#this also ties into my heavy preference for Emma keeping her hair short

[fullscoreshenanigans]

ive come to the conclusion that grown up emma should be. maybe not quite butch but like yknow? 👀

love a soft butch emma

[woodelf68]

Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out

My long-promised homage to @worryinglyinnocent‘s Playtime ‘verse, because she managed to write fifty installments without doing hippies, and I had to rectify that. Also my contribution to @rumbelleishope. Rated E. 

***

The large cardboard box bearing items from the estate sale was like a time capsule from the late 1960s. Gold sorts through the items, fond memories of his early childhood stirred by such things as the beaded curtain and concert posters and the heavy stack of albums, their cardboard covers worn along the edges but still bright with the distinctive graphics of the era. The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Country Joe and the Fish, Iron Butterfly. Donovan, too, Glasgow-born like himself. He can hear them in his head, like a soundtrack to the Summer of Love, and he wonders if Belle will like any of them. He’s fairly certain that she’ll like the clothes, and holds up a loose, flowing smock with wide sleeves and delicate flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem.  It’s a pretty thing, and he can easily see Belle wearing it, hopes that she’ll want to.

Methodically he sorts through the contents of the box, dividing everything into three piles. One to be priced and sold – the two posters were what had drawn him to bid on this lot in the first place, and he knows that he can sell them for a pretty penny – one of things he thinks Belle might be interested in, and one of a few items of clothing that he looks at doubtfully, unsure if he wants them to fit or not. But he thinks of Belle in the short dress, thinks of surprising her with a scenario they haven’t played out yet, knows he won’t regret any temporary feelings of silliness at wearing what are, after all, fairly normal clothes compared to some of the things he’s put on for her. Making up his mind, he goes into the shop’s small bathroom and locks the door.

Several minutes later he’s studying his reflection, and surprisingly not feeling too ridiculous. although he would die of embarrassment if anyone other than Belle were to see him wearing a suede leather vest adorned with long fringes. But the undyed linen shirt with the open neck and band collar is soft and comfortable, and if it’s a little too big, it’s not overly so, and he can roll up the sleeves. Same with the trousers, he’s sure that the flare-legged rust denim was originally meant to fit a bit more tightly than they do on his frame, but although he knows that Belle would no doubt appreciate that, he’s gotten used to more freedom of movement. With a belt and the cuffs turned up if he doesn’t want them to drag on the ground, the jeans fit well enough. The clothes remind him of his childhood, those years after he had been taken in by his aunts, where he had learned the feeling of security, and being wanted, and what it was like to be praised and encouraged instead of constantly belittled. Whether it’s the warm memories associated with the era, or simply the fact that he knows his ten year old self would have loved to have had a fringed leather vest, he’s satisfied with his image.  Now all he has to do is suggest a scene. He thinks about it as he changes back into his suit and tucks the vintage garments into a bag. The shop is small, and would be easily decorated, but far too public for more than a quickie. The large Victorian house filled with fine antiques is not right at all. That leaves the cabin, he decides.

Saturday morning, he drops Belle off at the library and hands her a box tied with string that he’d stashed in the back seat of the Cadillac. “Don’t open it until lunchtime,” he says, knowing the pleasure of an anticipated surprise. “I won’t be in the shop today; I’ve got some other business to take care of.”

“All right; see you later.” Belle watches him drive off, mystified by the package in her hands. By the time lunchtime rolls around, she’s more than ready to tear off the box lid and find out what’s in it. A piece of paper sits on top of some tissue paper-covered contents, with the heading “Playtime?” She forces herself to read the rest before folding back the tissue paper and seeing what awaits her. “It’s 1968. Fibre artist and co-founder of Storybrooke’s new “Enchanted Forest” commune “Rumpelstiltskin” Gold has agreed to an interview with the hip young reporter from the local newspaper.  Please confirm interview at 6 pm Saturday.”  Intrigued, she folds back the tissue paper and nearly squeals with delight, instantly picking up the beaded, white leather headband that lays on top of the other items and tying it around her head. She gets out her compact mirror to admire how it looks for a moment before texting Rum back.

“Interview confirmed. Looking forward to it.”

He must have been waiting for her reply; his return message is swift. “Dove will have the car there for you at five; I’ll see you later.”

Dove arrives with the keys to the Cadillac before she closes the library at five, and as soon as she locks the front door, she retires to the restroom to change into her outfit. It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and she drives out to the cabin as instructed, deciding what she’s going to say when she gets there.  Parking, she starts to head for the door of the cabin when she hears music coming from around the side of it and alters her course.  Gold is there, sitting on top of the picnic table, his spindle hanging down and twirling as he spins a smooth yarn from the basket of wool roving in the basket beside him. He is dressed – well, he is dressed to match her, obviously, and it suits him. It suits him incredibly well.  He looks softer, younger, his dark hair set off by the off-white linen shirt, feathering out over the band collar, the open neckline displaying the line of this throat and a string of love beads, mostly black with a few white and sky blue ones mixed in at regular intervals.  The rust-coloured denim of his jeans sits low on his hips and flares out below the knees and the fringed vest…she’d like to see him move with it on, see the fringes flare out. She kind of wants to borrow it herself, and thinks about what it would feel like to wear it with nothing on underneath.  Preferably while she was riding him in bed, rocking back and forth, the open edges of the leather rubbing back and forth against her bare skin… She swallows hard, and pushes that image back to take out and play with again later. Gold looks both snuggly, and sexy, and she wants nothing more than to go over to him and slide her fingers into his hair to hold him still while she kisses him breathless, but she has a part to play first.

”Mr. Gold?” she asks, approaching. “I’m Belle French, with the Storybrooke Mirror. You agreed to an interview.” She holds out her hand and he lets go of the dangling yarn forming between his fingers to reach out and shake it.

“Call me Rum, please.” He goes back to smoothing the spinning fiber into a smooth, even yarn, and Belle can’t help but watch his hands.

“That’s a nickname, right?” She takes out a pen and notebook from her purse, ostensibly jotting it down. “For Rumpelstiltskin, because of the spinning.”

“It is. I quite like it.”

“How did you get into spinning?”

“My aunts taught me. We had a wee croft, a few sheep, chickens, that sort of thing. Turned out that I was quite good at it. I like the rhythm of it, and there’s a lot of satisfaction in taking a bit of dirty, rough wool and combing it clean and spinning it into a strong, even twist of yarn that can be made into things.”

“Do you use the yarn yourself? Make it into things?”

“Aye, we do a fair bit of that here, at the commune. Granny’s our champion knitter, ponchos and scarves and mittens, they always sell really well at the Miner’s Day Festival. And my son and his girlfriend like to make dreamcatchers with the wool; they’re another popular item. And of course we make things for ourselves as well.”

“So is that part of your goal here? To be as self-sufficient as possible?” Belle drops her bag on the grass and sits down beside it, cross-legged, resting her notebook on her thigh and glancing back up after scribbling a few things down in it.  It’s a lazy sort of day, and for once she isn’t in a hurry to rush to the sex, instead interested in the unusually detailed background story he’s made up about himself, and hinted at in the letter he’d written. She wouldn’t mind being a journalist if she wasn’t a librarian, she thinks, and wonders if the Mirror might be interested in her starting a weekly column about books.

“Aye, I suppose. It’s cheaper to make your own bread than to buy it, for example, and better for you. You’ll have to talk to Anton, our crops expert, if you want to know more about that side of thing. He’ll talk your ear off about beans if you show even the slightest bit of interest.”

Belle grins, thinking of the gentle giant who ran the local health food store, and knowing it was actually true. “You mentioned your son; tell me about him.”

Gold smiles fondly. “He’s an artist. Does portraits when he can get a commission, freelance political cartoons, sign painting, anything really.”

Neal is indeed a good artist, she knows, even if he has chosen the steady paycheck that came with a job at the hardware store over any artistic dreams, preferring to keep it a hobby. “You sound very proud of him .”

“I am.”

“What about those other people you mentioned? His girlfriend, and Granny. Do they live here, too?”

“Aye, Emma and her parents are fairly new here. Her mother’s our respectable member of society – she’s a teacher at the school – and her father can do just about everything around here. Good with the animals, construction work, anything that needs doing. And I can’t even be jealous of him because he’s so nice, too.”

Belle laughs; it really is a good summation of David.

“And Granny, well, she’s been here since the beginning.”

Belle makes a note, and looks back up to watch the whirling spindle, his fingers never still as he forms the yarn between his fingers. “Tell me about the beginning. What made you decide to start a commune?”

“Well, we didn’t, not really, certainly not at first. When my son was young – “ he hesitates, and then continues. “His mother left us, and there I was, needing to go to work and having a wee boy to take care of at the same time. We didn’t have any family, or friends. But I knew the woman in the flat across from ours had taken in her granddaughter recently and was raising her on her own – there’d been some scandal with the mother, from what Milah had gathered. But the lass looked hearty enough, so I figured that the woman knew how to take care of a bairn and I was desperate. I went knocking on her door, thinking she might be willing to look after Neal for what little money I could offer her, since it would be in the convenience of her own home. And he was a sweet, well-behaved boy, no trouble at all.”

Belle looks up at him uncertainly, knowing that he was talking about his own real life here; at least as far as Neal’s mother leaving them went, and wonders about it. He normally never talks about that period of his life, maybe this was one way he could do so?  She isn’t sure about the Granny part; they don’t seem to have that sort of relationship. She stops herself from asking if Granny had really watched Neal, though, not wanting to break character yet. Rum has gone through a lot of trouble putting together a backstory for this particular scenario, and she doesn’t want to break the mood. She realises that she knows even less about Granny’s past, or Ruby’s parents, and makes a note on her pad to ask later. She squints against the sun, positioned behind his head and outlining the locks of hair falling forward into his face, and tries to think what would be the next question that a journalist would ask.

“Were you working as a spinner then?”

“Lord, no, an accountant. It’s only been in the last few years that people have begun appreciating handcrafted items again, enough to pay a little more for them than mass-produced factory goods. It was when the last of my aunts died that I took it up again. They’d left me their cottage, and everything in it, including their wheels and a good stash of both raw wool and spun yarn. I would have moved back to Scotland and lived there, but Neal had his friends and his life here, and wanted to stay, so I sold the place and brought as many of their things home with us as possible, things that I remembered from my childhood, even though I had to place most of it in storage. But I made Neal a scarf for Christmas from the yarn, and his friend Emma then asked if I could make her a hat, and paid for it with her allowance money, and then Granny’s Ruby wanted one, and pretty soon the boutique in town contacted me about selling some of my stuff there. I took a leap of faith and quit my job, but if I was going to spend all day at home spinning and weaving, then I wasn’t going to do it in my tiny apartment. This cabin was for sale, needed a lot of fixing up, but Neal was old enough to help by then and enlisted a bunch of his friends from woodshop at school as well. We had it fixed up and livable in quite a short amount of time, and well, that was the start of things.”

Belle mentally sorts out the facts from fabrication. His aunts had been real, she knows, but the cabin has never been more than a weekend getaway place. She is saved having to think of another question by the music in the background coming to a stop and Gold putting aside his spindle and going over to the record player to flip over the disc. A new song begins playing, with what she thinks is a bass line, a deep, thumping riff that gets under her skin and makes her want to move. She stands up, leaving her notepad and pen lying on her bag in the grass, and goes to meet Gold. “I like this song,” she says, beginning to sway in place as he turns back around to face her.

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.” She takes his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey, don’t you know that I love you,” she sings, and nearly laughs at the way his eyebrows go up in surprise, biting back the remark that Storybrooke does have an oldies radio station, and it’s kind of hard to forget a song that seems to go on forever. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby, don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” She lifts his arms up, spinning beneath him, and smiling; he helps twirl her,  her lightweight skirt flaring out around her.

“Oh, won’t you come with me,” she sings, and her mind completely derails in a sexual direction. “Won’t you take my hand?” With a filthy smirk on her face she tugs at his hands, backing away, and he follows, entranced, helpless to do otherwise. “Oh, won’t you come with me and walk this land? Please, take my hand.” She stops as they reach the picnic table, putting her hands on his shoulders, swaying to the music, forcing him to move as well, his feet staying planted but hips and shoulders moving to the beat.

“That’s it,” she encourages, and he smiles, drawing her close with his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against his body. She loops her arms around his neck, playing with his hair, her gaze drawn to the open collar of his shirt. “You look good,” she says.

“Do I?’ He tilts his head, grazes his lips against hers.

“Mm-hm. You should wear light colours more often.” She dips her head, pressing a kiss against his collarbone, mouthing against the warm skin.

“Have we moved into the second portion of the programming?” he asks, amused, leaning in to run his tongue around her earlobe.

“New questions. Like, do you believe in free love?” She runs her hand up his back, feeling each bump in his spine through the soft shirt, and then back down again, slipping up underneath the sun-warmed fabric.

“Oh, most definitely,” he assures her, his breath ghosting over hers as the music throbs in the background, a primal beat that makes him want to move against her, inside her. He debates the practicalities of just lifting her up onto the top of the picnic table and taking her right there.

“And is there a reason for that picnic blanket that you spread out so thoughtfully in the shade of the tree over there?”

“There are twigs and bugs in the grass,” he says, and Belle snorts. “And I thought, if any visitors should wish to recline in comfort…”

“Well, then,” she says, and takes his hand, leading him behind her towards the blanket. She sinks down upon it and he sits down beside her, facing her,  and she can’t think of anything else to say, because all she wants to do is touch him. She slides her hand beneath his hair at the nape of his neck and draws him closer and he tilts his head and then they’re kissing languorously, need slowly building between them. Belle slips her hands up under the hem of his shirt, then back out again, tugging at the hem. “Off,” she instructs.

Gold breaks away from the path he’d been nuzzling along her neck to grin at her. “Run out of questions, have you?”

“The only thing I want to know is what you’re going to look like spread out naked before me,” she says, her voice gone a bit husky.

Gold sheds his vest first and then reaches back and yanks his shirt off over his head, his eyes darkening. The light breeze rustling the leaves above them feels good on his heated skin as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, reaching out to splay his hands over Belle’s ribs before she can touch him herself, very much aware that she isn’t wearing a bra and grazing his thumbs over her nipples. Her breathing quickens and her head falls back as he rubs them, back and forth and back and forth, feeling them tighten and swell until she moans and reaches down to grab the hem of her own shirt. Gold obligingly drops his arms so that she can pull it off and cast it aside, the motion lifting her breasts and stretching out her taut belly. She kicks off her sandals and Gold takes the opportunity to remove his own low cut boots and socks, shifting more comfortably now onto his knees, and drawing Belle forward to straddle one of his thighs before kissing her again, more urgently than before.

Belle begins moving, riding his hard thigh, rubbing herself against him. His belt buckle digs into her stomach, and she reaches down, tugging it open and free impatiently, and then going for the snap and zipper of his jeans, wanting only warm skin against her, feeling Gold slide his hands up under her skirt, his palms smoothing along her legs. She slips her hand inside his jeans, palms his growing hardness, and Gold makes a desperate sort of noise, pressing up against her and then pulling back, scrambling to his feet to shove down his jeans and underwear together, while Belle makes quick work of removing the rest of her clothes and tossing them to the side,  where she spots his discarded vest and, with a small smile, pulls it on over her bare chest.  It feels as good as she had imagined, the suede soft but with just enough of a roughness to its texture to make her very aware of it as it shifts over her breasts, the edges grazing her nipples. Gazing up at Gold, she thinks it’s a good angle, his cock already half hard and lifting away from his body, and she thinks about rising back onto her knees and taking him into her mouth,  but as she shifts onto her knees and curls a hand around his ankle, he braces his hands on her shoulders and lowers himself back down to the blanket, stretching out above her, one hand supporting her lower back, and she lets him ease her down, enjoying the weight of his hips pressing her down against the ground. They kiss, long and slow, and then he begins working his way down her body, touching and tasting, fingers and lips and tongue as her head falls back and her body arches into him.

She buries her fingers in his hair and gazes up into the branches of the tree as he suckles at her breasts. Something glints there, catches the sun and magnifies it. She closes her eyes briefly against it, becomes more aware of the pulse of the music in the background, the pulse of her blood in her veins. She opens her eyes again as his mouth leaves her and he moves further down, leaving her nipples wet and swollen and aching. She looks down at her body as she lifts her hands to cup her own breasts, to tug and pinch at the nipples and sees small rainbows dancing over her chest, her skin dappled in light and shade from the sun filtering through the leaves. She looks up in puzzlement, and then smiles in delight and reaches up as if she could reach the crystals she spots hanging from the branches of the tree, their prisms catching the light and breaking it up into the bands of colour that paint her skin and increase the dreamlike quality of the moment. She knows at once where they’re from, thinking of the box in the shop’s back room full of dismantled chandelier parts, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen their magic.  She traces one along her skin, then takes one of the vest’s long fringes and shifts it back and forth over her nipple, sucking in a breath as it catches briefly before rolling over. Gold runs a hand along her thigh and she lets her legs fall apart and half closes her eyes as his fingers slip inside her, drawing out her moisture and using it to draw slow circles over her clit.

He watches her rolling the fringe back and forth over her nipple, the flesh visibly puckering around the hardening nub,  and his own cock hardens in response. He longs to take her into his mouth, but cannot look away.

“You would fit right in at Woodstock,” he says huskily. “Imagine us there, listening to the music, and I’m standing right behind you, and we’re swaying to the music. You’re wearing nothing but your skirt and that vest, and it’s open, and I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, and playing with your nipples.“

Belle’s hips jerk, as the image goes straight to her core.

Gold dips his fingers into her again, and feels the effect his words are having on her. There’s plenty of slick now, for his thumb to glide easily over her flesh, that light, grazing touch that causes her clit to swell and harden in response. His voice drops in pitch, his Scottish accent strengthening without him being quite aware of it. “There’s people all around us, but it doesn't matter, no one does more than glance our way.” He searches his memory for images from the documentary of the famous concert. “It’d been pouring rain earlier, and your shirt had gone drenched and transparent in minutes. Other people were stripping off their wet things, and you’d boldly done the same; there’s no shame here, no constraints. Bodies are natural, they’re beautiful, there’s no need to hide them.  There’s people with body paint, offering their services. Perhaps we’ll ask one to decorate your breasts; would you like that?”

Belle can’t keep from squirming, her eyes wide as they rake over his smooth, lightly tanned chest and lower, his cock blatantly erect for her.

“If we could paint you, too.  What about you? Is your shirt off?”

“Oh aye, my chest is bare against your back, and my jeans are clinging to me like a second skin, and my cock is straining against the zipper; anyone who looks at me would know how much I want you. I want to take you away from the crowd and find a place to lay you out on the ground and rut into you like a wild beast, but I need you to come first, come on my hands, come for everyone to see  – “ He slid his free hand up her chest, pushing the suede leather of the vest aside, completely baring her front, and cupped her breast in his warm hand, his hips shifting and pressing down against her pubis as he leans over her, thumb being replaced by middle finger, changing the angle, rubbing relentlessly. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, kneading her breast, his touch rougher here where she prefers lighter down below. 

The music pulses in time with her blood and Gold’s hair falls forward to hang in his face. He blocks out the sun, he is haloed by it, sun and shade and the scent of grass and incense and she is here and she is there at the same time and his cock is heavy and stiff against her thigh and the hard knot of pleasure bursts within her and she comes with all her muscles clenching tight and her fingers digging into his skin where she’d reached for him. His finger stills against her, knowing not to move again until she relaxes, the tension sagging out of her body, and she feels good but it’s not enough, there’s an aching emptiness inside her that needs to be filled. She sits up abruptly, tumbling him onto his back, and straddles his hips, taking hold of his cock and stroking it firmly. 

“We’ve gone away from the crowd now,” she tells him. “Found a place by the lake, behind some bushes. They offer us some privacy, but we can hear people nearby, going down to the lake, to bathe, to swim. Someone could easily come upon us, if they came in just the right direction.”  She rubs her thumb over his slit, coaxing out a bead of moisture, and he lets out a nearly inaudible whine. “I don’t care, though. I want you, and I don’t want to wait. Are you willing to risk it? Willing to risk someone seeing me riding you into the ground?” 

“Hell, yes.” He can’t wait, either. “Let them see. Let them see a beautiful woman like you wants someone like me.”

“You say “someone like me” as if I’m not dripping wet for you, as if I don’t want to have you buried inside me more than anything in the world,” she says, and rises up, positioning him at her entrance so he can feel the truth of her words. “You have to be quiet,” she warns, mischievously, and sinks down. 

Gold swallows down the noise that wants to escape his throat as she engulfs him. “I don’t know if I can promise that.” He splays his hands out on her waist, just under the edge of the vest, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Hanging open as it is, the vest only half covers them, baring a lovely wide strip of pale flesh right down the center of her body, adorned only by the love beads she still wore around her neck. As she shifts above him, the edges of the vest fall back, just revealing her nipples, and his cock throbs in response. He bucks up, everything feeling tight, and hot, and urgent. “That vest is a good look on you; we should keep it.”

Belle grins. “I’m glad you think so; I quite like it myself.” She leans forward over him, resting her weight on her hands, and begins to ride him, deliberately shifting continuously in a way that keeps the edges of the vest moving and rubbing against her breasts, her nipples staying hard and sensitive from the teasing friction. She undulates; rising and falling and pleasuring herself on his shaft, the long fringes falling forward as she lowers herself above his body. 

Gold arches up as the leather fringes trail over his belly and swing forward to drag over his nipples, driving himself deeper inside her as he seeks more of the teasing sensation. He cups his hands over her breasts, rolling her nipples between forefinger and thumb, and Belle moans. He grins. “I thought we had to be quiet.”

"I never said I would be." She lifts herself up until just the head of his shaft remains within her, glancing down to see the hard column of his flesh joining their bodies. She tightens her muscles around him, squeezing as hard as she can. 

Gold's whole body jerks as he cries out, his balls tightening and drawing up. He drags her back down upon him and rolls them over, pulling back out just enough to slam forward into her, rocking her backwards. He thrusts into her again, all control gone, feeling his climax rapidly approaching. 

"That's it." Belle braces herself with drawn up knees and urges him on. "Come on, Rum, give it to me." He is all lean, wiry muscle, and dark hair falling forward and shielding his eyes from her view. She arches up into his next thrust, digging her fingers into his lean buttocks and feeling him long and thick and solid inside her. "That's it, so good, come on, come for me."

He snaps his hips forward, driving deep again and again until his body seizes with pleasure and he stills, braced on his forearms with his hips sealed against hers while the hot flood of his release spills inside her. After a few seconds his muscles unclench and he lowers himself to lay atop her, panting and letting his eyes fall shut as he savours the fading rush of ecstasy, his cock twitching a few times in aftershock as he softens inside her. He feels her fingers run through his hair and turns his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the smell of crushed grass beneath the blanket, the air moving lightly over his sweaty back. A bird chatters above them, and he realises that the record had stopped playing at some point, unnoticed. He takes in a deep breath and rolls off to the side, blinking up at leaf-dappled sunlight and rainbows dancing in the air. He turns his head to the side and the corner of his mouth quirks up as Belle does the same and meets his eyes. She looks as debauched as he feels. 

"So, Rumpelstiltskin," she says, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. She feels thoroughly well-used and it is about all she has the energy for at the moment. "Do you have any final words for the readers of our paper?"

Gold's smile widens into a grin. "Yeah. Turn on," He draws their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles.  "Tune in, and drop out." He lifts his free hand and flashes her a peace sign, feeling utterly sated and stupidly happy. He thinks of the box from the estate sale. 

Best buy ever. 

[ineffablecolors]

The Wife [23/24]

The Wife || Ch 23 ~ 4k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 C12 Ch13Ch14Ch15Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 Ch20 Ch21 Ch22 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: You all know it’s been 84 years so I just hope this is worth the wait. Just one more after this, which hopefully won't take me another month.

In recent months, Mrs Emma Jones has discovered an extraordinary love for the theatre. This is, in some part, the work of her sister and brother-in-law who first invited her and Killian along to a play – Emma and Elsa both finding Liam’s choice of An Ideal Husband a bit on the nose, much to Killian’s endless amusement. Then there is, of course, Alice and Robyn’s contribution – a rather significant one, considering Alice’s utter fascination with farces and Robyn’s almost cultish dedication to Wilde.

Her husband, however, has been all too willing to sweep all credit for himself, smug and self-congratulatory about the whole affair, and Emma cannot quite comprehend why – or so she says to one and all – it’s not like he invented the stage.

Yes, Killian has rather good taste, an exceptional eye for smaller productions that are about to become everybody’s latest favourite just a week after Captain and Mrs Jones have seen them, and he does know quite a few people – both behind and on stage, though he claims to prefer – and indeed seems to have much better relationships with – the playwrights rather than the actors. Something about men who spend an outrageous amount of their time sequestered in their studies and bent over a small hill of papers flocking together Emma said and received that look from Killian that she so enjoys – part outrage and part amusement, with a thrilling undercurrent of admiration.

Yet, whether or not he deserves credit for her newfound love of the stage, Emma cannot deny enjoying Killian’s unaffected manner of speaking with great playwrights, the lithe way he leads her backstage and introduces her to people that she might have felt inadequate and tongue-tied in front of just a year ago. It’s different now, less nerve-wracking than she would have guessed. Emma is far from the centre of conversation but, when she has an opinion, she puts it forward and the surprise of people listening and considering and sometimes agreeing with her lessens every time. It’s part Killian’s hand – warm and solid on the small of her back, part the atmosphere – a place so out of her old life that she feels unmarred and equal here, and maybe, it’s part her – not afraid to take whatever space her gown requires and voice whatever thought her mind has deemed intelligent enough.

Emma has had more than one rather stimulating and even entertaining discussion in theatre houses in recent months, it’s all rather pleasant and cultured. Most evenings at least. Not that this particular evening is not taking a rather stimulating turn but—

Her back collides with the wall, the sound muted by the plush burgundy curtain that rasps against the hard ridges of her corset’s lacing. Her gasp is also muted by Killian’s tongue sliding over the roof of her mouth and tangling with her own, the rise and fall of her bosom restricted by his proximity and brushing the velvet material of his vest on every deep breath. She is running rather short on those when his mouth slants less than elegantly across her cheek and the cool tip of his nose burrows behind her ear.

“And you were,” Emma takes in a mouthful of air and unconsciously tilts her head and her hips to give him better access to both. “such a gentleman just a minute ago.”

There are voices all around them – audience milling around in the great hall just a flight of small stairs away, actors undressing and bemoaning blunders and missteps and forgotten lines in the dressing rooms a narrow hallway to their left and workers already dismantling the stage décor a few less than solid walls behind.

“I plan to be a gentleman in the minute that follows as well, Mrs Jones.”

She would scoff at the cockiness in his tone – it’s a thrilling discovery when he gets like this sometimes, it’s equally delicious to push back, the smug turn of his mouth that she can now feel against her exposed collarbone. She would, but somehow she must have missed the moment when Killian hitched her skirts up enough to sneak his hand between her legs, so the sound she makes is more of a keen, not quite – she would argue – a wail, and just barely stifled as he presses his wooden hand against her mouth at the same time he slips two fingers inside her.

Emma squeezes her eyes shut and buckles her hips forward and when two fingers become three, she swallows hard and bites down on his leather glove. Killian’s body is like a furnace against hers and she can feel the fine sheen of sweat forming at the back of her neck, under her heavy curls. It takes a minute but when she is sure that she can control the sounds coming out of her mouth, Emma drops her head against the fabric-covered wall behind and makes a valiant attempt to glare at the man who is nosing his way between her breasts and obliterating any hope she might have of looking presentable after this.

“You are a villain, Captain.”

His laughter shakes her whole body and his thumb hits that all-important spot and Emma discovers she doesn’t quite have those sounds under control after all.

“Do you feel wronged, my queen?”

“I feel positively debauched.”

“Debauched, is it? I cannot, in good conscience, say I dislike the sound of that.”

“I— Oh! Killian, please.”

“Please what?”

“Oh! Ooh, you will— you will regret this.”

That makes him pull out of her corset and when his face comes into focus Emma has to admit that she is probably not the only one who looks indecent – Killian’s lips are almost swollen pink, contrasting tantalizingly with his greying beard, and his disheveled hair makes her realize that his sojourn between her breasts was not solely his idea. She doesn’t have precise knowledge of what she looks like herself, beyond that distinct feeling of debauchery, but the flickers in Killian’s eyes tell her that she is a sight indeed.

“No,” he shakes his head and bites his lip as he twists his hand, making Emma bite down on her own bottom lip hard. “No, I don’t believe I will.”

In the end – though this would be merely a precursor rather than an end, if she has any say in the matter – Emma cannot claim she regrets it either. Not when Killian’s hand smooths the layers of her gown over her backside and makes a valiant attempt to brush her hair over her shoulders, not when she presses her lips right against his pulse and steps up close enough to feel the tension he has most definitely not relieved, not when they sneak out of the theatre’s back entrance, laughing and tripping over less than stable limbs.

*****

It’s a thinly veiled ploy – Salome not being to the gentlemen’s taste, Elsa wanting an evening out with the girls before they depart – it’s not a bad ploy, Emma is sure they will have a lovely evening, it just doesn’t do much to divert her attention from the fact that Killian and Liam are staying in for more than brotherly commiserating.

“I don’t think even aunt Elsa wants them to take on more work.”

Emma’s fingers fumble for a second and she extends her pinkie to hook the hairs she dropped and heave them into Alice’s slowly emerging braid. Emma can do her step-daughter’s hair in a few short minutes but it didn’t take long for her to realize that Alice enjoys having her hair combed and twisted into different shapes and styles. Emma still allows her to do her own (she appreciates the time with Alice and the fact that it results in Killian getting to undo it all in the evening) but it’s not hard to convince Alice that they both enjoy this much better.

So, while Robyn is probably already tapping her foot and driving Killian up the wall, Alice and Emma take their time preparing for the outing. Really, Elsa and Liam have yet to arrive so it’s not like they are being particularly inconsiderate.

“Well,” Emma weaves another strand of curly blond hair into the braid circling Alice’s head and bites lightly on her lip. “I do hope she has told him so.”

“Did you tell papa?”

Emma’s lips quirk up.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure your father is in no two minds about how I feel,” Alice tries to twist her head to look at her but Emma keeps her still with a gentle press to her neck. “And you must acknowledge that he has been rather good about it.”

“Oh, yes, of course! I just worry you will be bored while we are away visiting Captain Nemo.”

Belle and Nemo’s wedding just a month prior was a small affair with just over a dozen guests in attendance. It reminded Emma of her own wedding despite the vastly different arrangement between bride and groom. Belle’s wealth and position in society was more than secure and respected and the two had been courting since her and Killian’s visit and, despite the slight sheen of mortification and vulnerability she associates with that time, Emma can’t help feeling somewhat smug for her husband’s sake. Killian can protest all he likes but Emma is now convinced that he has a certain sense about these things and it does not lead him astray.

But while the wedding was quaint, the celebration afterwards is still going a month later. Just last week a letter arrived inviting Alice and Robyn to stay at the Captain’s estate for some time and put their skills with a bow to practical use. Alice is just as eager to see and talk books with Belle again as she is horrified at the idea of hunting with Captain Nemo. The glimmer in Robyn’s eye whenever they talk about it tells Emma that Miss Hood feels somewhat differently about the matter and, frankly, Emma is glad that she will not be around when it all comes to a head.

“While you two have spoiled us for company and entertainment, I’m sure we will find ways to amuse ourselves.”

It’s not exactly sarcastic and it only as the last two words slip out that Emma realizes the less than innocent connotations they might communicate and she reaches quickly for one of the ribbons on the vanity before them.

“But if papa takes on this new—“

“Alice, truly, you needn’t worry about me.”

“Oh, alright. I just meant that… shall you wish to, you’re more than welcome to join us at any time.”

“And leave Killian by himself?”

Touched as Emma is by the offer – they are a particular warmth in her throat, all those little things Alice says and does – she can’t quite manage to temper her outraged tone. She feels Alice’s chuckle in her shoulders.

“God forbid. And that for more than a day apart,” the teasing in Alice’s voice is like a tickle in the air and Emma pulls just a little bit harder than she has to as she secures her braid in place, only making Alice giggle again. “I merely meant that it will give him incentive to not lock himself away for too long.”

“Well, I’m not aiming to “incent”, sweetheart,” Emma leans down and whispers conspiratorially as she finishes off Alice’s hairdo.

“Never?”

Emma considers this with a bemused smile.

“It’s just… Robyn turns such a fetching pink when I’m being difficult.”

Emma laughs so loud that she can hear some impatient grumbling from downstairs.

*****

She enjoys the play immensely, even if a quarter of her mind is always back at home, wondering if Killian and Liam have moved on to the rum and cigars portion of their evening. It’s how they find them an hour later as the girls rush in, chattering endlessly and gesticulating wildly, Alice pulling Robyn before Ruby to illustrate the shape of a gown on one of the actresses that she simply must have (Emma thinks the garment a few notches too risqué but she is amused nonetheless), Granny grumbles and bustles as Elsa asks for a tray of wineglasses and drapes herself over Liam’s shoulders, demanding that he wheedle the best wine from his brother.

Emma just looks at Killian – gently, questioningly, and smiles back when he does. He takes her hand without moving too close, kisses her knuckles and winks over the length of her arm. It’s enough for her to drop bonelessly in the armchair in the corner and enjoy the girls’ antics and Liam’s grumbling about missing all the fun for another hour before Admiral and Mrs Jones take their leave. She even manages to keep her lips pressed firmly together while Killian ushers Alice to bed, promising to go riding with her tomorrow, Granny already prophesying how late breakfast will be.

She makes it all the way to the moment when she slips in bed, watching Killian take off his shirt and his brace, ruffle his hair and down a glass of water, trying to clean out the taste of rum probably. She is more than willing to help him with that as soon as the bed dips under his weight.

“How did Liam’s attack go?”

She feels his laughter as he wraps his arms around her and tugs her close.

“Love, I fear you are still much mistaken about my brother’s position when it comes to business. If we could deal with no one at all and take on as little work as possible, Liam would be most content. Though he probably won’t like balancing the accounts afterwards.”

“Yes, it’s you being the voice of reason that worries me, my heart.”

“Ah,” Killian’s hand slips up the back of her thigh, his fingers spreading to make contact with as much skin as possible. “It seems I’m being quite… unreasonable as well.”

Emma believes that the position she is currently in – with her husband’s leg between her own and his long fingers definitively heading places – justifies the slight delay with which she absorbs his words.

“Y-you are?”

“Aye, terribly unreasonable. Told my brother we should turn down this flush gentleman because my daughter and her lady are going away for a month and I wish to have my wife in every room—“

“Killian!”

“And under every tree in the garden”

“You did not.”

“Mm, not in those precise words but, trust me, my meaning was quite clear.”

“I— Well, then—“

Emma truly – foolishly – believed that the days of being flustered by her husband were behind her.

“Of course,” Killian continues in a nonchalant tone that would annoy her if other things he is currently doing didn’t please her quite so much. “This does not mean that we should let our form slip now.”

His teeth close over the shape of her breast and Emma barely manages to remember that they are not yet alone in the house.

*****

“I’m shamefully happy.”

Killian’s heart lurches and his head snaps around to look at his daughter who is trying to determine how many cherries she can fit in her mouth at once. He knows her record is nine, he also knows he is supposed to scowl and tell her how unladylike the whole thing is. Frankly, he is just still a bit sour that she beat him by one bloody cherry.

“Nothing shameful about it, sweetheart.”

Alice tries to reply around a mouthful of merely five cherries but it’s still enough to be a bit of a disaster. Her eyes widen with a touch of embarrassment and a whole lot of amusement as she pushes her fingers against her lips, chews, spits three pits out, chews, spits another, swallows, squeezes one eye shut in annoyance with the wrong cherries to pits ratio and wipes her hand over mouth.

“It’s shameful, the way having half a dozen cherries at once is,” she says as if this is the most obvious metaphor in the world and Killian grins at her.

“That’s never spotted you before.”

Her grin is cherry-red and awfully smug and he thinks maybe he is shamefully happy as well.

*****

Killian cannot say he doesn’t miss the girls when they set off for Nemo’s estate. There is a certain immutability about the house all of a sudden – a room is always just the same as it was when he last walked out of it now – things actually remaining in their places, no books and bonnets and knickknacks of all sorts appearing seemingly out of nowhere between one moment and the next.

He enjoys the calm to a degree and then his thoughts reel up unexpected – the way Roger does when he feels like he has been confined to a sedate pace for much too long – and rush forward into unexplored territories.

Well, hardly unexplored but certainly tentatively so.

For the first handful of months after Emma convinced him that they should play dice with things Killian would’ve preferred to keep securely within his grasp and control, there was an almost constant hum of tension about him – not quite unwillingness and not just worry but something waiting and anxious and ready to spring. If Emma noticed, she said something by tucking her chin into his collarbone and smoothing her hands over the scars on his side and fitting her knees right behind his and her stomach flat against his back. Emma noticed and she asked if he was certain and then she made good use of his certainty.

And then half a year went by and nothing happened despite their regular and sincere attempts and Killian felt like he could breathe easily again, except for the prickle of guilt at the nape of his neck that he felt like scratching whenever he found Emma curled up before the fire and staring somewhere beyond it.

It wasn’t that he was glad and it wasn’t that he wished for their attempts to amount to nothing. But, when they did, it felt like walking on land again after a turbulent time at sea, when they did, he would sit at the feet of the dying embers and pull her into his lap and tell her that they were alright and maybe this was alright and certainly they could wait and definitely they will remain alright.

And then another two months went by and then another and Emma dug her fingers into his forearms less whenever he sat behind her and wrapped himself around her. There is a certain melancholy about her for a couple of days every month but it doesn’t seem to mount, to build every month, it seems like the tide – coming and going with a regularity, inevitable but not drowning.

It takes almost a year for Killian to start feeling it, the way his thoughts yank the reigns a bit to the side, towards a path that he realizes part of him expected to walk eventually, whether he was prepared or not. It doesn’t change anything outward – he has been steadfast in his decision to trust Emma from the start, it’s just that now – after expectation has been quietly simmering between them without bubbling over for some time, after the girls have reminded him of things he seems better equipped for than he remembers – he is starting to trust himself as well.

Three days after Alice and Robyn depart, he realizes his thoughts have stopped right before that path of wanting and have been trumping their hooves in place for some time now.

*****

It takes a solid hour for Ruby and Killian’s combined forces – Emma sipping her tea on the side and observing their efforts with unmasked glee – to finally prevail over Granny. Eventually, begrudgingly, Mrs Lucas allows Killian to dismiss the whole staff for a week.

The freedom of the empty house is intoxicating and for the first couple of days they behave much like children left to their own devices. They don’t eat a single meal on an actual table and make a complete mess of a number of carpets and sheets, they heat pot after pot of hot chocolate and let the cups pile around the sink, they forget the horses need exercise and lie in the garden with no blanket between them and the damp ground, they break a vase full of red flowers neither of them recognizes while Killian chases her through the drawing room, her hair half down and definitely in need of a wash.

Despite Killian’s daring ambitions, they don’t make love in every room in the house, let alone under every tree in the garden, they just don’t worry about pressing their palms against the other’s mouths quite as often, they rarely bother dressing fully and on one memorable occasion Emma ventures out of their bedroom in her husband’s clothing.

But that’s not what makes her feel drunk on Killian for the entire week – it’s the fact that she spends an unusually warm day with nothing but a shawl over her dressing gown, molding herself against her husband’s side and tucking her feet under his thighs, it’s the fact that, towards the end of the week, Killian’s brace on his nightstand is covered in a fine layer of dust, it’s the fact that they run out of cocoa and, faced with the unthinkable prospect of dressing themselves properly and going to the marker, they start making a horrendous concoction that has too much milk and too much sugar to be called tea anymore, it’s the fact that Killian opens one of the drawers of his heavy, ornate desk and takes out a stack of every drawing she has made and left behind since marrying him.

And then there is an afternoon, a golden hour of utter stillness and the scent of bread not baked quite right, a hushed hour in which she can hear the sound of her fingers counting the vertebrae in Killian’s spine, a muted hour in which she can see the white indentations that remain for three, four, five seconds after Killian’s fingers release her hip, an hour in a very distinct palette of colours against which the black and grey in Killian’s hair stands out sharply, the pink of her nails as she slips her hot hands through it again and again, an hour outside of time in which she feels her spine curve to a point after which there should be no coming back and it’s only Killian’s knees at the small of her back and his stump around her waist that keep her from breaking clean in half, an hour of nothingness in which they only talk against skin and right into each other’s throats, an hour of everything in which she thinks she touches every bit of skin that is Killian’s.

It’s an unremarkable afternoon and an hour the kind of which has ticked away again and again.

But that’s the afternoon she thinks about weeks later, when Ruby comes up with a hot water bottle and cloths and a change of clothes that Emma finds herself not needing.

*****

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[stahlop]

I Get Knocked Down (but I get up again) (1/1)

I've rated this M for some overall dark themes. There is no smut whatsoever.

This was inspired by an interview I heard Sophia Bush do about how her parents met.

Thanks to the @cspupstravaganza​ event! I had a lot of fun working on this.

And thanks to @profdanglaisstuff​ for being my beta and to @thisonesatellite​ for being my cheerleader behind the scenes.

Rated: M (for mature themes, no smut)

Or read on Ao3.

Summary: Emma thinks her new neighbor is hot. Like really hot. Now if she could just get her Great Dane to stop knocking him down every time she sees him.

It started with a dog.

A dog that didn’t start out as her dog. Emma Swan is much more a cat person. But when her friend Lily needs a dog sitter for her Great Dane, Maleficent, while she goes to a meeting with an agent in LA, Emma can’t refuse. LA is only an hour away from their little seaside town of Storybrooke. It won’t be a big deal. 

Until Lily doesn’t come home. The agent wants her now. She’s going to get her big break. She’s going to have to live in an apartment the agency puts her up in, and there are absolutely no dogs allowed. Especially Great Danes. 

So now she is stuck with Maleficent (Mal for short), who, despite being named for a Disney villain, is the sweetest dog ever. Emma considers giving her to a shelter for about one second, but Mal’s sweet doggy face just doesn’t let her. The fact that she is the size of a pony is the issue, considering Emma lives in a small bungalow with an equally small backyard. Luckily she owns it and doesn’t have to worry about pet restrictions. And after doing some research, Emma discovers that Great Danes actually do quite well in small houses and don’t need much exercise. Which is good since Emma prefers the gym to running. 

Emma’s had Mal for a month when he moves in behind her. Now, the bungalow does have a fence, but considering Mal’s size, she easily looks over it when on her hind legs. Which could be quite scary for people walking in the alley. Or for people living behind her. The second he moves in Mal becomes moody. Every time he’s in his yard she starts barking and whining non-stop. Not to mention the absolutely girly shriek he gives the first time he sees Mal’s head peek over the fence. 

“Bloody hell!” he yells after the shriek subsides. Emma, giggles at the sound he makes, and rushes over to the fence. It is short enough that it comes up to her shoulders so she can see her new backyard neighbor across the alleyway. “What the hell is that?”

“Sorry!” Emma says as she sees her new neighbor flat on his back in his yard (he has a much lower fence so she can see into his yard perfectly). It’s as if Mal’s barks had enough force to knock him down. And then her jaw drops. 

Emma isn’t sure what she expected from her new neighbor, but it wasn’t this gorgeous guy, picking himself up off the ground, before her. His black jeans hugging his ass and his gray Henley hugging his muscular arms just right. Emma notices that he wears several rings on his right hand and a chain with several charms around his neck. But his face. Oh god! That face. Emma is in no way, shape, or form a poet, but she’s pretty sure inspiration would come from the beauty that is his face, and the wonderfully disheveled hair and scruff all around his chin and upper lip. Emma starts to feel tingly in her lower extremities. She hasn’t felt this turned on since...well it’s been awhile.

The new neighbor sees her peeking over the fence and makes his way over. He smiles the moment he sees Emma’s head over the fence instead of Mal’s. 

“Sorry about that,” Emma says as he makes his way across the alley and toward her fence. She notices the heavy eyebrows and the guyliner as he crosses over. God he is hot! “Mal likes to freak out the neighbors,” she says giving a shy smile.

Hot neighbor raises an eyebrow making the tingly sensation even worse. Get a grip, Emma! she thinks to herself. Just because he makes her all hot and bothered doesn’t mean he is interested in her.

“Mal?” he asks hesitantly. Emma thinks she detects a British accent.

“My dog, that scared you,” Emma says, biting her lip to suppress another giggle about to emerge when she thinks about his reaction to her dog.

“That was a dog?” he asks incredulously. Yep, definitely British. “Oh, thank god! I thought it was some kind of demon come to take me to hell.” Emma almost bursts out laughing. 

“Nope,” Emma shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her, “just a very large Great Dane.” He reaches the fence and slowly peers over it to see Mal, now sunbathing in the backyard. “Sorry for such a scary introduction to the neighborhood. Mal’s still getting used to it here. I’ve just recently acquired her. My name’s Emma, by the way. Emma Swan.” She lifts her right hand over the fence to shake his and hopefully also get an introduction.

“Mal?” he asks instead of giving his name or shaking her hand.

“Short for Maleficent. I think it was the ears that earned her the name from her former owner.  She kind of looks like she has horns.” Emma explains, remembering how bad she felt for the dog when Lily saddled her with the name. Especially since she is not evil in the least.

“Ah, I see,” hot neighbor responds. He studies Mal for a few moments before finally continuing with, “Killian Jones.” He lifts his right hand to shake for his introduction, which is a little awkward since it is the same hand Emma held out. The sleeve of his shirt lifts up and she can just make out a large heart tattoo with a woman’s name in it. Emma drops his hand awkwardly. Of course hot neigh -- Killian -- has a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend?

“Well, Swan, I must be getting back. Lots to unpack. I’ll see you around,” he says with a grin. 

“Of course,” Emma says, a little flustered. She really likes the way he’s calling her Swan. “Um, if you’re interested in a beer sometime, let me know. I can show you some great bars around here.” She grins, and then hoping she isn’t sending the wrong message, “ You being new and all.” 

He looks up, surprised, but then his face breaks into a gorgeous smile.

“I’d like that, love. I’ll let you know when I have a free moment.” And with that he crosses the alley back into his own yard.

________________________________________________________________

It’s a few days before Emma sees Killian Jones again. She knows when he is out in his yard because of Mal’s incessant barking. Her bark sounds different whenever it’s Killian. More high pitched and whiney. Not the deep bark she associates with Mal when she barks at the mailman or the garbage collectors. She says hi over the fence and he says hi back, but otherwise, they haven’t had much interaction. And it isn’t like Emma is waiting around for Killian to get back to her about getting a beer. She’s been staking out some high end hotels and restaurants for a glimpse of her client’s wife getting it on with someone other than her client, without getting kicked out of said establishments for hiding out and taking pictures. One of the dilemmas of being a private investigator. 

Emma hasn’t taken Mal out for a proper walk in weeks because of this job, so she feels it is about time. She puts on some workout gear, pulls her hair back into a messy ponytail, grabs Mal’s leash and sets out for a walk.

It is glorious to be outside in the cool California afternoon. Emma takes in deep breaths of the salty, ocean air (she only lives a few blocks away from the shore). She misses just being able to walk around and take in the gorgeous scenery of the town she lives in.

She sets a relaxing pace with Mal. Emma is thankful that Mal is not the type of dog to be curious and run after every little thing that catches her attention. Emma would probably end up with a dislocated shoulder otherwise. And, because of Mal’s size, Emma is usually free of men who try to hit on women with dogs. That is, except for Walsh.

Walsh used to be the owner of a posh furniture shop in LA proper, but  decided to open up a beach shop on the boardwalk for ‘kitschy beach chairs’. LA is apparently too modern to buy antique furniture. No matter what time of day it is, he always seems to be at the shop, and he always tries to talk to her and ask her out, despite her repeatedly turning him down, and that Mal starts growling whenever they get anywhere near the vicinity of his shop. He gives her the creeps.

Emma attempts to come up with an excuse for Walsh about why she can’t talk to him today when she feels a sharp tug on Mal’s leash. It’s pretty much all the warning she gets when Mal starts running full speed and barking at some intended target. 

“Mal! Stop!” Emma screams at the 100 pound dog. Luckily, previous years working in the bail bonds business helps her keep her balance while running and not dragged down the boardwalk by Mal.  She tries to pull on the leash, but Mal’s will is much stronger. Emma has no idea where Mal is heading but she has to drop the leash or risk injury to herself.

But before she can let go, Mal finds her target, rears back on her hind legs, and pins it to the ground.

Pins him to the ground.

Oh dear lord.

“Oh my god! Mal get off! Killian! Are you okay?”

Killian is sprawled out on the boardwalk with Mal’s front paws on his chest. Mal is alternatively giving off her higher pitched whine-bark and licking Killian’s face. He looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, and Emma is sure Mal’s body weight isn’t helping matters in the breathing department.

She pulls with all her might and finally manages to get her large dog off of Killian. Emma ties Mal to a nearby bike rack that is built into the ground. Mal seems happy with the outcome. She barks a few more times at Killian before flopping unceremoniously onto the wooden walkway.

“Shit! Are you okay? Do you need a hand getting up?” Emma asks holding out both her hands. By this point, Killian’s managed to start breathing normally again although he still seems a bit dazed. “Here, let me just…” She reaches down to grab his hands, but realizes that his left arm does not, in fact, have a hand at the end of it.

“Always need a hand, love,” Killian jokes. He tries to laugh about it, but ends up wheezing, his lungs still not getting all the required oxygen. Emma walks him over to a nearby bench. 

“I am so sorry,” Emma says sitting him down and dusting him off. “She’s never gone after anyone like that before, at least, not since I’ve had her. Lily always said she was always real well behaved.” Killian quirks an eyebrow at that. God, he has such beautiful blue eyes. She just wants to drown in them.

“I think my life just passed before my eyes, Swan,” Killian says, but she can tell he says it in jest.

“Again, I am so sorry.” Emma says. She briefly looks past Killian to check on Mal, who is still lying contently on the boardwalk.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian says looking at her earnestly. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you came to own such a creature. From what I’ve glimpsed, you seem more like someone who would own a feline, maybe a small dog, definitely not that monstrosity.” He grins at that so she knows he isn’t insulting Mal or herself.

“Oh.” She smiles. “Well, I kind of, inherited her? I was pet sitting her for my former best friend, Lily, who I mentioned earlier, when she skipped town and left everything behind, including her dog. And, well, I kind of know what it’s like to be left behind. So now she’s mine!” Emma says in mock enthusiasm and she realizes how much of herself she has revealed in that statement.

“Yeah,” He is staring straight into her eyes now, practically into her soul. “I get that, the left behind part.” He reaches for a piece of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail and pushes it back behind her ear. Despite the nice weather, Emma shivers. The tingle in her nether regions is also definitely back.

He has a girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Her mind keeps yelling at her.  Emma suddenly feels very naked in her fitted yoga pants and tank top.

“Um,” Emma stands up suddenly. “I should probably take Mal home before she decides to attack anymore unsuspecting boardwalk patrons.” She gets up quickly and is about to head toward Mal when Killian gently grabs her wrist.

“Would you like to grab that beer tonight?” He flashes a smile that she is pretty sure would make her melt right on the spot despite the cool temperature.

“I…” HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!!! She gives her best smile, preparing to let him down easy, but instead what comes out of her mouth is, “Sure, I’d love to.”

________________________________________________________________

Skinny jeans, white sweater, brown knee-high boots.

Emma checks her image in the mirror. She curled her hair just a touch, and put on just a little bit of makeup. Just what she wears on a normal basis. She is not dressing for Killian, nope, not at all. 

Killian is coming over to pick her up and they are going to walk over to a local bar that Emma frequents. Just two neighbors getting to know each other. Yep, that is all it --

Emma’s thoughts are interrupted by Mal’s barking. The bark she now recognizes as the one she uses for Killian. And then she hears Mal running and then a whump. And then-

“Bloody hell!”

Shit!

She told Killian the door would be open and to just come in.

Emma rushes out of her bedroom to see Killian pinned against the door by Mal. Her tail is wagging and she is licking the crap out of Killian’s face.

“Mal!” Emma shouts. Mal looks over at her, gives a huff of annoyance before licking Killian one last time, and heads off to another part of the bungalow.

“I am so sorry. I have no idea why she keeps attacking you,” Emma says. She leads him over to the couch. “Are you hurt? Did she hurt you? Let me get you a washcloth to get all that slobber off your face.” She hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a warm, damp kitchen towel.

“No worries, Swan. I actually think she rather fancies me,” he says, a warm smile coming over his face as he rubs the towel over it. “But she may have knocked some of the handsome out of me,” he cheekily says.

“I don’t think even she’s that powerful.” Emma jokes grabbing the towel and laying it on the kitchen counter to put in the laundry basket later.

“Ah, so you think I’m handsome.” Killian smirks at her when she walks back over to the couch. Emma immediately starts to blush. Her cheeks feel like they are on fire. 

“Well, I can see why Mal fancies you. She probably confused your scruff as dog fur or something.” That is so lame. Really Emma?  He laughs at her joke anyway, staring into her green eyes. Suddenly, there’s an awkwardness permeating the air. Killian’s hand goes to scratch a spot behind his ear, a nervous tick if Emma’s ever seen one. Emma’s about to just haul off and kiss him when she notices the tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. That stops her cold in her tracks.

“Um, maybe we should just forget going out tonight, and you should just go back home,” she says regretfully. Killian looks bewildered at the break in the tension. He shakes his head as if seeing Emma for the first time and his eyes question hers.

“Did I do…” Killian’s expression is one of confusion, but his features are schooled very quickly. Emma isn’t even sure if she actually saw the confused look or if she’s just imagining it. She doesn’t know him well enough to know his expressions yet. But she’s almost positive that he does not want to leave.

Killian gets up slowly. He takes his time, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in his pants and pulling his sleeve down. He doesn’t even glance at the tattoo when he shakes his arm to get the right sleeve down, but he does look defeated when pulling the sleeve over his wrist where his arm ends. He looks resigned as he heads toward the door.

The second Killian’s hand clicks the door handle, Mal comes running out, ready to attack Killian again. He anticipates it this time though, and moves quickly to the side so that Mal smacks herself right into the door with a loud thud and ends up sprawled out over the floor.

“Mal!” Emma groans. She swears she’s said Mal’s name more in the past few days since Killian moved in than she has the entire time she’s had her. Mal looks confused when she picks herself up and Emma can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She whines as she walks over to Emma and puts her head in her lap.

“Aww, did someone hurt herself?” Emma says in a baby voice while petting Mal’s head. Mal just looks at her and huffs.

Killian looks at the insane situation that has just occurred in front of him and realizes something. “Swan, I don’t think Mal wants me to leave,” he says, slowly walking over to Mal and petting her backside. Mal’s tail starts going full force.

Emma stares at Mal with a questioning expression. Mal stares back at Emma with her patented ‘it wasn’t me’ look before she lets out a whine, licks Killian’s hand one more time, and then runs off toward the back of the house. What the hell?

“Do you still want me to go?” Killian asks, a hint of longing shining in his eyes. Emma shakes her head. He turns to Emma to ask another question but she cuts him off before he can even get a word out.

“Tell me about your tattoo,” she says states plainly. Killian sinks into the couch, his face going pale.

“That’s not usually something I talk about without a few drinks in me, love.” 

Emma holds up her hand to keep him from continuing. She gets up and walks over to the fridge and comes back with some local IPA that she bought from some Artisanal Beer festival she had gone to recently. She pops the tops and hands one to Killian before she settles herself back onto the couch. He takes a swig, puts the beer bottle on the end table, and uses his stump to push his sleeve back.

It is an intricately drawn tattoo and absolutely stunning. A blood red heart takes up Killian’s entire wrist. The name Milah is written in beautiful script in the middle. A blade pierces the top of the heart. Killian reaches back for his beer before he begins to speak.

“Her name was Milah,” he begins. Emma does not miss the fact that he uses the word ‘was’. ”and she was an amazing woman. She was my brother’s neighbor. I met her  when I had some leave from the Royal Navy. I thought I’d surprise Liam, but he was with his girlfriend, now wife. Milah took pity on me and showed me where the spare key was. I guess she recognized me from my pictures in Liam’s house. She was older than me. I was 25, she was 32, same age I am now,” he gives a small chuckle at that, as if he just realizes what that means. He takes another swig before continuing. 

“Milah was like a ray of sunshine. I was beginning to get disillusioned with the Navy. Liam had been in it as well and had always talked about it as if it were the best job ever. He’d gone into the private sector when he met Elsa. I had been debating it, which is why I was wanting to see Liam. Milah was in a bad marriage. She’d married too young to someone she didn’t really know well. He was controlling. Wouldn’t let her work. Isolated her from family and friends. Typical abuser.” Emma nods understanding. She’s dealt with many abusers in her past and line of work. “She was an artist. Beautiful watercolors. I have some hanging in my place.” Killian stops to take a breath. Emma places her hand on his. She wants to let him know that he is safe.

“She had a child. She wouldn’t leave even if she could, because she refused to let her son grow up with only his father. She wanted to shield him. He was only six when we got involved. Eventually, her husband found out. He threw her out of the house, told her not to come back for the boy if family wasn’t important to her. She had no job, no means of support, no place to live, and no money to hire a lawyer. We came up with a plan, a stupid plan, to take her son, get married, and go to the base. Her husband wouldn’t have been able to follow us there.” He is taking more sips of his beer, almost after every sentence. Emma squeezes his hand. Killian looks into her eyes and sees there is no judgement there. She has had her own dragons to slay.

“We planned it for the middle of the night. Bae wouldn’t be home during the day because of school, and we’d discovered that her husband had told the school that she was not permitted to pick Bae up. He had hired a full-time ‘nanny’ to watch him while he was at work.” He shakes his head. Emma isn’t sure if it’s from the memory or the absolute absurdity of it all. “We snuck in around midnight. Bae always kept his window open. He was scared when we woke him, but he hated his father. He was perfectly willing to come with us. Milah and I tried to be quiet, but her husband heard us. I’m not sure if he knew what was going on or if he truly thought we were burgling the place, either way, he came in with a knife.” Killian closes his eyes, the memories overwhelming him.

‘I’m still not clear on why he had a knife instead of a gun, maybe he was afraid that a stray bullet would kill or hurt Bae. What I do know is that he immediately went after Milah. I managed to block the first strike, but he cut straight into my wrist. Cut several tendons and broke several bones with the force of it. A centimeter over and I would have bled out according to the surgeon. I was lucky I only lost the hand.” He rubs his hand over the stump. “After I was out of commission, he went for Milah again. Stabbed her in the heart. She didn’t stand a chance. The ‘nanny’ must have heard all the commotion and had called the police. They shot him dead.” Tears were pricking at the corner of Killian’s eyes. Emma brings his hand back to hers and kisses it. Killian smiles at her, letting her know he’s okay.

“I tried to get custody of Bae, knew it was what Milah would have wanted, but since we never got married I had no legal claim. He ended up with a distant relative. I couldn’t stay there after that. Because of the injury I was medically discharged from the Navy. I couldn’t stay at Liam’s, not when her ghost was haunting me next door. I ambled around for a few years, got the tattoo as a reminder, then got a call from an old Navy buddy of mine to stop wallowing and start living again. Said he had a bungalow for rent in California.” He pauses and gauges Emma’s face for any sign that she is not ready for what he’s about to say next. Killian takes a deep breath before his confession. “And I never thought I’d find someone again. Didn’t want to find someone again. I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, that is, until I met you. So here I am.” He finishes up by chugging the rest of his beer.  Emma looks at him without an ounce of pity in her face. Yes, his story is sad and tugs at her heartstrings, but without it, he would not be the man sitting in front of her. The man she still really wants to know. 

Killian looks up at her, not sure what to expect. She doesn’t say anything, just grabs his empty beer bottle, along with hers, and brings them into the kitchen. She grabs two whiskey glasses and pours an amber liquid into them. She comes back to the couch and hands one to him.

“Rum.” Emma explains. “I figure we both might need something stronger than beer.” Killian laughs at that. Tragic backstories usually didn’t make it into the romcom kind of story they’d been going down. 

“I was raised in the foster system.” She begins. She rarely tells anyone her humble beginnings, especially not men she barely knows, but his honesty touches her and she knows that he knows she has had demons in the past as well. She knows he sees it in her eyes. Knows that he’s been able to read her like an open book ever since the talk on the boardwalk. Killian nods his head signaling that it’s okay for her to continue.  “Never knew my parents. Never want to know my parents. They left me on the side of the road. I mean, what kind of people do that? Leave you on the side of the fucking road in just a baby blanket? I could have been run over!” She’s angry now. Killian wants to take her hand and console her, but he knows she needs to work through it on her own. She sips her drink and takes a breath. “I used to think that because my baby blanket was homemade and had my name on it that my parents must have cared. That the abandonment was some sort of accident. But then I noticed in the group homes how we would get personalized items donated to us. The one thing I thought had belonged to me may not have. I may have just been randomly wrapped in a blanket with someone else’s name.” Killian’s hand inches toward Emma’s. He doesn��t hold it like she had with him, but instead, rubs his thumb in small patterns on the back of her hand. It comforts her immensely.

‘When I was 16 I ran away from what was probably the best foster home I’d been in. The mom had wanted to adopt me, but because she was single and fostered several children, the state wouldn’t allow it. That was the last straw for me. I left, went up to Portland, and met Neal. I thought he was just about the greatest thing ever. He was older, 23 I think, he never actually said. But he was old enough to buy beer legally. He was also wanted for stealing a large amount of watches, like $100,000 worth of watches.” Emma grips Killian’s hand for support before she continues the next part of the story, her rum long gone.

“It was my idea, so I thought it was my fault. I volunteered to go get the watches from a locker at the bus depot. If they were looking for Neal, a young girl wouldn’t show up on their radar. I got them and, God, I was so proud of myself. Neal was going to sell them, get the money, and then we were going to go over to Canada and lay low. I had just turned 17. Neal gave me one of the watches as a belated birthday present. Told me to meet him over by some deserted fairgrounds where we would sleep sometimes.” Emma takes a breath. She sees that Killian knows exactly where this story is heading.

“It was a set-up. An anonymous tip had the cops all over me. I had one of the stolen watches around my wrist. They had video from the bus depot of me taking the watches from the locker. I thought it had to be a mistake. I couldn’t have been set up by the first person to ever love me. Happy birthday to me, right?  I wouldn’t give Neal up. I still trusted him. Trusted that he would make things right somehow. I ended up in juvie for 11 months. And I was so fucking naive. Every visitor’s weekend I was convinced he’d come and see me somehow. Or he’d send a letter apologizing for what he’d done. But he never did. But you know who did? Sarah, my foster mom. The one I’d run away from in the first place. And she would send me letters letting me know I always had a place to stay when I was out. I was lucky to still be a minor when I got out. Sarah got custody of me, finally, and she helped me straighten out my life. I even changed my last name to match hers when I turned 18 since she’d always wanted me with her. So, at least one of my names is truly mine.” Emma stops to laugh as a memory pops into her head.

“Her favorite song was that Chumbawumba song. You remember that one? ‘I get knocked down, then I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.’” Killian nods. “She used to sing it all the time. That kind of became my mantra.  And while it’s always been a figurative mantra for me, it seems like it could be a literal mantra for you with the way Mal’s been knocking you down.” Emma smiles. Killian still holds her hand and it comforts her, it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest like it should for two people who barely know each other. The cathartic release of their demons have bound them together in ways Emma didn’t know existed outside of movies.

Mal has snuck back in at some point. She lies next to the side of the couch, her head peeking out from around the corner. She notices Emma eyeing her and she edges out a little, asking permission with her face to come out all the way.

“Come on, Mal.” Emma says. Mal knows not to over do it. She would love to jump on top of them on the couch, but instead, satisfies herself by lying at Emma and Killian’s feet instead.

“So, apparently my dog likes you.” Emma says to Killian as she brings Mal’s face to her own and kisses her nose.

“Well, I like you too, Mal,” he says as he scratches behind her ears. He scoots forwards a bit and is right in Emma’s space. His blue eyes look right into hers when he adds, “And I like your owner as well.” The tingle turns into a full on swarm of butterflies in Emma’s stomach. She surges forward and attacks his lips. She desperately holds his shoulders bringing him closer to her. His lips glide along hers. He tugs on her lower lip as she moves her fingers to his hair and runs them through it. Killian wraps his blunted arm around her and brings the other to her chin. He pulls away slightly asking permission with his eyes to do a little more than kissing. Emma scoffs.

“Trying to be a gentleman?” She asks sarcastically.

“Swan, I’m always a gentleman.” Killian goes to kiss her again when a loud noise shatters the moment. Both Killian and Emma look down to see Mal yawning below them. 

“Are we boring you, Mal? All that hard work to get me to stay and now you don’t want to watch the fruits of your labor?” Killian asks petting her head. Mal whines and puts her head under her paws.

He goes home promising to take her out properly the next night.

They don’t go out the next night. 

They don’t leave her house for the next week.

Their engagement photos feature Mal pinning Killian to the ground as Emma helps him up.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615

[simping-on-the-daily]

Credit to @Luxet for her great prompts!

We’re going to be Chelsea, since she was my first Sander Sides gal. <->

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? “Oh, definitely Spotify! The community is lovely, and it’s free!” is your room messy or clean? “My bedroom is clean, but that little corner of my mind room? Yeah, that’s a mess. :p” what color are your eyes? “Pink! A bright magenta, if we’re being exact!” do you like your name? why? “Oh, that’s a question I haven’t heard! ........Yeah, I like it!” what is your relationship status? “Taken by an emo baby. Well, it’s more like I’ve taken him.” describe your personality in 3 words or less “Hmmm......optimistic, bubbly, caring! I prefer listing the good stuff rather then the bad.” what color hair do you have? “Another pink colour! This time it’s more like a salmonish? Light reddish pink? Something like that.” what kind of car do you drive? color? “The day I drive a car is the day Thomas isn’t showing basic human decency. In other words, never. But, I do like those silver SUVs!” where do you shop? “You can’t really shop in the mindscape, considering that we can just summon things, but I do enjoy those nice little comfort shops! Like, those candle places!” how would you describe your style? “Pretty comfy :D!” favorite social media account “Oh, I do enjoy Tumblr and DeviantArt! Get rid of the bad people and not for kids art and it’s awesome!” what size bed do you have? “An Olympic Queen.” any siblings? “I’m not Roman or Remus! Nah, I’m an only child. But a sibling would be really nice!” if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? “Put me next to a beach house and I’m set.” favorite snapchat filter? “I don’t use Snapchat, but I like seeing those glittery and soft aesthetic ones.” favorite makeup brand(s) “Oh, oh, oh! Wet N Wild cosmetics are so nice!” how many times a week do you shower? “God, why are you making me do maths? I mean, we don’t have to shower or do any bathroom business, but I do shower when I wake up and when I get to bed.” favorite tv show? ”We’re gonna be here all day I discuss them. But, does My Hero Academia count?” shoe size? “Somewhere in the 10s, I think.” how tall are you? “6′1. I’m pretty tall, but I’m short then Logan. He’s a giant.” sandals or sneakers? “Sandals are much more comfy!” do you go to the gym? “Don’t need to, don’t want to.” describe your dream date “A dream date is one when we’re both enjoying each other’s presence doing something we love. To me, that’s a dream date.” how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? “Right now, there’s.......$65?” what color socks are you wearing? “Black and white striped socks!” how many pillows do you sleep with? “In my own bed, I have a unicorn pillow pet and two giant pillows on each side. It’s so comfy in there!” do you have a job? what do you do? “My job is giving out free hugs!” how many friends do you have? “All of the sides, I’m guessing? And any friend of Thomas is a friend of mine!” whats the worst thing you have ever done? “Can we please skip the question? I don’t want to talk about it.....” whats your favorite candle scent? “I’m going to go with Parrafin!” 3 favorite boy names “For children? I like Connor, Aiden and Jacob.” 3 favorite girl names “Faith, Hope and Harmony!” favorite actor? “Thomas Sanders! Duh.” favorite actress? “Emma Watson.” who is your celebrity crush? “Chris Hemsworth. He’s hot, okay?” favorite movie? “The BNHA Movies!” do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? “Not a fan of reading a lot, but I do enjoy a good Harry Potter story.” money or brains? “The brains make money.” do you have a nickname? what is it? “Ask Roman. He has plenty of them for me.” how many times have you been to the hospital? “We don’t have a hospital in the mindscape, but Remus makes you cross that limit of healing a lot.” top 10 favorite songs ”I think some of them were in my character bio from Amino?” do you take any medications daily? “Nah.” what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) “Smooth.” what is your biggest fear? “That’s pretty personal! :C But, probably not being able to help others....” how many kids do you want? “Two, maybe? I don’t want that much, you know. So much responsibility!” whats your go to hair style? "My hair's usually curly and in a ponytail!" What type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) “The Mind Palace is always changing (most because of Roman), but right now we’ve got a beach house setting!” who is your role model? “Thomas is always being a great person to everyone he meets even when he’s not doing his videos', but Clifford Chapin has lost his voice due to playing Bakugou so much! That’s real dedication right there!” what was the last compliment you received? “It was from Virgil! He said I have a really nice comforting smile. :)” what was the last text you sent? “Roman asked me if I could give him back his hairdryer.” how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? “I think I was nine? What I did know was that Remus committed a bit crime that day.” what is your dream car? “An SUV!” opinion on smoking? “Oh.........you want my advice on it? Don't abuse it, please. It’s okay if you do it on occasion, but your health is extremely important. There are lines out there if you are a heavy smoker or just want to talk about it. I’m here for you.” do you go to college? “We’re back on the basic questions! I personally didn’t, but Thomas might’ve.”  what is your dream job? “I really just want to help people and be there for them. You don’t need a job to do that.” would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? “Suburbs!” do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? “I prefer using my own shampoo and conditioner! Besides, I don’t even need to use them.” do you have freckles? “Nah.” do you smile for pictures? “I always do! Roman says he’s never seen me frown in pictures, and he’s my creator!” how many pictures do you have on your phone? “In my gallery, there’s five thousand and six hundred right now. We don’t have a storage limit to how much stuff we can post.” have you ever peed in the woods? “Bold of you to assume I even go in the woods.” do you still watch cartoons? “Cartoons are still shows! They still have deep meanings to them. I mean, look at Steven Universe! That’s a cartoon and WOW, it taught me more about life then some live action show could!” do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? “I’ve never had Wendy’s before, so I’ll go with McDonalds! I prefer KFC chips, though.” Favorite dipping sauce? “Its a tie between Sweet N Sour and Tomato.” what do you wear to bed? “I wear nighties.” have you ever won a spelling bee? “You’re acting like I’ve participated in one. ;p” what are your hobbies? “Once again, I think they’re in a bio of mine.” can you draw? “With a lot of referencing, yeah!” do you play an instrument? “I play a ukulele sometimes, but that’s out of sheer fun. And my ukulele skills suck.” what was the last concert you saw? “Depends on what was the last concert Thomas went to.” tea or coffee? “Coffee. It keeps me alert. Also makes me my happy peppy self!” (If you get where the reference is from, I love you.) Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? “Donuts rule! Remy can go to Starbucks all he wants, but I’m gonna stick with my donuts.” do you want to get married? “Absolutely! I don’t want to rush into it, though. Don’t want to make Virgil uncomfortable.” what is your crush’s first and last initial? “Is it a crush if you’re already together? ….the initials are V.S.” are you going to change your last name when you get married? “I don’t even have a last name. :p Chelsea Sanders.......feels nice on the tongue, but I’ll think about that later!” what color looks best on you? “Black and pink! I have really pale skin, so the black works. Pink naturally looks good on me.” do you miss anyone right now? ”Not really. But that’s right now!” do you sleep with your door open or closed? “Closed. Mostly because Virgil likes it closed.” do you believe in ghosts? “Trust me, I believe in everything, That Santa question? He exists in the Mind Palace. Ghosts are something you get used to.” what is your biggest pet peeve? “Lemme think........smacking gum, watching TV and then some loud appliance turns on, and saying ‘no offense’, but then saying something offensive.” last person you called “On the phone, it was Aisha. In real life, I had to scream out for Roman for a while.” favorite ice cream flavor? “Strawberry! Rainbow’s a close second.” regular oreos or golden oreos? “Normal Oreos!” chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? “Rainbow! :D” what shirt are you wearing? “Right now I’m wearing a Trolls: World Tour shirt.” what is your phone background? “Virgil and I with a Snapchat filter! Roman helped with that.” are you outgoing or shy? “Defiantly outgoing.” do you like it when people play with your hair? “Absolutely! It’s calming and I play with my hair myself sometimes.” do you like your neighbors? “My neighbors? Well, the dark sides live next to us, so.......they’re visiting, though! They’re staying here for the day.” do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? “Right after I take a shower.” have you ever been high? “I’m always very thrilled and overjoyed!” have you ever been drunk? “.........REMUS, CAN WE GET DRUNK?” last thing you ate? “Patton’s cookies.” favorite lyrics right now “It’s tied between these two. They’re both from Trolls: World Tour, It’s All Love!” Nobody's born hatin' Nobody's born fake Why we fightin' over something we can all make? That's stingy love I'm just givin' love Ain't no givin' up If you alive, only thing to do is live it up Along with that, there’s: Hate is just lost love So they hidin' summer or winter? “Summer, but Spring is my favourite season!” day or night? “Day!” dark, milk, or white chocolate? “Milk chocolate. Dark is too bitter, and white is too milky.” favorite month? “December! It’s Christmas and man, I love Christmas!” what is your zodiac sign “I’m a Gemini!” who was the last person you cried in front of? “Virgil.”

[awkwarddezzy]

Ignite

Pairing: Dan x Phil

Genre: friendship, romance, slight angst

TW: swearing, mentions of alcohol

Word count: 7,494

Summary: Hawaii: the state everyone knows as paradise. For Dan Howell, the label is far from what his life is truly like. When Phil transfers to Dan’s high school from Manchester, the two boys instantly become friends. But will the revelation of Dan’s hidden past affect their budding friendship? Phan HS AU.

Hey ya’ll! This is technically my first fanfic posting of 2017, although I already had this written back in 2016. I mentioned a handful of times in tags for my shitposting that I wrote a Phan-inspired story as part of my short story portfolio for my creative writing class last semester. I submitted said story for possible publication at my college’s local journal, so cross your fingers with me that it’ll make the cut. I mean, can you imagine a phanfic legitimately bring published?

My professor absolutely loved the story. Even though it was over the word limit (she set it as 4,000), she told me she didn’t mind the word count as long as the plot was good. Needless to say, I got an A on it. Hell, when we had to type an analysis about our stories, I specifically mentioned being inspired by Dan and Phil and how homogenous relationships are often undermined in young adult literature.

I’m proud of this baby. Aside from character names (because I didn’t wanna plagiarize), this is nearly word for word of that story. I guarantee this is different than any phanfics ever to exist. One, because the setting is in Hawaii (our professor gave us extra credit if we tied our story to Hawaii in some way since I do go to a community college in Oahu). Two, to make it personal, I made my Dan-inspired character Filipino (because I’m Filipino myself) and kept my Phil-inspired character British. In short, this is my story using the YouTubers I had in mind while writing the story. It’s basically a high school AU, which I’m used to writing when it comes to AU’s.

I finally got around to posting this in light of Phil’s birthday. I CAN’T BELIEVE OUR BELOVED ANGEL BEAN IS FINALLY 30. *screams* He’s getting old. We’re getting old. Jesus Christ, Phil’s finally reached the age of parenthood. It’s only a matter of time when we see Phil Jr’s walking around England lol.

Now on with the story!

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

When people use fire as a metaphor for love, I roll my eyes and silently think these people are delirious. They think love is a burning passion they allow themselves to consume them completely. Or they think love is a spontaneous combustion when two pairs of eyes are caught in a lingering stare for the first time. But those are the fools talking. Those people are blind to what fire really means.

Fire is despising the source of its ignition.

Fire is a glow you believed had completely faded, yet still remained raging within you.

Fire is a curse and a traitor, yet also a blessing and a helping hand.

Fire is what makes me fluctuate between being a dreamer and a realist.

~:~

He’s a needle in a haystack with his raven hair, cerulean eyes, and pale skin. The cafeteria is swarming with incoherent conversations between students coming in and out of the stuffy building. I stand stock still, lunch tray in hand, debating whether or not I should go talk to him.

My feet move toward the boy with no hesitation. He stares intently at me when I place my lunch tray on the table’s wooden surface and sit on the benched seat across from him.

We remain silent for several seconds before I blurt out, “I like your shirt.” He’s wearing a white t-shirt embedded with lyrics from a Panic at the Disco song.

“You like PATD?” His voice carries a heavy British accent.

“One of my favorite bands.”

A corner of his mouth curves slightly upward. “What other bands are you into?”

“Ummm… Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, All Time Low, Breaking Benjamin, Muse-”

“Whoa there. What are you, some Asian clone of me?”

I chuckle. “No, but that would be pretty epic.”

He grins. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who know Muse.”

Warmth seeps to my cheeks. “They’re one of the first bands I got into. I have a soft spot for their Origins of Symmetry album.”

“No way! That’s my favorite album too.”

I beam. Going to meet up with my friends doesn’t seem like a priority anymore. “So how come I’ve never seen you around?”

He picks up a carrot stick, dipping it into the blob of ranch dressing on the top right corner of his lunch tray, then taking a bite out of it. “I moved here from Manchester a couple weeks ago. You know, for a place where everyone want to vacation, it’s way different when you’re actually living there.”

“That’s paradise for ya. Tourists get beaches, fine accommodations, and hot hula girls. Locals get Pidgin, spam musubi, and a complex bus system.”

“I’m out of my element here.”

“You’ll learn to adjust.”

He finishes the rest of the carrot stick. “I’m Phillip by the way, but you can call me Phil.”

“Phil… got it.”

“Uh-huh. My entire first name makes me sound like a grandpa.”

I laugh. “You’re gonna be a grandpa someday anyway.”

“Hey, I’m still young! Lemme enjoy my teen years while I can.”

“Sure, Phillip.”

He sticks his tongue out to me playfully. “And what should I call you, Phil 2.0?”

“Well Mr. PATD, you can call me Dan. It’s short for Daniel.”

“Dan.” My name rolls off his lips in a way that sounds as if he has known me for years rather than a few minutes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Perhaps the school year won’t be as boring as I thought it would be.

~:~

Sam, Louise, and PJ bombard Phil with questions when I introduce him to them after school that same day.

“What’s England like?”

“How do you like Oahu so far?”

“Have you tried a malasada yet?”

“What do you think about our school?”

“Why did you move here?”

“Have you ever met Emma Watson?”

“Guys! Geez, calm your tits.” I look toward Phil apologetically. “Sorry. We don’t get to meet a lot of new students who come from outside the island.”

“It’s okay.” Phil smiles shyly at my friends. “No one’s really tried to talk to me for more than two minutes till Dan approached me. I was afraid I’d be a loner for the entire year.”

PJ whistles. “Damn, Daniel. What happened to being antisocial?”

“I prefer the term introvert,” I retort.

“You haven’t made the first move in anything since you told Sam how you felt about her,” Louise says.

Phil glances between Sam and me. “You two are boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Sam loops her arm around my elbow, pressing her chest against the side of my body. “As of a couple weeks ago, yes.”

“I didn’t know that,” Phil says, giving me a scrutinizing gaze.

I rub the back of my head. “I thought it wasn’t important to mention until you got to meet my friends in person.”

“Ah.” He nods in understanding, but I detect a hint of a different emotion in his eyes. Disappointment? Disapproval? I internally shake my head. It’s probably my usual paranoia of students’ judgments whenever they see Sam and I together. Even though Sam has been my best friend for years, anyone outside my circle of friends haven’t fully comprehend why Sam prefers to be around PJ, Louise, and I. Her near flawless looks makes her more fitting for the popular crowd rather than the nerdy emo’s.

“Well then,” Louise chimes in, shoving my momentary doubts out of my head. “Who want to go to Starbucks?”

~:~

Phil gives me a tour of his house the weekend following the first week back to school. The moment I step inside the Lester residence, I’m astonished by how lively his home is compared to mine. There are houseplants in practically every corner of the house. Polaroid photos of his family are tacked to the walls of the living room. Upstairs, in Phil’s bedroom, he has various plushies littering the floor, a full-length poster of Sarah Michelle Geller on the wall behind his bed, and even a tiny cactus displayed on his bedside drawer. His twin-sized bed is covered with a green, blue, and purple checkered bedsheet, shades I think is fitting to his colorful personality.

“Sorry it’s a little messy in here,” Phil says. “I have a lot of stuff and my new room’s not as big as my old one in Manchester.”

“It’s fine. My room’s a bit messy too.”

He smiles, picking up a Totoro plushie and dropping it on his bed. “So what’s your flat like?”

“Flat?”

“Apartment.”

“Oh.” Reminder: start learning some British slang. “Not as great as yours. Roaches creeping on the floor at night. Shitty air conditioning. Noisy ass neighbors. At least my mom makes enough as a nurse to keep a roof over my head.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s… gone.”

He frowns. “Sorry to hear that.”

I respond with a curt nod. “But you’re free to come over next weekend if you want.”

His frown disappears, morphing back to the smile that he wore earlier. “That’ll be great.”

If only you knew just how much I miss him, I think. And hate him at the same time.

~:~

There’s a paper bag from Bath and Body Works on Phil’s bedroom floor when I stay over at the Lesters on a Saturday night in mid-October. I’ve been spending most of the weekend so far doing homework and catching up with episodes of Attack on Titan and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Sam and Louise are busy rehearsing for a PowerPoint presentation for their Modern Hawaiian History class and PJ is helping his family prepare for his cousin’s debutante, so I’ve been spending the time outside of my apartment hanging out with Phil.

“What’s with the bag?” I ask.

“Oh this?” He picks up the paper bag and empties its contents, revealing three candles and a bottle of lotion. “Mum went to Pearlridge today, so I asked her to buy these for me.”

I scan over the candle labels: Pumpkin Spice, Apple Pie, and Marshmallow Fireside. “Never pegged you for a candle person.”

“It’s a thing that runs in my family.” He picks up one of the candles. “In their uni years, my dad confessed his feelings for my mum by spelling out ‘I love you’ with candles at a beach in Liverpool. Mum loved the gesture so much, and since then, Dad’s been getting her candles on every anniversary.”

“Your dad sounds like a complete romantic.”

He nods, placing the candle on his bed. “I think candles are an excellent representation of my parents’ marriage. Their love is a candle with a flame that’ll never die.”

“They must be really happy together.”

“Twenty years and still going strong.”

Bittersweet memories of my mom, dad, my 10-year-old brother Adrian, and me surface in my mind. Thanksgivings when my dad splurged on the turkey special from Golden Coin. Christmases when we woke up at 7 AM to open gifts while watching the Macy’s Christmas Day parade. Birthdays celebrated with dinners at Max’s Restaurant. Those days are a lifetime ago, days when I still looked forward to Sundays when Dad was off from work and gave me guitar lessons.

“Yeah…” Those days are a thing of the past. On the bright side, having an absent father taught me not to be naïve and fueled my appreciation for rock music.

As if sensing my distress, Phil says, “So… wanna play some Smash Bros?”

I grin. Crushing him in one of my video games is a healthy distraction I need from my vortex of childhood memories. “I’d be stupid not to.”

~:~

When Sam suggests for me to perform for the winter pep rally, the fears I buried when I started dating her crash through my mind like a wrecking ball.

“You’re kidding,” I say in a monotone voice. We’re on my bed, Sam laying down with her dyed dirty blonde hair fanned across my Pikachu pillow and me sitting cross-legged with my guitar settled on my lap. I was in the middle of playing “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol when Sam casually brought up the question.

“I’m not.” She moves into an upright position. “Think about it. Five minutes on stage with hundreds of students cheering your name. Phil, Peej, and Lou know how talented you are. Don’t you think it’s about time to let the entire school know too?”

“No.”

She sighs. “It’s your dad, isn’t it? Danny, just because your dad was a musician doesn’t mean you’ll make the same choices he did. Besides, if being at the center of attention isn’t for you, then the pep rally can be a one-time thing. Don’t let your potential go to waste.”

I bite the inside of my mouth. A part of me is itching to live out my dream of capturing people’s souls while I perform, but the other part of me is trembling at the thought of being in my dad’s shoes. Going through with this could open up a possibility of Sam and me splitting apart.

I can’t lose Sam. Even if she isn’t my girlfriend, I can’t imagine a future without her. The Earth can be a cruel planet; I can’t navigate through it without having someone who’s equally as confused about the world as I am by my side.

She curls her arms around my neck. “I know you’re scared, but can you do it for me? For one day, can I pretend to be your rock star girlfriend sitting in the audience as you play a song dedicated to me?”

“What song do you have in mind?”

“Hmmm… a song probably everyone knows, but still fits your style.”

“So… something from Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, or Bruno Mars?”

“Yeah!” She stares at me with her puppy-dog eyes. “So will you do it?”

One pep rally won’t be the death of you. “I’ll… give it a shot.”

She squeals, peppering the side of my face with kisses. “Thank you thank you thank you! You’re gonna be great, Danny. Show those Mariah Carey wannabees that serenading isn’t dead yet.”

I laugh. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

~:~

Nerves rattle through my body when the student announcers call my name. The audience claps as I make my way onto the platform of the makeshift stage. Standing in front of the microphone stand with the Velcro strap holding my guitar against my abdomen, I position my fingers above the instrument’s strings. Looking out into the crowd, I spot Sam, Phil, PJ, and Louise grinning enthusiastically at me.

You’ll be fine. They’ll be proud of me no matter what happens.

I strum the opening notes of “Give Me Love” by Ed Sheeran. When I start to sing, my pre-performance jitters dissipates. I let my hands do the playing and the lyrics do the talking. I lose myself to the symphonious tune of the song, my heart beating rhythmically like a pendulum. Thoughts about my dad are knocked out of my head, replaced with a surge of joy as I think, Why didn’t I answer to the spotlight’s call sooner?

The gym fills with applause once my performance ends. My friends are on their feet, along with dozens of other juniors, upperclassmen, and even underclassmen.

I beam from ear to ear.

I’ve never felt so alive.

~:~

Hip-hop music pulsates across the spacious area of Chris Kendall’s house. Bodies grind on the open area of the living room where furniture was shoved aside to make room for a dance floor. Parties are definitely never on my agenda. I’m only here at Chris’s graduation party because PJ wanted to go for fun (it was an open invite), Sam and Louise wanted to go to have the full high school experience, and Phil wanted to see if a high school party in Hawaii is any different than the few he went to when he lived in England. Before my performance during the winter pep rally, I was someone that no one spared a second glance. Five months later and two more performances from the spring pep rally and junior prom under my belt, I get hellos from random students in-between class periods and invites to parties from popular students. So here I am, a red plastic cup filled with Pepsi in my hand (I have my values and know better than to take one sip of alcohol) while watching my friends dancing, breathing through my mouth to avoid sniffing the sickly scent of weed and cigarettes.

“Dan!” Phil stumbles out of the kitchen holding an empty Heineken bottle.

“Hey… Phil.” I finish the rest of my drink and toss the cup into one of the trash bags lying around next to the snack table. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am! Aren’t you?”

“If by watching people shamelessly doing things they might regret in the morning, sure.”

“Aw. Lighten up, mate!” His palm slaps the back of my shoulder. “Want me to get you a bottle?”

“I’ll pass… wait, how much have you had to drink?”

“Eh, couple bottles I think. Might go for a third.”

“No you aren’t.” I grab his wrist and drag him to the front door. When we’re outside, I lead him to the backyard. I don’t want to haul an intoxicated Phil back to his house. Perhaps some fresh air can sober him up.

I lay him down on his back on the grass, then sit down next to him. His mouth forms into a lazy smile.

“You look pretty, Dan.”

I laugh. “I’m not a girl, dude.”

“What a shame. You’d be my perfect Buffy.”

“You and your Buffy obsession.”

“Yeah… but I love you more than Buffy.”

My blood goes cold. He isn’t saying what I think he’s saying, is he?

Phil takes my silence as a sign for him to continue. “Why did I meet a perfect guy who’s taken? You’re so smart and talented and so good at video games. I had so much hope the first time we met that we could someday be something more, then I find out you have a girlfriend and I had to learn how to just be friends with an impossible dream.” He sighs. “Why did it have to be you I fell in love with?”

Suddenly, he takes a fistful of my shirt and yanks me down onto him. I fall on top of him, my face inches away from his.

“I… love you,” he mumbles before his eyelids flutter close.

I roll myself off from his body, then scramble to sit up and scoot away from him. Heat rushes to my face, my own body quivering from his words.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

I touch my lips. He may not have kissed me, but his words feel like he did.

~:~ One week has passed since Chris’s party.

There’s no one I can tell about Phil’s drunk confession. He has no recollection of what he told me, and I have no clue if what he said is true. There’s a likelihood it isn’t. People can say all sorts of unpredictable things when they’re shitfaced drunk and not mean any of it.

Yeah right. No one says “I love you” to me without being serious.

“Fancy playing Mario Kart while we wait for the others?” Phil asks. We’re sitting on the sofa in my living room, waiting for Sam, Louise, and PJ to arrive. The five of us aren’t in the mood of going out today, so we planned a casual indoor hangout in my apartment.

“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”

“Grab me an iced tea, yeah?”

I smile. After living in Oahu for nearly a year, Phil gradually got himself addicted to Hawaiian Sun drinks. “You’re in luck. Mom bought a fresh stock just for you.”

I leave Phil to peruse my video game collection under the TV stand and head to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator door and grab two cans of Hawaiian Sun: an Iced Tea for Phil and a Lilikoi for me. Carrying the cans back into the living room, I’m putting the two drinks on the coffee table when I hear three knocks on the door.

That bus ride was quick. I dash to the front door. Upon unlocking it, the face that greets me is one I least expect to see.

“Daniel.” The way he speaks my name has the familiar tenderness that would gravitate me into his arms when I was in elementary school. But hearing his voice now is a thousand needles stabbing at my heart all at once. My lungs shrivel at the pain scorching my chest.

I can’t breathe. My vision is blurring from months of pent-up resentment. Not knowing what to do, I back away and rush to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I collapse on the floor and bury my fingers in my hair. This cannot be happening to me.

A few minutes later, I hear the door swing open.

“Mate!” Phil kneels down in front of me, his face contorted into a concerned expression. “You look like rubbish.”

“No shit.”

“That guy at the door told me he’s your father. Is it true?”

I remove my hands from my head. How he could be staying so goddamn calm? He should be furious at me for lying to him, not composed and acting like I didn’t drop a bomb on him.

“He is,” I whisper.

“You said he was gone.” “He was, but he may as well be dead to me.”

“Why? What did he do to you?”

I swallow my anger threatening to rise again. “He left me, alright? He left my family for some woman named Erica he met on the streets while we were on vacation for the summer in the Philippines when I was nine. They were contacting each other behind our backs after we left and Mom caught ‘em together at Ala Moana a year later when Erica came to visit him. Mom and Dad ended up getting divorced the summer before I was in 7th grade, just shy of my 12th birthday. He left for the Philippines afterward and he’s been living there with Erica since.”

Phil doesn’t immediately respond, just staring at me in shock. I use his silence to continue my rant.

“Music is important to me because of my dad. He played all sorts of gigs when he was my age, but gave up his musician dream so he could support my mom when she was pregnant with me. He taught me how to play a guitar and got me into rock music when he told me rock is music in its rawest form.” I direct my attention to the vinyl cover of Muse’s Origins of Symmetry album nailed next to the window. “Dad’s the reason why I love that album. He bought it for me on my 7th birthday. I listened to that record on repeat after the divorce and was what got me through the first few year without him.”

“And you hadn’t seen him since the divorce,” Phil concludes.

I shake my head. “He came once during the holidays when I was in 9th grade. I pretty much avoided talking to him the whole time.”

The wake of a wildfire is outside of my bedroom. He’s the cause of why my family is a mess. He chose another woman over us. How can I forgive the man who destroyed my picture-perfect family? How can I let go of the hurt I’m still feeling four years later?

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” Phil says.

I turn my head to look at Phil, vulnerability running through my veins. “I’m a horrible person. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I kept it a secret because I didn’t want you to know how crappy my life really is.”

“Again, not blaming you.” He drapes his arm across my shoulders. “I get that you felt betrayed by your dad, and nothing can erase the pain you still feel. But he’s out there right now. He flew whatever miles it is from the Philippines to Hawaii to see you. Nothing’s hunky-dory between you two, but you can still fix things with him. I saw how crushed he looked when you ran off on him like that. He wants to make things right. I’m not saying you should outright forgive him, but I think you should give him a second chance. Let him be a father to you while he still has healthy lungs and isn’t in a wheelchair.”

I look into his eyes, his blue orbs looking back at me with a softness that douses my anger away. As tension rolls off my shoulders, the memory of his drunk confession flashes through my mind.

“Why did it have to be you I fell in love with?”

Did Dad or Erica ever speak the exact same sentence to each other at one point in their relationship? What was it about Erica that drew my dad to him? How did Dad know he loved Erica more than my mom? I don’t know the answer to those questions. I don’t know why Mom didn’t fight for her right to remain as Dad’s wife. I don’t know how Erica’s family reacted when they learned about her relationship with a married man. I don’t know much about their relationship, other than how they met and how they loved each other to a point of sacrificing their family’s trust to be with each other.

The clarity hits me like a curveball.

Love is an emotion that can’t be tamed. It can blind us, be an intense slap to the face, hurt us in any way possible, but it can never leave us completely empty. It’s why I’m still affected by my dad’s choices. It’s why I still prefer rock over any other genre of music, even when it was Dad’s preferred music style. It’s why there’s still fire raging inside me whenever I think about Dad. I still love him amidst the ache he imprinted in my heart. It’s why, as I gaze into Phil’s vibrant eyes that always seem to contain a gentleness I usually don’t see in males, I finally understand what I’ve been fearing all along. I wasn’t afraid of thinking about the past and making the same wrong choices as my dad; I was afraid of listening to the other side of a story and discovering things that may have been right in front of me all along.

“Go talk to him,” he murmurs, drawing his arm away from me. The loss of his friendly touch leaves a dull ache in my chest.

It’s time to face the music.

“Mind if you come with me?”

“Of course. Did you think I was planning to let you face him alone?”

Fireflies stir in my stomach. Once I deal with the person outside this room, I’ll think about what these fireflies mean. I don’t know why the fireflies popped up unexpectedly, but I sort of like it.

Phil helps me stand, staying close to me as I open the door. We walk into the living room, where I find Dad sitting on the sofa. I take a deep breath, my hand taking purchase on Phil’s arm. His presence is my gravity, helping me to control negativity in my emotions. If I’m going to make an effort to patch things up, I can’t go berserk if I feel the slightest agitation.

“Dad?”

I hear his breath hitch when he turns his head to the direction of my voice. Same dark chocolate eyes. Same unruly brunette hair. Same mole marked on the ridge of his nose. I’m looking at an older version of myself, albeit as someone wiser that has seen more of the world. That, and I can’t stand my natural messy hair. I can’t leave the house without using my hair straightener.

“Anak,” he says softly.

The fireflies glow for a brief second.

“It’s okay,” Phil whispers. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

Dad glances toward Phil. “This is your friend, right?”

Phil gives an awkward wave at Dad. “Hi. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier. I’m Phillip, Phil for short.”

“Phil … it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Howell.”

I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes my lips. “This isn’t Pride and Prejudice, dude.”

Phil laughs. “What? This is a momentous occasion, Dan. This is more nerve-wracking than making a first impression to my girlfriend’s parents.”

“You never even had a girlfriend.”

“I will one day.”

For some reason, I’m a bit upset by his response. So did his drunk confession mean nothing? Or is he making an Oscar-worthy ruse to cover up his feelings? My effort to analyze his emotions is only confusing me further.

Dad clears his throat. Right. Dad first, Phil later.

“Anyway-” I say, “Dad, what are you doing here all of a sudden? If you’re looking for Mom, she won’t be home from work till around six.”

“I’m aware of that. I actually wanted to talk to you first, if it’s okay,” Dad replies.

“Fine, but Phil stays with us.”

“I see no problem with that.”

Phil and I make our way over to the sofa, my hand still on Phil’s arm. Dad moves to give us room, leaving me to sit in the middle so Dad is to my left and Phil is to my right.

“Where’s Erica?” I begin.

Dad shakes his head. “I asked her to come, but she thought it would be best for me to be here alone.”

“How long will you stay?”

“A week, two weeks at the most.”

“Dad…” I move my hand from Phil’s arm to his jean-covered thigh. “Ummm… this might sound out of the blue, but how did you know you were in love with Erica?”

“Oh… to be honest, Jessica was the reason why,” he tells me sheepishly.

“Mom?” I say incredulously. “But… how?”

He smiles, leaning back on the sofa. “In many ways, Erica is a lot like your mother. She put her studies first, cared about her family more than anything else, and worked hard to give herself a good future. She became an attorney to provide for her family, and she cherishes her job so much, though she told me more than once she felt she was missing something from her life. She didn’t know what it was until she reunited with her childhood friend.”

“Who was that?”

“Your mother.”

“Wait… what? I thought Mom and Erica were strangers until you got together with Erica.”

“Your mother and I only said that because we thought you weren’t ready for the truth.”

“Dad! I was 11! I watched enough episodes of Maalala Mo Kaya to know what reality is about.”

He looks at me forlornly. “I know that now, anak. I’m sorry.”

I sigh. “I’m turning 17 next week. Whatever secret you’re keeping from me, I wanna hear it.”

He nods. The story he tells me drastically alters my perspective of Dad.

Mom and Erica knew each other because they were best friends when they were kids and lost touch with each other after Mom immigrated from Cebu to Honolulu when she was eight.

Dad courted Erica in high school. When he got accepted into an exchange program for the University of Hawaii in Manoa, he made a promise with Erica to go on a date with her once he graduated from college and moved back home.

During his third year at UH Manoa, he met Mom during an open mic night at a bar in Waikiki. Mom was in UH Manoa’s nursing program and skipped a night of studying to hang out with her friends at the bar that Dad had his gig at.

Mom and Dad became friends, which gradually turned into love.

Dad was guilty about breaking his promise to Erica, but Erica understood and she wished the best for him and Mom.

Parenthood treated Mom and Dad well when they had me and Adrian.

Then came the Philippine vacation.

Dad hadn’t communicated with Erica since he told her about his relationship with Mom, so he was surprised when he bumped into her at a Chow King restaurant while buying lunch for Mom, Adrian, and me. They exchanged phone numbers and used long-distance phone-lines for communication over the course of a year, where they found themselves revisiting their past and falling in love with each other all over again.

During winter break of my 5th grade year, Erica lied to her parents about wanting to spend Christmas and New Years with a friend in America so she could see Dad, even if it was just for a few days and a majority of her time would be spent cooped up in her hotel room at Ala Moana Hotel. On that fateful day when Mom saw Dad and Erica together, she was at Ala Moana Shopping Center to do some last-minute shopping while she supposedly thought Dad was helping my Tito Kevin pick out a gift for my Aunt Elizabeth. As soon as Mom exited from Macy’s, she witnessed Dad and Erica holding hands while sitting at one of the tables outside the neighboring Starbucks. Erica saw Mom and that was when all hell broke loose. Mom tried not to cause a scene at Ala Moana, but she had a crying fit when she learned that Dad’s mistress and her childhood friend, Erica Bautista, were the same woman.

That night, when I overheard my parents arguing but Mom told us she and Dad were disagreeing on something about bills, it was really about Mom’s reaction to finding out about the affair.

For months, they kept the issue a secret from Adrian and me. Mom swallowed her pride, staying in the sidelines as she encouraged Dad to go after his true love. The issue loomed like a raincloud over their heads once Dad chose Erica over Mom, and that raincloud lingered until Mom and Dad finally told me about Erica and their mutual decision to file for divorce.

Unfortunately, that raincloud only transferred over me, towering over my own head and remaining there to this day.

“Damn” is all I can say when Dad finishes speaking.

The pieces are coming together.

It was never supposed to be Mom and Dad.

If Dad never met Mom, it would have been Dad and Erica.

It’s a classic case of how wrong timing can affect even the strongest of relationships.

“Fucking hell,” Phil breathes. Hearing him swear surprises me. He rarely swears, and when he does, it’s when he’s incredibly emotional about something.

“I didn’t tell you this because I thought you might dislike Erica more if I told you the truth,” Dad tells me.

Everything coming out of Dad’s mouth sheds more authenticity to the entire situation. All this time, Dad was never at fault. It wasn’t his fault that Mom was an intervention who prevented him from keeping his promise to Erica. It wasn’t his fault for reaching a point where he had to choose between his wife and kids over a woman his heart subconsciously still yearned for. It wasn’t his fault for allowing his heart to direct him down a path that led him to hurt those he cared about. Everything happens for a reason, and it’s the reason why I’m existing in the first place. If his life went according to plan, I wouldn’t have ever taken my first breath in this world.

Love isn’t always kind. It isn’t an easy stroll through the park or a cookie to steal from a cookie jar. It’s having to pay 75 cents for a gumball from one of those machines in supermarkets or trying to find parking during Black Friday at any mall. Love always comes with a price. For Dad, the price for his happiness with one woman is the trust he has from those he loves the most.

“That was a possibility,” I say. “Or I could’ve appreciated her role in your life. We’ll never know. Either way, it wouldn’t have changed how much you love Erica.”

Dad nods in agreement. “Erica hasn’t changed how much I love you, Adrian, and your Mom. It was wrong of me to leave you how I did, but I’m here to right my wrong.”

The fire in my chest blazes more furiously than it ever has before. Flames send the fireflies in my stomach glimmering in a flurry of excitement, sending my emotions in a tailspin.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good father ever since I moved to the Philippines,” Dad continues. “It wasn’t my intention for you to think I didn’t care about you anymore, but it was my way to give you space. You were angry at me, and I believed distance was the solution to ease your anger. When you refused to speak to me when I spent Christmas with you on your first year of high school, I realized the distance led you to resent me more. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, anak. I’m tired of being away from you. My life may be in the Philippines, but my heart belongs here with our family.”

My insides melt. These are the words I longed to hear Dad say. I’d be a fool if I ignored my subconscious whispering how I should stop being hostile and allow my dad to make up for lost time.

“Did you steal that line from a Justin Bieber song?” I joke.

Hope swims in Dad’s eyes. “So you forgive me?”

“Not… exactly,” I answer hesitantly. “But we have two weeks. We can go around the island like we used to.”

I’m not looking at the enemy anymore. For the first time in years, I’m looking at my idol, the man who rooted my dedication to music, the greatest hero I’ve ever known.

A smile cracks on Dad’s face. “Your old man is looking forward to that.”

~:~

Summers brings goodbyes, hope, and refreshing starts. Four years ago, summer was bidding a reluctant farewell to the perfect family I had. One year ago, summer was sharing my first kiss with a girl who meant more to me than my best friend. This summer, a new chapter with a man I granted a second shot at redemption opened up, and an opportunity to follow my heart like every protagonist in a cheesy YA novel is ushering in a wave of anticipation of what the vast unknown will bring.

The sky is enveloped by a murky blanket of gleaming stars and a moon illuminating the night. Sitting cross-legged on the rooftop of my apartment complex, I fish out another roll of Smarties from my jacket pocket. I unravel the plastic packaging and shove pieces of the colorful candy into my mouth, savoring its sweet, tangy mixture. Aside from the occasional car zooming along the streets at midnight, I relish the relative silence. My mind is still reeling over all the things that occurred since Dad showed up at the front door of my apartment.

The two weeks that Dad was here was a hodgepodge of family beach trips and father-son visits to various music stores around the island. He shared tales of his life with Erica in Manila, and in return, I shared my memories about Sam and my friends over the last four years. Those two weeks were us being mismatched pieces slowly fusing together to create the complete puzzle, with several holes that are yet to be filled. By the time he flew back to the Philippines, I was closer to the point of one hundred percent forgiving him. It’ll take me months before I can truly move on from the past, but I’m getting there. Time will tell when that day will come.

After Dad left, I took the time to figure out my feelings for Sam and Phil. Before I met Phil, I thought Sam was my endgame. I saw a future with her after high school. I visualized the two of us moving in together, having a beachside wedding, honeymooning in Paris, and raising our kids with our brown or black hair and brown eyes. But after Chris’s party and the long conversation I had with Dad, I questioned where my heart belonged. Sam was everything a boy could ever want for a girlfriend, someone who Mom was ecstatic about someday watching me say “I do” to, someone who filled that empty void when Dad left. Phil, on the other hand, was everything I never knew existed as an option for me, someone who enamored me since day one and opened up parts of me that I never showed to anyone aside from Sam, PJ, and Louise, someone who was the reason why I willingly mended my relationship with Dad.

I was confused. Do I choose safety with the anchor that has always kept me grounded, or do I choose happiness with the candle who sparked an incandescence within me that not even Sam or my friends were able to light up?

A few hours ago, on a park bench with the sun dipping down in the horizon, I broke up with Sam. It was a difficult choice that I nearly backed down from doing, but it was one Dad would be proud of me for doing. Being in a position of dumping my girlfriend made me understand why it was hard for Dad to divorce Mom. True love isn’t measured by years or the number of people that approve of the relationship; true love is the person who makes your heartbeat stutter and makes you smile to any love song that plays on the radio, no matter how cliché the lyrics are. Love is the fire that ignites your soul and what makes you the best person you can be.

Despite the tears that were shed, Sam understood. In fact, she had a hunch that Phil harbored feelings for me. She knew it was a matter of time before I caught on and braced herself for the feasible day where I could return his feelings. Following a friendly hug, we left the park knowing that even though we aren’t a couple anymore, our friendship will never fade. We’ve always been there for each other; we won’t let our breakup drive a wedge between us.

“Dan?”

I turn around. Phil stands behind me, his ruffled raven hair reflected under the moonlight and his blue irises flickering with uncertainty. We’re heading back to school next week, so my friends and I are spending our last few days of summer break with a weekend-long sleepover in my apartment.

“Yo.”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods, then moves to sit directly across from me, mirroring my sitting position.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

I chew the remaining chunks of Smarties in my mouth and swallow. “How can I? We’re seniors. We have one more year in high school before we’re thrust into adulthood and we’re little fishes trying to swim away from huge-ass sharks. Not that I’m ready to grow up, but my teen years are moving way too quick and I need time to slow down just a bit.”

He chuckles. “True. I’m not ready for senioritis to bite me in the bum yet. But I think that’s not what you’re really worried about.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You have a few candy wrappers next to you. You don’t binge-eat sweets unless you’re thinking really hard about something.”

He’s right. My sweet tooth is my version of stress-eating.

“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Truth is, you’re kinda the reason why I’m this close to getting a cavity.”

“How come?”

“Well… how else do you cope with realizing you love someone who’s so close yet so far beyond your grasp?”

“What? Dan, what Shojo anime have you been watching lately?”

“None. I just… God, I’ll just say it. I like you, Phil. I really, really like you and I might even love you, but I don’t know if I do yet ‘cause it’s too soon to tell.” I bend my legs so my knees are curled to my chest and my chin is on my kneecaps. “Fate is so screwed up. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I do. You’re strangely interesting and you get me so well. You’re the ying to my yang. You complete me, and I can’t live with the idea of seeing you with someone else. It’s so selfish of me since I already had Sam, but there’s something about you that wants you more than a friend. And… yeah.”

He blinks. “Whoa.”

“I know. Now let me down easy so we can forget I said any of that and I can start dealing with rejection.”

“Rejection? Dan, what are you, blind? I’ve loved you the moment you approached me and said, and I quote ‘I like your shirt.’”

“You still remember that?”

“How can I? It was love at first sight.”

“Love at first sight? This isn’t the 19th century.”

“Not according to the swiping on Tinder.”

I laugh. Being with Phil is easy. He’s carefree and doesn’t mind my wit. Even Sam has her occasions of being offended by my snark.

“I’m serious though. I do love you.” He leans closer, his hand reaching out to rest on top of mine. “I love how you can speak like a wise old philosopher. I don’t know how I went most of my life without you, because you’re what I was missing out on all this time. You came into my life with a purpose. I don’t know what I did to deserve you as a friend, but whatever it is, having you around made my life so much better.”

I look down at our entwined fingers. Holding his hand is comforting, a gesture that should be so wrong yet feels so right. This is what tadhana is. Destiny works in mysterious ways. As our fingers entwine, I’m reminded by how touching him soothed me when I spoke to Dad. He was my gravity then, and he’s my gravity now. The gravity is a force that’s much more powerful than I foresaw.

“Are you sure about this?” I murmur. “I’ve already hurt Sam. I don’t want to hurt you too if this doesn’t work out.”

“It will.” His eyes sharpen with conviction. “I won’t let anyone ruin what we have. Even if the universe hates what we are, I won’t ever hate you.” He releases my hands and maneuvers them to caress my cheeks. “I love you, Dan.”

I nod. Someday, I’ll be able to repeat those three words back to him.

Because when our lips meet and my stomach is churning with gentle waves, I’m certain that what Phil and I have is a fire that’ll never be extinguished.

What we have is real and here to stay.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

For any of you that read any of my former phanfics, I used a few lines from The Story of Us and Don’t You Wonder. I couldn’t resist using my one-liners while I wrote this.

Anak means “my son/daughter” and tadhana means “destiny.” I can’t speak Filipino fluently, but I do understand some of the language.

Maalala Mo Kaya is an ongoing Filipino TV series that showcases real-life stories of celebrities and average people like us. Dan’s family background was highly inspired by numerous eps I watched of MMK involving broken families.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed this! I had fun incorporating aspects of the “local” life in Hawaii, especially since the release of Pokemon Sun and Moon. If you haven’t tried a malasada, you should. There’s a reason why Hau loves ‘em. Don’t give spam such a hard time, because I eat spam musubi’s often and they’re delicious. And the bus system? Trust me, if you aren’t sure familiar with public transportation involving the bus system, you’re easily gonna get lost. Heaven knows how many tourists I witnessed questioning what bus to catch. Hell, even a local like me sometimes has to consult Google Maps to figure out what bus to ride.

Originally, I approached this story with a love triangle angle, but it was my professor who recommended I should try focusing on a father-son relationship instead. Best decision ever, because writing the story that way felt way more real.

~ AA