#we can assume this to be true because chapter 5 happens during christmas

[tackyink]

Should I have made a timeline of the canon events of YYH when I wrote Anomaly? Yes. Did I? No. Do I now need to waste time rereading the beginning of the manga in order to guess how long Yusuke spent dead, which is a mostly irrelevant detail to what I want to write? How dare you even ask.

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 8, Ch. 5

PART 8: WHERE IT ALL ENDS Chapter 5 - Planning the Future

Warnings: SMUT in the Sanctuary!

Nova

We have been so busy lately that I forgot how good Charlie's touch feels. His hands on my neck, in my hair, on my waist, and my back. I could never get enough of him and the feeling it gives me is pure ecstasy.

His lips found mine again, after biting my neck. I didn't know what I would rather do bite his perfect lips or let our tongues dance together. Even though it wasn't our day off and we only had one more hour we somehow managed to get to the bedroom this time. Our clothes were all over the floor from the front door to Charlie's boxers next to the bed.

I tried wrapping my arms around him but he stopped me. The look in his eyes told me that he is going to be in full control for the next hour. He brought my hands together and grabbed my wrists with his right hand and pushed them above my head. He started sucking the end of my ear while arousing my nipple with his free hand. I moaned in his ear.

He supported himself with the hand that held my wrists before and scratched me from my chest down to my belly button with the fingers of his other hand. He pressed his lips hard on mine again and even though I tried hard to keep my hands where he put them before I couldn't resist burying them in his curly hair.

I gasped for air as his fingers penetrated me and he started moving them around.

“Fuck, love!” He breathed in my ear. “Do you ever need any foreplay?” My lips curved into a naughty grin. I knew I was soaking wet because of all the flirting we did at breakfast. I couldn't stop thinking about him and the things I wanted him to do to me all morning at work.

“Not with you, no.” I replied, my voice rusty from breathing fast.

He grabbed my legs and turned me around. He wrapped his fingers around my wrists and crossed my arms on my back. I let out a loud groan as he entered me and started to move his hips back and forth. When I tried freeing my arms because I started twisting from pleasure, he leaned forward, still inside me, and started biting my back. He knew that was my weak spot and I started getting louder.

I tightened my muscles to grasp him more and he let out a sound that was pure melody for my ears. I knew his knees got weak for a second so I took the opportunity to take over. I pushed him back so he stood up and turned around. I wrapped my arms around his waist and got up too. Turning us around, I pushed him on the bed, biting my lip and climbing on him.

His eyes rolled back as I sat on him and he put his hands behind his head to enjoy both the view and the sensation I made him feel. It didn't take us long to both start breathing faster and faster, Charlie's hands now on my hips to help me move as I was getting weak. Just as we were about to cum together, we heard a knock on the door. Our eyes met as we opened them and we knew we didn't care if both of our mothers came through the door. We picked up the pace and finished, not even trying to be quiet.

“Can't we have one day where we can have sex in peace?” Charlie rolled his eyes as he was putting his boxers on. He was right, we were disturbed 3 times in the past week. We didn't know what exactly was going on but the Dragons were bothered by something and needed more attention than ever before.

“Are you mates done?” Charlie smirked, knowing that Felix, who was probably standing in our living room, knew what we were doing.

“We'll be right down!” I shouted and cussed when I remembered that Charlie took my shirt off the second we came through the door. I went to our closet and took out the first thing I could lay my hands on, which was Charlie's Christmas jumper with a Dragon on it.

Charlie grinned at me when he saw what I was wearing and we rushed down the stairs.

“I know I disturbed you, yet again...” Felix looked rather uncomfortable. He was unfortunate enough to catch us twice in the act this week. “But this came for you and seeing it wasn't brought by your family owl, I assumed it had to be important.” He handed Charlie a letter. “It's addressed to both of you.”

Charlie looked at me and I nodded for him to open it. I slowly stepped closer to him and started reading over his shoulder.

Charlie,

I know that you and Nova are busy and I wouldn't be writing to you if it wasn't urgent but something happened during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament and Dumbledore asked us to call you straight home. I understand that you might not get a day off immediately, but please come home as soon as you can. We need to talk about the Order.

Love, mum

Molly's letter sent shivers down my spine. What happened at the last task? Was Harry okay? Why did Dumbledore want us to come home and why was Molly talking about the Order of the Phoenix, for which I only knew because my mum told me about it.

“Felix, it's from my mum.” Charlie started. “We have to go home, something happened at the Tournament and...”

“You go. I thought it was urgent when it was sent by an unknown owl.” Felix looked at both of us, nodding.

“We'll be back as soon as possible.” I said and started upstairs to pack some clothes for us.

When I got back down, Charlie was sitting on the sofa, his eyes still on the letter.

“Char?” He looked up at me, worry in his eyes.

“Your family is okay.” I sat down next to him and embraced him. I had a feeling the letter had more to do with Harry and something else than anything happening to any of his siblings or parents.

We apparated to the Burrow together and as soon as we arrived the doors swung open and Arthur pulled us both inside.

“Dad, what is going...” Charlie couldn't finish his question as Arthur put a finger over his mouth, telling us to stay quiet. My heart started beating faster as I put our bag down and we stepped into the living room.

Molly, the twins, Bill, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore were all sitting there looking at Harry. He looked dreadful. I have never seen anyone so upset or terrified. I exchanged a look with Charlie and the expression in his eyes told me he was just as worried as I was.

Molly turned her head to us and stood up.

“You should sit down, dears.” She hugged us both and gestured us to sit next to the twins. Everybody had the same expression on their face; serious and knowing something I was sure we were about to find out.

Harry then started explaining what was going on for what seemed to be one time too many for him. He told us what happened at the Tournament. Where the final Portkey took him, how Pettigrew brought back He Who Must Not Be Named. How he killed Cedric Diggory without any hesitation and that he summoned some of his most loyal Death Eaters. He then told us how Moody was locked away and that the Moody teaching them all year was Crouch Junior and that he confessed to everything. He finished by saying how nobody believes him he is back because the only witness to him coming back was Cedric and he was killed.

When he finished the story, the room went quiet. I felt like I could hear my heartbeat. I had no idea how to respond. I stood up and kneeled before Harry who was trying hard no to be seen crying. How could he even hold back the tears with everything that has happened to him?

“Harry,” I said softly, looking up at him even though his eyes didn't meet mine, “we believe you.” He finally looked at me and then at Charlie who was standing next to me and nodded to Harry.

I couldn't understand why anyone wouldn't believe the kid that went through more than all the rest in the room combined. Why would anyone in their right mind think that he could even come up with a story like that? Nobody wanted him to come back not even some of his most loyal subjects from the previous Wizarding War.

“We are here for you, Harry.” Charlie kneeled next to me. “If you need anything.”

“What can we do to help?” I turned around and searched for Dumbledore's eyes. I knew he was here for a reason and not just to bring Harry to the Burrow.

“If you'll step with me.” He gestured to both me and Charlie through his half-moon spectacles. We followed him outside.

“It pleases me to know that you believe Harry.” He said gently.

“How couldn't we!” Snapped Charlie. “Nobody can make that up.” I nodded in agreement.

“If he says that He Who...” I shook my head. If Harry was brave enough to say his name, we should be too. “That Voldemort is back then it's true.”

“Unfortunately, we made Mr. Crouch Jr drink a Veritaserum potion and he confessed to everything. It's true.” Dumbledore closed his eyes, trying to remember the event.

“Then why doesn't the Ministry believe Harry?” I questioned.

“Because they would rather deny it and keep people calm than tell the truth.” Dumbledore said, harshly.

“Well, that's a bunch of rubbish!” Charlie frowned. That had to be the dumbest reason I have ever heard. How could the Ministry be so negligent?

“That's why we decided to take proper action.” Dumbledore continued.

“We?” Charlie asked puzzled.

“How much do you both know about the Order of the Phoenix?” He bowed his head down, his eyes on us.

“My mum told me about it.” I said slowly. I knew she was under an oath and should probably not speak about it but she told me even before I went to Hogwarts. My parents never kept secrets from me.

“Bill and I found some old photos of the Order while going through our parent's stuff once.” Charlie admitted, his cheeks red.

“Your mum probably had the pictures.” Dumbledore said without accusing Charlie of doing anything wrong. “Her brothers died for the Order.” I started biting the inside of my cheek. This was all getting too real too fast.

“I have formed the Order the first time Voldemort came to power to gather Wizards who would fight against him and his cause.” He started to explain. “Your parents and your brother Bill already joined. As did Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, your mum...” His eyes turning to me. “And your friend Nymphadora Tonks.” My heart sank hearing her name.

“What about the rest of our friends?” I needed to know if they were going to put themself in danger as well. Especially Penny and Andre who had a little girl.

“I haven't gotten to them yet.” Dumbledore answered, hearing the worry in my voice.

“What do you need us to do, Professor?” Charlie asked, determined.

“I am giving you an option, you don't have to join if you don't want to.” He looked at both of us, his head high now. “It has come to my attention that you got engaged last November.”

“We did, but we want to help, Professor.” My hand found Charlie's and I was hoping he couldn't sense me shaking.

“We want to join and help as much as we can, even though I can't see how we can do much from Romania.” Charlie locked his eyes with mine, tightening the grip on my hand. Who was I fooling, of course, he could sense I was afraid.

“It's perfect, actually, that you are so far away from Britain.” It was the first time he smiled a little since we came here. “I have a very big request to ask from you.” He stopped for a second, making me anxious. “I need you to recruit as many foreign Wizards and Witches as possible. I am sure you have some connections and despite the unpopular opinion that those not living in Britain have nothing to do with this War, every person joining our cause makes us stronger.”

We both nodded to let him know we understood. It shouldn't be that hard. I am sure we can convince most of our team to join us and we both had outside connections as well with everyone that comes and goes from the Sanctuary.

“We will do our best to send people your way, Professor.” Charlie assured him.

“Good.” He bowed his head. “I have to warn you that sending letters with your owls is no longer safe, neither is using the Floo Network.”

“We will make sure to be careful while sending letters.” I said, feeling relieved I can leave Pip out of this.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore smiled at us and went back inside.

Charlie and I didn't say a word to each other not outside, neither while being with his family. I kept thinking of my mum, not knowing if it was safe to even write her a letter.

We got home late that night and I felt more exhausted than I would be if I was working with Ajax all day.

“I can't believe this is happening.” Charlie finally spoke as he got back downstairs after finishing his shower and sat next to me on the sofa.

“Everything happened so quickly.” I took a deep breath and positioned myself in his arms.

“Do you think we have to postpone our wedding?” He asked, sadness in his voice. We finally decided to get married at the end of August last month.

“How about we wait to see what happens?” I looked up at him and he kissed my forehead.

“Do you think he's going to act quickly and start where he left off?” I wondered after a few minutes of silence.

“I honestly don't want to know what is going to happen.”

Neither did I. Our lives went from having a normal job to being in a secret organization, recruiting reinforcements.

“Poor Harry.” My voice trembled. I felt for that boy. I wish he didn't have to go through so much at such a young age.

“I feel so lucky that we had such a normal life at school. Seeing Voldemort come back and then duelling him...” Charlie shook his head. “How did he even survive that?” I was asking myself the same thing. He got away from the most powerful Dark Wizard of our time.

“I dunno. But I'm happy he did.” I answered honestly. If he failed to defend himself nobody would know that Voldemort was back.

“And just when I started to think we can settle down.” He said softly, into my hair.

“We can elope.” I suggested. “We wanted to do that anyway.”

“I wasn't talking just about marrying you.” I turned in his arms to look at him.

“What do you mean?” His eyes were so full of emotions that he melted my heart.

“I know it might not be the right place and of course we could wait longer but I can't stop thinking about having a family with you.” My mouth fell open. We never talked about this before. We both wanted a family one day but besides thinking about it occasionally, especially when Penny sent us pictures of little Joanna, I didn't feel like we were in a place with our work where we could afford to have kids.

Knowing that it was going to be hard for both of us to let go of our careers, I rather didn't put much thought into it, not to get my hopes up. There was a big difference between wanting and having a family.

“Did I leave you speechless, love?” Charlie chuckled.

“I didn't know you were thinking about having kids any time soon.” I answered honestly, wishing terribly to have some tea, my mouth was so dry.

“Of course, I do.” He said as if we were talking about what to eat for lunch tomorrow. “Don't you?”

“I do but I try not to. We both have quite a dangerous job and you don't exactly see anyone raising children in the Sanctuary.” Charlie let out a laugh.

“We could move somewhere safer and apparate to work.” He wrapped his arms tighter around me. I was already living my dream with him and he was just describing my fairytale.

“You have everything figured out, don't you?” I giggled. “Next thing I know, you'll tell me you know how many kids we'll have and what their names will be.” I teased.

“I can if you want to know.” I turned in his arms, abruptly.

We told each other everything and despite being so afraid to ruin our friendship when we started having feelings for each other, we were still best friends. But I had no idea Charlie had everything so planned out or that he thought about these things.

“You know how many kids you want?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Two girls and a boy.” He said at once. If we weren't already engaged I would ask him to marry me right then and there. “Aoede for one girl, after the Jupiter moon since your middle name is after one as well. Luna because it's just a very beautiful name for the other girl and Roger for the boy after your dad.” I was speechless. He listed those names as if he was thinking about them every single day.

“When you snap back to reality and not imagine marrying me right here right now and start making babies, you can choose the middle names if you want.” He chuckled. I couldn't imagine the expression on my face as I couldn't get over the feeling in my chest.

I might not have thought about our future like that but now I could see myself being married and have those beautifully named children with him.

“Do you reckon they'll have violet hair?” I finally found my voice. Charlie burst out laughing.

“Did the Coloring Charm manage to change your DNA?” He asked.

“I dunno but imagine them!” I clapped my hands, excitedly. “Your curls and...”

“Your eyes.” He finished my sentence, kissing my nose.

“With your freckles!” My eyes sparkled. Damn it, Weasley! Now I wished I was already pregnant.

We laid on our sofa, talking like this for hours. It was a good distraction from the real world and what we were about to face. I knew that we couldn't afford to go beyond talking and dreaming of having a family with everything that was going on, as we knew it would probably get worse. But we couldn't stop discussing it. It made us laugh and I couldn't help but fall even deeper in love with him if that was even possible. He truly was the man of my dreams and for the time being, having him by my side, safe and healthy was going to be enough.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

‘Tis the Damn Season- Chapter 2

Winter Wonderland

Hello loveys! Here is chapter two, a new year, a new world, a new Harry video! Thank you to @dirtystyles for fixing my tenses, which I promptly messed up by revising and adding. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Happy reading- reblogs are love!

Emma was annoyed before she even caught her flight, but she loved airports, so she got lost in watching the peculiar things people did in the there to sublimate what was probably just anxiety. She'd once watched a boys' trip, maybe a bachelor party, get on a plane and begin toasting at 5:30 am. The groom had almost bought the whole plane a round, but one of his mates had stopped him. She assumed this wasn't his first beer of the day, but maybe it was the last of the night before?

People acted different in airports.

That had been her first flight to Holland. When she went to her interview at Wageningen University and Research Center. She really needed to impress, she'd pressed her outfit more than she had ironed anything since she'd been taught to do it. This was her dream school and the climate research they did was groundbreaking and she wanted to be part of it so much that she was willing to do whatever it took. Beyond the heavy course load she could expect during the regular school years, the top students got amazing summer work or internships. She'd promised herself she would not be going home for breaks for some time. Honestly she was just fine with that. There wasn't much left for her in Holmes Chapel.

There wasn't much in Holmes Chapel at all.

She'd wanted to move from the little village the minute they'd moved there when she was eleven. Sure it was cute, picturesque and maybe something out of a Jane Austen novel, but Emma did not read much Pride and Prejudice. Though she definitely had seen Mr. Darcy come out of the pond. Honestly, she was more of a nonfiction girl, and she like investigative reporting. She'd missed London pretty much immediately and begged to go back for months. It was a time in her life she would have called the absolute worst, until it became the foundation for the best years. Emma made really good, motivated friends. Big dreams were common in little Holmes Chapel, so Emma fit right in. It may have never felt like home exactly, but she made a home of those friends.

Gemma was one of them. She had done her share of Austen reading. Reading in general, and she had the sweetest family. Her little brother Harry was so nice to their mum, though he loved nothing more than bugging Gemma. Like all little brothers. She'd heard at least, Emma was an only child.

All her parents' hopes and dreams rested right on her shoulders.

But theirs weren't nearly so weighty as her own. Even then she knew she was going to save the planet, or at the very least reduce the number of climate refugees.

Now, after two summers in Reykjavik, she was more into sustainable energy and zero waste production, but she was still trying to change the climate game.

She would really rather be going back to Iceland now. A friend had invited her to see the Northern Lights. They were most active in the winter and she'd only caught glimpses of them during her summer internships. It may have been the experience of a lifetime.

But her mother had laid on a major guilt trip. Emma hadn't been back to little Holmes Chapel in two years. She'd come home that first Christmas because she was tired, overwhelmed, still adjusting to her school schedule, and a little homesick. Her mother told her so. She'd even skipped the Twist's Christmas party, which was the shindig of the season. She'd slept right through it, and only seen Gemma at the pub later. She hadn't been up for company, but Gemma was family.

This year? After a year's absence, she'd be going. And she'd receive the hometown-hero-returns treatment. Though she was sure her reception at the airport would consist of her mum with a single sign. When she did make it to the pub, she might see a few friendly faces besides Gemma. Last time? Since she'd missed the party, she didn't have anything to contribute to the discussion. She'd just listened to everybody else rehash it. Normally, that would be fine, but she already felt removed, and had always felt a bit like a screw among nails in Holmes Chapel, so she was determined to go to the party this year. She had all kinds of plans, how many hours she'd socialize, rest, and read.

The flight was easy at least, and the train up to Manc doubly so. She liked to sleep on trains, something about the rocking, and she resumed her old habit of sleeping wrapped around her backpack.

"Welcome home, love!" Her mother shouted and Emma actually got a little misty, just like her Mum. Maybe she should try to get home more than once a year, but there's just so much she wants to accomplish. She even had a list. All the things she wanted to do before she turned thirty. It's been revised of course, she'd not unrealistic. Once the list is complete, she can have a life outside her ambitions, like a real boyfriend.

There's not much time for anything but hook-ups for the next ten years., and Emma was ok with that.

Up til now. She might need another pass at her bullet points, or to at least read her goals again when she got to the Twist's new brick beauty of a house. Harry had bought his mum a new home, one not watched as closely by his obsessive fans. They hadn't found this one yet.

Emma could see why they followed him around so, and why some people risked it all for a certain face. His face, his very famous, gorgeous face.

It was so weird that Harry wasn't just Gemma's little brother who grew up cute anymore. His music wasn't really her style, though some of the songs were catchy and Emma did like his latest album. She caught herself humming about life stories long after she heard it, and she seemed to hear his latest single playing in lots of shops and restaurants, even in Holland.

At the party, she also found herself in the same room as Harry more often than she can find an excuse for. Her eyes also seemed to find him a lot, she knew because of how many times she had to whip her head away quickly. As a tactic, that didn't work because he was always either already looking at her,or he immediately turned like he knews where she was. Maybe her gaze had weight, or she was as subtle as an axe.

When he smirked at her the tenth time their eyes lit upon each other, she choked on her wine.

What the fuck?

She'd finally got herself calmed from that little encounter. Mostly because she left the room to find a loo. The water she splashed on her face was cold and woke her up. "What are you doing, girl?" Emma asked her reflection but found that she couldn't help but smile at herself, and bite her lip. The flush on her cheeks was lovely; she could blame the wine, everyones favorite excuse.

An hour later she was pleasantly tipsy, the kind of buzz you could maintain and still wake up the next day not regretting, and she'd gone to the kitchen to grab another glass to nurse her merry state. "Be right back. We need another round!" She was calling back to Gemma when she bumped into a tall lanky body. She caught his hips with one hand and found them with just enough give to grip. "Oof!" She exclaimed before looking up to see how much damage her wine had done. Good thing she drank white, there was a growing spot ok his sweater. Wait a second! Then she coasted her head up the lovely lilac sweater toward his face. "That's my sweater." She said first off, bopping his chin.

"Um, no, mine now." Oh, his voice was adorably thick with drink too. "You give it to Gem or something?"

What was he talking about? Her eyes stayed with his and she was kinda trapped in his greens when she realized he meant the sweater. She had, right. "I'm yeah, years ago. Was my favorite and we shared it a lot. I decided she should have it before I moved. And I guess she decided you should have it when you moved. Though I expect your life change was a little different than mine. Yours was like overnight and mine a life long plan, and oh my god, Emma stop talking." She would have kept rambling except, well, he kissed her, right on the mouth and held his overfilled lips to her own. No, overfilled wasn't true. They were full, but not crazy big, they just were so plump at the edges. God, when had she thought about Harry's lips so much.

Right now, as much as she could think of anything, it was Harry's lips. She'd relaxed into his rhythm and was following his lead when her free hand took on a mind of its own and coasted from his hips up his back and into his hair. He groaned a little before he disengaged and then chuckled.

"Well," he said as the offending hand went to her mouth. Maybe she did need to stop drinking. That was bold, unlike her, and strange. But wait! What just happened? Why did he kiss her?.

"Huh?"

"I think that beat my last mistletoe kiss and I'd convinced myself that was impossible!" He was giving her a knowing look, like a wink in his smile. Did he kiss somebody else tonight? She looked up at him and tried not to be annoyed, or feel jealous, or focus on the shape of his mouth, still a little wet from her kiss. Was he just hanging out by the mistletoe like a weirdo? Seemed odd for a bloke people were lining up to meet, let alone kiss.

"Why'd you do that?" She found her voice to ask. It was rusty, like she hadn't just been laughing and talking for hours with people she'd forgotten how much she enjoyed.

"You bumped into me under the mistletoe. I assumed you wanted me to." Well, she did while he was kissing her, but now he was being a bit of an ass.

"Um, you were just in the way..."

"Well, I'll have to find myself in your path as often as possible then." Ok, that was cute, a bit cocky, like the smirk on his face. Then his face flushed and his dimples were so deep and she decided that shift, from smirky pop star to hometown mumma's boy was the best quick change she had ever seen. "Ah, see, that got you to smile!" He bopped her nose and she knew her own dimple pressed in even further.

"Nah, you're a little shit, but I like your smile. Especially when you blush." The color he turned then made her laugh out loud. She felt drunk when she realized how long they'd been staring at each other grinning. She was counting her drinks a second later when he caught her off guard again.

"Where'd you just go?"

"Wha'?" Oh boy, she'd dropped her t, she was really home now.

"We were having a moment." He motioned between their faces. "Then you went in your head. Lost your attention, didn't like it at all."

Then he caught her hand, their fingers entwined together like their lips moments before. It was hot in there. Emma shook her head and glanced around, but she didn't untangle them. She looked at her boots and felt shy. But Emma wasn't shy, Harry used to be shy, though now he was bolder than her, apparently.

"Listen," he started and she looked up to his eyes again. When had they gotten so attractive? What had gone on with him in the last couple years? Other than the international superstardom she supposed, but he'd grown into himself, like expanded his skin and presence. He was cute, but all she could think was that the end of puberty was rarely so damn kind. His fingers even seemed attractive, long and slim and she was imagining him playing piano, but then the instrument was her body, and damn, she was in her head again. She could feel that her eyes widened comically. She knew her pupils were blown. When was the last time she'd gotten laid? Apparently too long if holding hands had her imagining unspeakable things and holding in moans.

He smirked then, she guessed he knew where she went then. "Listen," he leaned in close and she nodded, their noses brushed. He exhaled and her lips tingled. "Where are you staying?"

"Huh?" She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say, but that wasn't it.

He giggled, and it was cute enough that Emma felt a splash of awareness hit her face. She looked around to see if anybody saw them flirting if she could disengage her gaze. "Are you at your parents?"

"Oh, um yeah?"

"Are you sure?" He laughed then and the brush of his thumb across the back of her hand was warmer than the mulled wine in her belly.

"No, I'm sure, just not sure why you are asking." She nudged him and realized a bit too late that her nipples touched him first, she was only half sorry this top meant no bra when she felt the friction.

It was his eyes' turn to widen. "Um," he exhaled and she missed his eyes when he quickly glanced down her dress like there might be a cookie there and then up quickly like he remembered he wasn't supposed to have any sweets. "Ok, um," he said after he visibly took hold of himself, "I was just hoping you had a room above the pub or something."

She knew her face called him idiot better than her mouth could.

He rolled his eyes, "I know, it was a shot in the dark!"

"Did you expect me to slide you my room key if I did?" Emma flashed her eyebrows like she wasn't imagining him finger fucking her with his piano hands a moment ago. "Isn't that your move?" She teased, kind of. She imagined he knew his way around hotel rooms, and women in them.

"Heeeey," he was being cute but the corners of his eyes dropped a moment and the green dulled. "It's not like that."

Emma scoffed.

"Well, I mean," his other hand found hers and now if anyone was watching them they were getting a show. "If it was like that, I wouldn't say no, but just want to hear about Holland, seems so amazing, and where you are in the summers..."

She could see him racking his brain.

"Iceland." They said together. And then giggled together too.

"You been keeping tabs on me?" She leaned forward and enjoyed the brush of him on her again. He shivered.

"Yeah, always admired you." He looked at her through his lashes. "I'd like to hear more reasons you're the most impressive person I've ever met."

"But I don't have a place." She reminded him.

"If I got one?"

"What?" She thought she knew what he was asking, but she wanted a minute to think about her answer, to quiet the resounding YES that echoed in her body and her mind. Because he might have said it wasn't like that, but they were chest to chest and had been holding hands since they kissed moments ago.

He looks down chagrined at his pigeon toes, before his gaze lit on their hands, then her face. "If I got a room at the Vicarage? Would you come with me? Really! We can really just talk." He assured and then the cocky boy who found his stride in hotel room assignations showed out, "if you want." Those dimples were deadly.

"Can it be the Boar's Head?" She knew she'd showed her cards, by asking for a room the town over.

He nodded and grinned like he'd just hit the hotpicks. "It can be the Boar's Head." He nodded like a dashboard bobble head. "I have to make nice here a bit longer, but I'll call now, and put your name on, so you can go when you're ready."

They'd been standing close for just a few more seconds when Gemma said- "Harry! Get off. God you are such a flirt!" But she was in her cups too, so they laughed it off.

The next hour, Emma stayed near Gem, but her eyes tracked Harry. Once, he came by and stole a sip of Gem's cocktail off her and Emma was glad her friend's ire distracted her, because Emma was watching him giggle like a fiend and the contraction of his throat. When their eyes met, she knew hers made a promise. One she wanted to keep.

So now she was alone in a couple of quaint rooms a town over, waiting to have sex with Gemma's little brother, Harry Styles.

She was torn, half of her wanted to open the bottle she'd swiped from the alcohol table at the party. The other half wanted to call an Uber and go back to her parents' house, where she should have stopped and grabbed some clothes so she wouldn't have to do the walk of shame.

But getting clothes would have meant forethought; she will deny that, especially to herself.

Emma had just opened the uber app and cursed their rural area when she heard a key in the lock.

Like a gun at the races.

They were never going to just talk. She'd just dropped her phone on the couch before Harry laid the first kiss on her.

The first kiss she planned to really remember, that is. Their mistletoe kiss had caught her off guard enough that she could only remember the feelings, not the details.

Yet, she was here, kissing him in a rented room after sneaking out of his mum's Christmas Eve party, on the strength of those feelings.

The kiss started strong and sweet, just like she takes her tea. He didn't taste like tea, he tasted like wine, Merlot maybe, but it could have been any red. And his tongue had this delicious slither to couple with its intoxicating flavor. She was in for a penny when she rode over here, but now there was no way she was going anywhere but to bed with him, no matter how pound foolish. He was nipping at her bottom lip and mouthing at her jaw before he sucked an almost mark into her collarbone and love bites onto the sides of her neck. He was just about to hit a particular sweet spot while working off her clothes, his hands were at her zipper. The cheeky boy, and she felt like they should at least hit pause even if stop was off the table.

"Harry," she moaned, or breathed, it was a sound she'd never made before.

"Hmmm?" He asked without stopping any of his forward momentum.

"I thought we were gonna talk." That one was like a laugh, there was a trill in her voice certainly.

"We'll talk afterwards." He said it like a statement, but looked to her for confirmation. At her nod, her skirt dropped and his hands were all over her bare ass above the stockings she'd worn to feel sexy but hadn't expected anyone to see. She normally would have worn tights. Thick ones, certainly, in Amsterdam. It would have been smarter here too. It was at least as cold. She'd been feeling that mix of confidence and self consciousness one gets when seeing people from your past when you think you've leveled up. She wanted to feel her best, look her best. Sexy, even if no one was interested. She's thankful, both for his interest and her unintended preparation. When he caught the sides of her knickers while her shirt and bra were as untouched as his clothes, she figured she needed to get with it. She'd been clutching his shoulders and his gorgeous hair instead of doing anything of use to their current pursuit.

Emma pulled at his shirt until it came over his messed up disheveled hair and laughed at the hodge podge of black ink haphazardly spread over his torso and one arm. "What's this then?" She said between licks of his tongue.

"After, we talk after!" He'd gotten her shirt unwrapped. She liked that detail of the shirt too, a sexy secret, like her matching bra. He pulled back to stare and was distracted long enough for her to give him another look over. He does look sexy in his decorated skin.

"What do they mean?" She liked things to make sense, her world was ordered, scientific.

Harry shrugged. "Lots of different things. Or nothing. Now can we please go to bed and we can discuss my stupid tattoos after I've had you."

"Oh fuck,'' was all she could say to that. He smirked and hoisted her up his hips to carry her through the open frame to the bedroom. He pulled her knickers free as soon as she was done bouncing.

She'd just about caught her breath when she saw him go for the button of his jeans. She lost it again when his thick bulge became visible and he pushed his tight jeans forcibly down his thighs. "Damn!" She looked at him with a glint.

He mounted the bed and spread her open, kissed her right knee over her stocking, which he seemed intent in keeping on, and looked pointedly at her center. She was swollen, his eye contact with the evidence didn't help. "Damn!" He echoed and she would have laughed but Harry, Gemma's sexy little brother, was kissing up her right thigh, with just a few licks and nips to her hip creases and so damn close to where she wanted him before he was testing the fuck out of her by kissing and licking and loving her left thigh. Ignoring her desperate need.

"Fuck, Harry. Please." She'd got the bedspread balled in her hands and she would normally have removed that before considering getting into the bed but she was also usually in pajamas and alone.

The filthy things he was saying were way worse than whatever could have been on the bedspread. Though she enjoyed them a great deal more, and it made her happy to have taken off everything already.

Harry had finally gotten to the main course. Only After her begging got loud enough to be heard by the room next door and the innkeeper, she won't make eye contact with anyone tomorrow. Maybe not even Harry, if he stayed. Emma had his full attention now, she could learn about all the things his mouth could do. The wet flat of his tongue caressed her like she was a bit of deliciousness and sunk down to find her creamy center.

"Fuck!" She yelped when he sealed his mouth over her for a tight suck and rub until she was rolling and writhing and fighting against the arms banded around her thighs. He laid one across her belly to hold her down.

"Do you like that?" He kept going because her answer was obviously yes. When the arm not restraining her passion made its piano fingered way between her thighs to do the thing she'd imagined earlier, sliding in tightly where she was wet and wanting, she clenched down on his three fingers and said his name.

He slid up her body and reached for the condom, but Emma had gotten her head back around to stop him before he got it on. She hated the taste of rubbers, and she'd like to know his flavor first. "Wait." She leaned forward between his legs and stroked him base to tip. He really was well favored, and not just from the neck up. She pressed his length to his stomach and licked the seam from his balls around and up to his head before she got a mouthful of him. Now he was her dessert. She didn't even think to try the pies and things at the party, she had been so preoccupied with the taste she'd had of him. It was but an appetizer for this. He leaked on her tongue and she moaned and hummed.

"Jesus! Emma! Stop, I'm gonna!" He pushed her back. And she was a little mad he'd taken away her sweetie. "Enough. I'd like to get inside you."

That was a suggestion she could take. So, she lay back and thought of anything but England while he stroked his skinned cock and spat over the tip. God. The way his stomach flexed caused an aftershock to recapture her. "Harry?" His name a plea. His knees hit the bed and her heels pressed him toward her, toward them.

"God, I've never seen you like this!" She'd have to ask him what he meant by that, later. Then he nodded, using his thumb to press his cock head inside the tight ring of muscle at the top of her entrance. Except he was a little low.

"Uhh!" She glanced down and grabbed him to redirect. "Wrong one." She tried not to laugh.

"Sorry, might be a touch too eager." He confessed: She's now laughing, openly. "Hey! It may have went right in, as wet as you are?"

Now she'd be indignant if he wasn't so ridiculous. "Are you really complaining about how wet my pussy is?"

"No, no, that would make me an idiot right?" He asked and found the right spot to start pushing in.

This was always her favorite part, and since this was her favorite fuck already, she knew the pop when he got the lip of his head in would be enough to begin her tip over the edge.

She moaned even before he caught the exact right angle to square her desire and she clutched his back and lifted her bottom to chase his withdrawal. "It would, god, you're perfect, an idiot."

"Oh God, Em!" She liked that. And the kisses to her mouth and chin and neck. Messy and wet and out of control. He'd gone from deliberate and self possessed to a man overcome as he rolled his hips up and into her and against that delicious place inside.

"Harry, don't stop. I'm close." Her head fell back when he slowed down just enough to draw out her orgasm, bring it to the surface and ride it home. He stroked her through and then brought his hands under her ass to lift her pelvis up to his driving thrusts, more deliberate and direct than the ones he used to get her off. She watched his face scrunch, and then open, his jaw down and his eyes closed until he smiled and licked his lips.

It's that face she decided she wanted to see as much as she could.

And she did, it was made better when he bit his lip and laughed. "Am I a perfect idiot then?"

She was blissed out and couldn't stop herself saying, "no you're an idiot with a perfect cock!" He was just pulling out of her then, and she was so embarrassed when he stood up to tie off the condom and preened.

"Am I now?"

She was the idiot. "I'll Pay you to forget I said that!" Emma wants to scurry to the bathroom and get out of here. She's already feeling shame, may as well get the walk over with.

"I don't need any money." He's laughing now. Shes scooting to the restroom when he catches her hands and holds her close. "Where are you going. You owe me, you're gonna pay me in conversation."

Wait, he still wants to talk, even after they've done what they came to do. "Ok." Shes still a little embarrassed and pulling away.

"No, no, stay and talk, come back to bed and tell me about my perfect co—" she's clamping her hand over his mouth.

"Only if you shut up, and I have to have a wee first."

"After!" He begged. "I wanna hear about school and everything. What exactly you're doing to save the world."

"I'll tell you, I have to go after, prevents uti's and such." She hated being clinical, well right now.

"It does?" He asked and she nodded. "That's good to know."

She wants to be embarrassed, but his ease when she comes back from washing up, the way he is still naked and opens his arms to her, helping her find the right spot on top of him where they are both comfortable, it makes her less self conscious, about her little factoid, her nudity, or that she's essentially slept with him right off.

She sighs and is about to ask about the giant butterfly, moth, when he speaks. "Tell me about Holland, about school." His voice is like molasses, and her words come out as slow.

"It lovely, and school is so hard, some times I might as well move onto campus, live in the library-"

"You don't live on campus?" She shakes her head. "Do you ride your bike into town?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, you must send me a picture of you on your bike. In a dress." He wants to text.

"Then I want updates on any stupid tattoos you get!" She counters.

"You think my tattoos are stupid?" He pouts, and she's captivated by that face.

"Very." She kissed both sparrows beaks. "But their also sexy."

He likes that, his dimples say so. Then he asks about Iceland and they talk for an hour or more before she's over him, swallowing his moans. They have another go in the morning before leaving, he's hard to convince that she'll be fine with an Uber. If he drives her, it'll blow their cover.

She wound up in his suv anyway.

For the next week they snuck out to warm up the backseat of his Range Rover, her mother's kitchen counter, his childhood bedroom, and then the inn again the night before she left. Just for a few hours, she'd told her mum she was going to the pub to say goodbye to mates.

Their goodbye meant his face remained her go-to for the next year whenever she was alone in her room, at night, missing him.

"Can I have you again, next year? For Christmas?" He'd asked.

Who could say no to that?

She faced those plans unafraid, the ones they made, for the whole next year.

[what-stop-the-presses-rly-means]

Bye, Bye, Sugar Blue Eyes part 7

Race x female reader modern au

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This chapter is super long. Idk if that’s a bad thing or not. Either way, I apologize

_________________

The holiday fever had spread throughout the home in no time. You couldn’t find a room that wasn’t completely decked out, and the boys were in such high spirits. And when I say “boys” I just mean the young ones. It seemed as if everyone on staff was constantly on the go. Albert was always in the kitchen making these grand meals that I didn’t know we had the budget for. Davey was doubling as an accountant now that he was on break from being a teacher, trying to calculate how much it would cost them in presents this year. I hardly ever saw Jack. I have no idea what he’s been up to. And Race was holed up in his office with a constant cycle of boys filing in and out throughout the day, in need of reassurance.

I was told that this can be a tough time for some of them. What with their classmates talking about seeing their families during vacation, coupled with seeing the happy families in the Christmas movies they’ve been watching. This can be such a happy time of year, but for some, it can be a reminder of what they don’t have but so desperately wished for. It was heartbreaking to think about.

When I had gone upstairs to vacuum, I saw two of the younger boys, Theodore and Eli, lying on the floor in the hallway, paper strewn about. I sat down next to them.

“What’re you guys doing?”

“Writing our letters to Santa,” Eli said, holding out his paper to examine it. With a satisfied smile, he folded it up and placed it into in envelope.

“That sounds like fun. What are you asking for this year?”

“Parents,” Theodore said simply.

My eyes widened. “O-Oh?” He nodded.

“Yeah, we want to get adopted. Plus, this way, the elves don’t have to make any extra toys. We can give them a little break this year.” He looked so pleased with their idea.

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you two. But… I don’t think Santa has that kind of power, kiddo.”

“But we’re gonna try,” Eli said with a determined nod. “We’re used to not getting many toys anyway. And this is what we really want, so we might as well ask.” I didn’t know what to say. I could feel the tears starting to well up.

“Listen, when you guys do get adopted, it’s gonna be because the people that come through that door one day are gonna take one look at you and fall in love. You don’t need Santa’s magic for that. Just be your wonderful selves and you’ll be adopted in no time.” I forced a smile and got up. I walked over to the broom closet, listening to them run downstairs with their letters, and quickly stepped inside. I pressed my back against the closed door and clasped my hand over my mouth, stifling the sobs I couldn’t contain.

---

It was starting to feel like a zoo around here with the constant flow of people. Not only were the boys out of school, but it was like the doorbell was always ringing. I learned where our budget came from. This time of year charitable citizens and organizations were donating anything under the sun. We got bags of food and toys, and sometimes people wrote us checks. It was amazing seeing people come together with such kindness. I also learned what Jack has been up to, signing papers, drawing up documents, greeting and thanking volunteers. This was also the time of year more people are apt to adopt, so he was arranging meetings. Maybe those boys will get adopted after all.

But the biggest surprise guest we had arrived two days before Christmas. I was in the living room when I heard the door open. Since the doorbell hadn’t rung, I assumed it was one of the guys. Well, I was partially right.

“What? Is no one gonna greet me? I traveled a long way, ya know!” I could hear a couple gasps and shouts before I could see who it was. The foyer was filled by the time I reached it.

“Crutchie!”

“We missed you!”

“What’d you bring us?”

“Now, now, give the guy some room. He’s not much taller’n the rest of you, so you might crush him!” Jack made his way through the group and hugged the man tightly.

“Good to see ya, man. How was your flight?”

“Oh, it was fine. My tiny, petite body fit in the storage compartment, so I got a great deal,” he said mockingly. That made me laugh. He looked over to me.

“Oh, and is this the new lady-person who’s been keepin’ you all in line?” He smiled brightly.

“Something like that.” I reached my hand out. “(Y/N). And you must be Charles.”

His brows furrowed. “Oh, are we all formal now?” he laughed. “It’s Crutchie, ma’am.” He tipped his hat dramatically.

“But you don’t have a crutch,” I teased.

“Yeah, and Racetrack ain’t that fast. They’re just the nicknames that stuck.”

“Touché.”

“I could still kick your sorry ass in a footrace.” We all turned and saw Race come out of his office. Crutchie smirked.

“Only ‘cause I got this bad boy.” He leaned on the wall and lifted his pantleg to show off his prosthetic. A couple of the boys got squeamish and left the room. Race laughed.

“You got me there.” The two smiled cheekily at each other before Race gave him a big bear hug. I grabbed his bags.

“I’ll take your things up to one of the guest rooms.”

“Well, a gentleman would never let a lady do all the work. I’ve got them.” I gave him an unimpressed look and Jack let out a low whistle.

“Careful, Crutch, she might break the other leg.”

Crutchie laughed. “Okay then, how ‘bout I help with the bags?” I nodded and handed one to him and started for the stairs.

“Dinner’s in fifteen!” Jack called after us. We walked in silence until we got to the end of the hall. I went into my room to get a key to unlock the unused room when I heard him chuckle from behind me.

“You and Race’s rooms are across from each other?” I paused, looking between the doors.

“Uh, yeah. I was given this room on my first day.” I opened the door and took his bag inside. He plops down on the bed and pats the spot next to him, indicating he wanted me to sit with him. I look at him curiously but comply.

“So I’ve heard you’ve been getting on really well around here.”

“Yeah… Is this an interrogation? Like what big brothers do to new boyfriends in the movies? Are you gonna tell me that if I break their hearts you’ll kill me?” Crutchie laughed.

“I like you. No, that’s not what this is. But I don’t see you ever breaking any of their hearts anytime soon, so it’s not a problem. I just wanted to talk for a bit. I keep in touch with the guys, Jack mostly, and he’s told me a bit about you. Including some interesting things.”

“Should I be scared?”

“Nah, he’s just been saying how quickly you and Race have gotten close, is all.”

“Well, yeah. We share a lot of responsibilities around here so we spend a lot of time together. And he’s just such a friendly, charismatic guy. He’s easy to get along with.” Crutchie nodded, listening intently. I didn’t know if I was supposed to keep talking so I did. “We have a lot in common and we both care about the work we do around here.” Still, Crutchie said nothing, just nodded. “Okay, now it’s starting to feel like an interrogation,” I laughed. He put his hands up in defense.

“Hey, I was just wondering what’s been going on in my absence. This time last year things seemed to be a little hectic, so I’m glad they’ve got some extra help… And I’m glad Race had another person he was able to open up to. If anything, I’d like to thank you for that. He’s a charming guy, willing to talk to anyone, but it takes special people to get him to talk about his past. That’s how I knew you we could trust you.”

“He’s a special guy. Damn near perfect if you ask me. So what if he has a sordid past and some demons he’s dealing with. That doesn’t define a person. It’s how you handle those situations that shows your true character. From what I’ve heard you’ve all got memories you wish you could erase. But you can’t change the past; you can only handle the here and now. And all of you are devoting your lives to helping others. So that makes you all good people in my book.” He blinked at me a couple times.

“So Jack wasn’t exaggerating when he described you. Damn. You could give the other guys a run for their money in the speech-giving department.”

I looked down sheepishly. “So I’ve been told.”

“But seriously, I’m really glad that you’re here. The place hasn’t looked this put together since I don’t know when. And Race needs to talk to someone who isn’t just Albert. It’s nice to be able to share the burden, as it were. Ever since we were kids, he’s always been looking out for everyone else. Part of it was because he didn’t want others, especially the younger kids, to have to go through what he went through. But I think part of it was also because he needed a distraction. If he was tending to the other boys that gave him less time to worry about what had happened, and what was going to happen to him. Obviously it all worked out in the end, but even today he keeps himself busy. And now he’s got even more bad memories to run from, what with his old man gone.” He looked up at me. “Just keep an eye on him, would ya? Make sure he doesn’t start to spiral. It sounds like he’d listen to you.”

I smiled at him. “I’ve been doing that since I met him. And I promise I’ll continue to do so. He means a lot to me, too, you know.” He smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder in a comforting manner.

“DINNER!” Jack yelled up the stairs.

“Thank god, I’m starving!” He hopped off the bed and I followed.

---

Over the next couple days we all settled into the holiday spirit. Davey and one of the boys, Luke, lit the Menorah each night and taught everyone the history of Hanukkah. Some of the younger boys helped Albert make cookies to leave out for Santa. And every night we all watched a different Christmas movie. The boys just adored Crutchie and were constantly crowding around him to hear what he had been up to all year. Apparently the community center he works at raised enough money to send him and all the kids he worked with to Florida and they spent a lot of time at the beach. For some of the kids, it had been their first time in the water. It was nice hearing about how much he changed their lives.

On Christmas Eve I was standing in the hallway, dusting and humming to some Christmas song that had been in my head all day, when I ran into Race. Well, more like Race was pushed into me by a not-too-innocent looking Crutchie who just walked past, whistling nonchalantly. I grabbed Race by the arms, making sure he didn’t fall.

“Hi there.”

“Hey. Sorry about that. He said he had something to show me and had me follow him here, and then he just pushed me. I don’t know wh-“ I looked at him curiously. He was staring at the ceiling, his cheeks a little flushed. I followed his gaze and, lo and behold, there was mistletoe hanging right above our heads.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked at me. “We don’t have to. This was Crutchie’s fault. And, anyway, that’s basically cheating. You have to accidentally meet underneath it-“

I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the look of surprise on his face.

“Oh, okay.” He cleared his throat and started to lean in when the doorbell rang. We jumped apart like we had been caught.

“I should, um, get that.” I all but ran to the door and opened it. Two well-dressed women with friendly smiles stood on the other side.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Yes, we had talked to a man by the name of ‘Jack’ on the phone. He said to stop by.”

“Of course, come in!”

“Thank you. I’m Delilah and this is my wife, Jodi.” I shook their hands.

“(Y/N). Nice to meet you. Jack’s right through that door.” Once they disappeared into the office I turned around to see a group of boys who had watched us the whole time.

“You know who they were, right?” Henri asked.

“Um, no. Who?”

“Parents looking to adopt!” Gus shouted in excitement.

“Really?”

“Yeah, this time of year people are more likely to adopt due to the holidays and the desire to have a family, coupled with ‘rich person guilt’ so they feel the need to give back,” Henri clarified, sounding way too astute for a fourteen year old.

“Well that’s great, isn’t it?”

“It depends on who they choose.” The boys all dispersed, looking a mix of excited and worried. I tried to will myself to stay positive. This was a good thing! One of them is going to have his life changed for the better!

---

That night, after we watched our movie and made sure the cookies were set out where Santa could find them, I sent everyone upstairs to get ready for bed. After a while I went up to say goodnight. But before I could open the younger boys’ door, I stopped and listened.

“Please let one of us get adopted by the nice ladies who were here earlier. We don’t care which one; just make sure whoever is lucky enough gets a good home and a nice family.”

“And a dog!”

“And a pool!”

“Shut up, guys! Please, maybe let it be one of the older boys. They’ve been here a lot longer than us and they deserve it. Amen.” I covered my mouth with my hand, hoping they wouldn’t hear me, and walked over to the other boys’ door.

“It’s kind of cool that they’re actually talking about adoption. We haven’t had anyone here in a while.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. You know they’re gonna pick one of the little ones. They always do.” I don’t know how many times my heart can break over the course of a couple days, but it seems to be going for the record. I sighed and went about our nightly routine.

---

I was awoken the next morning by someone landing on top of me.

“Oof! What the hell?”

“Get up! It’s Christmas!”

“Race?” I pushed my hair out of my face and saw him smiling brightly. I glanced out the window. “The sun’s not even up yet.”

“Well, yeah. You’re supposed to wake up before the sun on Christmas! It takes too long to get up!” He jumped up and down a bit, making my bed shake.

“Are any of the boys even up yet?”

“They’re already all downstairs. I was sent to come get you.” I blinked twice before pulling the blanket over my head.

“Sorry. Not in the job description.” That made him laugh. I had barely just closed my eyes again when I felt him climb under the covers with me.

“Get up or I’ll stick my cold feet against your legs.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t d- Ah!” He had already done it.

“Well, well. What’s going on, guys?” We both turned towards the door and saw Crutchie standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face. “The boys sent me up here to see what was taking so long. They’re getting pretty impatient. But you two look so comfy, I might have to tell them to wait.”

“No! I’m up. I’m coming.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are-“ I threw my pillow at him as I got into my robe, and then we all went downstairs.

The day was fairly mellow. All the boys opened their presents: mostly clothes and generic toys, but they were excited all the same. Afterward they all wanted to play outside and it was finally quiet for once. Jack tossed an envelope into my lap and kissed the top of my head.

“Merry Christmas, from all of us.” I opened it to find a card they had made and everyone, including the boys signed, along with a Christmas bonus check. I started to tear up.

“It’s not much,” Davey said, “But we knew we had to do something for the woman who has changed us all for the better.”

“Thank you so much, guys.”

It’s funny, after all the hectic days leading up to today, it was smooth sailing. We all ate together and sang Christmas carols before I left to be with my family for the rest of the day. Everything was perfect. For now.

The next day I saw the women from before getting a tour of the home by Jack. I didn’t want to disturb them so I went about cleaning, keeping my head down. This seemed to work for about an hour. When I walked past the dining room I stopped in my tracks. The couple was sitting at the table with Peter. I was frozen in place. I was so excited to hear they were looking to adopt that I didn’t stop to think who it might be.

“Hey, doll, whatcha lookin’ at?” Race stopped behind me, peering in as well. “Oh no…”

I could feel the tears coming as I struggled to breathe. What was happening to me? I needed to get a handle on my emotions!

Before I knew what was happening (and before I could make a scene), Race gently ushered me out of the room. We went upstairs and eventually made it out onto the roof. He wrapped a jacket I hadn’t known he grabbed around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug.

“I figured you would want some privacy. Sorry about the cold.” He tucked my head under his chin. I let out a shaky breath.

“What’s wrong with me? I cry because they don’t get adopted, and I cry when they do. I don’t know what I want.”

Race let out a sigh. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier, Sugar, I really do. But in my experience it hurts every time. It’s not easy watching people go, especially those boys, but we’ve gotta look on the bright side. Every boy that gets adopted gets a brand new family all their own. And a new home and new experiences. Everything these kids deserve: to grow up in a loving environment that can give them all the special attention they need.”

“We give them love and attention here,” I said childishly. Race laughed lightly at that.

“Very true. But you and I both know it’s not enough. They need a normal childhood.”

I sighed and nodded my head. “But why does it have to be my Sweet Pea?”

“You know more than anyone that he’s a terrific kid. So it’s no wonder why anyone would want to adopt him. Now it’s time for more people to see how great he is, don’tcha think?”

I huffed, looking up at him. “I don’t come to you for logic and reasoning, you know. I just want you to tell me everything’s gonna be okay.”

He smiled brightly before kissing the top of my head and hugging me again.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” We positioned ourselves so I was facing the skyline he was looking at, still in his arms. “It’s not like we might never see him again. In the past, some of the boys come back for visits. Whether it be for holidays or if they just happen to be in town. And if we don’t see them… at least we can rest easy, knowing they’re being cared for.”

I couldn’t help the little sob that escaped as I tried to stop the tears. “Deep down I know that. I know we have to be professional about all of this and send them off with hugs and smiles. But, I don’t know, I’m a little selfish, I guess. Those are my boys. I just got them, I can’t let them go.” I turned back and saw that his eyes seemed even brighter now that they were a little misty as well. He stared back at me with such intensity that I had to turn back around. And it was silent for a little while.

“You know,” he said quietly, “Since I’ve been back, the guys have been bombarding me with stories and little facts about you.” He held me a little tighter. “They always had such good things to say and they couldn’t stop gushing about how ‘perfect’ we were for each other.” My breath hitched a bit. “Even Crutchie agrees. After just one conversation with you, he was convinced we’d be married by this time next year,” he chuckled. “Their reasoning? Because both of us care so deeply for the boys. That we are so compassionate and kind, to the point that it almost sickens them. And we make a pretty damn good team, according to them. But that part was obvious.” He paused. “At first I just scoffed at them. I assumed they were trying to play matchmaker and cheer me up after being gone so long. I figured they were just trying to set us up because we have similar jobs and are both single so I always brushed them off.” Another pause. “But once I started getting to know you better and saw you interact with the boys and how well you fit in with my friends so quickly… I-I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t deny it anymore. It was almost too good to be true.”

“What are you saying?” I still didn’t turn around. I couldn’t look in those eyes right now. I might stumble and fall right off this roof.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know, exactly. I don’t know what all I’m feeling; it’s a bit much. But here’s what I do know: You’re an amazing woman who I enjoy spending time with. When I talk to you I feel like I can let it all out and you won’t judge me. You listen and you always know the right thing to say back. When we first met you told me I was a good person and a role model to the boys. But now, at the risk of sounding like a parrot or broken record or something, I have to say you are as well. I’ve never seen the boys open up to someone so easily before. You make them feel safe and loved, and you help them reach their full potential. The guys weren’t wrong when they told me you’ve been doing a phenomenal job around here. And I’ve been lucky enough to see it firsthand. You just have such a magnetic personality, and maybe this is just wishful thinking on my part. You could have anyone you set your sites on, I’m sure of it. But… I don’t know. I feel like, somehow, this was supposed to happen.” I finally turned around, our faces incredibly close.

He took another deep breath. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked, repeating my words from what seemed like forever ago. We shared a smile.

“Ask me again after something remarkable happens.” He gently lifted my chin, his eyes darting from mine to my mouth and back. Then he pulled me closer, pressing his lips to mine. I immediately wrapped my arms around his neck as he held my face close in a firm yet gentle grip. When we pulled apart we were breathing pretty heavily, little white clouds forming between us in the cold air. And when we rested our heads together and looked into each others’ eyes Race let out a little uncharacteristic giggle.

“So I ask you again: Do you believe in fate?”

“Pretty bold of you to assume that was considered remarkable…” I said cheekily.

“Well, I’m fully prepared to keep practicing until I get it right.” I lightly slapped his arm.

“Real smooth, Race.” When he didn’t laugh with me, but instead grew quiet, I got worried. “Race?”

“Anthony. Call me Anthony. Ya know, when we’re away from the boys. None of them know my real name and I’d kinda like to keep it that way.” My eyes widened in shock. I was so touched that he would share that kind of information with me, but I was also pretty confused.

“Why-“

“It’s stupid, really. When we were younger I was the one to come up with the ‘gang name’ tradition. It was for any of those who wanted to start fresh. Anyone who didn’t want a name that was attached to their awful past. Some of them jumped on board right away, and others, like Jack and Albert, decided they couldn’t part with theirs. Which was totally fine. I just wanted to help the one’s who needed it. And now, I guess I want to keep up that façade that I’m a brand new person compared to younger me. That I’ve completely moved on. Which I have, for the most part. But I can’t help that I’m still haunted by my past every now and then. I guess I just have this notion that if I stay “Race” to those boys, then I’ll always be that strong force in their lives that keeps them going. Like I said, it’s kinda stupid.”

I grabbed his hand. “It’s not stupid, Anthony. You’re only human.” He stared at me.

“God, I love hearing that if it’s coming from you.” I smiled. “But it’s still fun coming up with the nicknames. You know what yours would be?” He grabbed my other hand.

“What’s that?”

“Something along the lines of ‘Angel’ because that’s what you are. You swooped in and answered all of our prayers. Or at least mine.” I couldn’t help but blush at that. But before I could deny it, the door slams open, making us jump apart.

Jack walks out onto the roof, Crutchie in tow.

“You know, we gotta stop making this a habit. Me walking in on you guys when you’re being all cute and intimate. It’s like we’re part of a bad sitcom.”

“And whose fault is that?” Race says, running his hand through his hair, awkwardly.

Crutchie was excitedly jumping up and down, trying to look over Jack’s shoulder.

“What happened? Why are you both blushing? Were you guys just making out?” Race and I couldn’t help but stammer and blush even more. So Jack took pity on us.

“ANYWAY,” he spoke loudly over Crutchie’s laughter, “We came looking for you guys to tell you the interview is over and it went really well.” He looked over to me, warily. “Um, (Y/N), you should know-“

“I know. Thank you. It’s not gonna be easy, but I’ve made peace with it. Just…where do we go from here?”

“Well, we sit Peter down and talk to him about it. The boys are always given the final say. If he agrees, then we’ll have them come back, fill out all the paperwork, and that’s that.” That seemed so cold and calculated, like a business arrangement.

“H-How long?” I could feel Race put his arm around me, rubbing my back.

“Couple days.” I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay. I was done crying for one day.

“Okay, let’s go talk to him.”

Tag List:

@getchapapes

@technically-whizzy

@werkwerkelizaaa

@pulitzerpublishers

[solange-lol]

not so typical love song - ch. 6/13

Chapter Title: Oogum Boogum Song

Words: 1,711

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

[ one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight (coming soon)]

read on ao3

—

The moment Nico got home from school that Wednesday, finally ready to be off for the long weekend for Thanksgiving, he could tell something was different.

For one thing, his father was actually home (per his car in the driveway.) And there were actually voices coming from the kitchen that greeted him, rather than the typical cold, empty silence.

Which could only mean one thing…

Nico’s eyes lit up the moment he stepped into the kitchen. “Bianca!”

His sister looked up from the conversation she was having with their father and Persephone. She immediately jumped up from the table, and Nico dropped his bag, practically running over to greet her.

The moment they hugged Nico realized how much he missed her. Life had been hectic, and as much as Blue may provide some sort of sense to his world, it felt amazing to have physical comfort again,

It almost made Nico want to tell Bianca about all he’s been through.

He stored that thought away for later, instead focusing on being here in the moment with his sister.

“I can’t believe you’re home,” he mumbled into her shoulder. (It wasn’t fair that she was 5’9 while he was stuck at 5'4.)

Bianca pulled back. “You didn’t really think I’d miss Thanksgiving, did you?”

“No! I’m just surprised you’re home so early! I thought you would be flying in the morning of.”

“Nope,” Bianca smiled, leading him over to the dining table where their parents still sat. “I got done with classes yesterday, so I took the day to get my stuff together, and then took a train this morning.”

“You took the train?” Nico asked, bewildered. “But that’s like… an eight hour trip”

Bianca shrugged. “Airline security during the holidays from now until the New Year is horrible. I didn’t really feel like waiting hours in line, so I thought I would just suck it up and make it easier on myself.” She paused before changing the subject. “Now, where’s that sister of ours?”

Nico smiled. “Probably getting a ride home from Frank.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow, a matching smile spreading across her face. “Ah, yes. The infamous Frank.” Nico and Bianca tried to call each other once a week whenever Bianca was free to talk, and during those calls, Nico did his best to catch her up on what was going on at home. “Will I ever get to meet this boy?”

Nico shrugged. “Dunno. None of us have met him yet. Maybe you’ll be our lucky charm.”

As if on cue, they heard the door shut, and Hazel walked in. “Bianca!”

A near-identical greeting to Nico’s ensued, and soon the five of them were sitting in the family room, drinking hot chocolate together as they caught Bianca up on everything Nico had missed during their phone calls. 

“So tell me about this Frank,” Bianca smiled, crossing her legs and giving Hazel a look over the top of her mug as she took another sip. 

Hazel immediately flushed, curls bouncing as she shook her head. “I told you guys, he’s just a friend. But, um, we are going to the homecoming dance together,” she said, more to her mug than to her family. 

Bianca smiled calmly. She opened her mouth to say something, but Nico cut her off.

“What?”

When Hazel and Bianca both gave him a warning look, he took a deep breath and tried again. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, because I knew I wouldn’t hear the end of it!” Hazel retorted, causing Bianca to giggle while Nico huffed. Persephone and just watched amusedly from the side, and even their father had the hint of a smile on his face.

“Speaking of homecoming, who are you bringing, Neeks?” Bianca asked, elbowing him with a sly smile.

“Oh, um. Nobody, I don’t think. I mean, I’m going with friends but not, like, with a date.” 

He wasn’t lying; he really did only plan on going with friends. It was tradition by that point for his group to go to the dance together unless somebody got asked, and even then they usually just included their date in the group. Plus, even if Nico did have a date, he doubted he would really fit Bianca’s expectations. 

What she said next just confirmed his suspicion. “Why not? Are girls not lining up to ask you out? I thought people were into the whole edgy and mysterious thing nowadays.”

Nico scuffed his toe on the carpet. “Haha, uh, yeah. Not exactly,” he said, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Because I’m gay. GAY!

Maybe coming out to Bianca this week wasn’t the best idea…

—

Nico excused himself to his room later that night after a game of monopoly, despite his sister’s many attempts.

“We could watch Titanic?”  Hazel offered, but Nico just shook his head. While it was one of their shared favorite movies, (especially Nico’s), he wasn't exactly in the mood. 

Also, he didn’t really feel like explaining tonight that the reason he loved it so much was because of a young Leonardo DiCaprio.

He wanted to ask Blue how the coming out process with his family was going, maybe even get a few pointers. However, when he opened his laptop that night, Nico was surprised to see an email already waiting for him. And judging by the subject line, Nico wasn’t sure what he was supposed to expect as he clicked on it.  

From:  blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Nov 27 at 5:41 PM

Subject: This might be a lot to take in

I’ve had such a weird day. So much happened I can’t even tell if it's real, and what’s good or bad about it. 

When I got home from school yesterday, both of my parents were there. As in, my mom and my actual birth father. I haven’t seen my dad since I was 4 years old. He stopped sending me birthday money when I was about 10. I sort of assumed he was dead.

Apparently, he’s not dead, though, and he and my mom were just sitting there like he hasn’t been ignoring us for the past 12 years of my life. 

And get this: there were two other kids there. Apparently, I have siblings (and the worst part is, my mom told me later that I might have more. I could have 10 siblings and I wouldn’t even know. My father is a manwhore, apparently.)

The room was dead silent and I just had to sit there awkwardly with these two other kids and listen to them explain the situation. Apparently, my mom is adopting them because my father isn’t fit to take care of them. He essentially guilted her into it because he’s a deadbeat and my mom is the kindest person you’ll ever meet. 

Anyway, after an excruciating hour of small talk, they excused us. Except my house is small and it’s quiet, and when they started arguing we just sat silently on the staircase. They didn’t even last a whole minute before they were screaming at each other. We could hear every word. 

Imagine being stuck with two people you’ve never met but are apparently related to. I felt trapped at the top of this staircase, just sitting between the wall and the railing as they watched me. I honestly felt like banging my head on the wall a few hundred times until it broke through, but they both already seemed so scared. 

Anyway, they’re moving in a little before the holiday break, which means I need to get to know them well enough soon so I can get them gifts for Hannukah. (If they grew up celebrating Christmas… well I don’t know what to do then).  My half-sister (that’s so weird to say) is a freshman, and my half-brother is a sophomore. I don’t know a thing about either of them but after the holiday break, they’re coming to CHS. I’m being completely honest here, Angel, I don’t know how I feel about it yet. 

My dad wants to take me out to dinner or something before he disappears forever, and I honestly don’t know what to do. I wasn’t expecting any of this. 

I’m so lost, Angel. If anyone can find some sort of humor in this, it’s you. Or just distract me. You’re good at that too.

Love,

Blue

Nico felt like he was looking at a weird, distorted mirror, like something you would find in a funhouse. Who knew Blue would have such a similar situation to something Nico had dealt with years prior?

He knew that this would have come out sooner or later the more they went in detail about their lives, so biting the bullet, he started to type.

From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Nov 27 at 7:45 PM

Subject: Re: This might be a lot to take in

You probably won’t believe this, Blue, but I’ve been through something similar. 

Remember when I mentioned my half-sister and how it wasn’t a long story I was interested in getting into? Yeah, apparently when my mom died (I was maybe two years old at the time) my dad had some interesting coping mechanisms. And 12 years later after her mom died, suddenly I’m being told that I have another sister. Not exactly something you’d expect to hear at 13 years old.

But, I learned to love her. She’s my sister through and through.

You know me, Blue. I’m not one for pep talks, and I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. It wasn’t for me. Nor will I say I understand, because frankly, there’s no way I can understand what you’re feeling completely. You’re not crazy for feeling the way you do.

I’m here to support you. If anyone can get through this, it’s you.

(That’s really cheesy and unhelpful) (But also true)

Love,

Angel

Nico let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding once he sent it. It was sort of scary how much he was willing to risk just to comfort Blue, but it felt worth it. 

He would do anything for Blue.

Now if only they could work up the courage to reveal their identities before someone did it for them.

[welllpthisishappening]

The Gift Receipt (3/5)

It genuinely makes sense in her head.

After all, Mary Margaret is being Mary Margaret and Emma just needs five seconds to herself and for her friends to get off her back and saying she can’t talk to Killian Jones because she and Killian Jones once went on a very bad date is the perfect excuse. It’s also not true, but whatever. It works.

Until Emma needs to bring someone home for Christmas. To get the entire town off her back. So, she comes up with another plan and another lie and pretending to get back together with a guy she was never actually with will make their inevitable break-up incredibly easy. It makes sense. Seriously.

That is, of course, until Killian agrees and there’s far too much pie and radio hits of the 70s and opinions on animated Christmas classics. It gets a little more complicated after that.

Rating: Mature. There’s kissing. And more than kissing. Word Count: 9K and change.  AN: Hey there, internet. A great, big huge thank you for continuing to be genuinely wonderful about this fluff. Like. The fluffiest fluff to ever fluff. That being said most of today’s chapter is based on real life things. Come ask about that family member who one time questioned whether or not husband and I were doing ok in our marriage after we trash talked each other during Christmas UNO. That happened. 

Also on Ao3 and FF.net if that’s how you roll.

She’s the Grinch.

That’s the only explanation for whatever happens to Emma’s body as soon as she wakes up, flipping on her side to find the rest of the bed empty and the sheets under her outstretched hand decidedly cold.

And, really, she’s got no right whatsoever to be anything about any of it.

This is not that kind of thing. This is...a whatever kind of thing. A great, big giant lie some entirely unhelpful corner of her brain reminds her, but then some other part of her brain is quick to point out that those particular adjectives don’t make any sense in the context of the very real making out she and Killian participated in the night before.

Because that’s absolutely what it had been.

It had been making out and it had been something in a way it absolutely, positively was not supposed to be and Emma was fairly certain of...she had absolutely no idea.

Definitely the Grinch.

He probably didn’t get to make out very often anyway, what with the Who’s and the general pettiness and Emma could never understand how he fed Max if he lived on that mountain all by himself. Where did he even find Max? The logistics of it didn’t make any sense at all.

Were the Who's born that way or did they evolve to look like that?

Where was Whoville in relation to the rest of the world? How did they know about Santa Claus?

Maybe they were distant descendants of the elves.

None of it made any sense at all.

That may have just been Emma – whose current state of emotional upheaval was entirely her own doing and her own fault and she’d managed to play herself in less than twenty-four hours. That probably would have been impressive if she weren’t so decidedly Grinch-like.

It feels as if her heart is shrinking.

She can’t imagine what biology the Grinch is dealing with. His resting heart rate must be ridiculous.

Emma sighs, throwing a far too dramatic arm over her face and she knows she’s going to have to get out of bed eventually. There’s more schedule to contend with and more people and she’s really got to do something about the pie situation.

The pie situation has become some kind of code. To herself. She’s going insane. Maybe that’s why the Grinch was so angry. He was lonely on the mountain. Max never really talked back.

Maybe Emma should get a dog when she gets home.

God, she is home.

With Killian Jones. Technically. She has no idea where Killian is.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Emma mumbles, to herself. Because she is alone. In the room. In the bed and breakfast. Ruby is seriously going to kill her for getting to stay in the bed and breakfast. “We’ve got to get up.” Apparently Emma talks in the third person now.

That’s probably a sign of impending insanity and likelihood of stealing all the presents from the Who's.

Emma swings her legs over the side of the bed, not entirely familiar with the layout of the room, but she’s not sure that has anything to do with the way her vision swims in front of her face as soon as she stands up. That may have something to do with the eggnog she’d had the night before. And the making out.

The making out probably didn’t make her drunk – it just felt that way. So, really, she’s a complete and utter disaster with no pie and no actual boyfriend and neither one of those things should make it feel as if Christmas has been preemptively ruined on Christmas Eve, but Emma’s feeling decidedly dramatic and particularly Grinch-like and it had felt far too real.

It had felt far too easy. Like breathing. Or getting drunk on spiked eggnog.

She needs to ask Killian why he agreed to any of this.

She needs to brush her goddamn teeth.

Emma trudges into the small bathroom in the corner of the room, more nautical decor on the walls because the summer crowd in Storybrooke loves nothing more than all things nautical, trying to pull the tangles from the ends of her hair. She hopes her hair didn’t get into Killian’s face in the middle of the night.

She assumes he would have woken her up if it had been a problem. Maybe. Hopefully.

That word is starting to get on Emma’s nerves.

Merry Christmas, or whatever.

And she almost doesn’t see it at first – eyes downcast and shoulders decidedly slumped, grabbing her toothbrush from the edge of the sink and all but thrusting her hand under the water as soon as she turns it on. But it only takes a moment to glance up, mouth hanging open and wrist going slack because there’s a post-it note barely hanging onto the middle of the mirror.

Emma’s shoulders slump even more, a breath rushing out of her that almost leads to choking via toothbrush. She blinks. And blinks again. The post-it is still there

She can’t imagine where he found a post-it.

The handwriting is a little crooked – like it was scrawled quickly or possibly with a bit of holiday-based excitement and Emma’s fingers shake slightly when she reaches out a cautious hand towards it. There’s still a bit of residue on the mirror when she tugs the post-it off.

You’re the heaviest sleeper in the history of the world. I’ve commandeered the kitchen, so you should probably meet me downstairs.

Emma lets out a shaky laugh, tugging her lip between her teeth like she’s worried the moment isn’t real or is as fake as she’s convinced herself it has to be. Because the whole thing is based on a lie.

Her lie.

That she told.

She’s a disaster.

And she hasn’t actually finished brushing her teeth. There’s toothpaste on her tongue still.

She huffs, shaking her head and finally turning off the sink and it only takes her six minutes to get in the shower, out of the shower and into clothes. She puts the post-it note in her wallet.

Emma doesn’t race down the stairs in the back, but she’s certainly closer to running than walking and she nearly breaks both her ankles on three different occasions. It leaves her skidding to a stop in front of the swinging door of the kitchen, mumbling curses under her breath and threatening to chew a hole in her lip.

She doesn’t hear him move towards her.

It leaves her with an almost broken ankle again – jumping and flinching and Killian chuckles when he twists his arm around her. He’s wearing an apron.

Emma is decidedly screwed.

It’s like when Cindy Lou Who showed up and asked the Grinch why he was stealing their presents. But maybe with more kissing. Hopefully. And less small children. So, really, nothing like that at all.

“Why were you lurking out here?” Killian asks, as if it’s totally normal for him to be alone in Granny’s kitchen with what appears to be a container of something in his right hand if the pressure digging into Emma’s spine is any indication.

“I wasn’t lurking.” “Swan, you were just standing there.” “How did you know how to get to the kitchen?” HIs smile moves across his face slowly, which is honestly the most offensive thing a smile can do, particularly when it’s on Killian’s face. Emma is grateful he hasn’t moved his arm yet. She’s not entirely confident in the state of her joints at this point.

“I have eyes,” he mutters. “And like I said, you’re a very sound sleeper, love.” “I’m not sure I understand how those two go together at all. Are you baking something?” “We’re baking something.” “What?” Killian hums, tugging her further into the kitchen and Emma’s eyes widen at the same time her jaw drops because there’s far more happening here than whatever he’s still got pressed into the base of her spine. There are containers all over the counter, spices and flour and sugar and what, at first glance, appears to be a bowl full of actual whipped cream. Not cool whip. Not something in a pressurized cane. Actual whipped cream.

Like Killian made it.

Before ten o’clock in the morning on Christmas Eve.

“Are you an elf?” Emma asks, jerking her head towards him in just enough time to see his smile turn slightly incredulous.

“Excuse me?” “You know. Like...an elf.” “You can’t use the word in the definition, Swan.” She groans, but she’s also charmed and that’s been the theme for the last few hours and since the wedding and it’s all so easy, Emma is certain she will eventually scream about it. Or kiss Killian again. She’s not particular about either one.

“Elves are crazy productive,” she shrugs, and Killian’s expression is unfair. He’s doing a horrible job of not laughing at her. “You know they make all those...etch-a-sketches.” “Etch-a-sketches.” “Yeah.” Killian arches an eyebrow. “Are you quoting Elf to me right now? Is that honestly what’s happening?” “I’m not actually quoting anything. I’m...suggesting.” “That I’m an elf?” “Or at least raised by elves.” “I was not raised by elves,” Killian promises, but he can’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice and Emma clicks her tongue like she’s even remotely frustrated.

She takes a step forward instead, buoyed by a sense of misplaced confidence and sentimentality and probably just the generic feeling of Christmas because she hadn’t noticed the music playing in the background before.

And Killian doesn’t flinch when she brushes the tips of her fingers over the shell of his ear, but she can see a muscle in his jaw jump and he inhales sharply. “You kind of look it though,” Emma mumbles. “You could work a costume well. Maybe get some part-time gig at Macy’s.” It is, hands down, the most ludicrous thing she has ever said.

“Is that a compliment?” Killian asks, rocking towards her and he’s never put the container down, but his hand keeps moving back to Emma and she nods.

“Obviously. Was that not clear?” “Not entirely crystal.” “Ah, well…” Emma cuts herself off when the music shifts again and something in the very center of her stutters because--”Is this The Carpenters?”

Killian nods, his hand heavy on Emma’s hip. Again. Like those magnets have returned. “Festive.” “Super,” she mumbles, tongue darting out between her suddenly dry lips and the air feels far heavier and far more meaningful and the very first Christmas she’d been in Storybrooke and Granny told her she could stay in Storybrooke as long as she wanted, The Carpenters had been playing in the background, a quiet melody that seemed to have settled into Emma’s soul and every single corner of what she’d always wanted.

And there’s no way for Killian to have known that, but it doesn’t really matter to Emma’s heart or her aforementioned soul.

“Did you say we were going to bake?” Emma asks suddenly, and Killian blinks at her abrupt shift in tone.

“I did promise we’d figure out the pie situation, didn’t I?” “I just figured we’d kind of...I don’t know, hide out in the corner of the restaurant for most of the night. Maybe see if Ruth made an extra one we could cop.” “Ruth was one of my co-judges last night, right?”

“David’s mom, almost as good at baking as Granny, but please don’t tell either one of them I said that.” Killian mimes zipping his mouth shut. Something on the other side of the kitchen beeps. “Mum’s the word, love. Does Ruth usually bake more than one pie?” “Oh, yeah,” Emma nods, jumping onto the edge of the closest counter when Killian turns towards the nearest oven. “I think it’s because she and Granny have some kind of unspoken competition about it, but also because she’s trying to make sure David’s got as many options as humanly possible.” “Of pie?”

“Ah, of happiness-type things.” “Was that code?” Emma makes a contradictory noise, kicking her foot out only to let it slam into the cabinet underneath her. Killian is mixing something. It probably should not be attractive. She’s going to blame the apron. “Not in a way that makes any sense because nothing about this town makes any sense.”

“Ah, it’s nice.” “It’s overbearing, but that’s because we’ve all kind of got some vaguely depressing backstories and it’s almost like...the Island of Misfit Toys.” Killian smirks, leaning forward to grab something else and he doesn’t seem to be measuring anything. “You’re full of references this morning, aren’t you?” “It’s because I haven’t had enough coffee to become a normal person yet,” Emma reasons. Killian makes a triumphant noise – as if he’s only just remembering something and he’s a flash of limbs and bright, blue eyes and the exceptionally stupid smirk, rummaging through the cabinet closest to Emma’s head.

She rests her hands on his shoulders before she can rationalize any reason not to.

He doesn’t tell her to move.

He hands her a coffee mug. And a bag of Reese’s Christmas trees.

Emma’s going to cry. Listening to The Carpenters and baking pies, or probably just one pie, no one but Ruth makes more pie, and--

“How did you know that?” she breaths, and his smile is even more distracting when his tongue is doing whatever it’s doing in the corner of his mouth.

“Granny asked me to go get some from...what’s the name of the general store?” “Main Street Mercantile.” Killian hums, smile still there and the muscles in his face must ache. Emma doesn’t say that out loud. It doesn’t sound like the compliment it probably should be. “Ah, exactly,” he nods. “She said you probably wouldn’t come out of the room unless you were bribed with a trail of these leading down the stairs.” “Wow. That is...scathing. And patently untrue.” “Is it? It’s pretty late, Swan.” “It’s Christmas Eve! Also, were you just hanging out with Granny all morning? Did you eat? Why were you awake?” “In order of question. Not all morning, she apparently had something to do with the mayor?” Emma rolls her eyes. “But part of the morning. It was almost too obvious Granny would have been incredibly offended if I had not accepted her bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. Does she make those English muffins herself?”

“It’s a super top secret recipe. Ruby tried to duplicate it once on my birthday and it was an absolute disaster.” “Well, they’re delicious. What was your last question?” “Why were you awake,” Emma repeats. “And what exactly are you baking?” Killian grits his teeth, a hiss of breath and that’s not the response she’d expected. “Old habits,” he mumbles, and she can hear the deflection there. “Also, we’ve covered that already. It’s a pie. Or it will be once it goes in the oven and you decide to get off the counter and help.” “Did you ask me to help?” “I assumed it was implied.” “You know what happens when you assume.”

Killian’s laugh almost makes Emma forget whatever happened to his face as soon as he mumbled old habits and she takes his hand when he offers it, letting him pull her off the edge of the counter with a soft thump. “You really didn’t have to go get me chocolate Christmas trees,” she mutters, dragging her hands up his arms.

And it all happens so quickly, she briefly wonders if she just imagines it, but Emma’s eyes flit towards her fingers when she feels Killian tense underneath her and she must curse under her breath. He makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat, a grunt or a groan or a promise of it’s fine, love that seems particularly hollow when her fingers are resting on the top of his brace.

“And they’re not just chocolate,” Killian reasons. “The peanut butter made them totally worth the quest I went on.”

Emma tilts her head. And moves her hands back to her side. “Oh, it was a quest now?” “A very gallant one.” “For candy?” “Candy for you.”

There’s a hesitancy to his words, something that makes Emma’s pulse thud and her heart grow, at least two sizes, and she figures it’ll probably get to the Grinch-mandated three by the end of the night. She hopes so, at least.

“Thank you,” she whispers, hoping he realizes she’s not actually talking about prepackaged candy that rarely ever looks like Christmas trees.

“I wanted to.” That’s less hesitant. That’s honest. And straightforward. And, God, Emma hopes so much she’s positive she reeks with it.

That can’t possibly be the right verb.

She nods slowly, rocking back on her heels and doing her best not to blink. And breathe. She needs to breathe.

“Did Granny tell you about The Carpenters too?” Emma asks.

“Should she have?” “No, no, I...this place is seriously the Island of Misfit Toys, you know. That was a reference, but it was also kind of true.” “Did you want to be a dentist at one point, Swan? Also, I’d like the record to show that in this instance you’re calling yourself an elf.”

She scoffs, but she’s still being charmed and Killian flashes a grin when she swipes her finger through the bowl of whipped cream. “Incorrect. I never wanted to be a dentist. Anna considered it once, but then she realized there were actually teeth involved and--” “--She didn’t realize she would have to deal with teeth? That’s, like, the basis of being a dentist.” “Yeah, well, Anna is kind of...man, flighty sounds really offensive doesn’t it?” “I promise not to tell, Swan.” Emma feels kind of drunk again. She steals more whipped cream – if only to make sure Killian’s eyes do that wide, slightly scandalized thing. “My hero,” she teases, and he clicks his tongue, but she might actually be charming him at this point. “Should we be baking while I explain this?” “What is this, exactly?” “Storybrooke.” Killian doesn’t answer immediately, and for half a second it’s off-putting, but then he tilts his head again and Emma gets that feeling like he’s appraising her or trying to read her and is only a little frustrated that he can’t. Because it’s very obvious he wants to. And for the first time in as long as Emma can remember, she wants to too.

The structure of that sentence is confusing.

She’s going to eat all the whipped cream before they bake anything.

“I’d like that,” he says, and it feels like he’s just recited The Night Before Christmas or some other far-too-long poem. “And we’re making Millionaire’s Pie.” Emma blinks. “Did you just make that up?” “No.” “What is that?” “Chocolate, caramel, coconut and uh...pecans.” “None of those things sound like they should go together.” “You were willing to buy key lime pie, Swan,” Killian points out, nodding towards a container and mouthing that one at Emma. “I promise this is far more appropriate for the holiday.”

“Seriously, you need to stop glazing over the most interesting part of that story. You’re the one who insulted Aurora and her pies.” “No one wants key lime pie in December.” Emma hums, the certainty on his face making it impossible to argue. “Why is it called Millionaire’s Pie?” “Because eating it makes you feel like a million bucks.”

She laughs – loud and earnest, her head thrown back with the force of it and Killian stares at her like they both just won the lottery. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” “There’s no cheese involved in this,” he promises. “You want to crimp the edges of the crust?” “Look at you with your technical terms.” “Swan, we’ve been over this, I know absolutely everything. You want to crimp or no?” “Obviously I want to crimp.”

“Then...”

Emma sticks her tongue out, but that only makes his smile grow and her heart continues to do whatever, hammering against the inside of her ribs. “Fine, fine, I am crimping. Should I use my fingers or…” “We’re not animals, love,” Killian mutters, leaning back to hand her a fork and Emma cannot fathom how he’s already learned the layout of the kitchen as well. Like belongs there.

With her.

She’s insane.

She wonders why she hasn’t dipped one of the Christmas trees in the whipped cream yet.

“You’ve got a lot of very high opinions for a guy wearing an apron,” Emma says. “Also did you want to hear this story?” “Of course I did. You’re the one who seems incapable of multitasking.”

Emma glares. It earns her a smirk. So, naturally, she reaches forward grabs the plastic container of flour, yanks the top off and flicks a handful at Killian – in the face. He gasps, blinking quickly and she probably should have given him some warning because-- “--You could blind a man like that, Swan!” “I think that’s a commentary on your reflexes, actually. And, would you look at that? I am crimping and distracting you. Maybe you’re just incapable of staying on task.”

He opens his mouth, only to close it. Four times in a row. And he’s still blinking at her, like he’s trying to make sure she hasn’t disappeared. Emma isn’t entirely certain she hasn’t.

She feels light and heavy and nervous and excited and whatever is happening in the pit of her stomach feels a bit like acid reflux, but it’s also kind of pleasant in a way that seems like there’s some kind of fire there as well, warming her from the inside out and he went to Mercantile.

He got her Christmas trees.

Karen Carpenter is still singing in the background.

“Oh that was a mistake, love,” he mutters, moving around the island in the middle of the kitchen far quicker than Emma is entirely prepared for.

Her breath catches when he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush and firm against his chest. She squirms, but that only seems to egg him on, laughter ringing in her ears and Killian’s chin digging into the top of her shoulder.

He has to change his hold on her to grab his own container of baking product off the counter and neither one of them acknowledge it, but it feels like they’ve crossed a line. That may also have something to do with Emma’s ass pressed into him, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s less festive.

It’s...something else altogether and Emma would love to consider it, but she’s too busy trying to work out of Killian’s hold and he nips at the side of her neck when she stomps on his right foot.

“Oh, that is not playing fair at all,” Killian grumbles, and Emma laughs like she’s won.

And for half a second she believes she has. She thinks that’s that and the flirting is flirting and she’s somewhere in the realm of confident about whatever the hell it is they’re doing until Killian yells aha in her ear and there’s a handprint on her stomach – made of confectioners sugar.

“Are you kidding me?” Emma balks.

Killian laughs again, and they’re moving, Emma’s feet sliding across the kitchen floor until she’s bumping against the island. He keeps her pinned there, grabbing another handful of sugar to drag across her forearm, circling the same spot on her wrist he’d been so focused on the night before and Emma is momentarily dumbfounded.

Probably because this shouldn’t be happening. And it certainly shouldn’t be this much fun.

She finally gets her bearings when Killian swipes his fingers across the collar of her shirt, landing on skin and sending a spark of what feels like actual electricity through her veins. Emma spins on the spot, It’s enough to take him by surprise, his quiet ooof a very particular victory when her hips cant up and there’s still some flour on the ends of Emma’s fingers.

Killian curses when she cards them through his hair.

“You are a menace,” he accuses. Emma shrugs. “You know how long that’s going to take to get out of my hair?” “I only brought so many clothes. Who uses confectioners sugar like that? It’s like glitter.”

He huffs, an exhale of air and feeling. And for half a moment Emma thinks he’s going to call a truce, because this is only sort of childish and they’re both going to get yelled at by Granny, but then Killian’s hands are moving and she’s not on her feet anymore. He drags his hands across the back of her shirt, eyes bright and a little devious and that might be her new favorite look – even when he’s getting confectioners sugar all over her rather limited clothing selection.

Emma grumbles when Killian drops her back on the edge of the counter, a position that’s starting to feel especially familiar, particularly when he works his way between her legs. She hooks her foot around his calf again.

If only to hear that sound again.

She isn’t disappointed.

It’s better the second time.

And she’s got every intention of kissing him. She does, really. She wants to and, possibly, needs to, but Killian tilts his head up and there’s something just on the edge of his gaze that feels much bigger than anything else and--

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Emma whispers.

Killian blinks. That same muscle in his jaw moves again. “Yeah?” he asks softly, Emma nodding quickly enough she’s worried she’s going to make her neck crack.

“Yeah. I, um...I know it’s, well, you’re doing me an enormous favor and I can’t thank you enough for that, but I’m...I wasn’t expecting to have fun.” “You’ve got a rather low opinion of me, love,” Killian laughs, fingers trailing up and down her side. She’s not sure he realizes he’s doing it. There’s flour and sugar everywhere.

“No, I don’t.” They don’t freeze. They’re definitely breathing. Emma can feel her shoulders moving, can see Killian’s chest shift on every inhale, but they don’t speak either and that feels decidedly important and possibly life-changing and she needs to learn the importance of silence.

“Because I wasn’t kidding about the Island of Misfit Toys,” Emma continues. “I...I told you how I got here at the wedding and there’s...David’s dad died and Mary Margaret’s mom died and it took forever for her and Regina to not hate each other and…” She exhales, head falling forward until Killian’s fingers shift, moving away from her side and curling around the back of her neck. Emma doesn’t mention that he’s getting sugar in her hair. “But they’ve all figured it out and they’re all happy and they always just accepted me. Wanted me to be here and I...I’m really glad you’re here too.” More silence.

That’s kind of disappointing.

Until it’s...not and the force of Killian’s answering smile is almost blinding if that weren’t the most cliché thing Emma had ever thought.

“I’m glad I’m here too, Swan,” he says. “What’s your most scathing Christmas opinion?” “What?” “Most scathing.” “Why do you want to know that?” “I’d like to know everything.” Emma has to swallow before she can even consider her response, emotions bubbling and festering and that’s a disgusting word but she realizes she hasn’t actually had any coffee yet and it’s probably a miracle she’s even cognizant.

Killian’s fingers are still in her hair.

“I hate that people thin, My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music is a Christmas song. It’s not. It’s not even from a Christmas scene, like Meet Me in St. Louis. It mentions snow, like, once. It’s the dumbest thing in the world.”

“Meet Me in St. Louis could probably be a Halloween movie if you want to get technical.” “Exactly! It’s dumb. It’s like ABC Family or whatever it’s called--” “--Showing Harry Potter all the time in December?”

This should not be attractive. This should not be even ground. Emma’s mind doesn’t care. The Carpenters are still playing.

“Is that your most scathing Christmas opinion?” Emma asks, and Killian hums in agreement.

“The hottest of hot takes. I blame society. And commercialism.” “Don’t you know? That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.” He chuckles, dropping his head back towards her shoulder and Emma can’t tell if he actually kisses where his mouth lands. She wants him to. Far more than she probably should. But this doesn’t really feel very fake and they’ve still got to bake a pie.

“I’m not sure that’s how the movie works, love.” “Ah, I don’t know about that. We’ll watch it later. You’ll see.” “It’s a date.” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. “It’s a date,” she repeats. “I didn’t get to finish crimping.” “I told you, you weren’t very good at multitasking.” “Oh shut up, go mix something.” Killian nods, hair brushing over the side of Emma’s neck in the process and they don’t throw any more ingredients at each other, but Granny is decidedly scandalized by the state of her kitchen when she walks in an hour and a half later. They’re late for lunch at Regina and Robin’s.

Emma and Killian ate all the Christmas trees.

“This is the most intricately decorated house I have ever seen,” Killian mutters in Emma’s ear as soon as they walk inside. Without knocking.

“Take your shoes off.” “Are you kidding me?” “Do you want to get grounded?” Killian scoffs, but he does as instructed, the ends of his mouth ticking up when Emma uses him to keep her balance as she toes out of her own boots. And, really, it’s an empty threat because Regina loves order and control and she definitely thinks tinsel is the pinnacle of tackiness, but the tree in the corner is covered in Henry and Roland’s homemade ornaments.

It smells like apples everywhere.

“How old is this house?” Killian asks, voice still low and it might be the single most endearing thing she’s ever heard.

“Are you researching right now?” He shrugs, lower lip stuck out and, no, that’s definitely more endearing. “I’m curious. Ballpark it for me.” “I am not a history major.” “What did you major in?” “Criminal justice.” Killian’s expression shifts slightly – leaning far too close to impressed for Emma’s sugar-addled brain to be able to deal with. “Do you think this is a historical landmark?” “Oh my God, look at you. It’s like your salivating at the opportunity to document this.” “Incorrect. I am intrigued. Also this bannister has got to be, like, two-hundred years old. Look at the carving on it. Someone did that by hand.” “You can tell that just by looking at it.” “I’d really love some confirmation,” Killian grins, looking a bit like a kid on Christmas which is oddly appropriate all things considered. “The insurance on this place must be ridiculous.” Emma can’t help the sound that falls out of her – a mix of laughter and disbelief and being impossibly charmed by the whole thing and some other word that also means endearing and Killian’s voice keeps picking up speed. Like a kid on Christmas. “Please don’t ask Regina about the insurance premiums on her house.” “Does madam mayor also employee the Storybrooke decorating committee?” He waves a hand back towards the bannister, which honestly may be hand carved, Emma’s never really considered it too much, particularly when its covered in ivy.

She shakes her head. “Get ready to meet the Mills-Locksley decorating committee.”

The small body that slams into her side appears to have defied the rules of physics and possibly gravity, and Emma grunts when Roland’s forehead slams into her right hip. Henry groans. “We talked about that, Rol,” he sighs.

Emma tries to wave him off, but it’s a sudden and expected onslaught of Emma, Emma, Emma and did you bring candy and can we play yet. She closes her eyes, letting the enthusiasm wash over her and sink into her and there’s more shouting when the door opens again.

Roland leaps towards David, his laugh turning closer to a cackle when he’s flipped upside down. “What did we say about the limbs, Rol?” David asks, hissing as he tries to shift the kid’s weight without dislocating something.

“You are way too old to be doing this, Nolan,” Emma says, only because he can’t flip her off when Henry and Roland are standing there.

“Especially after he was complaining about his sore back all last night,” Mary Margaret adds.

David looks scandalized. That may also be because Killian’s moved his arm back around Emma’s waist. She probably doesn’t lean into it. Probably. “Aw, c’mon,” David mumbles. “I told you that in confidence.”

“You should know Mary Margaret is incapable of keeping a secret,” Regina says, leaning over the top of the bannister with a smile on her face. “Emma, is there flour in your hair?” “Confectioners sugar.” “Ah, of course.” “We made a pie,” Killian explains. Regina’s eyebrows leap into her hairline. “Hi, we only kind of met last night. I’m Killian Jones.” “Regina Mills. Robin is…” “Talking to Granny about the wine,” Henry finishes.

Regina hums, opening her mouth to, probably, remind them to take off their shoes, but Roland is quicker and still coherent even when upside down and Emma should have expected a six-year-old to be this curious. “Is that your boyfriend, Emma?” He more or less shouts the question – the words sounding particularly loud when it appears everyone else has frozen and Emma knows she doesn’t imagine the way Killian’s fingers tighten around her waist. “Uh..” Emma stammers, and she just needs to nod. Or lie. Or say something.

Anything.

Because she can feel Mary Margaret staring at her and Regina’s eyes are far too knowing and--

“What are you guys doing?” Robin asks, appearing in the foyer with Granny half a step behind and what appears to be a liquid thermometer in his hand. “Is this some kind of new, very strange intimidation tactic?” “Intimidation tactic,” Killian echoes, and it’s as if everyone’s been flicked back on or had their batteries recharged. Emma exhales. And totally leans into Killian’s arm.

“We play a very serious game of UNO with multiple decks. If you let Emma win again, I’ll probably kick you out of my house.” “It’s not that serious,” Mary Margaret promises, but that’s kind of a lie and they’ve been known to make alliances in the past.

“It’s totally that serious,” Henry argues. “We bought new cards this year, Emma, so you can’t keep finding the Draw Fours with the ones you dogeared.” Killian’s head snaps towards her, stunned and definitely impressed and Emma feels the flush rise in her cheeks. “He’s a kid. He’s exaggerating. I would never cheat at Christmas Eve UNO.”

“Pirate,” Killian mumbles. He ducks his head, and for one crazy, mixed-up second of festivities and feelings Emma is positive he’s going to kiss her right there in that foyer. He doesn’t. At least not really. His lips brush over her temple and the top of her hair and that’s, somehow, even worse, or possibly better and Emma’s lost complete control of the situation.

She probably should have planned on that too.

“Can we play?” Roland shouts, wiggling against David and in a misplaced effort to get back on the ground. He’s still upside down.

“Only if you get on your feet, kid,” Robin grins. He hooks an arm around his son’s waist and David, somehow, gets kicked in the process, but Mary Margaret is laughing and Killian’s fingers are toying with the hem of Emma’s shirt.

Her face feels like it’s on fire.

She feels like she’s on fire.

Regina hasn’t moved off the landing.

“Do you have house rules, then?” Killian asks, following Henry towards the living room and there’s goddamn eggnog on ice like it’s champagne. “If Emma’s been cheating for years--” “--I have not been cheating for years,” Emma argues, but she’s meet with a chorus of ehhh and Killian’s impossibly close to her on the couch.

“You can’t sit there,” Henry says.

“What?” “You’re not supposed to sit next to me,” Emma mumbles. “Because--” “--Things have a tendency to get a little heated between romantic partners,” David explains. “Sometimes, you know...you want your girlfriend to get Draw Fours every single time.” “To this day, that’s the worst thing David’s ever done to me,” Mary Margaret says.

Emma rolls her eyes – partially because that may, actually, be true and partially because the whole thing is so sugary sweet she has a hard time believing it’s real. And she’s been living it for years. Killian’s eyes dart towards hers, like he’s waiting for her to tell him he can keep sitting next to the on the couch, but she shakes her head. “Them’s the rules,” she shrugs. “Plus, I’ll totally make more pirate jokes if you try to break tradition.” “You can sit here, Killian,” Roland yells, cross-legged on the floor next to Robin. Emma briefly considers dying. It’d probably be easier than dealing with the increasingly adorable and entirely unfair sight of Killian Jones on the ground in his sock-covered feet and he takes two cookies when Regina appears with a tray.

And he absolutely, positively cheats at UNO, but, for the life of her, Emma cannot figure out how.

It’s as if he’s got his own deck tucked up his sleeve – Draw Fours and a Skip on back-to-back turns that leaves Mary Margaret practically growling and David nearly cackling and Emma is certain she’s going to set a record for points at the end of the round because she somehow ends up staring at a Wild Draw Four on her final turn, with Killian holding his last card.

“Red,” he says, smile teasing and eyes glinting. She feels dizzy. She’s going to drink so much mulled wine later.

“No!” “Excuse me?” “No,” Emma repeats, voice going shrill and she’s going to do something drastic if he doesn’t control his tongue. There are kids around. Her friends are around. They aren’t actually dating.

“I think that means you’ve got to take a card, love.” “Oh, shut up.” “You really don’t have any red in that entire stockpile of yours?” “Shut up!” Killian grins – and absolutely does not move his tongue while Emma grabs at cards, picking up five before she gets a red. He laughs when she slams it down. “I think this means you lost,” he mutters, flipping his wrist to show his last card. Emma sticks her tongue out. That only makes him laugh more. “You put up an admirable fight, Swan.” “You cheated!” “You wound me. I would never.” She huffs, narrowing her eyes and Mary Margaret is laughing again. “How did you do it?” Emma presses, dropping her pile of cards unceremoniously when Regina announces lunch is ready.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Swan,” Killian says. He offers her his hand when she moves to stand up, fingers warm as soon as they wrap around hers. “Aren’t you going to count your cards?” “I am not going to count my cards and you are not nearly as funny as you think you are.” “I think that’s breaking the rules of UNO, Swan.” “I’m going to punch you right in the face, I swear.” He makes an absolutely ridiculous noise that manages to linger in the realm of charming anyway, another press of something to the top of Emma’s hair. “I’m sure that’s the start of some Hallmark movie.”

“You think people get punched a lot in Hallmark movies?” “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a Hallmark movie, actually. Add that to the date.”

Emma’s stomach lurches a bit at the casualness of that, but she doesn’t say anything – isn’t entirely sure she can and there are too many people around anyway, food to eat and eggnog to taste test and she’s helping Regina dry dishes a few hours later when she’s, almost, entirely prepared for the look on the woman’s face.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?” Regina asks, not taking her eyes off the plate she’s scrubbing.

Emma tenses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.” “Yuh huh.” “And you’d never bring home a guy you already went on a date with if that date didn’t end well. You’re not very good at second chances.” “Wow, that’s kind of harsh,” Emma mumbles, but it’s also kind of right and when Regina’s mom first married Mary Margaret’s dad she’d been chock-full of opinions just like that. About everything and everyone, particularly within the town lines of Storybrooke because Regina had grown up in Portland and that made her metropolitan and Emma had kind of hated her.

But then things had gotten worse and Cora was ten-thousand times more horrible than Regina and possibly why Regina was so horrible to start and there’d been divorce papers and tears and Mary Margaret stayed in Emma’s room for awhile and, eventually, Regina just kind of...mellowed out.

She occasionally still has very strong opinions.

“And totally true,” Regina says. “So, let’s have at it. What’s the real reason the guy who’s clearly obsessed with you is here?” Emma nearly drops the glass in her hand. “What?” “Don’t play dumb with me right now.” “I’m not.” “Emma.”

“Regina.” She turns her head, an appraising look that’s made only slightly ridiculous with a sponge in her hand. “Are you an idiot?” “Merry Christmas.” “So you are an idiot.” “Regina, I’m going to drink all your mulled wine later and ruin the Christmas Eve toast.” “You going to let Killian be part of the Christmas Eve toast?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, a low and, she hopes, threatening growl that she’s positive doesn’t work when Regina’s eyebrows lift into a perfect arch. “I’ll think about it,” Emma mumbles. “And...we’re not really dating.” Regina drops the sponge.

“Ok, ok,” Emma says quickly, flipping the towel over her shoulder. “You can’t tell Mary Margaret because she’ll--” “--Flip out? What do you mean you aren’t dating?” “We never went on that bad date to begin with.” Regina’s mouth hangs open the entire time Emma explains the whole, convoluted thing, blinking as if she’s waiting to hear surprise shouted in her face. Her blinks reach hyperactive when that doesn’t, actually, happen.

“So, uh, that’s it,” Emma mutters with a shrug. “I just...I wasn’t thinking and possibly drunk and--” “--And he’s ridiculously into you,” Regina interrupts. “Do you not have eyes? You know where he is right now? Talking to Robin about the insurance premiums for our house. Fake boyfriends don’t ask about that.” “Well, I told him not to ask you about that so…”

“Emma,” Regina sighs. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“An absolute disaster.”

“Yeah, it seems that way. Also, you’re making eyes right back.” “I don’t make eyes,” Emma hisses, but there are footsteps moving towards them and Robin’s voice echoing in the hall, something about the state of Maine and the American Revolution and Regina stares at her like that’s that. It kind of is. And then some.

She’s totally making eyes.

“Swan,” Killian says, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Did you know there’s rumors this area was used a camp for Benedict Arnold when he marched to Quebec?” “No one knows that.” “Ok, I know that,” Robin counters. “Also Regina definitely knows that.” “Wasn’t Benedict Arnold a bad guy?” Emma asks, Killian already shaking his head.

“Not at the start, but Quebec certainly didn’t help. The whole thing was a disaster.” “This house had nothing to do with that,” Regina says, drawing a quiet laugh from Robin where he’s leaning against the doorway. “Also, if you two are done discussing history, we should probably get ready to get back to Granny’s. Does David have the wine?” Robin nods. “An entire vat.” “And waiting for someone to help me carry it,” David calls from the foyer. “Also I want to see what kind of pie Emma bought.”

Emma’s objection is sitting on the tip of her tongue, shouts and curses and decidedly un-Christmas thoughts, but Killian’s hand wraps around her shoulder and tugs her closer to his side and she’s making eyes again. “Let it be a surprise, huh?” he grins.

“Yeah, ok.” And, in the grand scheme of whatever cockamamie idea Emma came up with to make Christmas less annoying or stressful or something, standing in Granny’s with Killian’s arm around her and his fingers toying with her hair while every single person she’d ever considered important promised her Millionaire’s pie was delicious was an unexpected delight.

The muscles in her face were starting to ache, a soft pain that Emma would have accepted every day for the rest of her life it meant she got to feel like this every day for the rest of her life.

Like Christmas.

And loved.

And...she needed some mulled wine.

“Can we toast now?” Anna asks, hours later and the pie is gone and Granny’s food is, mostly, gone, the jukebox playing a steady stream of Christmas hits from 1972. “It’s my first official one.” “Anna, you’ve been toasting with us for actual years,” Elsa argues.

“Yeah, but I’m twenty-one now, so it’s more..real.”

Emma scoffs, already feeling a little drunk, particularly when she leans back against Killian’s chest. He hasn’t moved farther than a few inches away all night, all hands and arms and quiet touches that feel as if they’ve branded themselves on every inch of her. “What’s this about a toast, Swan?” he asks. “Oh, uh, we started doing it years ago as some kind of--” “--Misplaced effort to be rebels,” David laughs. He’s already got a handful of glasses and they’re tucked into the corner of the diner, as if they’re all about to get caught for underage drinking.

“Basically that,” Emma nods. “Mary Margaret’s mom had this old mulled wine recipe and M’s found it our freshman year in college. So we came home and made it and it was this giant secret--” “--That everyone knew about,” Robin adds.

“Also true. And it was horrible the first time, but that was, oh God, more than a decade ago and we kept making it every year and now it’s like Robin and Regina’s third child and--” “--Hey, I resent that.” “Because it’s also almost true,” Regina admits, crooking a finger at David until he hands her a glass. “So, really, Jones, us telling you this, means you’re part of the coven or whatever.” “Oh my God, Regina, we are not witches,” Elsa groans. “But seriously, Killian, if you drink this wine, you’re not allowed to tell anyone else about it. They still let us pretend like they don’t know what we’re doing back here.” Killian salutes, a wry smile tugging at his mouth and he has to switch arms to take the glass from David and keep touching Emma. Left arm. Left hand. She feels very drunk.

The feeling only grows after her first sip of the wine – definitely the best batch they’ve made, which probably isn’t a sign, but might be a sign and she’s certain she’s being warmed from the inside out, like she’s swallowed the goddamn sun at ten o’clock on Christmas Eve. It may or may not just be a direct result of Killian’s hand on the small of her back.

And David mumbles a few words, promises about the best year and the best town and Robin is morally obligated to make some cliché pun about the best friends if only so Elsa and Anna will groan in tandem. Emma’s going to sprain the muscles in her face.

So, really, she can’t be blamed for her actions when, after her second cup of mulled wine, she twists against Killian’s chest, looks up and mumbles “you want to get some air?” He nods. “I’d love that.”

It’s chilly when they step outside, a nip in the air that doesn’t require them to stand as close as possible, but Emma’s not going to argue it, particularly when she starts directing them towards the harbor and the semi-permanent breeze coming off the water.

She inhales, letting the scent of salt fill her lungs and mix with the wine and the pie and the Reese’s Christmas trees and Killian's eyes don’t leave her once, staring at the side of her head with something that feels distinctly like want.

“What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” Emma asks suddenly, and Killian’s eyes widen at the question. “You asked for my most scathing Christmas opinion before. Let’s get positive.” She swaying slightly, less from the wine and more from the moment, Killian taking a step into her space until both his hands land on her hips. “Are you drunk?” “I had two glasses of wine.” “Not an answer.” The breeze gets stronger, more salt and a surplus of feeling and Emma knows they’re balancing on something – possibly each other. She shakes her head. “Not at all. What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” “I was...eight? Around there. And, uh...my mom was still there and my dad was still there and they were showing It’s a Wonderful Life on TV. I was not interested at all, because I was eight and the movie was in black and white and I just wanted presents. But my mom was baking. She was in the kitchen and you know at the start when George goes to the dance?”

Emma nods, Killian’s tongue flashing between his lips when he takes a deep breath. “Well, George goes to the dance and Mary’s there and--”

“--The pool opens up.” “Exactly. But they dance. And I remember my dad going into the kitchen and, you know, he was mostly an asshole, but that was only after my mom was gone and he...he started dancing with her. Right there to the music on the TV and they got me and Liam to come in and it was a whole thing. Liam hated it at first. He was fifteen, way too cool for that.” “And you weren’t too cool?” Emma asks, desperate to keep her voice light.

Killian smirks at her. “Nah, I was eight. Plus, I realized rather quickly that’s how George got Mary to fall in love with him, so you know…” “That’s not true!” “What?” “That’s not true,” Emma repeats. “Mary loved George from the very beginning. When they were kids. She…” She trails off when she notices the look on Killian’s face, awe and surprise and something Emma absolutely can’t name because she’s not sure her heart can cope with that now. “Mary loved George the whole time. No matter what.”

Killian nods slowly, and Emma isn’t a science major either, but she’s certain the space between them disappears and time slows for a moment and they’re both swaying now. “Are we dancing?” she whispers, another nod and flash of a smile that feels as genuine as the pie recipe she’s fairly certain was his mother’s.

“I think so,” Killian says. They don’t say anything else for a moment, the sound of the ocean a not-so-quiet metronome that almost matches up with their breathing and Emma’s not sure what to do next, but she doesn’t want to move and--”That was the last Christmas we were all together,” Killian mutters. “She, uh...she got sick a couple months later and then my dad was gone like it was a magic act at Caesar’s and...Liam did his best, but…” “But?” “Harry Bailey was the younger brother, right?” “Yeah.” “Ah, well, in the Jones version of this, the older brother was the war hero and…there wasn’t a victory tour of whatever town they lived in.” “Bedford Falls,” Emma says.

“Why do you know that?” “I know everything.” He laughs, and the sound rattles down her spine, like it’s trying to connect to every one of her nerve endings. She feels him kiss the top of her hair when her head drops. “I’m starting to think you might,” Killian admits. “But, well, Liam was very responsible and he needed the money, so Navy as soon as he was eighteen and then I joined as soon as I was eighteen and it was good for awhile. Until it wasn’t and I don’t remember much of that either, but there were explosions and noise and he was gone and my hand was gone. A week before Christmas.” Emma blinks, the tears in her eyes absurd because it isn’t her story – but it feels kind of close to her story and they’re still dancing. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says again, because she can’t come up with anything else to say or anything else to do except kiss him, so she does that too.

Killian’s hands fly to her back, pulling her closer until her toes skim across the pavement. Her fingers dive into his hair, trying to keep him there or with her and the second one is only a little clingy for a relationship that isn’t that, but Emma is starting to think it might be that or could be that and she hopes.

She hopes more than...anything.

It’s different than it was the night before, not quite as charged or determined to prove something and that makes it even better. It’s want and need and settling into something, common ground and disappointment and Emma can taste chocolate and mulled wine on his tongue when she opens her mouth against him.

That makes it less simple.

She feels as if she’s been sparked, a rush of electricity through her veins and Killian groans when she pushes up further on her toes, letting her nails move over the back of his neck. And Emma’s not sure how it can seem as if he’s everywhere, but every inch of her appears to be combusting or on fire and they need to move.

Her shoulders are heaving by the time she pulls away from him, the blue in his gaze barely there. “We, uh…” “Yeah, ok.” They don’t run and it’s not quite brisk, but it’s not a walk either and the few feet that encompass downtown Storybrooke have never felt longer. Emma exhales when she clicks the lock of the B&B room open, taking a steady step in that makes her feel far more confident than she actually is. That lasts as long as it takes for Killian to spin her around, shoulders colliding with the now closed door and hips canting up and it’s a whole lot of words that Emma is hopeful she’d be able to come up with if her brain weren’t preoccupied with directing her hands towards Killian’s pants.

She’s not entirely sure how they move without inadvertently elbowing each other, but there’s something to be said for enthusiasm and laughing in the middle of all of this makes all of this seem even more...more.

Emma nearly takes out one of the nautical themed lamps when she kicks off her boots, drawing a laugh out of Killian. It turns into a groan when she pushes him towards the bed, knocking off pillows and blankets and the mattress creaks again. “If I get in trouble for breaking anything in here, I’m blaming you,” she warns, the threat feeling a little disingenuous when she’s trying to get his shirt off.

And he’s trying to unbuckle her pants.

They’re a tangle of limbs and the ends of Emma’s hair gets caught under his left shoulder blade at some point, but there are kisses too and smiles and every single one seems to join the trove of memories she’s hoarding in the back corner of her brain.

He’s stupid good looking.

Killian freezes when she, finally, does get his shirt off, eyes flitting towards the brace at the end of his hand. “Swan, I…” he starts, but she shakes her head and she can hear his jaw clack when he snaps it closed.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

He smiles at her. “I wanted to be here.” And that’s not what does it, not really – they’re already naked for God's sake and Emma’s trying to pull a condom out of her wallet without ruining the mood, but that may be part of it and, eventually, she will ask him why he wanted. Her. Or this. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow.

She’s a little preoccupied when Killian pulls her back up, grinning from a small pile of pillows and that one, particular noise he makes as soon as she rocks her hips forward is better than anything Emma could have ever dreamed up. She’s glad it’s not a dream.

It’s later, moonlight streaming through gauzy curtains and wooden blinds and Emma’s head rests on Killian’s chest, fingers toying across the planes of his stomach. “Merry Christmas, love,” he whispers, squeezing her hand.

He doesn’t let go even when she falls asleep.

[giftofshewbread]

The Judge of All the Earth Will Do Right

 By Paul Kocourek  Published on: July 26, 2018

I believe in the Pretribulation Rapture. Many do not.

Some insist the Church will go halfway through the 70th Week’s seven years (Mid-Trib Rapture).

Others insist on maybe three-quarters (Pre-Wrath Rapture).

Still others insist on going through the entire seven years of the 70th Week (Post-Trib Rapture).

I wonder if the non-Pre-Trib Rapture proponents really understand what they are saying.

Let us look at some rather unnerving math about the 70th Week (aka the Tribulation).

The Bible teaches in Revelation chapter 6 that, by the time the first four Seals have been broken, 1/4th of the Earth will be slain. “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth” (Rev 6:8, KJV).

Now, the elements are as follows: “To kill with the sword” is the 2nd Seal, the rider on the red horse. It wields a “mega” (Greek μέγας megas) or “great” sword. To a world that has seen World War 1 and then World War 2, this means World War 3.

“and with hunger” is the 3rd Seal, the rider on a black horse, an incredible worldwide killing famine “and with death.” For what form(s) that death will take, we need only to look at a parallel passage in Matthew 24: “and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places” (Matt 24:7b). So, the death toll from the 4th Seal will include people dying from plagues, and from earthquakes.

“and with the beasts of the earth” is the result of the catastrophic global famine, such that animals are starving so badly that they attack and eat people. How many people, in real world terms, will die from just the first four Seals, all in the first half of the seven years of the 70th Week (aka the Tribulation)? Let us do some math. (Be warned – this is unsettling!)

The estimate for the current world population is 7.6 billion people.

So, here is the math: 7.6 billion estimated now; 0.6 billion Pre-Trib Raptured assumed (only God knows exactly how many), 1/4th of those 7 billion killed during the first half of the 70th Week via the first four Seals. 7 billion divided by four = 1.75 billion. 1.75 billion divided by 3-1/2 years = an average of 500,000,000 PER YEAR.

Friends, that is a staggering number! That is not 500 hundred thousand (which in itself is a horrifying death toll). No, that is five hundred MILLION, a thousand times worse! That is more deaths than from ALL the deaths combined from ALL the wars Mankind has ever fought since the days of Adam and Eve to our day. If the Pre-Trib Rapture is not correct, then we as believers have to face a stupendous, enormous, overwhelming death toll (as an average) of 500,000,000 (five hundred MILLION) each year!

That means we can say to the non-pretrib Rapture people: If your non-Pre-Trib Rapture view is correct, then YOU – personally – will likely die in a WWIII atomic mushroom cloud, or starve to death, or catch and die a horrible and deadly plague disease, or be killed in a colossal earthquake, or be eaten by wild animals. Yes, those deadly things are what will happen in just the first 3-1/2 years with the first four Seals being broken before the middle of the Tribulation. Yes, to such people, we have to ask, “Do you REALLY understand what you are saying?”

It is all well and good when the discussion is in the setting of an ivory tower academic format, but what I am trying to show – in real world terms – is what the horrifying ramifications are from Scripture for what people (those believing in a non-pretrib Rapture viewpoint) would be facing.

As I write this, it is July 2018, nearly August 2018, which means there are just five months left to this year (2018).

If the Rapture happened by the end of this month (July 2018), and the Tribulation started in August 2018, some quick math will show 500,000,000 – *5/12 equals about 200,000,000 (two hundred MILLION) people will be dead, not by some vague, far-off time in some far distant future, but by Christmas or New Year’s – THIS YEAR (2018)!

Now I ask you: what could possibly happen to kill 200,000,000 people BY THE END OF THIS YEAR, in just a short five months? (That is assuming the Tribulation started this coming August 2018).

Folks, the truth is, once the 70th Week (aka the Tribulation) begins, God is not messing around. He will be judging the world for its wickedness, and people will DIE! He hates sin.

For two thousand years, He has patiently and lovingly extended grace to the world, offering the free gift of salvation to all who would believe on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved, believing that though we have sinned and deserve death for our sin, yet God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should NOT perish, but have everlasting life.

Now that I have laid such horrifying death toll numbers before you, may I show you a reason the Pre-Trib Rapture is true, such that the believers in Jesus Christ, the Church—His body of believers, will not be here for these terrifying death toll numbers? (I hope your answer is, YES! Show us!)

The Lord Jesus Christ, in speaking of the Tribulation, said that those days would be like the days of Noah and Lot (the nephew of Abraham):

“And as it was in the days of Noe, so shall it be also in the days of the Son of man. They did eat, they drank, they married wives, they were given in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, and the flood came, and destroyed them all. Likewise also as it was in the days of Lot; they did eat, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they builded; But the same day that Lot went out of Sodom it rained fire and brimstone from heaven, and destroyed them all. Even thus shall it be in the day when the Son of man is revealed” (Luke 21:26-30).

Back in Genesis, God approached Abraham and revealed He was going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah because of their exceedingly great wickedness.

“And the LORD said, Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and because their sin is very grievous; I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of it, which is come unto me; and if not, I will know. And the men turned their faces from thence, and went toward Sodom: but Abraham stood yet before the LORD” (Gen 18:20-22).

Abraham began to plead with God over Sodom and Gomorrah (his righteous nephew Lot lived in Sodom). “And Abraham drew near, and said, Wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked? Peradventure there be fifty righteous within the city: wilt thou also destroy and not spare the place for the fifty righteous that are therein? That be far from thee to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the wicked: and that the righteous should be as the wicked, that be far from thee: Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” (Gen 18:23-25).

In the day of Abraham and Lot, God would not destroy righteous Lot along with the wicked people. (The Apostle Peter called Lot “that righteous man” (2 Peter 2:7-8.)

So, we see from way back in Genesis, that God will not slay the righteous along with the wicked. We who believe in Jesus today are the righteous in this day and age, and God never changes. He will catch us up from Earth in the Rapture before that 500,000,000 per year death toll begins, so that He as the Judge of all the Earth will do right and not slay the righteous along with the wicked, “that the righteous should be as the wicked, that be far from thee.”

So, the Pre-Trib Rapture is correct because it is consistent with the very nature and character of God, not to “to slay the righteous with the wicked.” He will send Jesus one day (perhaps even today) to call us who believe in Jesus to meet the Lord Jesus in the clouds in the air, and so we shall evermore be with the Lord.

“Wherefore, comfort one another with these words.” Amen!

Maranatha!

[dailyaudiobible]

11/27/2017 DAB Transcript

Daniel 4:1-37, 2 Peter 1:1-21, Psalms 119:97-112, Proverbs 28:17-18

Today is November 27th. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you as we get back into the flow after a, probably, long but busy weekend. And I guess we can say we are officially in the holiday season, but no matter what season we find ourselves in we have this rhythm of daily taking the next step forward in the Scriptures. And, so, we’ll do that. We’re reading from the Contemporary English Version this week. And we’re in the book of Daniel in the Old Testament. And then we get to the New Testament we will begin the second Peter. And we’ll talk about that then, but first, Daniel chapter 4 verses 1 through 37.

Peter:

Okay. Yesterday, we finished first Peter and we talked at length as we read through that letter. And now we have come to the second letter of the apostle Peter. And this is thought to be the final writing of the apostle Peter, the last words of the old saint. And over the years some scholars have believed this text to be pseudo-biographical or a text written in the name of someone who has already died, but we also have to acknowledge that the writer of second Peter claims to be Peter, names himself as Peter. And some of this scholarly tension comes from the fact that Peter was probably illiterate. This comes from the fact that most people were illiterate and a Galilean fisherman would more than likely be illiterate, which is not to say that Peter didn't learn to read and write later on in his life, but the thought is that he probably spoke things to someone, he had, like, a secretary, a scribe. He spoke things that were written down. So, scholars who favor the authenticity that this was written by the apostle Peter would defend that position by just assuming the Peter used a different scribe, like, he quoted this other letter to someone else who wrote it down, which would account for the variance in style. So, if we assume that Peter is involved then this was probably written in the late 60s A.D., just prior to Peter's martyrdom, where he was crucified upside down. Now, Peter being crucified upside down is a church tradition that we probably have all heard, but you won't find it in the Bible. This tradition comes from a book known as the Acts of Peter, which was not included in the canon of Scriptures. Its considered Apocrypha - church writings that are held as valuable and to be read but not to be used for doctrine in the Christian faith, like the canonized books of the New Testament. And church tradition tells us that the apostle Paul was arrested for the second time and somewhere around that time Peter was martyred. And in this letter, Peter does not explicitly say who he is writing to, he just says this is my second letter to you. So, we can assume that he is writing to the same people that he was writing to in the first letter. That being, Hebrew believers who had been scattered throughout the Roman provinces of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia Minor, and Bithynia - all in modern-day Turkey. And he's writing to remind them to strengthen their faith that had been born, in the first place, in hope, and to guard what they had learned and not be swept away or carried away by everything everybody was saying and every false teacher that came along. Rather than just blowing by this, it's important to know that Peter would've known he was about to die. He says as much in the letter. This is the man who walked with Jesus along the Sea of Galilee, saw miracles performed, laughed with Jesus, cried with Jesus, lived with Him. Ate his last supper with Him, and denied Him, and then overcame the regret of that, watched Jesus being nailed through the hands and feet to a cross, watched Him die, saw Him raised to life. Peter was there in the upper room when the Holy Spirit came and transformed him. And he preached that first sermon where 3000 people came to Christ. He was an early church leader, an early church father, and devoted his life to the Savior. These would be the final living words of the apostle Peter and they should hold some weight in our lives as we read them. And, so, we begin. Second Peter chapter 1 verses 1 through 21.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for the rhythm that it brings to our lives and the context that it gives to our days. We thank You for the way that You are transforming us from within through Your word. And we thank You for the council that we found in second Peter today, that we should do our best to improve our faith. And that is one of the reasons we come to Your word every day. And, so, we invite Your Holy Spirit to help us do exactly that, improve our faith. And You tell us in Your word that we can do this by adding goodness and understanding and self-control and patience and devotion to You, Father, concern for others, and love. You tell us that if we will keep growing in this direction, if this is where our focus is, then we will begin to see how You are making our lives useful and meaningful through it. So, come Holy Spirit. As we turn in those directions lead us forward, show us how to grow in these areas we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website. It’s home base. It’s where you find out what's going on around here.

And, of course, what's going on around here right now is…well…a lot…but the Daily Audio Bible Christmas Box is available and we’ve been talking about that. And one of the things in the Christmas Box this year is this book by my friend Ian called The Road Back to You. And, so, Jill’s down here in the studio with me.

Brian - Hi Jill.

Jill - Hi babe.

Brian -  This is a book that we both read this year. Some of it we read together this year. And it impacted us both pretty profoundly. What are a couple of things about it that stand out to you?

Jill – It was really good and it was really hard, but I think it was the most helpful relationship book I've ever read.

Brian – Why?

Jill -  It was the most insightful.

Brian – Because the funny thing is, it's not really a relationship book.

Jill – No. But once you have the information, it’s like, it can only be applicable in every one of your relationships going forward.

Brian – Yeah.

Jill -  I mean, even in the relationship with yourself, but, we’ve done some of the other personality tests, but this is, by far, I felt like it honed in the most, it was the most accurate, and I think those other ones are as Yes, E, F, J, S, Q, 3, 5…and I just couldn't…it didn’t stick for me, but, like this one, I’m like a solid 4, I’m solid complicated, and it just was really amazing in that…I mean…well…you read both of our numbers together and I laughed…I laughed for yours...just because it was like…wow…you are right this time…and I cried with mine…just because it's a little bit more complicated of feeling like you don't belong anywhere and very lonely sometimes and just feeling like, oh yeah, that's how God created me or that's whatever happened in my life that ended me up like this…that's where I’m at. So, it was very validating, very affirming, very insightful, and a little bit hard.

Brian – Let’s talk about the night we were sitting on the couch and I had read this book and I was talking to you about it and you were kind of thinking, yeah, whatever, it’s just one of those other things. But I’m like, no, let's find your number. And, so, we go through all these questions and work our way through until we get there. And then I read the chapter and, yeah, by the time I was done with that chapter you were in tears. Why was that?

Jill - Just…man…I don’t know if I can even talk about it now without tears. Well, I'm just…I'm all emotion…that’s who I am…but when you get so specific to where…like…I know this sounds ridiculous…but clothing has been a big part in my life. I love clothes. I love to express myself in clothes. And I don't like clothing that looks like everybody else. Like, I have since I was a child, and I would exasperate my mom by how many times I changed clothes because if I didn't feel like wearing that anymore during the day, I would change clothes. And for him to talk about clothing in the number of a form of expression and creativity, it was like, it just was like somebody gets it…and it's okay that that’s who I am. Because it can feel like that you have those parts of yourself that you don't even like about yourself, but for somebody to go, oh, and by the way, yeah, I get that this is who you are. For that to be validated…just to go…okay…I see you… it's okay.

Brian -  Yeah. Absolutely. And…it…I mean…it affirms you in a lot of positive ways and then it exposes the underbelly of that, the shadow side…that’s…you know…the struggle that we have, you know, with all kinds of things inside of ourselves.

Jill - Exposed.

Brian - Yeah, exposed. It’s very accurate.

Jill – Exposed is probably the best word to describe.

Brian – Yeah. It’s just really, really helpful to get a dispassionate, honest look into your own temperament and, you know, it begins to give you context for why you do the things that you do and then it goes beyond that and tells you, you know, you have developed all of this to cope, but beneath that is truth and this is where the Holy Spirit lives. It's been very helpful that way.

Jill – But I feel like it goes beyond just like, this is who you are. I feel like it's almost a little bit invasive of like…let’ get to the heart of who you are. And we to it by explaining all of these other things of your personality.

Brian - I think that’ true. I think that’s well said. I think it’s…I mean…I’m not up for these kinds of tests either. We've taken them all. And this was the one thing that I felt was peeling back the layers so that you could find your own heart. And we’re all about that and so is the Bible. And, so, it's been really, really helpful.

And I'm glad that we could make arrangements for that to be included in the Christmas Box this year.

And the other thing that we've got going on that we’re announcing today is the open, pre-registration for the More gathering that's coming up this April, that you lead every year. So, tell us a little about that.

Jill – You know, every year I say…I just get a little bit more excited. It is so true. I…my anticipation only builds every year. It never seems to dissipate. It’s…I'm so excited for this year for some reason. Registration is open and we are…like…let's do this. If you are sitting on the fence, just come. I recently did a women's pilgrimage with 30 women that I've never met. I only knew one person coming. And I feel like I sort of…God invited me to that…so that I could first identify every single fear and emotion that these women that I invite coming to More feel or experience, just to remind me. And I get it. But the one thing the Lord really started speaking to me before I was coming was, I want you to face every single one of those fears, I want you to call them out, and I want you to give them to me. Not to give them power. Not to prop them up. But so that we can overcome them together. And I can tell you that every single fear, I actually wrote them down, He addressed, specifically and personally with me, intimately, up close on this pilgrimage. And I know that He does the same thing at More. So, that would be my biggest, my first step, of…you're going to have all of those feelings and fears…they're going to surface. Even if your husband buys it for you and gives it to you as a gift for a Christmas present, you're going to experience those fears. Like, what is it going to be like? I’m going to be all alone. And nobody like…I won’t meet anybody…there won’t be any friends…and…da…da...da…da...da. And God will address every single one of those fears with you intimately. So, sign up. Take advantage of the $50 off to the end of this year and come and let’s explore the heart of a woman’s yearning for more together.

Brian – So, the Daily Audio Bible Christmas box is available now. And they’re going fast as they always do. Those of you who are ordering internationally, just a couple of days on that. We feel like the 29th is the last pretty safe date for Christmas. Of course, you can order whenever you want. Just want to give you a heads up on Christmas delivery. Those of you in the United States, we’re still good for a while. So, be sure to check it out. There are things in there that you will want for yourself and there are things in there that you will want to give away. And the magic is, you get to choose. And we love doing that each year.

And as Jill just said, the More gathering is coming up and early registration is open now at dailyaudiobible.com in the initiatives section.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible here as we move toward the end of the year, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There's a link on the homepage. If you prefer the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Springhill Tennessee 37174.

And as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise Reports:

My name is Glenn. I’m from Irving, Texas. I’m addicted to pain medication and alcohol. I’ve tried everything I could to quit. I’ve been asking God to take it away from me and that urge just keeps coming back. I went almost 3 years and I had I accident at work that required some pain medication. I could have refused but I let it happen. The whole year I've been hooked. So, this is Glenn, once again, from Irving. I need the prayers of the saints for me right now to save me from opiate addiction. It is a demon and it’s destroying my life. Thank you, Daily Audio Bible. Love you, Blind Tony.

Hey Daily Audio Bible family. This is John Corrado. I hope you're doing well. Look it, I just want to take a minute to…so…this is like a comment more than anything else…and maybe I’ll ask for some prayer afterwards as well. I wasn’t sure that you’re all aware…maybe you are…some of you at least anyway…that there is an additional resource for you that’s available for the Daily Audio Bible…and that is the Tumblr blog of the Daily Audio Bible. And what that is are transcripts from the Daily Audio Bible podcast from each day. So, essentially, the welcome message that you hear from Brian every day, the commentary that you hear from Brian every day, the prayer over the Scriptures that we read and the commentary that Brian provides to us each day, the announcements from the Daily Audio Bible, and then the community prayers and praise reports. I’m not sure you guys were aware that…and I became aware of it…oh…I don’t know…a couple years ago…and was just so blessed to be able to go back and read what Brian had said through the commentary. There's so many priceless gems that he puts out there because of…awe…just because he's been around this so much…and he’s very knowledgeable of it all….as goes without saying. So, if that's interesting to you or if you would benefit from being able to go back and look at his commentary and prayer requests, and praise reports, and announcements. Go to dailyaudiobible.tumblr.com. I love you guys. I hope you guys tap into that resource. And I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. God bless you all.

Hi family. This is His little Cheri from Canada and I finished listening to the community prayer for November 18th. And when I listen I doodle your names as prayers for all of you and then I put the doodle page up on my wall. Right now, I have 20 doodle pages, I counted them and I’m sure that eventually they’ll wallpaper my whole room. It’s kind of ___. And today I felt the Lord wanted me to encourage you to let your ideas of prayer out of the box and get creative because I don’t think that prayer doesn’t need to be as hard or as complicated as we make it. Anything that we do with the Lord is prayer because prayer is communion with Him. Right? So, if it’s good and it’s right and its fun it can be prayer. And I spend a lot of time doing puzzles and lately I’ve been turning puzzle time into prayer time. The last puzzle I did was the Norman Rockwell puzzle, maybe you know it, with the doctor preparing to give the little boy shot, and he’s intently studying the doctor’s diplomas on the wall. And I realized that while I put this puzzle together I could be thinking specifically of people who need healing. And as I put the pieces together, I could ask the Lord to bring the pieces of their healing together, to complete their healing. And, so, that’s what I did. And it was so much fun. And it was so interesting to see which parts of the puzzle I was doing as I was thinking of specific people. Anyways, it was really meaningful. So, my question to you is, what do you like to do? And how can you turn it into prayer time? Maybe it’s cooking or gardening or working on cars. Whatever it is, ask the Lord to show you and I’m sure that he will. Turn it into prayer. Alright family. That’s it for now. Thanks so much. Bye-bye.

Hi. My name is Donna and I’m calling from California. This is my first time calling in a prayer request. I’m a little bit nervous about it, but I know you all are friends and I am very, very thankful for this. I started listening to the Daily Audio Bible last spring / early summer and it has really blessed me in so many ways. Thank you Brian and Jill and everybody who makes this possible. I’m calling to request prayers for myself. First and foremost because…I really feel…believe...have come to believe…that I’ve got some strongholds that I just am not able to get over by myself and I need help with that. I’ve had some things in my past, some bad choices that I’ve made that certainly have not helped. So, I’m not really sure how much to reveal but I have found myself in relationships that were very destructive. I trusted some people that I shouldn't have, unwisely, and it has been very detrimental and I am left with so much shame and so much regret and I just need to give this to God and I need to be healed so that I can be a blessing to Him. That’s what I want the rest of my life to be. So, thank you so much. And, also, if you could please pray for this ministry. It is such a blessing. Thank you. Thank you.

Hi Daily Audio Bible. This is Rebecca from Michigan and it’s November 23rd, two days before Thanksgiving. And a couple of days ago I decide to work on doing a month of thankfulness and gratefulness instead of complaining, which, now that I walk through this door I feel I am complaining all the time and I sometimes want to complain. So, I want to start by thanking God today. So, I’m thankful, even though I’m single and I’m not married. There’s a thankful part about being single. I can basically go where I want. I don’t have to answer to a husband and I don’t have to have in-laws or a mother-in-law. I guess that’s a thankful part, but I am a mother-in-law, so, I like that. And I have a beautiful, healthy, intelligent child ___ and one coming on the way. And I’m beyond more than I deserve as a person. And yesterday I finished another financial ___ university class online. I learned more about how to by houses. So, I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful that I have a Thanksgiving dinner coming and some people have to eat beans and rice. Some people don’t have a roof over their head. I’m thankful that I have a roof over my head, a warm bed to sleep in, and I have lights, and I have heat, and some people are sleeping on the street and eating garbage. So, I thank You Jesus, for all You have given to me and a car to go to work and go places and enjoy life and I wanted to…I want to start doing that…giving thanks…

[westywrites]

The Teller of Stories and Keeper of Secrets

Chapter 4 - Elise Elder

First - Previous - Next

Warnings for kidnapping, implied sexual assault

For the last of the girls we had Elise Elder. A beautiful dark skinned girl, who had chocolate eyes and long hair like melted caramel that flowed down to her hips. She was the oldest of the girls, at 17 years old. She was also the one who took on the role of being the leader, the organizer and the one who came up with the excuses. She was very smooth with her words and extremely convincing, she was kind but can be terrifying if you angered her. She appeared to be a very confident girl but was rather self-conscious of the fact that she was slightly rounder than most, which was unfortunately the way most girls feel about themselves. Her story started on a hot night during the summer of 2012, July 5th, Elise's birthday, to be exact.

In celebration of her 16th birthday, Elise's parents had treated her with a trip that she had been saving for for years, they paid entirely for Elise and one friend to fly out to New York city and spend a weekend staying with her aunt. Elise was ecstatic, it had been her dream for many years to go to New York and it had finally come true, and she got to spend it with her with longtime best friend Katie. It felt like they owned the world, that the city was their own and my, did they have fun. Elise was sent with a $5000 budget to spend over the weekend and it was half gone the first day. They ran around the streets and went in all the stores they found, they sat in Central Park doing some people watching. They laughed as it started to rain and the store they went in to get out of the downpour was a fancy clothing store full of rich old people and they had come in looking like drowned rats. By the time they got back to Elise's aunt's apartment they just collapsed onto the bed never wanting to move again.

Saturday was even better, they got up as early as they could drag themselves out of bed and spent the day following tour groups around pretending to be part of them which ended up getting them into the Museum of Modern Art for free and afterwards they went to the Statue of Liberty and took a bunch pictures of tourists looking enthralled.

As they made their way back Elise was talking to Katie about how amazing this birthday was and how she was so glad to get to spend it with Katie and how sad she was that they had to go home the next day. However, Katie thought of way to make that night last a little longer, she had seen, just around the corner from Elise's aunt’s apartment, a "casual" night club. Now, they knew it was illegal but Katie was sure she had seen someone sneaking in around back the night before and thought they would be able to get in that way. Elise wasn't so sure that it was a good idea, but hey when in Rome, or in this case, when in New York.

They approached the club as the last of the light left the sky and the shadows were large and ominous. The queasy feeling in Elise's stomach grew when she saw how dimly lit the alley way around back was and she felt as though something was going to jump out from behind every corner or window. But Katie assured her that it was all going to be fine and once they got inside they would have the time of their lives. As they entered the alley Katie took out her phone to use as a flashlight so they could find their way in, of course she ended up dropping it and having to fumble around on her hands and knees to find it. Elise felt her chest grow tight and she could’ve sworn she saw movement behind what she could only assume was a trash can in front of them.

"Katie, come on." Elise rushed her. "Please hurry."

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying." Katie continued moving about on the ground in search of her phone. The horrible feeling of someone else being near was making Elise's heart pound loudly in her chest. Then she heard it, the muffled footsteps of someone approaching them. Katie backed into Elise whimpering slightly as the sound came closer.

"You looking for this?" There was a bright light in their faces as they looked up at a tall man holding Katie's phone with the flashlight now turned on.

Katie immediately jumped up from the ground. "Yes, sir, thank you very much."

"You're welcome, pretty little miss." The smile on the man's face sent chills through Elise and she was filled with the urge to run. "Y'know you’re so pretty I could do you right now." It became apparent with his slurred voice in that sentence that this man was very drunk. "How about that? Huh, pretty, how 'bout I do you right now?" The man took a step closer, sliding his coat so they could see the gun in his belt. "Right now." Elise grabbed Katie's shoulders and jerked backwards trying to get her to run with her but they fell. Into the arms of another man. The phone's flashlight flickered as it skidded across the rough cement onto which the man had tossed it. The girls had nowhere to run, no way to escape.

"Let us go!" Katie tried to fight but, at her tiny height of 5'1", it was no use. The men bound them, shoving clothes into their mouths and throwing them into the back of a van. In which the first man removed Katie's clothing whispering flirtatious things into her ear, it was not long before Katie's protests subsided and not long after that they stopped and were dragged into an old warehouse. In that warehouse horrible things were done to them, horrible, horrible things. Elise was tortured relentlessly  because the men "did not like black girls, no they only liked pretty little white girls" like Katie. The only reason they kept Elise around was because they liked it when their girls struggled and they got such a struggle from Katie when they harmed Elise. Elise tried her best to think of ways out of this, to find a way to talk herself away from trouble as she always had. She tried to negotiate with them, she tried as much force as she could muster but none of it had any success, until she remembered their guns.

Elise didn't quite understand what happened next, but as one of the men ran a knife slowly down her arm she grabbed him. She was overcome with some sort of strange and immense feeling as to what she needed to do. She grabbed him tight, pulling him closer to her and she told him what she wanted him to do. She told him to untie her and with a glazed face he did. She maintained her grip on his arm and signaled Katie to stay quiet as the other man was occupied with her, she walked over towards Katie and told the man to give Katie his gun. He did. Katie's extended arm had the gun gripped tight, she brought it up pointing it towards the man on top of her and she tightened her finger on the trigger, the sound shook Elise's insides and the man's blood covered the ground around them. Elise felt her hand slip off the other man's wrist, then she felt his hand hit the back of her head and she felt her body hit the floor. She felt more than heard the gun fire a second time, a third, the man's body fell beside Elise. Elise let her eyes fall shut as the sound of Katie's wails grew distant.

Elise faded in and out of consciousness as Katie dragged her to the door and out to the van that was still parked outside. Elise managed to regain consciousness enough to climb into the passenger seat and do up her seat belt and afterwards let her head fall against the window with one thought loud in her mind. Katie can't drive.

Next time Elise was conscious all she could see was fire. All she could hear was screams and sirens. All she could feel was pain. Everywhere and everything was pain. Pain in the voice of the person trying to pull her out of the van, pain in the sound of an explosion, just pain. She blacked out again.

Then in the hospital. Bright lights, too many voices, horridly white walls. No more pain though. The doctors came in and out, the nurses came in and out, the press tried to come in but was kept out. Then the only important person to Elise right now, Katie came in covered in bandaged but better than Elise. They talked alone in hushed voices. Katie told Elise everything that happened that she couldn't remember and from that they decided that they shouldn't tell the doctors or the press or their parents or anyone. They decided to let everyone believe that they were just in a car accident, their plan wasn't perfect but Katie was scared she would get charged with murder. That's when it hit Elise, Katie killed 2 men. Elise couldn't remember it all, in fact she didn't remember most of it. The only thing she could remember was pain and the sound of the gun.

As time passed Elise started to become paranoid. There was no way no one knew, her mom was gonna find out, that stranger on the street, they looked at her funny they must know somehow. It was eating at her subconscious, as she got lectured for letting Katie drive, as they got interviewed by the press. Elise wanted to tell them so bad, as she looked into the eyes of everyone hurt in the accident, as she watched the tears of the parents of the 5 year old boy who died. Everyone blamed it on them, stupid teenagers, right? Everyone assumed they were drunk. If they told the truth, they wouldn't be putting so much shame on their families. But Katie disagreed, Katie was sure everything would be so much worse if they told.

At the end of August, Elise's family moved to Florida trying to leave behind the press that was still trying to badger Elise. Trying to get away from the Elise's old friends who were saying nasty things and whispering behind her back. Katie stayed but they talked over Facebook and the phone. Soon Katie was pretending she didn't know what Elise was talking about when she mentioned telling someone and it was tearing them apart. Soon it was christmas and their arguments grew more frequent, then came March break and Katie's mom offered to pay for Elise to come and visit. Elise and Katie agreed to visit but only for a day or two, maybe they could sort things out.

Of course since this is not a story of happy origins you can guess that that did not happen. Their visit ended bloody. Elise had brought it up the morning before she left, and Katie went wild. They ended up in a full out fist fight that only stopped when Elise threw Katie down the stairs, knocking her unconscious. They never talked again. Elise told her mother about it that night and a total understanding was met. Elise's mom started searching for somewhere for Elise to get therapy but couldn't find anywhere until almost summer. They ended up settling with a cheery little place called "WALTER'S HAPPY CHILDREN'S HOUSE!" Where Elise was to start attending group therapy sessions once a week.

[lunaamatista]

Current TG:re timeline

I’ve found a few posts both on Reddit and here asking/theorizing about the current timeline in TG, so I’ll give it a shot myself.

Just scroll to the very end to the “timeline” section if you want to skip the reasoning.

For the record, the conclusion of the current month and day is the same as Cey’s, but different by a year. The reasoning and other dates vary.  

Reasoning

1. 

In this blog we’ll be assuming Ishida actually knows what he’s doing, rather than having severely messed up the dates.

Why?

We usually haven’t seen a fixation on dates in Tokyo Ghoul. Currently, there is, so I’d reckon there is some information to be found there.

2.

Following chronological order, I’ll start by going off the obstetric calculations from Cey’s post linked above.

First of all, the obstetric calculations are accurate if we do consider Touka’s due date to be 12/28. I’m not the health care expert so resorting to tools whose accuracy I have no certainty of (but likely about as close as Ishida, a man, would get) and assuming Touka’s cycle is normal, the likely date for chapters 122-125 is between 04/04 and 04/08 (or up to three days earlier).

3. 

In chapter 126, on the day of the wedding, Tooru announces his resolution to “aid” Ken and become a trainer to the Oggai.

I’ll assume that Tooru is being completely truthful in the letter from 129.

This letter establishes Yoriko is already imprisoned, but not on death row yet, and that Tooru will be waiting for Kaneki at the chateau from 04/12 to 04/17 at 9 p.m.

Everyone on Netabare seems to agree Hajime was caught on 04/11. For an infiltration plan to happen and for Hajime to have the letter, Tooru needs to have taken charge of the Oggai already, and since they’re already separated by the time Hajime is captured, the latest day for this is 04/10. This means Yoriko’s imprisonment likely happened, at the latest, a day earlier, on 04/09. And then, that means the very latest date for Takeomi’s and Yoriko’s wedding would have been 04/08 (this further shortens the time span for chapters 122-125, giving us 04/07 tops for them to happen). If you’re thinking that’s too cruel and they’d at least have a honeymoon, let me refer to this omake to remind you the CCG has exams on Christmas, so whether they’d have a honeymoon is questionable.

Anyway, unless Hajime is a true fool, we can presume Ken did get the letter between the night of 04/11 or likely sometime during 04/12 at the latest. The former would also be the day Nishiki returns with food for Touka.  

4. 

For the missive stating Yoriko’s penalty, I will be referring to this post by Old McDonald (if you’ve paid attention for a while, you’ll recognize him as one of the Wiki mods, and also formerly active in discussion threads on Batoto). 

In chapter 130, we see there was a court order to subject Yoriko to the death penalty on 04/15.

In the same chapter, we see the date on which Furuta seals its approval and makes it immediately enforceable is 04/23.

Now, back to an earlier part of chapter 130, Tooru is still talking about whether Ken will go face him at the chateau. This means it is still between 04/12 and 04/17 at this point in time. Shinsanpei talks of an intention to intensify the punishment for people who aid ghouls. This presumably means this happens after the court order has been sent (04/15), but before Furuta signs the missive to proceed with it (04/23). So this conversation happens between 04/15 and 04/17 at the latest. This also means Kaneki finding out about the pregnancy and Touka finding the court file happens between these dates.

5. 

A fun tidbit about years:

The calendar Touka was looking at was definitely a 2016 calendar.

However, there have been quite a lot of hints pointing out to the year being 2017.

First, we know for a fact Tokyo Ghoul starts in 2012.

Second, we know how much time has passed between the end of Tokyo Ghoul, in the month of July in their own timeline, and the beginning of :re, in June two years later. We also know we skip to the following year because chapter 31.5 happens on Christmas.

Third, we know the Anteiku raid happened right after Touka’s birthday (chapter 89), which was 07/01 on a school day.

Setting the current events in 2016 means moving back the events a year, which in turn means 07/01 is a Sunday, and definitely not a day Touka would be at school.  

Interestingly, this means Touka was looking at a five month outdated calendar, which says something about the state of the 24th Ward.

What we can conclude from all of this

1.

The events with all Kuroiwas (Iwao, Takeomi, Yoriko), Tooru, and Kuki have been jumping back and forth. Yoriko’s imprisonment and Takeomi’s apprehension would have likely happened on the same date, and Furuta’s conversation with Iwao would have been either the same date or one day later, which explains why we see neither of them during the mission in which Hajime is found by Goat.

2. 

The letter that Tooru sent with Yoriko’s court file is not the same missive that we see on the last page of chapter 130. However, given Touka was concerned about Yoriko’s safety even years ago, and how radicalized the CCG has been under Furuta, it would be easy for her to draw the conclusion that wouldn’t come until days later: that Yoriko is/will be sentenced to death, so the missive we see is placed there to give us, readers, the same effect Yoriko’s notice of apprehension would have on Touka.  If we follow real life logic, the latest day Yoriko could be executed would be 04/28, so the best case scenario for Goat to rescue her is between 04/15 and 04/28 (13 days), and the worst between 04/17 and 04/23 (six days).

3. 

The situation with the ghoul extermination was likely so bad, the meeting Shuu mentioned in chapter 122, that was due to happen on 04/13, did not happen, as everyone retreated to the 24th Ward and met there instead.

4. 

As a last note, Touka wouldn’t be (not) getting her next period until 04/20, which means she has been very, very careful about the possibility of her body not devouring a child. Make what you want out of this, but chances are while she has a strong suspicion, she wouldn’t be certain of a pregnancy for a few more days, which is why she hasn’t told Kaneki. 

Also, Nishiki is extremely keen.

I swear I’m done.

Other possibilities

I chose to include them although I find them unlikely.

1.

It is currently May and Yoriko is being imprisoned for an indeterminate time. This means her sentence is ordered on 17/04/15 and approved on 17/04/23; Ken receives Tooru’s letter with this document attached, prompting for a meeting any day between 17/05/12 and 17/05/17. 

2.

Ishida messed up.  

TIMELINE

(E) = earliest; (L) = latest

April 2017

(E) 01 – (L) 07: Goat is tracked by the Oggai and leaves :re; Tooru attacks Ken and Touka; the latter engage in intercourse

(L) 08: Takeomi’s and Yoriko’s wedding

(L) 09: Yoriko’s and Takeomi’s apprehension

(L) 11: 23rd Ward extermination; Hajime’s “rescue” and delivery of letter (Tooru) and court file (Yoriko); Yoriko is still not sentenced to death

12: Tooru will be waiting for Ken at the chateau at 9 p.m. every day until the 17th

15: Court order for Yoriko to be put on death row

[CURRENT DATE] (E) 15 – (L) 17: Tooru and Shinsanpei discuss new measures for people suspected of aiding ghouls and whether Ken will visit the chateau; Ken finds out about Touka’s pregnancy; Touka finds out about Yoriko’s imprisonment and likely death sentence

17: Last day Tooru would wait for Ken

23: Furuta (Kichimura) approves the court order for Yoriko to be put on death row

(E) 23 – (L) 28: Execution of Yoriko Kuroiwa

[whereiscaroline]

Time To Get This Shit Out....

Grief is an interesting thing. Especially if that grief is full of confusion. Not at the passing… but at the true feelings felt for the dead that cannot be truly expressed to those, that for whatever reason, loved them. And confusion for the fact that you, the deceased’s blood, feel nothing for the cold body forever asleep in that coffin. Only sadness for your siblings and yourself. Sadness that only they can understand. Sadness for a life never lived and one that could never be.  

It’s been two weeks since my father passed away and a week since he was put in the ground, just a few feet away from his father. It took me awhile to put my feelings and grief into words. Now that I’ve had some time, I’d thought I’d let them out here on my blog. A blog I do not share with my family, so I can express all I want to without upsetting my father’s side of the family. A side of the family I am currently living with. I love them and do not wish these words and feelings upon them. They saw a side of my father that I never did and so I cannot blame them for still holding onto that part of him. But the man they were honoring at the funeral, does not deserve their or anyone else’s love or respect.

The death of a father should be a devastating event for a child. But when that person was also your abuser, it’s a different kind of feeling. I didn’t cry when my shocked aunt whispered, “your dad’s dead,” while on the phone with his distraught girlfriend. I immediately looked down and started rubbing my chest with my shaky hand. I just stood there while my aunt started running around trying to figure out what to do. My mind was blank and I felt nothing. I was numb, trying to process my feelings.

I broke a tiny bit when I called my mother to let her know. They weren’t sad tears. I just had never thought those words would come out of my mouth. That I, the youngest, would be the one to tell everyone he was dead. It felt wrong, and with my confused feelings, my body didn’t know how to react. To be honest, it felt like an inconvenience to call. It was New Year’s Eve and my step-father’s birthday. I kept apologizing for ruining his birthday. I cared more for the feelings of a man who wasn’t my blood than for the death of my own father.

I felt and still feel like I should feel more love. He was my father after all…. but then I remember the hell he, and my mother, put my sisters and I through for our entire existence. It’s a strange guilty feeling, I felt it the most during the visitation and funeral. I felt like I was deceiving all those people who were crying and hugging us. I also felt angry too. How dare they tell me that he loved me more than anything! How dare they assume how I, we, must be feeling! They had no idea who that man really was. But I couldn’t hold that against them, they were deceived by his charm and lies.

My father was the best damn liar you’ve ever met. He lied to everyone about what really happened between my mother and him. He lied about the inappropriate things, the sexual abuse, and torture he put us, his own children, through. They, of course, believed him. To them, our mother was crazy (which she is) and made it all up. That she broke him. He was just a victim in all this. My mother is no saint but she was not the main culprit. He, also, lied to me on countless occasions. You see being that I was only 3 when my mother finally left my father, my brain took all my memories, the good and horrific, and shoved them behind an impenetrable door. So I don’t remember anything before I was 5. It’s like a movie, a lifetime movie. I am removed from it but the feelings still remain. So I never felt at ease with him…yes I had to go to supervised visitation with him until I was 9 or 10. The justice system was and is very flawed, as most of the world is aware. He tried to get us on his side but it never worked. The damage had already been done. I actually feel that at some point he started to believe the lies he surrounded himself with. I guess it explains why he always said our mother brainwashed us. He even violently yelled it to everyone at the place we met for visitation, when we had enough and told him we didn’t want to see him anymore. But sadly I think he brainwashed himself.  

He was also the sickest, both in mind (as I stated above) and body. He didn’t take care of himself. He had a stroke in 2010 that took away movement in half of his body plus he had diabetes. He didn’t eat right and didn’t take his medication properly. The last time I saw him alive was Christmas night. He looked bad and he was starting to retain water in his body. He was urged to go to the hospital multiple times before his death. Though ironically not by the doctor he visited a day before his death. The doctor should probably be sued, my father needed to be in the hospital. However, I do not blame him or hold any anger with that doctor. The only person responsible for his death is himself.  

I know that’s harsh but that is the reality of my situation. I never had a father, not the loving father that I’m sure a lot of people have. My mother isn’t that great either. My sisters and I always say we drew the short straw when it came to parents. Though there is a difference between them, her death will be a devastating event. Because even though she has shown me countless times her true colors and let me down many times both in the memories I don’t remember and the more recent ones, I have an emotional connection to her. My father never had that. He didn’t know how to have that. He should have never been a father. And a part of me wishes they never met, then I would have never been born and put through a traumatizing childhood. I’m not saying I don’t want to be in this world but I think everyone would have been better off.

But there is another part of me that is glad I went through all that I did. It made me a more understanding person. I see things differently than someone from a normal life, I am more open to different kinds of families, religions, cultures, and sexual orientations. I was put through something no child should have been put through, but each trial made me stronger. Made us, my sisters and I, stronger together. We have a bond that no one can touch. And if there is only one good thing to come from all this, it’s that bond. The thought of losing anyone of them is something I cannot fathom. The best gift my father ever gave me was my sisters. I would not have gotten through these past two weeks without them.

So I guess I have that but I still can’t truly thank him for that. It feels like a big fuck you to what he put us through. As you can see I am very conflicted over this and I hope one day to have clarity. But this is just another trial I have to get through, to become stronger.

Now we are left with what he left behind….his estate. Of course, he made it ten times harder to deal with by not leaving a will. And before he died he kept telling us his house (which is filled with books, his house looks like an episode of hoarders) was paid off….it isn’t. None of us really want to deal with it or have the money to deal with it. If it was up to us, I think we’d rather just burn everything to the ground. Thankfully my aunt stepped in, though, and we signed over the estate responsibilities to her. But we still get whatever his stuff sells for, as well as whatever the house sells for minus what she puts into it. I personally could care less, but a little extra money would be nice. Sorry, that was a bit greedy. But I need to be honest cause I can’t be honest with his family right now.

And that is another thing I am dealing with. My sisters don’t have to deal with this. Two of them are in Arizona and the other one, who understands me the most and I her, is just across the river but wants absolutely nothing to do with it. I can’t blame her, I wish I was able to do that. But I live with his sister and I can’t do that to her. She welcomed me into her home and has allowed me to live a different kind of life, a fuller life. I have really connected to some people on my dad’s side because of her. So I feel like I can’t let her see my emotions because what I have to say will get me kicked out. I could be assuming but honestly it is very painful what I said here and I don’t think she could handle it. Maybe in time she would come around but it’s just too soon since his death. She wants all the drama over, so I will never tell her these feelings. Which sucks cause I have to hold it in. Something every therapist I have seen, and trust me there have been many, has told me not to do. It is very unhealthy, but I had/have no other option right now. Thankfully, I have my internet/fandom world to release it to.

Because I moved into my aunt’s house a few months ago, it allowed me some closure with my father. That’s a little funny cause he was my main worry moving into her house. I was worried he would show up unannounced and try to get me to be his loving daughter. He did show up like I thought but it actually helped me close that chapter with him.

I saw how sad his life was. How his inability to let go of shit and accept what he did affected his life. How the lies had caught up to him. How the person he portrayed himself to be started to slip and his true self started to surface (he started getting in fights with his girlfriend/family members and accusing them of stealing things, my aunt blamed it on mini strokes but my sisters and I knew better). He still held onto his lies and continually tried to get me on his side but, as I said, it was too late. It helped me stop running from him, something I always did if he would randomly show up to events throughout middle/high school. I mean it, I would run away from him. I didn’t want him to touch me. Ever since I can remember, the feel of his touch felt wrong and scared me. It never went away, every time he touched me, I wanted to vomit.

But in the last months of his life I gave him something I thought I never would…..compassion. Even though I gave it to him, I was doing it for me. I needed to do it, to help me heal. But he will never have my forgiveness. Sorry, I don’t think he deserves it. He held onto his lies until the day he died. He never learned from his mistakes, he blamed everyone else for them. And I hate to say this but I believe my father is in hell or whatever place is reserved for abusers and unfit parents. I wish I was more compassionate about this but there is only so much compassion I can give. And I gave it to him already.

I guess since I had the closure, it hasn’t been as bad for me. When I learned he died, I got scared that I would slip back into my depression. My abuser died and he never received a just punishment. I should be really pissed off (which I am but it’s not taking over me) and crumbling down a deep hole. But I’m not. I want to start living my life, I want to achieve my goals and find a new adventure. It’s like his death has opened me up. I have a burning hunger inside me to be healthy and get my life on track. It’s not like I haven’t wanted to before but I always felt like something was holding me back. I could say my anxiety disorder and fear was holding me back but those were just symptoms. Symptoms of his abuse. But the day we buried him, something inside me lifted. I want to be better, not fall into the same old traps I always do.

Again, I hate to say this but the best thing that could of ever happened to me was his death.

To quote a Christina Perri song....

“This not the end of the me, This is the beginning”

Now you see why I couldn’t share this with the ones who loved him…..

But my hope is that one day I can tell them this without fear of losing them. 

*Thanks to anyone who read this, I just needed it out. And if this can help someone in a similar situation heal then I’m even more glad I let this out on here. 

[girl-outta-hell]

{{ Questions for Canon Muses

{{ Found the questions here:

https://fallxnprxnce.tumblr.com/post/160809400830/questions-for-muns-of-canon-muses

1. What is the biggest headcanon deviation from the canon material that you have incorporated into the way you write your muse? Why did you come up with it? I am incredibly attached to canon, so I try not to deviate from it, as much as possible. There is one detail, which doesn't exactly deviate from canon... but I took a little detail from the comics and twisted it into something freshly agonizing. 

In the original comics, Raven's mentor and all of Azarath's spiritual leader died (of old age) when Raven was 10. Now, considering the DCAU movies, 10 looks to be just about how old Raven was when she brought Trigon to Azarath... so I kept the comic!canon that Azar died when Raven was 10, but headcanon that rather than dying of old age, she died alongside all the rest of the Azaratheans by Trigon's hands.

As for what possessed me to conclude that, I have no idea whatsoever, and can only point in the vague direction of "I Was Trying to Figure Out How Old She Was", and then it just kinda clicked.

3. What is something that was never addressed at all in the canon material that you have independently developed for your muse? Raven's methods of coping with having an abusive parent literally attached to her head? I think we'll be seeing some Conflict of That Nature in the upcoming movie, but as for the daily struggle, that’s all me. 

4. Have you made any outright changes to the canon material in order to write your muse the way you wanted (entire scenes you chose to omit, chapters you say never existed, things you assume were never said, etc.)? I say I take comic canon into consideration to fill in the gaps where the movie doesn't address canon fact... but when I say "comics", I pretty specifically mean the New Teen Titans comics, and even THEN, I intentionally and specifically don't count anything after, oh, maybe 1989?, during or after the Wildebeest / Titans Hunt storyline. Aside from being confusing and convoluted, I've just never felt compelled to address that story in anything I've ever touched. 

(Besides the over-arching and undeniably canon fact that Raven is really hard to kill in such a way that she’ll stay dead-forever. I keep that. I love that about her.)

But the absolutely WORST comic canon that I absolutely REFUSE to acknowledge as ANYTHING other than a terrible fanfic is definitely the Sons of Trigon plot from the 2008 issues of "Titans". Vast potential for phobia triggers aside, Raven was so terribly out of character, the story was poorly written, the writers ignored everything Marv Wolfman had ever written (Trigon HIMSELF said Raven was his ONLY heir! over and over and over again), mathematically it just didn't work (there's no way between that time and the time of Titans that Trigon had 6 more grown-adult kids), The NOTP was there and they laid it on out-of-characteristically thick, the fact that I put more effort and development into my own canon-compliant OC than whoever wrote those comics (who didn't seem to bother reading ANY of Raven's history with Trigon), just... so many reasons. I despise that story and will never lift anything from it as any kind of inspiration. You ever want to get me Instantly Salty, just remind me that story was published by Actually Factually DC Comics. I'm disgusted.

5. What is an aspect of your muse’s canon material or canon existence that you never had the opportunity to explore but really want to? Ah, much better! Truth be told, that's what I write fanfiction for, so most of the answers I could put here have already been penned (whether it's in a file or actually posted). Things like, what if Raven DID have a sibling? Can she fall ill from MAGICAL things? How does she cope with the guilt of everything she feels is her fault? And of course, the 80's comics dedicated an entire issue to exploring her upbringing in Azarath, so that has already been explored quite explicitly. And even on the fluffy side, JLvTT explored her actually Having Fun, which was super nice to see and warms my heart... but, you know, A Happy Raven could always use more exploring. c: Not just in "distraction" either, but comforting her? Heal The Child!! I can and I will address her grief and loss and SEE her HEALING! Not just healing other people, but HERSELF as well!!

6. What is the general opinion of your muse’s fandom about them? Do you agree with it? Eh, this particular side of the TT fandom is a lot more liberal with her emotions than I've ever seen any reason for? I mean, statistically, she does smile more in this verse than in other aspects of canon, but she still restrains her emotion and she still acts distant and aloof most of the time. She definitely cares and engages and smiles, but like.... not nearly so much, or as quickly, as people tend to write or draw. I don't even think we've ever seen her cry, solely excepting the scene where she's watching Trigon destroy Azarath. Despite all the terrible things that have happened. That says something.

7. For movie or TV muses, what is your muse’s favorite scene? Why? Can you show a screenshot? Ohogsh, well, her favorite moments are absolutely the times the Titans spend together, as a family. If it weren’t for everything that happened immediately after, the carnival scenes would’ve been among the sweetest time of her life thus far. The things I imagine being her ABSOLUTE favorite weren’t shown on screen, things like Christmas mornings and movie nights, game nights, not even necessarily moments where she was involved, but just times when they’re having a good time, relaxed and enjoying each others’ company. (Especially as an empath, those moments are wonderful.)

I also like to think she’s especially proud of Damian’s growth, but I can’t put it down to a Particular Moment...

8. For movie or TV muses, what is a scene with your muse that you hate? Why? Can you show a screenshot? (So... Suicide tw on this one. Thanks, JLD:AW.)

Seeing her in pain and struggling and suffering always pierces the most tender and sensitive parts of my heart... but that moment... that scene, the one we've only GLIMPSED, in previews no less, from Justice League Dark: Apokolips War. Where she's on her knees, and she's holding something to her throat... and she pulls back... and she's legitimately genuinely right on the precipice of committing suicide? That has shaken me more than any self-deprecation or guilt or ostracization or loneliness from her ever had before. I don't "hate" it, but gods, it hurts, knowing she was right there, and ready to do that. Because you only actually DO that when you're so destroyed and hopeless and agonized and empty that there isn't any room for hope or recovery in your mind, and it just.... It struck a personal chord in me, let's just say that. ;; I only have Guesses about why she's so ready, but every single one of them just HURTS so MUCH. Whatever it was, it hurt HER so much! Gods. I'm trembling. I just... well I hate that she was so broken, she felt like that was the answer.

(okay.... tw over.)

9. For movie or TV muses, what other character played by your muse’s actor/actress has a lot in common with your muse? I'm not enough of a TV person to know what else Taissa Farmiga has been in, unfortunately. I know she's done some work in the horror genre, but that's it.

10. For book muses, what is your muse’s favorite scene? Why? Can you provide a short excerpt? 11. For book muses, what is a scene with your muse that you hate? Why? Can you provide a short excerpt? 12. For book muses, what other character from a book or book series has a lot in common with your muse?

13. What canon character do you really wish your muse could interact more with? Within canon, or within RPs? Because within canon, I'm looking forward to seeing how she interacts with John Constantine. So much. And, I won't lie, I'm desperately curious to see if/how she has any further reactions with Clark, after that devastating life-saving moment we saw in the previews... 

~ As far as RPs though, more interaction with the other Titans would be great. Warm-and-fuzzies and camaraderie. Though, as an OC creator, I'd also love to give more love to other OCs?~ I love learning about All-New Characters! I love exploring Raven's interactions with someone she's never met before; someone I know nothing about! And as a writer, I love giving others the opportunity to explore and develop their characters. c: It's a bit of a broad stroke, but it's no less true.

14. What is your ideal AU for your muse? I actually... don't do AUs? I mentioned my fondness for canon, but, heh, this 'verse already feels like a bit of an AU to me! (I've spent nearly 2/3 of my life loving on the '03 cartoon and the 80's comics, so this DCAU-verse Raven was a whole new constellation of my favorite traits! Plus some younger, softer, vulnerable traits that I also love, and entirely new character dynamics with the new team. Even a whole new sHIP???) Anyways, I guess my point is, this already IS my ideal AU for Raven~

15. What plots/interactions leave you feeling protective of your muse? Bold of you to assume I'm not ALWAYS feeling protective of her. But anything that hits a vulnerable spot for her, particularly in the spots I can relate to her on... (Which are a lot of them, honestly, but some hurt more than others.) I called her "my little soul-sister" today, and I meant that with every fiber of my being. So seeing her hurt? Protective Mode: Auto-Engaged!

[kuuderekun]

Maybe the Torah's Calendar was never a Lunar or Lunisolar Calendar?

First some terminology clarification.  The traditional Rabbinic Hebrew Calendar we're used to calling a Lunar Calendar is strictly speaking a Lunisolar Calendar, the phases of the Moon come first but synchronization is done with a Solar year so the seasons don't get out of wack.  The same is true of the popular variants I've discussed already like the Samaritan Calendar, the Kariate reckoning and the proposed Lunar Sabbath model.  A strictly Lunar Calendar would be something like the Islamic Calendar which makes no attempt to reconcile and so Ramadan has fallen al over the Gregorian Calendar. But I've lately been questioning this traditional assumption that the Torah's Calendar is Lunar. Let's start with the fact that the Torah has completely different words for Month and Moon, that is not what I'd expect from a strictly Lunar month based culture.  Month is Chodesh/Hodesh (Strongs Number 2320) while Moon is Jerah/Yerach (3394).  There are a few places where the latter word is used of a passage of time, but that's because even without a lunar calendar the concept of a month is still tied poetically to the Moon somewhat as it's phases come close at least. The phrase "Rosh Chodesh" gets translated "New Moon" sometimes because of our traditional assumptions, but Rosh means the beginning or head of something.  The Torah never talks about the Full Moon, even in regards to the Holy Days that should happen then on a Lunar or Lunisolar calendar.  Two verses elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible are often translated as referring to the Full Moon, but those are highly disputable as I've discussed before. Colossians 2:16 is the one New Testament reference to the Jewish concept of the "Rosh Chodesh", and it again uses a Greek word for Month, not Selene the word for the Moon. And then there is all the evidence that The Bible clearly thinks of a Month as being 30 days not 29 and a half.  It's there when you do the math of the Flood chronology of Genesis 7 and 8 with 5 months being exactly 150 days beginning on the 17th of the eight month and ending on the 17th of the seventh month.  And it's also in Daniel and Revelation with 42 Months, 1,260 days and three and a half years being treated as synonymous time periods, and then in Daniel 12 1,290 days being that with one more month added, and 1,335 days added another month and a half. However there is one thing often taken as evidence for a 365 day year in the Torah, and that is how that number happens to be the number of years Enoch lived. But that could be a coincidence. Genesis 1:14-19 discuses the Sun (greater light), Moon (lesser light) and stars being made for signs and for seasons and for days and for years.  But you'll notice in verse 16 the Sun is made and talked about first, it has priority.  And months are seemingly missing from the discussion. It is well known that the Hebrew Calendar was influenced by the Babylonian Calendar during the Captivity, the names we're now used to calling the months come from Babylon for one thing.  Well the thing is Babylon had a Lunisolar Calendar, so even that aspect of it could be Babylonian in origin. Lunar Calendars were more popular with the ancient Pagans then you might expect given the modern popular narrative that Paganism always revolved around Sun worship.  But in fact the most prominent not at all Lunar Calendar used by Pagans in classical antiquity was the Civil Egyptian calendar, but even they originally had a Lunar one which they kept for ceremonial purposes.  Actually even in Greece the Attic Lunar Calender's main purpose was for how they observed Pagan festivals. Now as much as we love to see all things Egyptian as bad, it wasn't the Egyptians much of the Torah is telling the Israelite not to be like, it was the Canaanites.  One of the Canaanite tribes was the Amorites, Babylon first became a major player in Mesopotamia under it's Amorite dynasty, so that Babylonian calendar could be Canaanite in origin. There is one indisputable difference between the Torah Calendar and the Civil Egyptian Calendar, and that is when to start it.  Exodus 12 proclaims Aviv (the time of the Barley Harvest, early Spring) to be the first month while the Egyptian Calendar starts near the Autumnal Equinox. It is a common traditional conjecture that before Exodus 12 the first season was Fall rather then Spring, and that in Exodus 12 YHWH is swapping the First and Seventh months.  I'd been thinking of making a post on how we can't prove that using Scripture alone.  But since they were in Egypt for several generations it's very possible the Egyptian Calendar was their starting point and what month to make the first month was the only change YHWH is making in Exodus 12.  Though different agricultural and climate circumstances in Canaan no doubt brought further differences, the Egyptian Calender was organized around 3 seasons rather then 4 because of how they were ruled by the flooding of the Nile. In a hypothetical Torah based Solar Calendar the Intercalary month of five or sixth days (if that was the method used for synchronization) would go between Adar and Nisan rather then in September.  (BTW, those 5 days were when the Egyptians observed the birthdays of Osiris and Horus, not anywhere near Christmas.  And the Egyptian new year was September 11th  on our calendar coincidentally enough.)  Or maybe you would try to put them before the Seventh Month to keep Yom Teruah aligned with the Spring Equinox.  Since I view the Trumpet of Yom Teruah as also the Last Trump of Revelation 11, could it be preceding 6 Trumpets were meant to be associated with the proceeding extra days? Genesis 1:14 is possibly using Signs in place of Months, I have over the years gone back and forth on the Mazzaroth/Gospel in the Stars theory. Maybe fellow Mazzaroth proponents like Rob Skiba should consider that the Star Signs can be an alternate to the Moon for how to determine the months of the year.  Josephus did refer to Nisan as being when the Sun is in Aries, in the first century the Sun entered Aries around the Spring Equinox, and that month is indeed when the Barley Harvest happens.  The Romans had a Seven Day Barley Festival similar to Unleavened Bread that was the 12-18th of April, but due to the awkwardness of Caesar's revisions that may be off form when in the Sun's journey it was supposed to be. It is popular to theorize that Revelation 12:1 is describing some astronomical alignment involving the Moon. If it is it could be an exception and not proof the months are usually defined by the Moon.  But I'm skeptical of that altogether, I think it's probably a purely supernatural vision and not something predictable using Stelarrium. Now I do believe the Passover through Pentecost of Christ's Passion, Resurrection and sending of the Holy Spirit was based on what the Jews of the time were doing regardless of if it was still accurate.  But it may be it happened to be a year when they did line up, or at least close enough that First Fruits was the right Sunday.  Since I favor 30 AD and a Thursday Crucifixion on the 14th of Nisan followed by a Sunday Resurrection on the 17th of Nisan, I have long placed the Passion on the 6th of April 30 AD. The Qumran Community who wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls also rejected the Lunar Calendar, the Temple Scroll is our main source on their Calendar but it's discussed in other scrolls too.  I don't think that Calendar is right either, like the Lunar Sabbath model it wants to synchronize the monthly and yearly cycle to the weekly cycle by giving every 3rd month and extra day creating a 364 day year.  As I've talked about before the language in Leviticus 23 about Firs Fruits and Pentecost is clearly assuming they won't line up.  They make the first day of the year a Wednesday because that was the day the Sun and Moon were created.  But at least they correctly placed First Fruits and Pentecost on Sundays.   Weeks are not even remotely mentioned in the Genesis 1 account of the fourth day, so they aren't connected to the sun, moon or stars. The Book of Jubilees was popular with them because it too rejected the Lunar Calendar (Chapter 6 verses 32-37).  Something I bet Rob Skiba didn't notice when using the book for his agendas (The Jubilees Calendar also seems to be endorsed by Enoch 72-82).  But indeed Jubilees has the same problem as the Temple Scroll system.  In fact it's criticism of the lunar system for it doesn't line up perfectly with the seasons is hypocritical when their being one day short of a solar year will inevitably create the same issue. The Hebrew Roots movement has a lot of irrational fear of Sun Worship wrapped up into it.  Obviously actually worshiping the actual Sun or Moon or any other inanimate object is idolatry.  But Malachi does call Jesus the Sun(Shamash) of Righteousness, there is no equivalent title making the Moon a symbol of Jesus.  So I have no problem believing Jesus Rose from The Grave at Sunrise on a Sunday Morning, or that he was born on or soon after the Winter Solstice. I'm not ready to propose a specific calendar model just yet.  I merely want to open up this line of discussion. Or maybe I am. Read more »