one parent with his love for another. 

And then he hears the words coming from his mouth, a poisonous story uninvited into this space, into this wonderful woman's life, but it becomes the edited and abridged version as quickly as he can save it: "My father wasn't the nicest man, though he treated my mum the worst of all of us, and in order to find some semblance of peace in the world, she taught herself how to play the piano. And she taught me, too. Tried to teach Liam, but he was never very good at it. So it became a stress relief for me, and I just kept finding new instruments and learning how to play those to keep myself from spiraling, and when it came time for me to figure out my place in the world, music was the obvious answer." 

She hums from her place at the stove, slowly stirring the small pot of soup with a wooden spoon. The movement of her nodding head is small, almost enough that Killian wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching her so intently. Somehow, he can tell that she wants to say something, maybe has a story like his own that she’s trying to piece together into a semblance of something normal, and he doesn’t push her. 

“I get that,” she says finally, still not turning her attention away from the stove. He doesn’t mind; he’s not sure that he’s ready for that level of intimacy, for looking at each other while sharing their backstories — quite the jump from the casual neighborly hello’s and short conversations they have shared by this point. “That’s why I run, even though sometimes it makes me want to die. It was the only time I had alone when I was in—younger, and it’s still the only time I can do something and not be drowning in my own thoughts the whole time.” 

He wonders about her slip of the tongue, the eloquent way she caught herself —  and the way she straightened her back slightly as she corrected herself. 

But the last thing he wants is for her to question anything that he said, so he’s certainly not going to say anything, only watch her as she reaches into a cabinet to pull out two bowls, pouring some soup in each of them. 

“That’s how I am with the piano. When I sit down in front of it, it’s like my whole brain shuts down and there’s nothing except the music. My mum told me she was the same way when I got a bit older, and it explained why I would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and hear her downstairs on the old upright the church donated to us. And Liam says the same thing about being behind the wheel of anything.” 

When she finally turns towards him, a bowl of soup in each hand and a smile on her face, he knows that he has finally found someone to understand. 

And he could not be more ecstatic that it is Emma Swan.

-- Part Two will post as soon as I finish it! --

tags: @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @wellhellotragic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @teamhook​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @superchocovian​ @carpedzem​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ -- if you want to be tagged in part two, let me know; if you no longer want to be tagged in my works, just send me a message! 

[emerald-studies]

The fierce Ruby Bridges

Early Life

Ruby Nell Bridges was born on September 8, 1954, in Tylertown, Mississippi. She grew up on the farm her parents and grandparents sharecropped in Mississippi.

When she was four years old, her parents, Abon and Lucille Bridges, moved to New Orleans, hoping for a better life in a bigger city.

Her father got a job as a gas station attendant and her mother took night jobs to help support their growing family. Soon, young Bridges had two younger brothers and a younger sister.

Education and Facts

The fact that Bridges was born the same year that the Supreme Court handed down its Brown v. Board of Education decision desegregating schools is a notable coincidence in her early journey into civil rights activism.

When Bridges was in kindergarten, she was one of many African American students in New Orleans who were chosen to take a test determining whether or not she could attend a white school. It is said the test was written to be especially difficult so that students would have a hard time passing. The idea was that if all the African American children failed the test, New Orleans schools might be able to stay segregated for a while longer.

Bridges lived a mere five blocks from an all-white school, but she attended kindergarten several miles away, at an all-Black segregated school. Bridges’ father was averse to his daughter taking the test, believing that if she passed and was allowed to go to the white school, there would be trouble. However, her mother, Lucille, pressed the issue, believing that Bridges would get a better education at a white school. She was eventually able to convince Bridges' father to let her take the test

In 1960, Bridges' parents were informed by officials from the NAACP that she was one of only six African American students to pass the test. Bridges would be the only African American student to attend the William Frantz School, near her home, and the first Black child to attend an all-white elementary school in the South.

Ruby Bridges and marshals leaving William Frantz Elementary School, New Orleans, 1960. She was escorted both to and from the school while segregationist protests continued.

Photo: Uncredited DOJ photographer (Via [1]) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

School Desegregation

When the first day of school rolled around in September, Bridges was still at her old school. All through the summer and early fall, the Louisiana State Legislature had found ways to fight the federal court order and slow the integration process. After exhausting all stalling tactics, the Legislature had to relent, and the designated schools were to be integrated that November.

Fearing there might be some civil disturbances, the federal district court judge requested the U.S. government send federal marshals to New Orleans to protect the children. On the morning of November 14, 1960, federal marshals drove Bridges and her mother five blocks to her new school. While in the car, one of the men explained that when they arrived at the school, two marshals would walk in front of Bridges and two would be behind her.

When Bridges and the federal marshals arrived at the school, large crowds of people were gathered in front yelling and throwing objects. There were barricades set up, and policemen were everywhere.

Bridges, in her innocence, first believed it was like a Mardi Gras celebration. When she entered the school under the protection of the federal marshals, she was immediately escorted to the principal's office and spent the entire day there. The chaos outside, and the fact that nearly all the white parents at the school had kept their children home, meant classes weren't going to be held at all that day.

Ostracized at Elementary School

On her second day, the circumstances were much the same as the first, and for a while, it looked like Bridges wouldn't be able to attend class. Only one teacher, Barbara Henry, agreed to teach Bridges. She was from Boston and a new teacher to the school. "Mrs. Henry," as Bridges would call her even as an adult, greeted her with open arms.

Bridges was the only student in Henry's class because parents pulled or threatened to pull their children from Bridges' class and send them to other schools. For a full year, Henry and Bridges sat side by side at two desks, working on Bridges' lessons. Henry was loving and supportive of Bridges, helping her not only with her studies but also with the difficult experience of being ostracized.

Bridges' first few weeks at Frantz School were not easy ones. Several times she was confronted with blatant racism in full view of her federal escorts. On her second day of school, a woman threatened to poison her. After this, the federal marshals allowed her to only eat food from home. On another day, she was "greeted" by a woman displaying a Black doll in a wooden coffin.

Bridges' mother kept encouraging her to be strong and pray while entering the school, which Bridges discovered reduced the vehemence of the insults yelled at her and gave her courage. She spent her entire day, every day, in Mrs. Henry's classroom, not allowed to go to the cafeteria or out to recess to be with other students in the school. When she had to go to the restroom, the federal marshals walked her down the hall.

Several years later, federal marshal Charles Burks, one of her escorts, commented with some pride that Bridges showed a lot of courage. She never cried or whimpered, Burks said, "She just marched along like a little soldier."

Effect on the Bridges Family

The abuse wasn't limited to only Bridges; her family suffered as well. Her father lost his job at the filling station, and her grandparents were sent off the land they had sharecropped for over 25 years. The grocery store where the family shopped banned them from entering. However, many others in the community, both Black and white, began to show support in a variety of ways. Gradually, many families began to send their children back to the school and the protests and civil disturbances seemed to subside as the year went on.

A neighbor provided Bridges' father with a job, while others volunteered to babysit the four children, watch the house as protectors, and walk behind the federal marshals on the trips to school.

Signs of Stress

After winter break, Bridges began to show signs of stress. She experienced nightmares and would wake her mother in the middle of the night seeking comfort.For a time, she stopped eating lunch in her classroom, which she usually ate alone. Wanting to be with the other students, she would not eat the sandwiches her mother packed for her, but instead hid them in a storage cabinet in the classroom.

Soon, a janitor discovered the mice and cockroaches who had found the sandwiches. The incident led Mrs. Henry to lunch with Bridges in the classroom.Bridges started seeing child psychologist Dr. Robert Coles, who volunteered to provide counseling during her first year at Frantz School. He was very concerned about how such a young girl would handle the pressure. He saw Bridges once a week either at school or at her home.

During these sessions, he would just let her talk about what she was experiencing. Sometimes his wife came too and, like Dr. Coles, she was very caring toward Bridges. Coles later wrote a series of articles for Atlantic Monthly and eventually a series of books on how children handle change, including a children's book on Bridges' experience.

Overcoming Obstacles

Near the end of the first year, things began to settle down. A few white children in Bridges' grade returned to the school. Occasionally, Bridges got a chance to visit with them. By her own recollection many years later, Bridges was not that aware of the extent of the racism that erupted over her attending the school. But when another child rejected Bridges' friendship because of her race, she began to slowly understand.

By Bridges' second year at Frantz School, it seemed everything had changed. Mrs. Henry's contract wasn't renewed, and so she and her husband returned to Boston. There were also no more federal marshals; Bridges walked to school every day by herself. There were other students in her second-grade class, and the school began to see full enrollment again. No one talked about the past year. It seemed everyone wanted to put the experience behind them.

Bridges finished grade school and graduated from the integrated Francis T. Nicholls High School in New Orleans. She then studied travel and tourism at the Kansas City business school and worked for American Express as a world travel agent.

Husband and Children

In 1984, Bridges married Malcolm Hall in New Orleans. She later became a full-time parent to their four sons.

Norman Rockwell Painting

In 1963, painter Norman Rockwell recreated Bridges' monumental first day at school in the painting, “The Problem We All Live With.” The image of this small Black girl being escorted to school by four large white men graced the cover of Look magazine on January 14, 1964.

The Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, now owns the painting as part of its permanent collection. In 2011, the museum loaned the work to be displayed in the West Wing of the White House for four months upon the request of President Barack Obama.

Book and Movie

'The Story of Ruby Bridges'

In 1995, Robert Coles, Bridges' child psychologist and a Pulitzer-Prize winning author, published The Story of Ruby Bridges, a children's picture book depicting her courageous story.

Soon after, Barbara Henry, her teacher that first year at Frantz School, contacted Bridges and they were reunited on The Oprah Winfrey Show.

'Ruby Bridges'

“Ruby Bridges” is a Disney TV movie, written by Toni Ann Johnson, about Bridges' experience as the first Black child to integrate an all-white Southern elementary school.

The two-hour film, shot entirely in Wilmington, North Carolina, first aired on January 18, 1998, and was introduced by President Bill Clinton and Disney CEO Michael Eisner in the Cabinet Room of the White House.

Ruby Bridges Foundation

In 1999, Bridges formed the Ruby Bridges Foundation, headquartered in New Orleans. Bridges was inspired following the murder of her youngest brother, Malcolm Bridges, in a drug-related killing in 1993 — which brought her back to her former elementary school.

For a time, Bridges looked after Malcolm's four children, who attended William Frantz School. She soon began to volunteer there three days a week and soon became a parent-community liaison.

With Bridges' experience as a liaison at the school and her reconnection with influential people in her past, she began to see a need for bringing parents back into the schools to take a more active role in their children's education.

Bridges launched her foundation to promote the values of tolerance, respect and appreciation of differences. Through education and inspiration, the foundation seeks to end racism and prejudice. As its motto goes, "Racism is a grown-up disease, and we must stop using our children to spread it."

In 2007, the Children's Museum of Indianapolis unveiled a new exhibition documenting Bridges' life, along with the lives of Anne Frank and Ryan White. (source)

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.11

Land Without Magic. Past. October 24th, 2011. 8:15 A.M. Phuket. (August is in bed with a girl, sound asleep. He suddenly wakes as if in pain, sits up and sees his leg turning into wood. He turns around.) August: (Speaking Thai to his bed-mate:) “Wake up. Wake up!” Isra: (Looks at the clock, then reluctantly at him:) “It's only 8:15, go back to bed...” August: (Pointing at his leg:) “Look at this. Right here. Isra, wake up! Help me!” Isra: (Gets up half way and looks at him:) “August, it's early. I'm sleeping.” August: (Reaching out and touching his knee:) “Look, don't you see it?” Isra: (Looking up:) “I see your leg! Now please, be quiet...” August: “I need to go to a hospital...” Isra: “What the hell is wrong with you?” August: (Speaking English:) “I'm turning into wood.” Storybrooke. Present. (Henry lays beneath the food truck covered in grease and engine oil.) Tiana: “Is there a person attached to those legs under there? (Henry slides out from under the truck:) Hmm. Writer boy. What the hell are you doing here?” Henry: “Operation Food Truck.” Tiana: “Am I supposed to know what that means?” Henry: “It means that as soon as I get the engine running, I'm gonna install the fryers, and then I'm gonna go in the back, and I'm gonna get the -” Tiana: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Does this newfound industriousness have anything to do with a certain date you have with Ella later. Cause you know, she’s feeling pretty nervous about it too.” Henry: “No. I just thought that you two might appreciate an actual working vehicle.”

Tiana: “Oh. Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for that date? What time is it anyway? (Henry ignores this and climbs into the truck. Switching on the engine, the truck roars to life. Tiana chuckles in surprise as Henry also turns on the lights. Smiling:) Huh. You actually fixed it.” Henry: (Switching off the engine, climbs down to join her:) “Well, your confidence in me is astounding, Tiana.” Ella: (Entering:) “Wow! This is fantastic. Now I get why you stood me up. You must’ve lost track of time while you were doing all this?” Henry: “Yeah, it's, uh, good as new. And I didn’t forget our date.” Ella: “Then why-” Henry: “Consider it a parting gift. (At Ella’s blank stare:) Will told me what happened between you two. In Wonderland?” Tiana: “Uh, say what now?” Henry: (Grimaces:) “Ah, sorry Tiana. I didn’t mean to break it to you like this.” Ella: “Henry what are you talking about?” Henry: (To Tiana:) “It appears that Will and Ella didn’t quite spend all their time searching for answers, but rather finding other ways to entertain themselves in each other’s arms. (Tosses the keys to Ella who catches them:) It's all yours.” (Henry walks away dejectedly while Ella looks to Tiana in disbelief.)

Granny's Diner. (A small group has gathered while the Red Queen stands frozen like an ice sculpture in the middle of the diner.) Regina: "I just don't understand it. Even when she was the Red Queen, Anastasia was never known to be violent." Xena: (Dryly:) "Must be beginners luck." Regina: "I'm serious. By all accounts, the people of Wonderland were more afraid of the Queen of Hearts than Anastasia." Gabrielle: "Who's the Queen of Hearts?" Regina: (Coughs, then mutters:) "My mother." David: (While playing with his granddaughter's foot:) "Well, prior instances of violence or not, Anastasia was in the midst of terrorising the town before Elsa stopped her.” Regina: (To Xena and Gabrielle:) "Do either of you know why Anastasia might have been targeting you?" Xena: (Shakes her head:) "I've never met her before." Gabrielle: "She kept referring to herself as the Red Queen. In between using her magic against us I mean." Regina: "Well clearly there's something going on. Need I remind you that this is Ella's step-sister we're talking about here? That makes her family." Ruby: (Scoffs:) "Like that's a big deal. Everyone's related around here. (At Regina's look:) What? They are." David: "Family member or not, I think the best thing to do right now is keep the Red Queen on ice. At least until we find some answers." Ruby: "Will she be safe staying frozen like that?" Regina: "Ana's not the first person to have been frozen solid around here. (Circling the frozen woman:) I left Marian like this in my vault for weeks."

(Sitting at the counter, Lily tries to reassure Elsa.) Elsa: "I just feel so guilty freezing her that way." Lily: "Don't. You saw how out of control she was. If you ask me, Anastasia's lucky you were here to turn her into a block of ice." Elsa: "Really?" Lily: "Yeah, absolutely. I mean if it were down to me, I'd have turned her into a pile of ashes. Your way is much less messy." (Elsa smiles, then steals a french fry from Lily's plate.) Storybrooke. Past. The Final Battle. Main Street. (The family rushes to Emma’s side as she lays, unmoving, on the ground.) Henry: (Crying:) “I love you.” (Henry leans down and kisses Emma’s forehead, causing a pulse of magic from True Love’s Kiss.) Emma: (Opening her eyes, softly:) “I love you, too. (They hug:) I love you, too!” (David helps Emma to her feet and the family share a group hug. Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye, Snow White looks over and spots the storybook laying in the road.) Snow White: (Picking it up:) “Henry! I think this belongs to you.” Henry: (Taking the book and reading the last chapter:) "When Good and Evil both did the right thing, faith was restored. The final battle was won. (Closes the book:) That’s it.” A Short Distance Away. (Running up the street towards the Sorcerer’s door, Emma chances a glance behind her to see her family all gathered together before pulling the door open and dashing through it.)

The Sorcerer's Mansion. (Arriving back at the mansion, Emma finds the Apprentice waiting for her with another storybook.) Emma: "So you're telling me that I'm the reason the storybook appeared at that exact moment?" Apprentice: (Smiles:) "That moment, and others. Come, we've still much to do." Storybrooke. Present. Main Street. (Ella catches up to Henry.) Ella: “Henry! Wait. (She blocks his path:) I don’t know what Will told you, but it was a lie.” Henry: “Yeah? Well he sounded pretty convincing.” Ella: “You really think I’m capable of such a thing?” Henry: “Well I don’t know, Ella, you tell me. You were pretty gung-ho about accusing my mother based on somebody’s word. So what am I supposed to think?” Ella: “I don't have feelings for Will. How could I? I love you!” Henry: “And I love you! It’s just... I don’t know what to believe anymore! Things haven’t been right between us for a long time.” Ella: “I know, we’ve both been so busy, we’ve hardly had time to be together. That’s why I asked you to come with me to Wonderland in the first place.” Henry: (Nods:) “Yeah, and I should have been there. I was just so wrapped up in making enough money so we could get our own place that I lost sight of what was really important. You and me, side by side facing things together, head on.” Ella: “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Henry: (Pulling her in for a hug:) “I’m so sorry, about everything.” Ella: (Wrapping her arms around him:) “Me too.” Elsewhere In Storybrooke... (Staggering towards the library, Will tries the doors but they are locked.) Tiana: "Opening hours till 10:00." Will: (Bows his head:) "Very generous. (Turns to face her:) Tiana, I can explain." Tiana: "I didn't ask." (Tiana punches Will square in the face, causing him to fall back against the library doors and slide, unconscious, onto the ground.)

Blanchard Loft. Past. (Emma, Mary Margaret, David and Regina are looking for Henry’s storybook. David and Regina search the bedroom, Mary Margaret and Emma the closet. Regina opens one suitcase and looks inside searching for the book. It’s empty. David opens a chest. Shoe boxes are stored inside.) David: (Picks one shoe box and sets it aside:) “Why do women keep their shoe boxes?” Mary Margaret: (Overhearing the remark:) “Because after true love there is no more powerful magic than footwear. It has to be protected.” Emma: “Any sign of the book?” David: (Shuts the chest:) “No. I don’t think it’s here.” Mary Margaret: “You don’t know that.” Emma: (Carrying another wooden chest, she joins David and Regina:) “Maybe it’s in this thing. (Places the chest on the bed and opens it. Clothes are stored inside:) Some winter coats. Some scarves. The book is not in here.” (Emma sighs and lays back on the bed. At that moment, a pair of hands reach up from under the bed and covertly place the storybook inside the chest.) Mary Margaret: (Exiting the closet:) “Hang on. Let me check.” (After a short search, Mary Margaret is able to find the storybook.) Emma: (Confused, sits up:) “I don’t understand.” (As all eyes turn to the book, Emma scurries out from under the bed and crawls quickly out of the room on all fours towards the door in the next room.) Regina: “Can I see that? (Mary Margaret gives the book to Regina:) I know there are chapters on Oz in here. I wanna know who’s heart Zelena crushed to enact this curse. Because if there’s something she loved, that’s her weakness. (Regina exits the room. David follows her. When they enter the living room, Regina catches a glimpse of something in the corner:) Did you see that?” David: “See what?” Regina: “I’m sure I saw something. (Shaking her head, she returns her attention to the storybook:) Never mind.”

Land Without Magic. Past, October 2011. Hong Kong. (August sits in a hospital in Hong Kong, waiting for his leg to be examined.) Orderly: “August W. Booth?” Exam Room. Doctor: (August shows his leg to the doctor. To the doctor's eyes his leg looks perfectly normal:) “I don't see anything.” August: “My leg is turning into wood.” Doctor: “I think you should go.” August: “Wait, wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'll prove it to you.” (August puts his leg up on the table and stabs his leg with a scalpel.) Doctor: “No! Stop! Aah! (Speaking Cantonese:) Orderlies! Restrain him! Take him to psych! (The orderlies chase August through the hospital:) Wait! Get back here! Hey! Get back!” (Seemingly with no place left to run, August is grabbed from behind and taken into the stairwell. August spins around ready to fight then sees a woman standing before him.) August: “Who are you?” Mulan: “Someone who can help. I heard you yelling about your situation. And I work with a man who fixes those kinds of problems.” August: “What kind of problems?” Mulan: “The kind most people just dismiss. For the right price, he can cure anything.” August: “Who is he?” Mulan: “They call him the Dragon.”

[ohmightydevviepuu]

hello love (a silent kiss from a wish) / CS January Joy

part one of two for the @csjanuaryjoy AO3

When Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.

She just--she wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay. And that they would all live, happily ever after.

--

thanks to @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff and @optomisticgirl for encouragement and love.

special birthday shoutout to @distant-rose <3 <3 <3

(i would like to note that @optomisticgirl’s epic “Days of Future’s Past” inspired part of this story) (you should read it) 

@shireness-says @shardminds @mariakov81 @stahlop @kmomof4 @carpedzem​ @jonirobinson64​ @spartanguard (for science)

part two will post on 24 january!

--

the time-slip is a classic and i would be remiss if i did not point other other gems (that i am aware of) in this fandom: a seed of hope by @unfolded73​ in time by @justanotherwannabeclassic​ i jumped across from you (oh what a thing to do) by @bemusedbicycle​

--

this story was inspired by an old sailor moon fic called quirks by vievre (on FF dot net)

one. 

Emma Swan was freezing.

She had never, in her entire life, known it was possible to be this cold.  She thought she’d understood cold--had endured cold, had survived cold, living on the streets in Minnesota in the winter, camping out in the backseat of her unheated Beetle in Boston, shivering in a jail cell in Phoenix.

She’d been wrong.

“If I could just--lay down for a minute,” she panted, letting Elsa help her to the ground.

“Emma,” Elsa said.  “Emma--talk to me. Tell me more.”

Emma wasn’t sure if she was going to survive this.  She heard her father’s voice on the other side of the ice wall and knew that he would be disappointed in her.  She tried to imagine him saying something supportive and ridiculous and cheerful and exhorting her to have hope, but she--she couldn’t.  Hope had vanished at least 20 degrees ago.

Emma was too damn cold for hope. 

“Parents don’t always help,” Elsa murmured, but Emma was having difficulty following the conversation from one end to the other.  She could hear the static squelching on the walkie from the other side of the ice wall and knew that David Nolan was doing everything in his power to get her out of here.  And Hook--

“That has to be very lonely,” Emma said, but the movement of her lips did little to help her stay warm.

Emma wasn’t going to think about Hook, about how she’d refused to let him break down her walls--metaphorically speaking--and how she was now trapped behind a literal wall, made of ice, and wasn’t that one hell of a metaphor?

But she knew that he was probably trying just as hard to break that one down, too.  She tried to imagine the pair of them, the prince and the pirate, just to make herself laugh, to move her muscles, but it was cold--too cold for anything to be funny.

“Were you born with magic, or cursed?”

She’d seen some weird shit in her life, and even weirder shit in the year and change she’d lived in Storybrooke.  She’d eaten chimera and killed a dragon and led a mutiny of Lost Boys. She’d seen a flying monkey in New York City.  But when Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.

Fear of loss--because, for the first time in her life, she had something to lose.

Her parents, her family.  Henry. Hook.

“I’m very sorry I trapped us here,” Elsa said.  “I didn’t mean it.”

Emma knew that, she did--she just wished that she knew everything was going to turn out all right.

That they were all going to live, happily ever after.

She was barely conscious and did not see the glow of the wishing star in the ice underneath her.

two.

  He came awake all at once.

Two hundred years shipboard made a man a very light sleeper, and in the years since, Killian Jones had been content to be awakened most mornings by the movements of his still-drowsing wife.  She would breathe against his skin, tickling him. He would feel her lips against his back in light butterfly kisses along his spine or her fingers as she traced the designs inked into his arm.  He would feel the gentle pressure of her body as she pulled herself closer to him, and hear her whisper: “For heat.” And then he would nod, allowing her the simple fiction and enjoying the way she fit perfectly against him as he watched the sun rise through the filmy curtains of their east-facing bedroom.

He was unaccustomed to the sight that greeted him on this morning, however.  He was cold and stiff--”Getting old, babe,” she would say, giggling--and when he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a portable heating device on the floor of the Charmings’ old loft.

The loft that no one in their family had occupied for years.

It came to him in phases:  the awkwardness of sitting on the floor; the pain in his shoulder and neck; his arm, oddly positioned behind him and over his shoulder.  He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something-- someone --was holding his arm in place.

Instinctively, Killian twisted--he needed to check, he needed--

When he tried to pull his hand from her grasp, she turned, though she didn’t wake.  Emma Swan was curled up on the old too-small couch in the old too-small family loft, his old greatcoat pulled up to her chin and his hand wrapped tightly in hers.  

He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.  Neither was she.

three.

  Killian examined himself in the mirror.

He was wearing one of his linen blouses and a pair of leather trousers, his waistcoat discarded on the wash basin.  The boots lined up next to the couch had pointed toes instead of rounded and buckles instead of zippers. Though he always protested to his wife that he still ‘retained his youthful glow’, the reflection that greeted him was younger, and harder, and Killian suddenly missed the laugh lines and crow’s feet he had begun to accumulate.

With a sigh, Killian pulled his shirt up by the hem, already suspecting what he was going to see.  His skin was largely unblemished, except for his tattoos; the scar he carried from Excalibur was missing.  He had not yet been wounded. Killed.

He had not yet asked--begged, pleaded--she had not yet--

Killian closed his eyes and for an instant, he could feel his wife’s fingers tracing the pale silver line in the dark, the way she did on the nights where it still, sometimes, all felt like too much, when one or both of them was restless, when the only thing that kept the darkness at bay was the light they created together.  He exhaled, scrubbing his hand down his face.

The sliding door separating the washroom from the living area still stuck--of course it did, he reminded himself, no one had ever bothered to fix it--but he maneuvered it gently, hoping not to wake anyone, least of all the baby.  The cot was in its old spot by the alcove and if he had to postulate, his brother-in-law was--at most--three or four weeks old and still well into his screaming phase.  

Killian would bet gold doubloons on unloaded dice that there was sleeping Arendellian royalty in the bed at the top of the ladder.

Which meant that the Emma Swan curled up on the couch, under his coat, was not his wife.

He examined her, taking in the gold of her hair in the early morning sunlight, and saw that the strands of silver that had begun to twine around the gold were missing.  She appeared to be relaxed--he doubted anyone else would notice--but his Emma slept with complete abandon, and Killian could see that even in repose, in her family’s loft, this Emma was on her guard. 

He wanted to touch her.  His fingers practically itched.  He wanted to smooth away the worry line on her forehead, to run his palm across her cheek, to wind his fingers into her hair.  But this Emma still had walls that were miles high, and would not welcome his touch or his breaching of her carefully-constructed boundaries, no matter that he had, once upon a time, literally attempted to tear down a wall between them.  He had bruised his shoulders, had blunted his hook on the solid ice and been rewarded with the feeling of the weight of her in his arms for the first time.

And when he’d carried her back to the loft, wrapped in his coat, she’d pulled his hand into both of hers and didn’t let go, clasping and unclasping their fingers, tracing the metal of his rings.  He remembered it, they way her hand had felt, small and cold; the way her eyes had softened when she wouldn’t let him leave.

That was last night, unless he missed his guess, and just as he had the realization, she opened her eyes.

Emma startled very slightly--another thing that his Emma had not done in years--and relaxed infinitesimally as she saw him.  “Hook,” she said, and smiled. Her eyes were sleepy but crinkled at the corners as she met his gaze; she laughed at him every time, but Killian always swore that the morning sun made them glitter a particularly vibrant shade of green.

And that’s when his breath caught, in that moment, when all he saw was the woman he had married.  His True Love. (“Capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’,” she always said, as if he could possibly forget.)  

“Good morning, Swan,” he said, kneeling to put their eyes at a level.  He tried, and failed, to hold back, restricting himself to brushing a lock of hair out of her face.  “Have you warmed up at all?”

four.

  The shower at Granny’s was worse than he remembered.

Killian wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the water, or the fact that he missed Emma’s open shampoo bottles and the scent of her around him while he bathed.  Maybe it was that the shower in their home was big enough for both of them, a circumstance they frequently took advantage of. Killian reached for his old black dressing gown that was still brand new in this time, and had not been appropriated by his wife.  He stepped out of the bathroom, thumbing the scar on his abdomen that wasn’t there, and took in the room: the corners of the sheet tucked in with military precision, the hand-drawn map of Storybrooke tacked to the wall, his books stacked precisely on the wooden desk in the corner.

It was clean.  None of the photographs Snow had started gifting them, which multiplied on what felt like a weekly basis, cluttering every surface. None of the detritus his Emma left in her wake wherever she went.   When he’d walked through the door and didn’t immediately trip over Emma’s boots, which she would leave wherever she happened to take them off, it felt wrong.

She’d sent him “home”, and that felt wrong, too, but Killian knew there would be no changing her mind and no reason for her to think any other way.  Especially not when she’d allowed his touch and then immediately pulled back into herself. Emma had merely thanked him for spending the night, shooing him out the door, and he had gone.

“I’ve slept in far worse places for less worthy reasons, love,” he’d said, conscious of Snow--of Mary Margaret--and David trying not to watch them from their alcove.  They were destined to be forever watched, always interrupted, and they’d long ago given up changing the locks. “Far be it for me to deny a beautiful woman such a simple request.”

He’d been there for her, and she’d allowed it, and he had never forgotten how that felt.

But now, in the Spartan room he’d once maintained as his own, there was much else to consider.  This wasn’t time travel, nor was it another reality--two things he, unfortunately, had practical experience with.  He had not gone through a portal, or been transported by other magical means. It did not match Emma’s and Regina’s descriptions of waking up in the Wish world, or being sent through the looking-glass.

To his best approximation, he had merely woken up in the body of his younger self, on a day that he had already lived. 

That left him with two questions:  why?

And--perhaps more importantly--where was the Killian Jones that had been meant to live this day?

five.

  The bed was warm, and it was that as much as anything that alerted his senses and pulled him fully and completely awake.  The bed was warm, and strange, and there was filtered sunlight coming in through flimsy window coverings. He was wearing neither hook nor brace--nor shirt--and he wasn’t alone.

Hook lay sprawled on his stomach, and there was on his back the weight of another person, their arm draped across his neck and a cheek against his shoulder.  He tried to remember the last time he had woken up with someone in his bed in the daylight, and when he lost count of the years, he rolled over onto his back.

Emma Swan followed his movement, mumbling to herself as she re-settled her head on his chest, and Hook froze.

Bad joke, that, he thought to himself, when he had just last evening been surrounded by literal miles of ice--when Swan had nearly frozen to death in a spell gone awry.

She was anything but cold at the moment, her breath tickling his skin.  Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in some kind of knot, and he had a delicious view of the skin at the back of her neck and the silver chain she wore.  They were tangled together in a web of soft sheets and he could feel, from where she pressed against him, that she wore little or nothing beneath her sleeping shirt.

He didn’t belong here.

Though he had often fantasized about what he and Emma Swan could do, should they ever find themselves in bed together, her present reaction to this manner of company would likely end poorly.  Emma Swan had carefully constructed boundaries, and this was a violation of all of them.

He didn’t belong here, and Hook knew this couldn’t be a dream.  It was too real; he could feel the weight of her against him, and the softness of the mattress under him, and the warmth of the sunlight against his skin.  There had been no portal that he was aware of, no other means of magical transport. He did not know what else it could be, other than a curse, and though he would happily kiss her--

Hook exhaled a laugh through his nostrils.

His previous attempts at curse-breaking had not been successful.  He would rather enjoy this feeling for a few minutes longer than endure another knee in the groin for his efforts.

But.

He had thought of her, every day of the year that they had been apart, and dreamed of her every night, and this was--

He remembered carrying Emma back into her parents’ loft last night, under the worried and watchful eyes of her family, and of Elsa.  He had been easily persuaded to stay, just by the look in her eyes that told him she needed him. Hook knew she couldn’t verbalize it, not yet, but she needed him, and he could be there for her.

And now, Hook found himself in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, with a very familiar yet unfamiliar woman pulling him closer with every breath she took.

Her hand moved, and he saw it:  the slender silver band around the fourth finger of her right hand as she absent-mindedly traced the tattoo along his collarbone.  Hook watched her, mesmerized by her obvious familiarity with the intricate design, the way the light reflected on the ring, and he noticed something else.

He wore one, too.

six.

  Killian stood in his rented room, letting the weight of his greatcoat settle on his shoulders, and realized there was another question he needed to account for.

What now?

Zelena was clearly not an option in this time.  Regina was still avoiding as much of the Charming clan as she could as often as she could rationalize it.  The crocodile was, for obvious reasons, out of the question. Mary Margaret and David would undoubtedly panic, and then work to convince him that his discarded solutions were viable possibilities, and all of these years later he still stayed away from the convent and its inhabitants whenever possible.

They had forgiven him, but he still had not.  Killian felt a pang as he thought of all of the ways he could attempt to change what was about to happen, and the chain of events that would follow. Few knew better than Killian Jones the cost of meddling with the past, however.  And there was too much that would be put at risk if he even tried.

But--in the meantime--what if he just enjoyed this quiet moment, and spent a day with Emma Swan?  He was turning the key in the lock and on his way down to the diner before he even completed the thought.

“Good morning, Captain.” Granny Lucas greeted him with an appreciative grin, and Killian could not help but smile back as he ordered his coffee.

“Coffee?” Granny’s eyebrows quirked upward.  “Finally starting to rub off on you, are we?”

��You know that you can...rub…wherever you wish, Mrs. Lucas,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in the way that she liked.

She flicked her towel at him.  “You watch yourself, boy,” she said, the way that she always did, before turning to pour out a cup of coffee.  “How do you take it?” she said.

“Ah,” he said, caught off-guard.  Emma drank coffee, Emma and Dave, who made a pot every day at the station, and he had first gotten into the habit of bringing her a morning fix in the weeks after she had restored his heart to his body.  “Black,” he said.

Before that, he had drunk tea.

He checked his phone for the time while he waited for Granny to hand the cup over, and looked up to see her watching him.  “Sheriff won’t be here for a few minutes yet,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed.

“You doing okay with that thing?” she asked, gesturing at the device.

Killian ran his finger over the keypad, hovering over the ‘Emma’ button.  He shrugged. “Needs must, and all of that,” he said. “Have a hot chocolate ready?”

Granny smiled.  “Sure,” she agreed, watching him take a sip.  “You know I’m rooting for you two.”

Killian nearly spat out his coffee before turning to face her, one eyebrow raised.

The bell over the door rang and Granny gave him a wink.  He put his mug down. “Faint heart never won fair lady,” she said, handing him a cup of cocoa doused in whipped cream.

He turned back toward the door.  When Emma spotted him, their eyes met for a moment before she relaxed into a small smile and gave him a little wave, pointing to a booth.  Their booth. The one where they ate breakfast every weekend, had family dinner at least once per week, afternoon coffee breaks after quickies in the restroom and the time he had persuaded Ruby and Dorothy to close early, commandeering the old jukebox and dancing with her in the middle of the diner.

Killian waited for her to sit before handing her the mug, careful not to spill, and mindful of the way her hands immediately encircled it and how she touched her pulse points against the heat of the beverage for warmth.  “Still cold, love?” he said, wishing he could pull her hands into his, rub his own thumb across her wrist, trace the five-petaled flower tattoo with his finger. 

“I’ll be fine,” she said.  She gave him another small smile and a shrug.  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Only mostly dead, then?”  Killian smiled at her, affecting a calm he knew his other self had not felt.  

Emma paused mid-sip and looked out the window.  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t go through my clothes, looking for loose change.”

Killian chuckled.  He understood that reference--

--and he shouldn’t.

Emma noticed.  Of course she noticed.  Half a dozen emotions flashed across her face before she settled on the easiest one, and Killian would swear she was wishing for another dagger to hold against his neck--bad joke, that--as she asked:  “Who the fuck are you?”

seven.

  It was a wedding band.

It was a wedding band .

He--

She--??

Hook sat up, dislodging both the dozing woman and the sheets.  She muttered a curse under her breath and grumbled as she rolled over to the other side of the mattress, and he saw the ornament on the chain he had just been admiring, and he swore. 

Colorfully, describing anatomically impossible acts in several languages and ending with an emphatic “bloody hell .”

She--Emma Swan--his wife --sat up immediately, her expression brimming with concern.  “Killian?” She held her hand out, her right hand, putting her palm against his chest and spreading her fingers.  She inhaled and exhaled, deeply, and “breathe, Killian,” she whispered. “It’s okay.” He felt himself falling into her rhythm, the metal cool against his skin, his eyes drawn to the ring between her breasts against the thin fabric of her sleeping shirt.  They looked--she looked--different. Rounder?

Hook averted his eyes, embarrassed.  She looked down at herself, her hand brushing her abdomen, and back up, guiding her face with his palm until he was looking at her again.

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself leaning into the pressure of her hand against his cheek.  

Shaking his head, Hook found he wasn’t quite capable of speech.

His eyes closed.  “Killian,” she said, her voice gentle.  “Killian, look at me. Did you dream about Excalibur?” 

He shook his head again, still uncomprehending.  “I don’t--Swan--I’m not--”

“Come back to me, Killian,” she said, and it was a command.  “Here and now, babe, look at me.” Her hand was back on his chest, her breathing rhythmic and soothing.  “Tell me something you know is true.”

He looked at her.  Finally, he said, “I think we’re going to have a bit of a problem there, love,” and laughed.  

The sound was more than somewhat unhinged, and Emma’s hand fell away.  “Okay,” she said. Her expression had changed into something he was more intimately familiar with:  suspicion. “Tell me the last thing you remember, then.”

Hook caught her hand in his, finding himself suddenly unwilling to let her pull away.  She surprised him by immediately lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay,” she said.  “You can tell me.”

“The ice wall,” he said.  “Last night, you were trapped in a wall of ice and you nearly froze to death.  We took you home, to your family’s loft, with a woman called Elsa. I didn’t want you to be alone, so I stayed.  When I woke up--” he shook his head “--I was here.”

Emma’s mouth was open.  For a minute, she said absolutely nothing, until the confusion on her face cleared.  “Oh,” she said. “ Oh, oh, shit--”

She took a few deep breaths of her own, closing her eyes before she looked at him again.  “Hook?”

He nodded, and her fingers tightened around his.

“Our second date,” she said, and smiled.

Hook laughed; this time, there was a trace of humor in the sound.

“Aye,” he said, rubbing his finger against the silver ring she wore.  “I don’t suppose you ever found the champagne?”

eight.

  Hook bathed--showered--letting the hot water steam up around him as he chased his own thoughts in circles.  The shower smelled like her.

It was distracting.

Though it was far less distracting than the ring he couldn’t bring himself to take off.

“Swan, we should talk,” he’d said, and Emma laughed.

“I find,” she said with a smirk, “that when my husband says that to me, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

He glared at her.  “Poor form, Swan,” he said.  “Using a man’s words against him.”

She’d called him ‘Hook’ as if there was a distinction.  Perhaps there was; perhaps that’s what happened when a man woke up years into his own future.  That’s what she’d said: “Oh, shit,” in her typical state of eloquence. “That was real--you really--”  She’d laughed until she was nearly in tears, until he’d needed to steady her with his arm and she’d smiled at him, as though she expected nothing else.  “You’re in our house,” she’d said finally. “In the future.”

Perhaps, in that instance, he was no longer the same man he once was.  Hook wanted to know, and yet he didn’t. He rubbed the ring again--”It’s real,” she’d said, “I promise”--and thought maybe that was all he needed to know.  That, and the way she’d smiled, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’ll make breakfast.  We’ll talk after,” she’d said, his wife said, and smiled a smile that lit up the entire room.  “You can use the shower. Pretty sure you’ll find everything you need.”

But he didn’t belong here.

Hook kept repeating that to himself, like a touchstone, but everywhere he turned, he was contradicted.  There was his soap in the shower next to the open, flowery-scented bottles that were Emma’s. A razor on the wash basin, a straight-edge with a shaving brush, stood solitary amidst the cosmetics.  Everything he needed, indeed. The soap was the same kind he’d gotten into the habit of using since the curse, from the washroom at the inn, with its clean scent of citrus and hint of spice.  

It mingled well with the open bottles that smelled like Emma.

He wrapped himself in a towel, a luxurious sheet of soft fabric that covered him past his knees, and dragged his thumb against a six-inch scar bisecting his abdomen.  The closet held boots and jackets and waistcoats; his brace and hook were on the table next to the bed. On the shelf was the chest he had carried with him on the Jolly Roger across the centuries.

And Emma Swan wore his brother’s ring on a chain around her neck.

There were pictures dotted on every surface, small miniatures depicting him or Swan or Henry or some combination of all three.  Pictures of himself and Charming, of Snow White and Emma, of the four of them together, of the wedding-- his wedding.  To Emma Swan.

Hook had never given much thought to the future.  He had lived the majority of his unnaturally long life with only one goal and a single-minded focus on its achievement.

He had never seen a sunset so perfect.

Hook dressed himself, buckling his brace and selecting a blue shirt and a black waistcoat and, after a moment of hesitation, a jacket.  Clothing was armor. It was the facade he chose to show to the world. He had never been less certain of what a day might bring in his entire life and he did not intend to face it in nothing more than the low-slung trousers of soft fabric in which he had awoken.

And a gentleman would never parade himself about in a state of undress.

“Hey, sailor!”  Emma’s voice easily carried up to where he stood.  In their bedroom.  “Breakfast is ready!”

nine.

  She was angry.

That was an emotion with which Killian was intimately familiar.  Hers, and his--because the Darkness had left its mark upon each of them.  Killian’s already-short fuse was, occasionally, shorter than it ever had been.  Emma sometimes retreated behind walls that were taller than ever. They fought it as they had everything else--together--and kept the same rules, always:  always talk to each other. If that didn’t work, then talk to someone else.  

And when all else failed, there was Archie, who called it “post-traumatic stress disorder”.

“Fucking post-traumatic savior disorder, more like,” Emma always said, her body brimming with frustration.  But her hand didn’t shake anymore and that was, itself, a victory.

Somehow, they got through it.  Together.

But all of that was to come much later.

For now, Emma Swan was angry, and she repeated her question.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Killian watched her, calculating the best way to answer her question.  Honestly, for a start.

“My name is Killian Jones,” he said, and her eyes narrowed, assessing him, until she nodded.

“Killian Jones who suddenly learned what Netflix is?” she asked.

It was her favorite movie.  He could practically recite it as well as she could at this point.

“Killian Jones who has had more opportunity to familiarize himself with Netflix, yes.”  He smirked. “And all of the pleasures of ‘Netflix and chill’.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“I’m not the Killian Jones with whom you are currently acquainted,” he admitted.

Emma’s hand went to her forehead.  “What the actual fuck?” 

He wanted to reach for her hand.  He wanted to, but he didn’t. “I can’t properly say, but I woke up this morning in our--in your family’s loft.  That is not where I went to sleep last night. I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own home.” With his wife, whom he missed more and more.  It wasn’t--

She didn’t--

It wasn’t Emma , he realized.  She was exactly as he remembered, and he loved her now just as he had done then  It was the way his fingers itched, and his sudden understanding of why.

“Holy shit,” Emma muttered.  “You’re--”

“From the future,” he finished.  “Aye.” He rubbed his finger against his ring--the wrong ring--to stop himself reaching for her hand.

“When?” Emma said.

“I really shouldn’t say,” Killian hedged.  “Several years from now.”

“You’re still in Storybrooke?  You--you stayed, in Storybrooke?”

It was the Darkness again, or rather the magic that had come with it.  Though he had no aptitude and even less interest, he retained just enough of it that he could feel her, his Emma, because of the bonds they shared.  Like a warm sunlight against his skin, nothing more, but he had gotten so used to it that he felt chilly in the shade.  The feeling was enhanced by physical contact.

Only this body had not yet been subject to the Darkness.  

And this Emma did not--yet--love him.  Not the way she would; not the way she did .

“Aye,” he said, looking directly at her.  “I’m still in Storybrooke. My entire life is here.”

His Emma loved to touch; she needed it almost as much as he did.  Their fingers intertwined, her body flush against him as they walked, her hand splayed against his chest as they lay on the couch or in their bed, against his heart.  As though she needed to remind herself--to remind both of them--that it was still there, and still beating.

Her eyes widened for an instant before she looked away.  She seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat.  “Listen to me, love,” Killian said.  “You and I, we’ve done this part before.  Just answer me: Am I telling you a lie? Because I’d rather not have to do the whole bit with the flying monkey and the brig to prove to you I am who I say I am.”

“David doesn’t have bologna,” Emma said, and Killian could hear acceptance in her words, perhaps with a hint of a smile.

“A fact for which I remain eternally grateful,” Killian said.

She smirked.

He smiled.

“So,” she said.  “If you’re here, then my Hook--”  She blushed and cleared her throat and started again.  “The Hook from this time is--where?  There? Where you came from?”

He shrugged.  It was the most likely explanation.

“And you’re not, like, I don’t know,”  Emma said, “worried? Upset?”

He shrugged again.  “Why should I be?”

“And that’s it?”  She was incredulous.  “You’re just going to, what, stay here?”

“I could give you a ‘hope’ speech, if you want.  I’ve got a fair few memorized by now.” He laughed.  “Let’s just say, darling, that you and I always get back to each other in the end.”

In New York, in Camelot, in the Underworld, in Neverland.

Always.

That’s what it meant to be True Love--capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’--to not give up, to never stop looking.  To always make the choice, and choose each other.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Killian said.  “He is yours. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

She bit her lip and looked out the window.  “I believe you,” she whispered.

[vixxscifiwritings]

and the leaves turn in september

Length - 3670 words

Characters - Hakyeon x Sanghyuk

Rating - General

Summary - Late summer passes in yearning for a love that Sanghyuk believes is elusive and Hakyeon wishes for.

Series

Tag List -  @tomatoholmes @merlionmen @seraphistols  @k-craze-97 @blossomtearsleo

-

01

“We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer’s wreckage. We will welcome summer’s ghost.”

— Henry Rollins

The morning after the storm is bright and golden. Sanghyuk wakes up when the sun is well above the horizon. The rattling of the windows in the storm has kept most of the manor's occupants awake and he only manages to sleep once the storm passes, well into the night. He makes his way down the halls to the kitchen. The house is quiet, as if slumbering after the stormy night like its inhabitants are. All except one Sanghyuk discovers as he finds Hakyeon in the kitchen.

“Good morning” Hakyeon greets him and Sanghyuk greets him in response. His throat is constricted in the mornings and his voice sounds husky with sleep. He makes a beeline for the nearest chair and tries not to rub his eyes and fails.

“Did you sleep well?” Hakyeon asks, brewing tea and adding some extra water to the kettle for Sanghyuk. He slides onto a tall stool by the counter, sitting next to Sanghyuk who yawns sleepily when handed his mug. Hakyeon almost melts at how soft Sanghyuk looks right now with his hair mussed, eyes half closed and sweater pulled down to cover his fingers as he warms them on the mug with the hot tea. He stuffs the warmth in his chest deep down and tries not to let the sudden overwhelming amount of affection show.

“More or less,” Sanghyuk says before yawning again. Hakyeon smiles knowingly and Sanghyuk sighs, admitting to the truth.

“The storm was really loud yesterday,” Hakyeon says, staring out of the window. In the distance, Sanghyuk can see the garden filled with leaves and jumbled flower beds and feels terrible for Jaehwan who has been slaving away in the gardens since he came home.

“I hope the farm is better off” Hakyeon says, knocking on the table thrice. Sanghyuk’s family’s farm has many open fields and Hakyeon doesn’t believe flowers are as sturdy as some other crops grown around town. At least vineyards have wooden frames supporting the growing plants.

“Our fields and greenhouses are sturdy, don’t worry,” Sanghyuk says. The rain storms of Amboise are not new to his family and the farm has safeguards in place to protect the produce. The great storm during his great grandfather’s time had been a hard lesson with an entire year’s worth of crops lost.

“You know” Hakyeon starts and his smooth voice pulls Sanghyuk out of his reminiscing. “On a more peaceful day, it’s refreshing to sit outside in the garden in the mornings.”

Sanghyuk hums in agreement and Hakyeon wistfully stares outside. He turns to Sanghyuk who looks at him thoughtfully. He raises an eyebrow and Sanghyuk shakes his head. Sanghyuk sets his mug down, idly running his finger around the rim as he rests his head on his other hand.

“The rains will stop once September starts” Sanghyuk says. “And we’ll have a few days of sunlight in early fall before the cold creeps in.”

“That’s my favourite part of the year,” Hakyeon confesses. “When it is a pleasant temperature and there is still sunshine to warm you up.”

“We should go on a picnic then like we did last week. Or simply walk by the river. The trees along the banks turn orange and look beautiful” Sanghyuk proposes.

“I’d like that,” Hakyeon says, smiling brightly. “We should make a plan once everyone else wakes up. But I don’t know if Hongbin and Jaehwan are staying in Amboise that long.”

“Ah” Sanghyuk says, looking at his own mug. He doesn’t meet Hakyeon’s eyes. How could he have forgotten about Hongbin? Taekwoon and Jaehwan’s enigmatic guest who seems to have captured all of Hakyeon’s attention with his easy and friendly going charm. Jealousy is an ugly virtue but it hits Sanghyuk full swing.

“Hopefully the weather clears up before he has to leave” Sanghyuk says out loud without truly meaning it.

-

02

"Notice that autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

It’s Sunday and Sanghyuk chooses to stay behind at the farm. He intends on spending the day in bed, wallowing in self pity. Now that Hakyeon has company of someone he likes, it feels stupid to continue meeting him at the farmer’s market and giving him flowers.

In hindsight, it sounds like an absolutely stupid plan and Sanghyuk is embarrassed by his past self. Who would think that flowers are a good indication of affection in this day and age? For all he knows, Hakyeon probably thinks flowers aren’t even that significant to him since he grew up on the farm.

Sanghyuk rolls around on his bed and lets more mortifying scenarios pop up in his head. It’s acutely painful and Sanghyuk thinks romance is just not worth it and he should wash his hands off it before he does any more damage to his dignity.

His phone chimes when he receives a message from Jaehwan asking him where he is and why he isn’t at the market downtown. Sanghyuk racks his brains for a plausible excuse and settles for being needed to help his mother at the farm. The sunflowers need to be harvested and he really should lend her a helping hand and he resolves to do so once Jaehwan replies.

Perhaps he should have immediately left his phone behind because Jaehwan messages him to say that Hakyeon missed him and Sanghyuk almost cries in frustration at his own feelings.

-

"I know what you are doing, you know" Jaehwan says, using a clipper to snip at the thorns of the rose in his hand.

"What am I doing?" Sanghyuk asks, focusing on the task at hand instead of focusing on Jaehwan.

It's the starting of September and these will be the last batches of roses to bloom on the farm. His father puts him to work on removing the thorns from the flowers before they can be sold to the town florists. It's time consuming work but it is perfect to avoid your thoughts and Sanghyuk agrees to do it.

That is, till Jaehwan shows up.

Jaehwan is a persistent man (and a good friend for checking in on him). Sanghyuk doesn't like to admit it but he has been moping ever since he returned from dinner at Taekwoon's house. He doesn't think he was that obvious but here Jaehwan is, sitting in his greenhouse and dethorning roses and looking at him knowingly.

Jaehwan's scrutiny makes him feel foolish and silly and Sanghyuk decides not to look his way.  Jaehwan isn't deterred by this. Sanghyuk doesn’t hold a candle to the flame that is Taekwoon avoiding talking about feelings.

"You're being foolish" he says plainly. The sky is blue, the wind is chilly today and Sanghyuk is being foolish. All three sentences can be expressed to the same effect in Jaehwan's tone. Sanghyuk splutters and snips a leaf off by accident. The leaf falls to the ground, its existence mocking his lack of subtlety.

"You should be glad Hakyeon is here with you and not cities away, too busy or too tired to talk some days" Jaehwan says bitterly.

"I know…" Sanghyuk starts. He sympathizes with Jaehwan. He doesn't know Wonshik but he must be a wonderful man to have Jaehwan so devoted to him even when there are miles between them. But he doesn't have the assurances for his affection that Jaehwan has from Wonshik.

"I don't think… I don't think he likes me the same way I like him" Sanghyuk admits. The words hurt and he busies himself with sorting through the bundles of flowers and arranging them into neat bouquets.

"You couldn't be further from the truth" Jaehwan scoffs. "Anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can tell Hakyeon likes you."

"Maybe he used to but-" Sanghyuk cuts off. If Jaehwan doesn't know about Hakyeon's actual object of affection then it is not his place to tell him. To be honest the idea of Hakyeon liking him, even if it is once upon a time is quite incredulous.

"But?" Jaehwan prompts.

"Nothing" Sanghyuk lies. He sighs and lets his shoulders drop. It really is starting to get colder. Amboise doesn't have cold winters but Sanghyuk wonders if this season just reflects the heartbreak he feels.

“Well, he likes you and you like him and you are being stupid by not asking him out when you can” Jaehwan says and Sanghyuk sighs.

-

Sanghyuk doesn't plan on hiding forever. The town is small and he will eventually run into Hakyeon. If not at the farmer's market then at the small movie theatre by 2nd Street that Hakyeon frequents whenever there is a new movie released or at the amphitheatre in the Town Square where the travelling troupe performs when they are in town. Hakyeon really loves plays and you can see his eyes lighting up when he watches performers deliver unrealistically dramatic lines.

Sanghyuk knows that running into Hakyeon is inevitable. But he doesn't expect to run into him at the delicatessen because it is so far from the area Hakyeon lives in. (A part of Sanghyuk wonders if he pays too much attention to Hakyeon or if it is normal to know so much about a person after knowing them for so long.)

"Hi" Hakyeon says, as surprised as Sanghyuk feels.

"Hey" Sanghyuk says, pushing his hands into his pockets. Blunt ending to a long lasting crush or not, it still is a pleasure to see Hakyeon. It's cold enough for him to start wearing thin sweaters and he smells of earthy spices and his favourite wood scented perfume.

"Haven't seen you in a long time" Hakyeon says, paying for his order and putting the wrapped meats away in the basket he is carrying.

"End of summer harvests usually means a lot of work at the farm" Sanghyuk tells him. Hakyeon steps back to let him order but hangs close by, unwilling to end the serendipitous meeting first.

"Well, if you are free this Wednesday then we were thinking of a small wine tasting outing to the vineyards in Bordeaux. Nothing fancy" Hakyeon tells him.

"So no dressing up in suit and ties with Taekwoon quoting great dead French poets of the past?" Sanghyuk asks teasingly.

"I'm afraid not" Hakyeon laughs. "Hongbin is going back home by the Sunday train. We wanted to take him there before he goes there because he doesn't know when he will return."

"A shame" Sanghyuk says. His order is ready and he pays for it. This is a perfect cue to escape this conversation. Sanghyuk isn't inclined to be the third wheel to a getaway where his crush can be stolen from him. But he makes the mistake to linger because he has missed Hakyeon too much to cut him off.

"Taekwoon and Jaehwan are clearly distraught. But what do you say? Would you like to come along?" Hakyeon asks hopefully.

Sanghyuk has never been able to say no to his doe like eyes.

-

03

“The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.”

― Tennessee Williams

"I'm glad you decided to come along" Jaehwan says as Sanghyuk helps him load their luggage into the car trunk.

The trip is short and the company settles on using Jaehwan's convertible for the trip. The amount of bags makes Sanghyuk question their decision but Jaehwan insists that his baby can make the trip and so he defers to his judgement.

"Are you going to go to Paris with Hongbin on Sunday?" Sanghyuk asks Jaehwan.

"No. But I am leaving on Sunday too. I am going to Manchester to meet my father. Business stuff" Jaehwan says. Sanghyuk doesn't know what exactly Jaehwan does but he knows his father works in the fast fashion business and assumes it must be something related to that.

"How long are you traveling for this time?" Sanghyuk asks, making idle conversation while they wait for others to show up.

"A few months. I think I'll be back in spring next" Jaehwan says, counting and estimating in his head.

"On the plus side, you will be with your family for Christmas," Sanghyuk points out. Jaehwan smiles and Sanghyuk is glad. He thinks he will miss Jaehwan and finds that he genuinely means it.

"Can’t say that will be a blessing. I guess it's time to go" Jaehwan says, watching as Hakyeon and Hongbin emerge from the house followed by Taekwoon who locks the door behind him. The two laugh at something while Taekwoon indignantly protests. Hakyeon puts his hand around Hongbin's waist and Sanghyuk looks away wondering if he has made a mistake agreeing to this outing.

-

“I don’t know why we travelled all the way to Bordeaux when we live right next to Loire Valley” Sanghyuk confesses as they unpack their luggage in the shared room. The group stops at a motel for the night. The two cities are not far by road but no one wants to drive for hours after a long day and in the middle of the night.

“We travelled because Taekwoon believes Bordeaux red wines are the best when clearly Samour sparkling wines are superior but then Taekwoon just said I had cheap taste buds” Jaehwan scoffed. He flopped around on his side of the bed before pouting and burying his head in the pillows.

“So you basically agreed to travel here to prove a point to Taekwoon” Sanghyuk says, amused at the elder’s antics.

“Would have snuck in a bottle of bubbly too if it wasn’t ‘in bad taste’ and ‘not allowed Jaehwan’” Jaehwan says, imitating Taekwoon’s disapproving voice and adding air quotes for emphasis. Sanghyuk laughs and Jaehwan continues his impressions, happy that he has an audience in a person who isn’t clearly protective of his brother.

Their reverie is interrupted when Jaehwan gets a call from Wonshik and Hakyeon steps out of the shower, announcing it is free for whoever wants to use it next. Jaehwan steps out into the balcony to answer it and Sanghyuk looks to Hakyeon who simply has a towel wrapped around his waist. His features are softer than what Sanghyuk imagined and Sanghyuk commits those lines and curves to memory.

“You’ll catch a cold like that” he says when Hakyeon catches him staring. Hakyeon blushes and pulls a t-shirt over his head. Sanghyuk looks away and gives him the privacy to get dressed. His cheeks have a matching flustered shade of pink and he focuses on picking at the frills of the pillow instead of looking at Hakyeon.

The bed dips and Hakyeon sits next to him. The two of them look at the balcony where they can see Jaehwan smiling as he talks, parts of his conversation reaching them through the open window and the dusk frames his visage. The sky visible above the neighbouring buildings is already blue. The sun is setting and Sanghyuk feels the night wash over. Next to him, Hakyeon is warm and smells of berry scented shampoo. Their shoulders brush and knees touch. Hakyeon doesn’t move away so Sanghyuk stays too.

“We have some time before the wine tasting” Hakyeon says.

“We do” Sanghyuk agrees.

Hakyeon puts his head down on Sanghyuk’s shoulder and the younger tenses up. “Wake me up when we need to leave” he says, closing his eyes and resting against Sanghyuk. His frame is sturdy and his body is all muscle and broad shoulders after working on the farm for years. It feels warm and safe. Hakyeon’s own skin is cooler after the shower and the contrast feels pleasant.

“Okay” Sanghyuk agrees. Hakeon feels him relax and hunch a bit so he can rest properly. He puts an arm around Hakyeon and Hakyeon places a hand on his thigh and slowly falls asleep the way blooming flowers close at the end of day.

-

04

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar."

- Delia Owens

As predicted, Taekwoon and Jaehwan argue the moment the sommelier withdraws after pouring the first round of wines. Hakyeon shushes them to get them to behave the two huff petulantly. Hongbin looks at Sanghyuk and the two try not to laugh too hard. Taekwoon and Jaehwan restrain themselves till the third wine is served and then break into barbs and jibes at the other’s taste with no hope of reconciliations any moment in the near future.

“Are they always like this?” Sanghyuk asks Hongbin as Hakyeon sighs and drags them away from the high table to a more peaceful corner where they won’t disturb their fellow diners.

“Hakyeon tells me that Taekwoon is only this lively around Jaehwan. I am inclined to believe him” Hongbin says.

“You and Hakyeon seem close,” Sanghyuk casually comments. He shouldn’t be petty but he is and slightly jealous too. But Hongbin doesn’t notice the bite in his voice.

“Hakyeon is like an older brother to me now. We get along better than I thought we would but Hakyeon is just so friendly you know?” Hongbin tells him.

“A brother?” Sanghyuk asks in surprise.

“Trust me, I was surprised too” Hongbin agrees. “I don’t make friends this easily. But then again I don’t normally travel to far away towns with people I have only known for a few days or fall in love with someone I just met.”

“In love… with someone you just met? Taekwoon?” Sanghyuk asks, multiple pieces of the puzzle clicking into place together in his head.

This explains the odd glances and the way Hongbin and Taekwoon always gravitate to each other when Taekwoon is normally so reserved. All of a sudden, Sanghyuk feels foolish for not knowing this sooner because it has always been in front of him as plain as day.

“Yeah” Hongbin confirms, glancing over at his lover who stands to the side with his hands folded and glaring at Hakyeon and Jaehwan who are in a deep discussion about something else. Hongbin walks over and rescues Taekwoon from the conversation that will have no end and Taekwoon puts his hand around Hongbin. Sanghyuk feels very silly indeed.

“Between the two of them, I am going to age faster than I should” Hakyeon says when he comes over to talk to Sanghyuk. “I swear I have a few grey hairs already.”

“I think they would suit you” Sanghyuk says. The realization that Hakyeon does not like Hongbin because Hongbin likes Taekwoon gives him a rush of bravery that no wine can. The merlot is potent but the intoxication of affection is deadlier.

“Grey hairs?” Hakyeon asks, amused at Sanghyuk’s declaration.

“I think you’d still be pretty after aging for many years” Sanghyuk tells him.

The sincerity of the statement makes Hakyeon blush. He seems to be doing that a lot around him. Crush or no crush, Hakyeon thinks Sanghyuk will be terrible for him. The indulgence and affection will spoil him beyond measure. If only Hakyeon has the courage to reach for what he wants.

“Ah well, it’s only till Sunday I guess. Then it will just be me and Taekwoon again” Hakyeon says ruefully.

“I’ll miss both of them” Sanghyuk says. This time he means it genuinely. Hakyeon hums in agreement and the two of them sip on their wine in a companionable silence.

“If you ever feel alone at the manor, you can come down to the farm sometimes. There’s always people working on something or the other and the sights from the fields are pretty” Sanghyuk offers. “Jaehwan comes over all the time now. We always have room for one more if you want company.”

-

Sanghyuk sees Hakyeon next in October, two weeks after their trip to Bordeaux. The homogeneously green trees give way to a mix of brown, orange, yellow and green and the summer rains give way to clear blue skies where the white clouds float, content to just exist and drift.

Sanghyuk waits for Hakyeon, this time carrying a bouquet of roses. It’s a surprise batch of late bloomers and his mother allows him to take a few. It’s too cold for roses but the sun shines bright on some days and the flowers thrive and Sanghyuk thinks that this is reflective of his own feelings for Hakyeon. He’ll never verbally admit to Hakyeon, but he can’t think of any alternative except to give them to him.

“You have roses!” Hakyeon exclaims in happiness when he walks up to Sanghyuk. His arms are full with his purchases and Sanghyuk takes a few bags from him so he can hold the flowers.

“Late bloomers” Sanghyuk tells him by way of an explanation.

“Still very pretty” Hakyeon says. The roses aren’t red and this isn’t a tacky love confession but he finds the light pink colour pretty and any gift from Sanghyuk is a gift he will treasure.

The two walk down to the parking lot and Sanghyuk helps Hakyeon put things away. Hakyeon holds onto the flowers, insisting that they are too pretty to part with. Sanghyuk loiters and they make idle talk about the weather and the townsfolk they know and how the winter this year seems colder than the previous year. When they run out of topics to talk about, they talk about more trivial things till Sanghyuk looks at his watch and realizes he must go back to help his family.

“I also have tickets to a play by the travelling troupe you love” Sanghyuk says, shuffling his feet like an awkward child. “If you’d like to go with me.”

“I don’t think I would like anything more” Hakyeon declares. He smiles and Sanghyuk thinks he looks prettier than the flowers he is holding. In fact, Hakyeon’s smile might be the prettiest thing in the universe. A sign of the spring of the heart in the midst of the somber autumn all around that seems to gain colour as the old leaves softly drift through the wind.

-x-

[hms-chill]

Feeling Deeply

Summary: It’s nearing the seventh anniversary of Henry’s dad’s death, and navigating the succession process only makes that harder, but at least Alex is there to help.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Henry's alarm wakes them both far too early. Alex has essays to write and grants to find and things to do while Henry's in meetings for the day, but getting up for them is the last thing in the world he wants to do. He just wants to stay right where he is, so when Henry starts to move toward getting up, Alex tightens his arms around him and nuzzles into his shoulder. Henry laughs a bit, running a hand through what Alex can already tell is an atrocious bed head, and Alex feels his heart soar. Today is better, then.

"I've got to get up, Love."

"No. Won't let you. Stay here," Alex grumbles, and Henry laughs again, moving away enough to press a kiss to Alex's forehead.

"I love you. And I... I really appreciate what you did for me last night. Thank you."

"I love you." He says it half buried in Henry's neck, but he looks up in time to see the little smile on Henry's face. He runs his hand though Alex's hair again before bringing it down to cup Alex's jaw, and Alex melts.

"I do have to get up. I'm meeting with some donors for breakfast, then with Pez at his favorite brunch place, then Buckingham all afternoon."

"Come back for lunch? I miss you," Alex says, and Henry gives him a smile.

"I'll do my best. I miss you, too."

Henry kisses his forehead, then his nose, and then Alex is smiling into a kiss on the lips. He watches from the bed as Henry goes about the process of getting ready for a day of meetings, building a prince around the core of a young man. It's something Alex has seen a hundred times by now, but it doesn't seem to take as long as it used to. When Henry kisses him goodbye and promises to have the kitchen send up coffee, there's more of Henry in the prince than there's ever been, and Alex is beyond glad.

It's only after Henry is gone that Alex launches into action, getting himself ready for the day. Henry thinks he's just going to be taking it slow and adjusting to the time difference before a fancy state dinner, and that was his initial plan, but after last night, it's been revised a bit. Bea's texted, so he takes his coffee to the music room and finds her on the couch, fiddling with something he thinks is called a thumb harp. She sets it down to come wrap him in a hug as soon as he appears, and he has to be careful not to spill hot coffee down her back.

"Thank you for doing this for him."

"Of course. Thank you for helping. I'll probably ask your mom, too, but I wanted to make sure it was a good idea first, and I thought you might know better than she would."

Bea just nods, and they get to work. She's got to go before too long, her own series of charity meetings and projects to get to, but she promises to send Alex an email with everything he needs to set his plan into motion. He texts Catherine as he makes his way back to Henry's room to work, and she responds quickly, so Alex settles in and gets started on something much, much more important than another project could ever be.

He does finish his essay and start his grant search before he meets Henry for lunch, an honest to god picnic in a secluded part of Kensington Gardens, because it's beautiful out and Henry's been inside all day. And lunch is perfect, all laughter and casual touches and stealing bites of each other's food as they finally, finally get to spend time together after days apart. Henry had come into it looking a little tired and with a hug that begged for a break, but he looks better as they're wrapping up. Alex suggests they walk to Buckingham, because it's a nice day and it's not too far, and the fresh air is clearly doing Henry good. So Henry grabs his hand, and they drop the picnic basket off at Kensington and start toward Henry's next meeting. Alex can feel the tension building as they get closer, as Henry gets ready to go in and see every piece of his family's history that could ever hurt them picked apart and put on full display. Alex just distracts him as best he can, rambling about all sorts of things and keeping a tight hold on his hand.

When they get to Buckingham, Henry gives him a hug, the kind that says he wants Alex to stay close even if he can't. So Alex hugs him as tightly as he can and tells him he's proud of him. He offers to break into the meeting and cause a ruckus to end it, and that makes Henry laugh, and when he pulls out of the hug, he's got his armor back on. Alex stands on his toes to kiss him, and Henry goes, leaving Alex to try not to feel like he's sending his boyfriend into a war zone.

He takes his laptop back to the Waterloo Vase for the afternoon, because of all the places to study, a towering vase that reminds him of how much Henry loves him is probably the best one. Henry finds him there a few hours later and greets him with a hug that just says he's tired, tired of all the questions and the taking and the picking. It's a hug that's begging for cuddles and an episode or two of Bake Off, but it's not one that means Henry's going to fall apart or that he needs a long weekend where they don't see anyone else, so Alex counts it as a win.

They go back to Kensington and facetime June, and she puts David on so Henry can baby talk to him while she and Alex catch up. Then, Alex and Henry curl up on a couch in the music room to watch Parks and Rec with Bea, Henry's head on Alex's shoulder as Alex tries to absorb some of the "too much" that gets to him in times like these.

Their last event of the day is a state dinner, and Henry is tired, but Alex can tell he's enjoying it as much as he ever enjoys events like this. There are interesting people to talk to, and there's good food, and afterward they're free to mingle with whoever they'd like, so in sum, it's far from the worst. Alex gets into a conversation with a Hungarian diplomat about the finer points of Hungary's shift to the Euro, and he sees Henry laugh at something one of the waiters says. He tries not to be too distracted by that laugh, tries not to fall too much in love with the fact that in a room full of diplomats and politicians and activists, Henry has chosen to talk to a member of palace staff.

Eventually, Alex is getting another glass of champagne when Henry comes to give him a hug that asks if they can go. Alex puts the fresh champagne flute down and takes his hand instead, and Henry leads him through a side door and into the kitchen. From the kitchen, they stop in a wine cellar just long enough to grab a bottle before Henry is leading the way back out to Buckingham Gardens. He tucks them away somewhere out of sigh of the palace and lies down on the grass, tugging Alex down to join him before turning his attention to the sky.

"Looking for Orion?" Alex teases, but Henry shakes his head.

"Orion's a winter constellation. I'm not sure what I'm looking for; maybe Leo or Signus."

Alex chuckles, but Henry doesn't say anything, just moves to rest his head on Alex's chest, eyes still turned toward the stars. Alex puts a hand in his hair, but doesn't say anything. Henry's quieter now than he has been for a while, the sort of quiet sadness that Alex knows comes over him sometimes, so rather than try to force him to talk, Alex wraps an arm around his chest and waits.

"We used to do this with my dad," Henry says eventually. "He'd take us out at night, each of us on our own, and he'd show us where the constellations were. It's... my earliest memory with him is waking up late one night, and I was so sleepy, but he wrapped me in a blanket and took me outside to see Orion. He told me that every culture in the world could see a soldier or a hunter or a hero in those stars, and he taught me to see it, too. And I... well, in the Greek myth, Orion's a bit of an ass. More than a bit, if I'm honest. So I decided that my dad was probably a better hero to celebrate, and I told him he was the one the stars made a picture of. I pretended the whole world saw those stars and decided to celebrate my dad. And now, he... well. That's why I look for Orion the way I do. It... it was always sort of our constellation, and I... I like to think, sometimes, that he's connected to it somehow. I know that's a bit daft, but it's nice to imagine."

"I don't think it's daft," Alex says. Henry's quiet, and again, it's the sort of quiet Alex doesn't want to step on.

"This... this is seven years since he died. Seven is... well, I'm not sure how much I buy it, but it's an important number in nearly every religion. So if I'm, you know, especially maudlin or quiet..."

"I understand. I mean, I... I understand as much as I can," Alex says. "And I love you. Even when you're maudlin or quiet. Especially then."

Henry turns his head and kisses Alex's chin. Alex smiles and kisses the side of Henry's head, just above his ear. Henry opens the wine, then points out his first constellation. Alex holds him close, and after a bit, he asks, "H? I know we're supposed to be taking time and relaxing after this week, but would you maybe want to visit your dad while we're on vacation?"

Henry sits up, and Alex is worried for a moment, but then Henry grabs his face and kisses him, and he feels a flood of warmth as he realizes he's said the right thing.

On AO3, Chapter 1

Notes:

@steelrosealchemist and I were talking about Orion a few days ago, and it's my favorite constellation, so I thought it might be nice to work in some backstory about why Henry's looking for it on New Year's, right before he makes a move. So there’s that fun little tidbit for y’all.