#and also shout out to myself six-ish months ago i was going though it

[angelofstarrystreetlights]

"i wanna hear one song without thinking of you" vs "i'm in love with every song you've ever heard" is the dichotomy of my feelings about people i cared about and people i care about. if that makes sense. there are two people. i am moving on and i will always look back. i am too out of it to explain right now.

[schoolmascotbyday]

BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Frederick.”

Surname? “Frederickson.”

Middle names? “Flamarion.”

Nicknames? “Fred, Freddie, Dumbass, Knuckle Head, Idiot, Mr. Fred, Lizard Guy, Fredzilla… Fredzilla totally counts.”

Date of birth? “I was born on August 15th of 1997.”

Age? “I am twenty three years young.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “Six foot even.”

Weight? “140 or something. Don’t body shame me.”

Build? “I guess I’d be a mesomorph.”

Hair color? “It’s blond-ish.”

Hair style? “Medium length. Sometimes it is straight, sometimes it has luscious waves.”

Eye color? “Grue. (That means green-blue.)”

Eye shape? “They’re kind of squinty, whatever you call that.”

Glasses or contact lenses? “No sir!”

Distinguishing facial features? “I have a big nose.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My nose.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “My chest.”

Other distinguishing features? “My hair. If you see my hair, you know it’s me.”

Skin? “White. Disturbingly white. I should get more sun…”

Hands? “Big.”

Make up? “I don’t understand how people wear makeup everyday. It’s hard. It would take me hours to not look like a clown. I wore eye shadow for the pride parade, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Scars? “Nothing too noticeable.”

Birthmarks? “Nada!”

Tattoos? “None, but I think one day I’ll get a big monster on my entire back .”

Physical handicaps? “I don’t have any.”

Type of clothes? “Worn out.”

How do you wear your clothes? “Too long.”

What are your feet like? “Also big. My socks are dirty. So are my shoes. There’s a hole in my favorite pair, and the bottom is coming off…”

Race / Ethnicity? “Caucasian.”

Mannerisms? “I am overexciteable and it shows.”

Are you in good health? “I keep forgetting to make a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I just don’t wanna do it by myself. But probably.”

Do you have any disabilities? “Fortunately no!”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “I think I just shout too often.”

Do they you a catchphrase? “I say whoa-ho-ho a lot. Is that a catchphrase? Or should I have said that for my overused word and/or phrase?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Optimistic!”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Extroverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “I turn the AC on a lot.”

What bad habits do you have? “Sometimes I chew with my mouth open and I stay up too late and I ramble and I don’t eat healthy foods and get obsessed with entertainment and I don’t blink enough when I’m playing video games and I choose being lazy over being productive and, oh, yeah, run-on sentences.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “A lot of things. I laugh all the time.”

How do you display affection? “Bear hugs and hair ruffles.”

Mental handicaps? “I don’t give myself time to be sad.”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How do you see yourself? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How are you seen by others? “I don’t worry about it too much.”

Strongest character trait? “I care so much.”

Weakest character trait? “I care too much.”

How competitive are you? “I can be kind of competitive, but I don’t trash talk or anything.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “It depends on the situation, but I usually make snap judgements.”

How do you react to praise? “A lot of thank you!s and beaming.”

How do you react to criticism? “I don’t usually let it get to me, I try to be better.”

What is your greatest fear? “Losing another person I love.”

What are your biggest secrets? “Sometimes I say I know what I’m doing when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Shh.”

What is your philosophy of life? “Life is short, have fun.”

When was the last time you cried? “I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

What haunts you? “Losing Tadashi. Not being able to save him.”

What are your political views? “I’m probably a liberal.”

What will you stand up for? “Anyone that needs me to stand up for them.”

Who do you quote? “My friends. They’re so smart.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Indoorsy.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Buying a lot of merch. A lot of merch.”

What sense do you most rely on? “Definitely not common. Hearing.”

How do you treat people better than you? “I try to learn from them!”

How do you treat people worse than you? “I try to teach them!”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “Genuineness.” 

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Chastity.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I think I’d like to be smarter. Just a little bit, just enough to understand half of the things my friends talked about.”

What is your obsession? “Manga, comic books, video games.”

What are your pet peeves? “Being rushed, people being mean, being ignored.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I talk too fast.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “Small. It’s just me, my dad, my mom and Heathcliff — the butler.”

What is your perception of family? “They’re supposed to be loving and accepting.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “No. I think that would’ve been nice, though.”

Describe your best friend. “I have five, and they’re the best friends in the whole world. Tadashi isn’t here anymore, but he’s still one of my best friends. They’re all smart and unique and I love being around them.”

Ideal best friend? “Anyone who can be themselves around me.”

Describe your other friends. “Most of them are online.”

Describe your acquaintances. “I don’t have acquaintances, just friends.”

Do you have any pets? “I have a bunch of fish in my saltwater aquarium!”

Who are your natural allies? “Hm, Haven.”

Who are your surprising allies? “The rest of our friends.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Loud, wild, energetic, friendly.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Rich.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “I don’t want to say my parents neglected me…”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “I don’t even know of anything I’ve thought that was offensive.”

What is your greatest achievement? “My current grades.”

What was your first kiss like? “Quick and nervous.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I didn’t save Tadashi.”

What are your ambitions? “I want to write comics that people want to read.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Enjoy being a kid while you can!”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Freshly cut grass, pancakes, steak.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To be a superhero.”

What is your best childhood memory?

What is your worst childhood memory? “The birthday my dad told me they’d be home in time for, but missed. They didn’t come home for another week, and I’m pretty sure he forgot about it completely, because the handwriting on the card that ‘came in the mail’ looked an awful lot like Heathcliff’s.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “A few.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “Sometime last month.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Shame is not an emotion I know.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Beating Dark Souls (Demons Souls).”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “Probably.”

Strongest childhood memory? “The day I broke my arm falling out of a tree.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “Why not?”

Are you in a relationship? “Nope.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “Like myself. I’m an affectionate guy.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been about five months, probably.”

What sort of sex do you have? “All sorts.”

Have you ever been in love? “I fall in love all the time.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “My heart broke when Tadashi… when I lost my friend.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Just shrug and say ‘bring it’.”

Are you most likely to fight with your fists or your tongue? “I don’t like fighting, but I’ll do what a situation calls for.”

What is your kryptonite? “Funko Pops.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “My fish.”

How do you perceive strangers? “50/50. Could be friends, could be villains.”

What do you love to hate? “Cliffhangers and hard to beat games.”

What are your phobias? “Death.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Depends on the game I’m playing.”

What living person do you most despise? “I don’t despise anyone.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “I’ve been teased, but it doesn’t bother me much.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “The kitchen to get a snack. The only time I get angry is when a game is being really frustrating.”

Who are your enemies and why? “I don’t have any, but maybe one day I will be a true crime fighter and I will.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “Sign spinning.”

What do you think about your current job? “I love it. I don’t need the money, I just like bringing in more business to the local shops and showing off my skills!”

What are some of your past jobs? “I’ve never had to work.”

What are your hobbies? “Sign flipping, gaming, writing and drawing, reading comics, binging anime, practicing guitar, coming up with new costume ideas.”

Educational background? “I didn’t do so hot in high school, but I’m in college now.”

Intelligence level? “You could say I’m a selective learner.”

Do you have any specialist training? “I wish! That would be so cool!”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “I want to say my sign spinning is a natural talent — I kind of just picked it up one day and realized I was good at it. Also, super-hearing, headlights and flame throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I’m not much of a sports guy.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “Ask someone who knows what that means.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Maybe lizards.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “I don’t dislike any animals.”

What place would you most like to visit? “I’d like to go on a family vacation someday. I don’t really care where we go.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “The ending of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.”

What is your favorite song? “You’d laugh.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Reading mixed with art.”

What is your favorite color? “Blue. No, orange. No, green! Yellow! I don’t know! There’s too many colors!”

What is your password? “FredzillaRulesTheWorld.”

Favorite food: “Changes too often to really say.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Death Note.”

Who is your favorite artist? “My dad. He counts, right?”

What is your favorite day of the week? “Sunday.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “A whole lot of ingredients I’ll never use and probably some I can’t pronounce.”

What is on your bedside table? “A lot of junk. I should clean that off...”

What is in your car? “Phone charger, aux chord, a half eaten bag of barbecue chips, stick of deodorant, loose change, hair ties.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty. I have a butler.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “A group picture with my friends, money, a few different bank cards, a condom, more loose change.”

What is in your pockets? “My keys and my cell phone.”

What is your most treasured possession? “All of my pictures with my friends. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. You never know when you won’t be able to take another one...”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? “I’m sure Tadashi is somewhere looking out for me right now.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “Yes.”

What are your religious views? “Loosely Christian.”

What do you think heaven is? “A place where everyone is happy and free and there’s no pain. And you can play games all day.”

What do you think hell is? “Sad and lonely.”

Are you superstitious? “A little bit.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “A fire breathing dragon!”

How would you like to die? “In a way that matters. If I’m going to die, I’d like to save someone while I’m doing it.”

What is your spirit animal? “Probably iguanas or something.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Torture.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Pretty much how my life is now. I can do what I want, when I want --- for the most part.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been a long time. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

What’s your view of lying? “It can be easily avoided. Just be honest.”

When did you last make a promise? “I can’t remember.”

Did you keep or break your last promise? “I’m sure I kept it, I don’t make promises unless I plan to do something about it.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “Questionable.”

Do you have any allergies? “I’m allergic to assholes!”

Describe your home. “It’s big. Real big. The yard is big and freshly cut. There’s not a blimp of imperfection until you get to my room, then it becomes a randomized mess.”

Are your minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “Hoarder.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Turn my alarm off.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Relax. Wait for my dad to call.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up late gaming.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “Mountain Dew.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “Just beer is fine.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Oh, I love Halloween! I go all out! I’ll dress as another superhero this year, or maybe a villain to spice it up!”

Are you comfortable with technology? “I love technology.”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Tadashi. I wish I could’ve saved Tadashi.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Haven, she always knows what to do.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “All the merch in my room, or my tank.”

What is your greatest regret? “Not doing anything to help my friend.”

What is your perception of redemption? “Putting someone else before yourself. If you do that, if you selflessly risk your own life or needs or wants for another person, you’re obviously redeemed.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Donate it all to charity.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

What fairytale do you hate? “I don’t hate any fairytales. People put a lot of hard work into their stories and I respect that.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “I do.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “Living every day how you want to live it.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “I’d give my opportunity to someone else. I don’t need anything answered.”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to save Tadashi or die trying.”

What sport do you excel at? “Is flame throwing a sport?”

What sport do you suck at? “Soccer. I get confused and score for the other team. Every. single. time.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “All of them! Fire breath, x-ray vision, flying, rocket fists, gravity manipulation, invisibility, walking through walls, the ability to teleport through people’s phones so if they needed me I’d be right there... yeah, all of them!”

[diyunho]

The Joker X Reader - “What Death Tastes Like” Part 2

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1         Part 3        Part 4      Part 5

“That was very nice,” you whisper in The Joker’s ear. “I know you’re not sleeping,” you sigh and force yourself to get out of his bed after watching TV together for almost 3 hours. “I’m going, OK?” you whisper, not sure why he’s ignoring you. But you have a clue: he probably just wanted to avoid a huge fight with Emma or your father finding out about his cruel words regarding your illness. “Fine, whatever…” you admonish and exit the premises, upset he’s behaving like that since he offered truce a few hours ago. The King of Gotham is actually completely out, even if you believe otherwise.

It was awesome having him carry you in his arms and not protest when you kissed him; you have to admit you were disappointed he didn’t initiate anything once you ended up in his bed; you really thought he would. J let you snuggle to him and you hoped for more to happen, yet his lack of interest made you realize it was stupid to try and hint you wanted him. What is a 40-ish old man supposed to do with a 22 years old woman that playfully keeps flirting with him? In this case, obviously just enjoy a couple of movies which proved he doesn’t take into consideration your dumb crush.

The more you analyze this night, the more you’re inclined to vote for the exact opposite of what you did: you should have kept your mouth shut and refrain sharing intimate matters with him.

I guess sometimes genius truly skips a generation …

*************

3 Weeks Later

You didn’t come to the mansion in the last 3 weeks: when J woke up the next morning after your visit, you were gone. Emma informed him you waited for her to catch up and then went home; he wondered if you left because of what happened or if there was no reason for it at all. One thing’s for certain though: The Joker got the slight impression you evade him, especially since two days ago you dropped Emma off then raced out of the property in a hurry when you noticed he was coming out of the house. The skid marks on the pavement were a pretty clear sign you didn’t want to linger at the place you normally enjoyed hanging out at.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean you can escape The Clown Prince of Crime forever.

“OK,” Emma gives you a soft nudge in the restaurant owned by her parent. “You gotta help me out,” she pleads to a skeptical Y/N. “I insisted we have lunch here for a good reason: my dad brought his wacko-on-and-off-girlfriend and I can’t stand her; I need backup. Please flirt with him and say that stuff you usually say!” she giggles. “You have my blessing to go crazy, I swear you won’t hear a peep out of me! It will be hilarious to see her reaction!” she pushes you and it’s too late to escape the unwanted rendezvous you had no clue about until now.

You are already at the table and didn’t have a moment to take in your best friend’s proposal: you wish you had a warning about this plan of hers but Emma impulsiveness and surprise element runs in the family.

Maybe she thought you would love such a funny challenge…

Yeah… not really...

You know Mara anyway and bumping into her alongside J is not enjoyable to say the least, mainly due to the odd atmosphere you hope his daughter won’t notice.

“Hi daddy,” Emma pulls her chair and you take a seat by her muttering a faint hello.

“Hey kid!... … Miss Crane,” he sneers and you intensely stare at the menu in front of you without blinking.  

“I didn’t see you in forever,” Mara addresses you and you indifferently glare at her. “I must say you look terrific: you are glowing! What’s your secret?” she snickers and you duly inform:

“I’m dying. I’m sure you remember I have terminal cancer; my dad makes my meds and they do help somewhat, thus the glow.”

“As long as you’re not contagious,” the woman underlines and Emma gasps at her affirmation.

You smirk and reach over to touch her forearm, softly digging your nails in her skin.

“I am and now that I touched you, you’ll die too!”

You get up from the table while hearing The Joker saying something but your ears are ringing so you can’t discern a word.

“How can you say stuff like this?!” Emma reprimands and you calmly take a small ampule from your pocket, open it and pour some dust in the palm of your hand.

“I was just expressing a concern,” Mara gesticulates and you bend over, blowing the fine ashes in her face.

“What the fuck?!” she quickly brushes the ticklish powder off her cheeks, worried at your action. “What is this?!”

“Nightmare,” you scoff. “One of my father’s top products. I recently assisted him make it stronger and there’s no antidote. Don’t worry though, it won’t kill you and it will wear off in a few hours. Plus, it’s not contagious. Enjoy!” you leave the gathering and Emma follows, enraged things didn’t go as planned yet she can’t blame Y/N.

Since the restaurant is closed to the public due to his owner’s presence, there’s not a soul around besides J that can hear Mara’s terrified screams once the wicked hallucinogen kicks in: it’s called Nightmare for a good reason!

*************

6:02PM

“Knock, knock,” The Joker enters Scarecrow’s lab, already in a foul mood.

“Not a step further!” his movement gets halted. “Sterilize yourself if you want in: I’m making more capsules for Y/N,” Crane points at the numerous ingredients on the counter.

“Your lab is huge, if I stay right here…” J tries to convince Jonathan although he’s aware he has zero chances: it never succeeds but his stubbornness prompts him to fight the request each time.

“No!” your father firmly rejects the proposal. “Sterilize yourself and come help me!”

“Where’s your daughter?” The King of Gotham starts washing his hands in the sink by the glass sliding doors.

“She went to stay at the cabin. I got lectured,” your dad huffs, scolding in the next second: “You’re not done! More!” he commands and J reprises the cleaning process required by his very obliging host.

“Ugh,” he mumbles and continues. “Why did you get lectured?”

“Apparently, I buried myself in this place and she hates it. I also got threatened that if I don’t stop trying to find a remedy for her incurable disease, she’ll quit taking the current medications. I received orders to call Evelyn and beg for reconciliation also,” Scarecrow briefs a gratified King of Gotham:

“I guess we both have someone in our lives we can’t neglect,” The Joker dries his hands, puts on latex gloves and snatches an immaculate lab coat from the hanger nearby.

“What am I to do?...” Crane whispers. “Let my daughter die without trying to save her?...” then immediately snaps out of it. “Hair net!!!!” he shouts at The Joker, annoyed he’s trying to skip it.

“For God’s sake,” J complaints … still does as required. “What’s in for me in exchange for my services?”

“What do you want?”

“Two vials of your new, improved Nightmare formula. I witnessed it at work today and let me tell you, that stuff’s amazing!”

“How did you witnessed it at work?! It’s not released on the black market yet,” Jonathan carefully measures the quantities for your medicine.

“Oh, funny you should mention,” the evident sarcasm makes your father pay attention. “Y/N used it on Mara earlier today and she totally lost her mind! I had to lock her up in the pantry at the restaurant with three of my men guarding the door! She went bonkers!!!”

“Sorry,” Scarecrow’s flat tone irritates J. “I guess either you or Mara did something Y/N didn’t like. Welcome to my daughter’s shit list,” he cordially emphasizes.

“You shouldn’t talk to me like this,” The Joker fixes his green locks under the hair net. “One of these days I might become your son-in-law, you know Y/N showers me with her undivided affection.”

“Over my dead body!” Jonathan shrieks and The Clown Prince of Crime seems delighted.

“Hmmm… I can arrange that.”

“Just shut up and help me, would you? What am I paying you for?! Y/N needs more capsules; she’s almost out. Can you tell Emma to take this to her? I’m gonna let her chill, she’s still mad at me.”

“Wimp, you’re afraid to confront her,” J rolls his eyes and Scarecrow is not the one to be intimidated by his guest’s nonsense:

“Says the man that freaked out and searched the town for hours thinking his daughter run away when in fact she was asleep behind the rose bushes in the backyard at their mansion.”

“I didn’t freak out!” The Joker sulks at the unwelcomed reminder.

“Of course you didn’t,” Jonathan serenely replies. “Now fill out the capsules with the amount I already weighted and don’t mess up! I’ll verify your performance.”

“Give it a rest!” J growls. “Emma left for New York; she’ll be there for a couple of days. I’ll take this to Y/N.”

“Don’t think so,” he gets cut off. “I’ll send one of my couriers.”

“I’ll do it for free.”

“Why?”

“I have a score to settle,” J confesses to Scarecrow’s dismay. 

“If you hassle my daughter, I’ll create a plague designed only for your genes and I’ll exterminate you from this planet!”

“Imagine this is not the first time I’m threatened with a pathogen manufactured to ensure my demise,” The Joker hints even if he doesn’t have to.

“She is my daughter,” Crane explains, entirely understanding the reference. “The branch doesn't fall far from the tree; she knows I would so you’d better watch it!”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, right?” the pushy menace concentrates on his task, adamant in finding a way to see you no matter what.

**************

8:31pm

The Joker drives on the narrow path leading to the cabin, stirring left when a car coming from the opposite direction hunks at him.

“Heeeeyyyyy, Mister Joker!!!!!” someone yells and the other SUV accelerates past J’s yet he has enough time to recognize the aggravating pest: Sam aka Bane’s son. A few unpleasant phrases are grumbled regarding the encounter when another detail sets off the pissed King:

Y/N is racing towards the cabin after recognizing her best friend’s dad vehicle; you came out to say goodbye to Sam and take a walk when your idea abruptly changed.

“Are you kidding me??!!” J grinds his teeth while watching you stumble in the grass, then energetically gather yourself up and sprint inside, slamming the door behind.

“Wow!” he exclaims while parking close to the stairs, unsure on how this day will evolve; so far it goddamned sucked.

“Miss Crane,” The Joker taps at the heavy oak door. “Open up, I have your med!”

Maybe if you don’t engage he’ll leave.

“Is this how you thank me for delivering your pills?!” he gets worked up, thumping intensifying.

“Leave the package on the porch and go away!”

“Oh, she speaks!!!” J instantly snaps. “Open up, it’s cold out here!”

“No it’s not,” you call him out on his bullshit.

“You owe me apologies for what you did to Mara!” he demands, cringing at your defiance.

“Ha! When hell freezes!!!”

“What was Bane’s son doing here?” he tries a different strategy, definitely losing patience.

“None of your business!”

“I brought dinner,” J adds because that’s the last ace in his sleeve. “From the restaurant… your favorite. Aren’t you hungry?”

Does the silence mean you’re giving in?...

“Did you bring strawberry crepes too?”

“Yeah,” The Joker lies since he naturally forgot about desert.

The door faintly creeks and you unlock it, finally letting him in; you’re hesitant about your judgement and snatch the two paper bags out of his hands: the small one contains capsules, the big one harbors foam containers with the foods you like.

“Where are the crepes?” you frown at the lack of the delicious treat.

“I have this suspicion you’ve been avoiding me,” J talks about the reason he’s there without answering your question.

“I’m not…”

“Then why don’t you come to the mansion anymore, hm?”

His gaze circles the living room, involuntarily noticing the blood stained tissues in the trash can by the couch.

“Did you have another episode?” The Joker inquires. “Should I call your dad?”

“No…I’m fine…”

“Are you sure?” he insists and you unwrap the plastic utensils, sniffing.

“It’s not a big deal, it happens more and more often… I wish Emma was here,” you wipe your teary eyes and J bestows his infinite wisdom upon the young woman.

“Well, my daughter’s not here and I’m not renowned for making people feel better,” he twists the cap of the bottled water near him. He takes a sip then gives the container to the confused Y/N. “I’m not sure if this will help, but you can touch something my lips touched.”

You smile at his offer, kind of happy he’s using one of your catchy lines.

“What’s this? Reversed flirting?” you pout and drink from the bottle, placing it on the table afterwards.

He doesn’t bother to respond besides apathetically mentioning:

“I’ll spend the night; it’s dark outside and I don’t want to end up in a ditch.”

“It’s summertime, still sunny,” you highlight the indisputable truth to a guy that couldn’t care less.

“I’m tired. Crane pressured me to work! Did you know he took advantage of my kindness and made me sink a couple of hours in his project? What project you ask?” J cracks his neck although you weren’t curious. “I helped made your treatment,” he blurs out and your blank attitude irks The Clown. “You can compensate me by letting me crash here for the night.”

“I’m 100% sure my dad already compensated your efforts,” Y/N utters.

“Why was Sam here?” the earlier question is reprised in order to distract you.

“Are you jealous?” you nibble on your lasagna and J snarls:

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Then why do you have to know?”

“Professional interest,” the vague disclosure scores absolutely no credits with the feisty Y/N.

“That’s a huuuge load of baloney,” you shake your head and decide to unravel the mystery. “He picked up an item for his father. Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite,” you tease and The Joker protests.

“I’m not worried! I don’t even care! Can I sleep here?” he switches the topic and has to boast: “We can party all night long like we did last time!” J sassily reveals; he believes you’ll mock yet it’s not the case.

“You’re very late to this party…” your voice dies out and The King of Gotham is aware what you’re referring to. He digs his fork in the fresh salad, reassuring on a whim:

“Better late than never…”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

[let-it-raines]

Rising from the Ashes (7/?)

Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be. 

Rating: Mature 

A/N: I’m just going to apologize for this chapter. I am bracing myself for the yelling, but, really, when you think about it, this has been coming since the beginning. And it’ll also get us where we need to go. Remember that happy ending thing, right? I promise that always! 

Shout out to @thejollyroger-writer because she wanted feelings ;)

Double “-/-” around the flashback!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @shady-swan-jones @snowbellewells @snow-into-ash @andiirivera @mariakov81 @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @kristi555 @facesiousbutton82 @superchocovian @jonirobinson64

Emma moves her hands in front of her face before pulling them away and opening her lips into a smile while she gasps. Ada immediately giggles, and claps her hands together, her sign that she wants Emma to do it again. So she does. “Peek-a-boo,” she giggles, continuously moving her hands back and forth while Ada’s eyes scrunch up and her dimples show. She gets those from Killian. Most of her face has really started to look like Killian in the past week, but her coloring is all Emma. Genetics can be so fickle and weird.

“Peek-a-boo,” she repeats as the sound of the running water stops, Killian obviously finishing his shower. He’s usually pretty quick, but he’s been in there for much longer than usual even without the music he sometimes plays. “Yeah, here’s Momma. Momma’s right here, Ada bug. See, she’s not going anywhere.”

Ada coos in between her giggles before she decides to lay down on her back and bring her feet to her mouth, which she prefers over literally every toy she and Killian have bought. It figures. How can you get better than feet?

Okay, so that makes it sound like she has a foot fetish when really, she’s just talking about how weird babies are.

Emma moves to lay down on her stomach on the carpet, straightening out Ada’s play rug and gently moving Ada onto her stomach as well. If they can get tummy time out of the way now, she won’t have to deal with it later. Ada is so close to rolling over on her own. She just needs a little more time to get it. She’s six months old as of three days ago, and Emma had absolutely sobbed after Killian had left for work and taken Henry to school.

Sobbed.

She had been miserable, not wanting to accept that her baby was that old, and she’d let herself cry over it for a few minutes until she felt so exhausted that she simply couldn’t cry anymore. She had no idea why it affected her so much, why it’s still affecting her. She remembers being sad when Henry had turned six months, but it was an entirely different kind of sadness over realizing that her baby was going to grow up without a father and she’d be facing all of these milestones alone. Now she’s sad that time seems to be passing by so quickly.

And soon her baby won’t be a baby anymore, Henry will be a teenager, and then he’ll be moving out of the house and getting married.

Wow, okay. She’s got to cool down her thoughts before she does something crazy like spiral. The past few months of her life have pretty much been a constant struggle to keep herself from spiraling.

After she’s got Ada all situated on her mat, putting toys around her to make sure she can attempt to reach them, she hears the bathroom door open and Killian walks out with just his boxers on as he tilts his head to the side and dries his hair with a towel. It’s…it’s a sight she’s seen nearly every single day for years, but it always takes her breath away. He always takes her breath away in so many ways, but honestly, right now, she’s especially thankful for the way he still finds time to sometimes run on his lunch breaks or early in the mornings before work.

She’d feel the same way about him if he just sat on his ass during his lunch breaks, but she’s not blind. She can appreciate the lean muscles of his body and the way dark hair is spread out over his chest and down his flat stomach. She can also appreciate the way his boxer briefs cling to his thighs and his cock, the hair on his stomach disappearing into the material of the glorious briefs. She can just appreciate him.

Okay, so maybe they haven’t slept together in awhile, and she’s feeling…frustrated.

Or maybe she’s really fucking horny. She’s not even a fan of the word horny, thinks it’s too much like what her immature teenagers at school say, but that’s pretty much how she’s been feeling lately. She needs to have sex. That’s what it boils down to.

“What are you staring at, love?”

“Huh?” she asks, shaking her head and running her tongue over her bottom lip while she flips her hair over her shoulder, thinking herself down because now is not the time. Now could totally be the time. “I wasn’t staring at anything.” “You are such a horrible liar. I literally don’t know how you keep anything a secret. Sometimes you’re awful.”

“Honestly, I was just thinking about how unbelievably horny I am, and how I was kind of hoping that we could have some time to ourselves tonight.”

The smile that was on his face fades away, morphing into that neutral smile she’s been seeing so much of in the past two months, and something inside of her stomach twists. Killian’s been acting so strange, stranger even in the past few days especially. He’s not himself, and she was just craving some kind of regularity with him where they could talk and get back to them. All she’s really wanted was a normal day. She wants to wake up, kiss Killian, go feed Ada and play with her, talk to Henry over breakfast and send him off to school, and do all of their normal family stuff in the evenings.

And she wants to sleep with her boyfriend again.

Because that’s normal. It shouldn’t be a rare thing, not with them, not when she knows that they had such a healthy, strong relationship.

Not when she knows, when she hopes, that they still have that.

Everything has been a gradual adjustment of sorts. After what she’s chalking up to as the initial shock and a jerk reaction of Neal finding out she and Killian were together, everything has been much calmer. Well, calm isn’t exactly the right word to describe her life. It never has been, but she thinks in the past month, they’ve gotten into a sort of rhythm, even if it’s not necessarily the rhythm she likes.

Every single morning is like their normal(ish) routine of rushing to get children fed and Killian getting ready for work. Sometimes Neal is up, which really only slows them down because Henry wants to talk to him about every little thing, but most of the time he sleeps until mid-morning, sometimes even noon. It usually depends on if he’s going to therapy or one of the support groups he’s started going to after his interview last week. A lot of people have reached out apparently, more than before, and he’s trying some of them out as he acclimates back to life. He seems so good to her, but he must be struggling on the inside.

She understands that in a way. Definitely not the same way. She’s never been a prisoner of war, would never dare to compare anything in her life to that, but she can understand keeping things bottled up inside when you’re scared of what saying them out loud will mean.

God, that interview had been a disaster from the beginning. It was beautifully done, and she really is thankful for Neal getting to do it since he was so convinced that it was good for him. Then the interviewer asked about her, asked about her moving on, and she felt her entire body go lax except for her arms around Ada. She’s gotten judgment from people who she’s known over the years, but the last thing she needed was judgment from the entire world. It was a fair question, but…it wasn’t right.

It shouldn’t have been asked like that. It shouldn’t have been asked at all.

And Neal had answered it so eloquently, so sweetly, and it had absolutely shattered her heart.

He called her the love of his life even though they’re not together anymore. She didn’t know what to say to that, how to respond. So she didn’t. Afterward she’d hugged him and told him how proud she was of him, but she didn’t want to talk about anything else that happened in the interview. She couldn’t. She just wanted to spend some time with her kids, wanted to spend time with the two people who never fail to put a smile on her face even when they make her want to scream out in frustration.

“Can you, um, put her in her bouncer?” Killian asks, nodding to Ada on the ground, his lips ticking up only a slight bit before falling back down while his shoulders slump forward. Something is wrong. Something is not okay, and she’s terrified to find out, her own shoulders tensing while she tries to keep herself from trembling. She can’t take any more upheaval, but his face, his tone – they’re not right.  

“Killian, what’s wrong?” She slowly gets up from the floor, picking Ada up and putting her in her bouncer, focusing on each movement of her body while her heart pounds within her chest. Why does Killian look like that? Why does he want to talk?

All she’s wanted was for them to talk, actually talk, but she knows him well enough to know that this isn’t what she’s wanted.

“Emma, sit down.”

“No.” She shakes her head back and forth, refusing to sit down. If she doesn’t sit down, he won’t say what he’s about to say. She recognizes the look on his face now that they’re at eye level. It’s the one he gets when he has bad news, and she refuses to hear anything else. She refuses to have her world flipped upside down again. She thought it finally had a chance at getting righted. “No, just tell me.” “Darling,” he soothes, his lashes continually blinking against his cheeks as if he’s blinking away tears, “please sit down on the bed.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to talk to you.”

“So just fucking talk to me,” she chokes, the sob unexpectedly coming out of her, before putting her hands over her mouth in an attempt retrace her steps. Ada’s in the room. She can’t talk like that. She’s overreacting. Nothing has even happened yet. Everything is fine. Maybe it’s about something at work. Maybe he’s transferring departments. Maybe he’s getting fired. Maybe it’s anything other than what she already absolutely knows that it is.

She backs up to the bed, letting her ass fall to the mattress when the back of her knees hit the frame. Killian comes to stand inches away from her, squatting down in front of her with water in his eyes, making them so damn blue. That doesn’t help her in the slightest.

She really loves his eyes.  

“Emma,” he whispers, his voice almost as steady as it always is as he takes her hands in his, holding on tightly, “I don’t know how to say this. I’ve been rehearsing it in my head for days, and I don’t…I can’t find a good way to tell you how I’m feeling.”

“Please don’t.”

“I have to, love.”

“Please don’t call me love if you’re going to do this.”

“Aye,” he nods, squeezing her hands even tighter while his fingers run over her knuckles in what used to be a comforting motion. This isn’t real. It’s not happening. He’s not doing this. “Emma, I think we need to take a break from each other. You and I both know that it hasn’t been the same since Neal came back, and I feel like having some time apart might make things easier.”

“You can’t do this, Killian. Please don’t do this.”

“I have to do this.”

“No, no you don’t,” she begs, her stomach dropping and weighing heavily within her. She knew he was going to say this, knew he was going to do this, and she can’t. She can’t. She can’t. “You can stay. You don’t have to leave me. You don’t have to leave us. Please don’t leave us.”

“I’m not talking about leaving you all,” he promises, running his thumb over her knuckles again and again. She watches it, watches the way his hands are larger than hers, the pads rough from his years in the Navy and yet soothing as they move over hers. “I’m just saying that I sleep in a different room. I could stay down in the study, but I think that might be too obvious for Henry. I don’t want him to worry right now, so I was thinking I could stay on an air mattress in the nursery. Or even on the floor. Ada could stay in here with you. I’d be here. I wouldn’t leave our kids. I just don’t think I can be with you right now.”

“W-why?”

“Darling, you know why.” She wants to look at his face, but she can’t. All she can do is focus on his fingers, on the consistent movement that has them connected even as her stomach churns. “I can’t live with myself knowing that I’ve kept a family apart. You would never be with me if Neal hadn’t been captured. It would be you, him, and Henry. He loves you, Emma. He loves you so damn much, and it’s tearing me apart because I’m keeping you apart. I love you, I love our family, but our family is a little more complicated than it used to be. I think we need time apart so we can figure things out instead of avoiding every little conflict like we’ve been doing.”

“I don’t want that.”

“But I do.”

“Killian,” she sobs, snatching her hands out of his and scrambling up the bed. She can already feel the puffiness in her eyes, the ache in her head and the heaviness in all of her limbs, something similar to cement filling her veins and anchoring her to the mattress, “I don’t want it. I don’t want to take a break. I want our family to stay together. You say you don’t want to break a family up, but you’re breaking our family up. For what? Because you feel guilty? Guess what. I feel guilty too but I’m not about to break us up.”

“It’s a break. It’s not a break up. I need time to think, Swan. I need to not have you next to me every damn night. I need some kind of boundary with us. Do I want to do this? No, no I fucking don’t. But I have to. I have to do this. I have to give myself time to think and give you time to think. I can’t think of any other way to fix us or to know if we even need to fix us.”

“Get out,” she says as calmly as she can, taking deep breath after deep breath so she doesn’t yell for everyone in the house to hear. “Get out, take Henry to school, and don’t call me today. I don’t want to talk to you, Killian. Take your precious time because I don’t want it. I don’t need it. You can have it to figure your shit out because I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me.”

“Emma, I do want to be with you, but I – ”

“Out,” she cries, pointing to the door. Killian nods his head, quickly scurrying around the room for clothes. He wasn’t even fucking dressed yet, and he just broke up with her. Just like that. Who the hell breaks up with someone when they’re not even dressed? “Please get…get out,” she cries when he’s still buttoning up his shirt, and when he leans down to kiss Ada’s head, she only starts crying more.

She has no idea how long she stays in bed, how long it takes for the tears to stop flowing from her eyes. All she knows is that she feels sick. She could vomit over and over again with absolutely no reprieve. She knew it was coming the moment Killian looked at her like that, but hearing the words has made everything worse. He’s leaving. He says it’s only temporary, that it’s a step back, but she knows from experience that it’s one step out of the door.

He’s leaving her just like most everyone has done. She thought that she’d finally found someone who wouldn’t do that to her, whether it be by his choice or something she can’t control, but she was obviously wrong. All she wants is to be with him, to have their family back together, but she can’t think with the murkiness of her mind.

A gurgle emanates from across the room, and she has to force herself to get out of bed even as all of her limbs protest, even as her heart constricts in her chest. She can’t quit. She can’t stop living her life. People rely on her, and as much as she wants to stay hidden away in the darkness, the shards of her heart surrounding her, she has a perfectly unbroken piece of her heart giggling just a few feet away.

Ada has no idea that her mom’s world just fell apart, and she’s not going to.

“Hey, Ada bug,” she hiccups, her voice harsher than she thought it would be as she takes Ada out of her bouncer, holding her tightly to her chest as she kisses the crown of her head of hair that she thinks lightens a bit every day, “Momma is here. I’m here, okay? I’m always going to be here.”

-/-

-/-

“She’s so tiny,” Henry whispers as he walks into the hospital room, his brown eyes blown wide as his gaze flitters between she and Ada. “She was inside of you?”

“She was,” she whispers back, scooting over in the bed and patting the small empty spot so Henry can crawl into bed next to her.

“Be careful, lad,” Killian warns a bit louder, his hands already reaching out as if Henry’s small frame is going to bring down she and Ada. “Your mum needs you to be gentle with her and with your sister.”

“I know,” he huffs, the irritation obvious as he climbs up into bed, settling his bony limbs next to her. He’s probably got to be exhausted with how many times Killian has told him to be gentle over the last nine months. She imagines there was a lot more of it in the waiting room outside. “You’ve told me that, like, eight thousand times.”

“Oh eight thousand whole times,” she laughs, pressing a kiss into Henry’s hair while she readjusts Ada on her chest. She remembers exactly what it was like when this was Henry in her arms, but it’s still altogether terrifying to have such a small child. It’s also terrifying to know that she’s going to get just as big as her big brother. “When did you get so smart that you can count that high?”

“I guess I’m just a genius.”

She and Killian both snicker, unable to hold it in. He’s so confident about everything, and even though that sometimes means he thinks he’s invincible and does dumb things, it’s usually endearing.

“I think so. How does it feel to be a big brother?”

“Weird, but Uncle Liam told me being a big brother is a very important job.”

“Did he now?”

“Yep,” he sighs, sinking down in the bed and tilting his head as he tries to get Ada to look over at him, his fingers reaching out and touching her shoulder before quickly pulling back. “He said that he’s Daddy’s big brother, and that I’m supposed to protect Ada and be her friend.”

“Oh I like that, kid. I think you guys are going to be best friends.”

“Yeah, but she’s just a baby right now. She can’t even talk.”

“So you’re going to wait until she can talk to be her best friend?”

“Maybe.”

She laughs, the feeling running through her, and she presses her lips against Ada’s head before she does the same to Henry. “I love you, Henry. You’re already doing such a great job.”

“I love you too. Can I go get lunch now?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, looking up at Killian who has soft crinkles around his eyes from the way his lips are ticking up on the side. He’s been a dad to Henry for a long time, but he didn’t get to be there for all of the pregnancy and the birth. This is like a whole new ballpark for him, and watching the softness in his gaze is so dang wonderful. “We’ll let Grandma come see your sister and then I’m sure she’ll take you to lunch.”

“Did someone say Grandma?” Ruth asks as she practically sprints into the room. Emma should have known that she’d be lurking outside the door. How could she not be after Killian left to go get Henry from the waiting room.

“It seems that Grandma was eavesdropping,” Killian teases, getting up from his seat and offering it to Ruth.

“Oh no, hon, I’m not sitting until I get to meet my new grandbaby. She’s my first girl.” Ruth walks over to her until she’s leaning just over Emma and kissing her hairline. Her hair has got to be disgusting right now, but she’ll allow Ruth this moment of affection. They haven’t always been close, especially since Ruth took her in as an angsty teenager, but her having kids has really closed the gap. “Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers in her ear, her breath warm, “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she sighs, blinking her eyes to keep the tears away. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Of course I do. Let me get my hands on this munchkin.”

“Grandma, why are you talking funny?”

“Because I’m just so excited,” she coos, picking Ada up out of her arms and carefully cradling her while she walks around the room. “Your mom and dad have given me a new grandbaby, and you know that my favorite number is three.”

“Last week you said it was seven because I’m seven.”

“I can have more than one.”

She tears her eyes away from the exchange that’s going on between Henry and Ruth to look over at Killian who was already staring at her, every bit of him relaxed and happy. She hurts like hell right now, but she feels the same.

“I love you,” she mouths over to him, reaching up to mess with the pendant around her neck.

He winks at her, the corners of his lips tugging up on the sides as hers do the same. “I love you too.”

-/-

-/-

She lines rolls out on a pan, making sure each of them is evenly spaced out for when they inevitably rise. She’s been cooking for hours straight. She doesn’t even like cooking, doesn’t think she’s great at it, but there are at least three pies in her refrigerator that say otherwise. Killian and David have pretty much been in charge of everything, but she’s had a need to always keep her hands busy over the past five days. If she doesn’t, she breaks down, and she can’t. She can’t break down.

Not again.

So she bakes and cooks and cleans and spends her time organizing Henry’s room, packing away his summer clothes and bringing down his winter ones from the attic only to have to go back up there to find the Spiderman shirt she apparently packed away. She’ll probably be looking for things he wants for weeks on end. Her entire house is spotless, all of her work at school done ahead of time until one of her students sends her an email needing help, and she’s bought far too many things to make Neal’s room as comfortable as possible for him. She has no idea how long he’s going to stay with them, especially with him beginning to travel back to D.C. once a week as of next week. He said he was going to meet with his commanders as well as a few Congressmen as they decide if he can even really go back to work like he wants.

She knows that he wants to be out and about, but they’ll probably stick him on desk duty or have him be some kind of poster child for the Marines since he’s living in Portland and not D.C. Honestly, she kind of likes that idea the most. She’d rather he be at home to be with Henry than flying off somewhere where she can’t even get in contact with him. When they were younger…God, she can’t even think about how many fights they used to get into over him voluntarily offering to leave even when his unit wasn’t called, but it always made him happier to be able to go. If it’s his passion, it’s his passion. Who is she to hold him back? She only hopes that he’ll take Henry into consideration and get a desk job…in Maine preferably.

There might not be any available that he wants (she’s personally a fan of the analyst job he’s been offered), but it seems like a better option than having to put Henry on a flight to D.C. to be with his dad.

Oh God. She can’t do that. She can’t send her child away. Neal has every right to Henry and Henry every right to Neal, but she can’t even think about that right now without her knees buckling underneath her. If she thinks about this, thinks about how she might be taking both of her kids off to stay with their dads instead of her…she won’t be able to stand. She doesn’t even know how it would work with Henry and Killian because she’d need to give Killian time too and…no, she can’t. She can’t think about this when she’s trying to get ready for Thanksgiving.

“Mom,” Henry shouts as he and Leo skid into the room, his sweater already rumpled despite how much she tried to find one he wouldn’t mess up, “can Leo and I go play on the swing set?”

“Of course. Stay away from the fryer though.”

“Yes ma’am,” Leo nods before running outside, Henry following behind him. They get so rambunctious when they’re together, and there’s literally no stopping them. She’s surprised that they even asked.

She puts the final roll on the tray before leaving them on the counter so they can be popped into the oven when all of the food is nearly ready to be served. After washing her hands, she moves to the living room where Mary Margaret and Ruth have been watching Ada. Her house is so full of people even if it’s only four extras, and she swears every time she walks into a room, there’s something different than before. She’s almost positive she had heard Neal in here talking to Mary Margaret and Ruth, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He must have gone outside with the guys.

Oh shit. Her house probably looks like some kind of ad from the sixties. At least she doesn’t have an apron on and isn’t wearing pearls.

That would not be her at all.

“Ruth, the oven is free if you want it for your casseroles.”

She waves her way, continuously running a toy into Ada’s stomach that makes her giggle. It’s the sweetest sound that usually fills Emma up with so much happiness, but out of nowhere she can feel tears stinging in the back of her eyes. That’s happening a lot lately. “I’ll get to them in a minute. My grandbaby was calling my name though. This outfit you picked out for her today is so cute.”

It is the cutest thing. She has on a red jumpsuit with ruffles on the shoulders and a matching floral headband that Emma loves.

“Oh, thanks. Killian dressed her this morning. I think we got that as a gift at my shower.”

“It’s adorable.” Ruth looks back up at her, a smile on her face that lessens a bit. “Are you okay, Emma?”

“It looks like you’re tearing up,” Mary Margaret adds in, and she cannot handle all of these eyes on her.

“I had chopped up some onions for the dressing,” she lies, forcing a smile and blinking away the tears. “You guys don’t want to go outside?”

“Nah,” Mary Margaret sighs, crossing her legs on the couch and looking up at the TV where a football game is playing, “David and Killian looked like they were getting into an argument over the turkey, so we figured it was safer in here.”

“Oh great, I just let Henry and Leo out there.”

“They won’t involve the kids in a squabble of a gobble.” “Good Lord, Marg,” she laughs, walking over to the other side of the couch and picking Ada up, fixing the frill on her romper before she sits down in the recliner, “you spend far too much time with eight-year-olds.”

“I am oh so aware.”

She sits and talks with them for a few minutes while nothing else needs to be done. She’d offered to host Thanksgiving this year back before her life got crazy, and while Mary Margaret had gladly tried to take over, Emma couldn’t let her. It’s part of her goal to keep everything normal. They can host a family event here without it being a big deal. It’s not like they’re a family of over forty people.

Of course, she also thought she and Killian would be together, that there wouldn’t be this overriding air of hostility, but she’s trying to ignore that. It’s not like she’s told anyone what’s happened. She’s pretty sure only she and Killian know. It’s only been a few days, and without fail Killian waits until everyone else has gone to bed to go into the nursery to sleep and is up and ready downstairs before anyone wakes up. She knows he can’t be comfortable in there, but it’s apparently what he wants.

How in the hell is that what he wants?

It’s not what she wants even as her anger at him builds and builds every time she looks at him going about his day like everything is normal.

Nothing about this is normal.

She really hopes that whatever it is he needs to figure out he figures out soon. She’s living in misery.

Throughout the rest of the day, she stays busy, balancing everything she needs to balance while everyone puts in a group effort to get dinner ready. It’s busy and loud and chaotic, and honestly, it’s just what she needs. The conversations at dinner make her smile and laugh, lightening the load on her shoulder a bit, and for just an hour or so, she’s the happiest that she’s been in awhile. She’s not thinking about how she feels like her life is crumbling. She’s thinking about all of the good things in it.

Until Neal unexpectedly leaves the table to answer a phone call that he insists on taking and suddenly that same heavy weight that’s been filling the air seems to be back, constricting her throat and weighing down her shoulders even more than it has been.

“He seems like he’s doing well,” David comments as he takes a bite of dressing. Henry and Leo left to go watch TV twenty minutes ago, and she was waiting to have this conversation. She knew it would be brought up. Why are holidays always so stressful?

“He is,” Killian answers, his gaze staying away from her as he looks at David. “I think he’s really and truly adjusting to life back. His therapy is doing wonders.”

“And it’s not weird that he lives with the two of you?”

“No,” he answers a little too quickly, his eyes looking at her for the briefest of moments before looking away. “It’s all fine. I think we’re doing great.”

Fucking liar.

“Excuse me,” she says as she pushes back from the table, nearly knocking over several drinks and plates full of food as she hastily gets up, the heels on her boots clicking with every step that she takes as she moves out of the dining room and finds the nearest exit in Killian’s study, opening the doors and closing them before she falls to the couch and looks at the wall she’s facing.

It’s a mistake as it’s filled with framed photos of Henry and Ada both alone, together, and with she and Killian. It’s literally his wall of family portraits, and looking at them used to fill her with so much joy thinking about how proud he was of their family, and now she can’t even look at them. She’s got so much to be thankful for, but she’s been hiding her emotions away for days now. She let herself cry the one time, and she’s finally allowing herself to do it again, water filling her eyes before falling to her cheeks.

“Emma.”

She doesn’t bother looking up, doesn’t bother acknowledging David or the concern in his voice as he closes the doors behind him before joining her on the couch, the leather squishing beneath his weight.

“What do you want, David?”

“I’m checking on you,” he murmurs, his arm reaching around her and pulling her in closer until she’s cradled into his chest, her legs curled up underneath her while she silently cries. She’s so damn tired of crying or wanting to cry or just…whatever, but she can’t make it stop. She’s been holding too much back. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Emma, you and I both know that’s not true.” His hand moves up and down her back, and she nods her head against his chest. He smells like the deep fryer mixed with the cologne he’s worn every day in the sixteen years that she’s known him. He’s not one for change. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you and Killian? And don’t say nothing. I’ve already tried talking to him about it, and he pretty much told me to fuck off.”

“Can I tell you to fuck off?”

“You can, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.”

She sniffles, a bit of laughter mixed in, and even with the snot that’s running down her nose, this is the best she’s felt since she left dinner. “W-we’re…he said he wanted to take a break to think – to think about things.”

“About what?”

“Us,” she shrugs, not bothering to look up at David to have this conversation. It’s easier this way. It’s almost like she let everything out without having to see David’s reaction. Instead she focuses on a picture of she, Killian, Henry, and Ada in the hospital on the day Ada was born. She looks disgusting in it, but it’s one of her favorite memories. “I had a hard time listening when he was talking. I knew that it was going to end with him ending us, and I wasn’t ready to hear that.”

“No one ever is ready to hear anything like that. So it’s about Neal then? That’s why he wants a break? You guys have been so solid, and I can’t imagine anything else coming between the two of you.”

“I guess,” she sniffs again, wiping her nose on David’s flannel. She’ll have to offer to clean it later. She’s sure there’s mascara on it too. She probably looks like a raccoon with allergies or something. “I think he feels guilty, and I get that. How could I not? I feel guilty nearly every time I look across the table at dinner and see Neal talking to Henry, but what Killian and I had…I thought it was real. I thought he was always going to be there for me. I mean, I have a baby with him. I chose to have a baby with him. That’s not something you do with someone you don’t plan on staying with for a long time, if not forever. I thought we were going to get married someday.”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, his hand continuing its motions on her back, “but don’t you think that maybe Killian feels like you chose to do that with Neal first? That he was supposed to be your forever and Killian’s just someone in between, especially since you guys could have this miraculous chance at being a family again?”

And there’s the crux of the problem. No, there’s the problem. How does one deal with your husband coming back from the dead when you’ve moved on? There’s no guidebook, no help, and there’s no way to know how to do what’s best.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I – I try so hard to feel the love I once felt for Neal again. I do, but it’s not there. It hasn’t been nourished for eight years, and we weren’t in a good place when Henry was born. Henry was a surprise baby, and I was so shocked about him, you know? But I was so happy too once I got over all of the shock. I just…Neal wasn’t as happy,” she whispers, the words so quiet that they barely sound in her own ears. “I think he almost resented me for it, like I’d gotten pregnant on purpose when we weren’t trying, but then there’d be moments where I could tell he was just so happy. One day he’d be telling me he didn’t want a kid and the next he’d be making all of these plans for how Henry would grow up.”

“You never told me any of that.”

“I’ve never told anyone that. Everyone has always thought I was a screwup growing up. I didn’t want more people to think that I was a screwup in my marriage too. So many people told me I was too young when we got married…and I didn’t want them to be right.”

God, admitting that after all of these years is like a car being lifted off of her chest.

“Emma, I would never think you’re a screw up.”

“Really?” she snorts, the laugh watery even when she hears it in her own ears. “I’m having a meltdown on Thanksgiving, and you don’t think I’m a screw up?”

“I think you’re one of the strongest women I know going through a really tough time. The man you love is going through some – frankly, he’s going through some personal shit, and you are unfortunately getting the brunt of some of his pain even if I promise that Killian would never hurt you if he didn’t think he was doing what’s best. He loves you and your children, and every smile he’s put on today has been so transparent that it’s almost painful for me to watch.”

“What about Neal?”

“What about him, Em? If you don’t love him and don’t want to be with him anymore, you shouldn’t try to force it. You should simply be thankful that a man who you care for is alive and can get to be here for your son. He may have been what sounds like an asshole back then, and don’t you dare think that this is the last that we’re going to talk about that, but he looks at Henry with such love. That’s a man who loves his kid.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, leaning back out of David’s embrace so that she’s holding herself up, the hiccups only coming every now and then, “he does. I just wish none of this had happened.”

“If none of this had happened, you wouldn’t have Ada, and I know you wouldn’t want that. Life is weird. There’s no telling what’s going to happen and how one small change can affect absolutely everything. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try to not live trying to fix the past when you have so many good things right now. Things are going to work themselves out. It doesn’t mean that they’re not going to be painful, but it does mean that things won’t always seem this difficult.” “When did you get so wise?”

“The moment Mary Margaret put forty candles on my last birthday cake.” He leans over and kisses the top of her head, and she hiccups in response, her tears still falling if only at a lighter rate. “You’re going to be okay, kid.”

“I’m only ten years younger than you.”

“I know, but it feels like an entire decade or something.”

“You’re an idiot.” “How can I be an idiot when you just called me wise?”

She smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ems,” he promises, kissing her head again.

[fountainpenguin]

Question Meme: (Ignore this if you don't want to answer all these....) 1, 2, 3, 28, 31, 33, 40 (sorry i couldn't pick one)

40 Questions For ‘Fic Writers Meme

#1 - Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Gradual character development spread across a piece with deepened, believable worldbuilding. You know, I often say I’m not into romance, but here’s the thing: A nice long, serious slow burn does a person good. I’ll happily accept romance if an author can really get me into the minds of the characters and make me want their relationship to develop as much as the characters do.

It’s shallow romance that rubs me the wrong way. Give me two characters who honestly, truly care about each other to the point where they’ll sacrifice something they love, or even be willing to let each other ago if it means the one they love will be happy. I love that. But if you’ve got one character who will pitch a fit rather than let their love be happy with someone else, you’re really working uphill with me.

Worldbuilding doesn’t have to be as deep and complex as my ‘fics tend to get, but I do love to see how different authors expand the same world in different ways. I’m not a big fan of horror and for some reason I just can’t get into sci-fi. I enjoy fantasy and biology.

Really, I love anything that doesn’t contradict canon. AUs? Eh, sometimes, but they’re not my favorite. I like behind-the-scenes, between-the-lines, believable futures, and backstory pieces with some nice worldbuilding. And some complex characters who don’t always make the best choices and then have to suffer the consequences for their actions. Yes. ‘Fics like those are very nice.

#2 - Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

A queerplatonic relationship that’s happy, healthy, and long-lasting. You would think I would let my aro/ace children be happy, but alas, ‘tis not to be! You could say I like to squash zucchinis. I am self-projecting my own insecurities. I made Bennett a horrible person to show the “worst possible relationship with an aro/ace who wants a sexless marriage” so that the hopes and dreams of the other aro/ace characters look more reasonable by comparison. I do that a lot.

Okay, I lied. I can think of six “official” queerplatonic relationships we will see in my FOP works, and one of them actually does have a happy ending. I mean, probably. I haven’t written it yet, so who knows?

Spoiler alert: Mario and Peach are the OTQP and I’m going to milk it. What can I say? I call ‘em like I see ‘em and canon literally gave us a plumber who’ll collect 120 Power Stars in return for cake, and a princess who turned down his hand in marriage after all the times he’s rescued her, but adores him anyway.

#3 - Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole?

“We pretend to hate each other but secretly we’re both in love and will one day in the heat of the moment spontaneously confess our romantic feelings and form a mutual, caring relationship without any further character development.”

I don’t know if it’s because I’m a very serious, honest, straightforward person (being INTJ and all), or if it’s because I’m asexual, or if it’s a combination of both (or neither), but I can’t stand huge plots about people refusing to admit that they like someone. Love has always been a logical thing to me. I was sixteen before I found out sexual attraction was a real thing. I don’t really understand it, but I guess it’s possible to have physical feelings for someone even if you don’t logically want to? And you can’t stop yourself or turn it off? I honestly don’t know how that works, which is why the “I wish I wasn’t physically attracted to you” trope has infuriated me since childhood. I just didn’t get it.

Even before I realized I was asexual, I would have discussions with my mom about how if I ever had a crush, I would openly admit this to my friends if they asked. I wouldn’t protest or deny, as I see so many media characters do. Then it turned out I’m incapable of feeling physical attraction and I get friendship squishes instead of romantic crushes, so that happened.

As a general rule of thumb, you should trust the characters I write if they say they aren’t attracted to someone. If they like someone, they’ll tell you so. If they don’t, they’ll tell you that too. And if they’re confused, then it will be very clear that they’re confused. No means no. I’m very strict about that. Don’t read into it looking for signs that they’re being secretive even to the reader. They are not. I emotionally cannot bring myself to do that.

#28 - Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Oooh. I’m going to say that Shaddic takes the cake on this one. If you’re a Total Drama fan, or even if you’re not, then “Daddy’s Characters” will break you deliciously like very few fanfics will. “Before and After” is just a step behind it. The emotion captured by these ‘fics is incredible, and I highly, highly recommend them if you’re into evil villains who are undeniably and yet realistically cruel. Both ‘fics revolve around Mike and his multiple personalities (“Daddy’s Characters” revolving around adult Mike and Zoey, married with a daughter and with twins on the way, coping with something horrid that lands a distraught Mike in prison, and “Before and After” being the trauma-filled childhood backstory ‘fic). 

Shaddic characterized everyone perfectly. So horribly, painfully well. Ugggh, I love it. My gallery has Identity Theft on the way, which will revolve around Foop and Hiccup and some multiple personality trauma, but it won’t be as beautiful as Shaddic’s work. They’re honestly worth a read if you ever have the time one day, even if you aren’t a Total Drama fan. You really don’t need to know the show to enjoy them. And enjoy them (and suffer) you will. In all my years, I’ve never seen an evil villain portrayed so… villainously. Love it.

I’m also a fan of SelanPike- partially for sentimental reasons, I suppose. I remember reading her Mario ‘fics over and over eight years ago, and I still read them today on a regular basis. Crazy how time flies. They’re just ones that I love going back to. As most of you know, I tend to fall in love with background characters. Fawful, Kamek, and Doopliss fit those qualifications- and coincidentally, those three are Selan’s favorites too! Technically, it’s because of her that the 130 Prompts project came to be. I always loved her 100 one-shot challenge, and that’s sort of how I eventually decided to write my own.

I really admire Selan for her characterizations. Her Kamek portrayal is my all-time favorite. So is her Fawful, her Doopliss, her Bowser, her Bowser Jr, her E. Gadd… she’s just a master of character. Even her freaking Jojora is spot-on. I mean, talk about background characters, am I right? Ha. Her writing is excellent and she has some fun plots. I always enjoyed drinking up her fanart and reading her comics on her deviantArt too. Still do. She has such a fun, bouncy art style. Her 8-page comic about Fawful attending school in the Mushroom Kingdom after Kamek hits him with the truant officer threat gets me every time.

I highly recommend “Until Tomorrow” (Her post-“Superstar Saga” ‘fic about Kamek and Fawful attempting to revive Cackletta so Kamek can kick her butt in a magic fight and Fawful can get the mother figure he refuses to call his mother figure back), and her famous ‘fic “On My Own” (about Fawful coping with Cackletta’s death and eventually working his way up the Koopa Kingdom social ladder). “Fragmented Spectrum” is a wonderful, tense, horror-ish ‘fic as well, with my absolute favorite Bowser Jr. portrayal. Plus, I love the rivalry between Kamek and Fawful seen in “F.S.” with Fawful trying to draw magic circles that he decided must be 100% perfect to count as circles, and Kamek not even knowing how to deal with him and his technology brain. Beautiful. 

Check out the rest of her gallery too. Her two FFN fandoms are Mario and Invader Zim. She isn’t active there anymore, but her ‘fics are worth the read. I will say that I’m not a fan of her ‘fic “Everything You Ever” because I feel that Cackletta was way too sweet and nice for an evil villain in that one. But then again, I haven’t read it in years, so who knows. I’m not crazy about Selan’s Peach portrayal either, but that’s where my third recommendation comes in.

GuardianM1234 is a recent discovery of mine, and she does not disappoint. I’m a big fan of her ongoing ‘fic “Smoke” (which updates twice a month right now and is nearing its climax). It’s basically the story of Peach and Bowser growing up, and the development of their relationship from being fairly friendly as children to their complex relationship as adults. I’ve never seen Peach portrayed so perfectly, and I adore her. Never thought I would, but I do. Guardian also has a very unique take on Mario that’ll really make you squirm.

I love Guardian’s writing because she pits characters in emotionally-difficult situations and lets them learn and grow. They make bad choices, but she demonizes no one. Not even Bowser. Plus, Bowser has a little sideplot with Clawdia going on (the canon mother of the Koopalings if you know your deep hidden lore, though since the Koopalings were recently ruled “not Bowser’s children” by Nintendo’s “official” canon, I don’t know if she will be their mother in “Smoke” or where Guardian is taking this ‘fic). Basically, what I’m saying is, Clawdia and Bowser roastfest. Be there. They crack me up. And Guardian’s TOADSWORTH is perfection. Please give that old boy his gossip.

Plus, Daisy takes Bowser shopping for wedding dresses once and he bribes her with a six-pack of soda. Nice, short chapters with a few pleasant hints of worldbuilding slipped in, and a LOT of character. Guardian is still somewhat new to fanfiction, but she’s very sweet and she would adore some reviews if you do read her work. If you love her stuff, give her a shout-out! She’s great.

#31 - Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I fall halfway between this one. The answer is, sort of both! For my main fandoms, I have one rule: I don’t contradict canon, unless canon contradicted itself and I was forced to pick a side. Origin gets so deep into biology and Knots into culture that they feel more like original works than fanfics sometimes, because I’ll flesh things out as much as I want to. So that’s sort of a liberty I take with canon. But I never contradict canon if I don’t have to. I always comply.

It’s a puzzle. I love connecting dots behind the scenes. I love forcing everything that’s canon to be canon, even if it looks like it contradicted itself. If I can solve a plot hole, I try to. I will make ridiculous backbends to fit colorful Anti-Fairy eyes, Crocker’s ebb and flow of wealth, Miss Idaho’s “rare genetic condition that prevents her from aging,” Mary Alice Doombringer’s random abilities, and Girlfriend the cat’s sentience into Riddleverse canon, and I’ll love every second of it. I only cut a piece of canon out if I feel like I absolutely have to. It’s fun.

I can definitely enjoy reading ‘fics that stray from canon, and might even write them on occasion. But the reason why I write fanfics is because I loved the canon and I want to see it expanded, not taken away. I’d like to publish my original works someday, so if I’m not sticking close to source material, why would I write a fanfic that I could publish as an original work instead? 

For the same reasons, I’d rather read a fanfic that expands on canon than eliminates it. When I fall in love with something, I fall in love with its world. I like ‘fics that blend worldbuilding aspects in with the plot they’re writing, even if it’s a short one-shot. I don’t love reading something that feels like its writer just inserted the names of popular characters into their otherwise original work so that people would read it. I want to have the little details and feel convinced that these are the characters (and the world) that I love. Personal preference.

In some cases, I default to realism over canon, such as by giving Cosmo the ability to recognize faces. In my psychology classes, I’ve learned that sometimes during investigations, police will show pictures to people and ask them to select the face that matches the one they were shown earlier. People pretending to be mentally handicapped in some way will often get the answers wrong on purpose in an attempt to maintain their facade, while those who are actually mentally handicapped will get them right. Just a nitpicky thing I do.

So I often favor realism over canon in certain ways, even if it possibly contradicts canon a bit. I respect canon and try to stay true to it as much as possible because I enjoy doing so, but I don’t consider myself 100% beholden to it, especially considering how many different contributors there can be to a project over the years. I do my best, but enjoying what I write comes first.

#33 - How do you feel about crack?

I can enjoy the occasional way-out-there thing, but I prefer serious stories in general.

#40 - Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

Well, you didn’t give me a ‘fic you wanted to see an alternate ending to, but I do have a few short pieces I can share. You see, the “That Was Then” Prompt (the Jay Rhoswen and his studies about Anti-Fairies one) wasn’t supposed to end the way it did. Here is how it was meant to go:

Rhoswen scooted back hand over hand along the counter, his feet skittering in the vapor. What in the name of dust was he doing? He shouldn’t be looking at his wife’s counterpart more than at his wife! He shouldn’t be having these sorts of thoughts at all!

Anti-Shylinda placed her palms to his cheeks and gazed into his eyes. “No talk,” she whispered, and when she leaned forward, those burning lips closed over his.

As for whether that Seelie Courter chose to kiss the anti-fairy back once she’d started to draw away? Well… You ought to look to the term “Rhoswen syndrome” to answer that.

I didn’t like the idea of Anti-Shylinda being the one to make moves on Jay, so I scrapped it. Not only that, but the whole piece is written as snippets from Rhoswen’s journal now, so the voice here no longer fit the narrative.

At the end of the first chapter of Frayed Knots, “String Theory”, Anti-Cosmo cuts off the tips of his ears. I was originally going to expand the scene as follows:

Blood spattered the floor. With a hiss through my teeth, I withdrew the knife and dabbed the blood up with my sleeve. The stone might stain.

Recalculating, I dragged my stool over to the sink. The angle was awkward, but at least my blood would wash easily away. There, I slit off the tip of my ear, cutting carefully around my first canetis ring. Then I mirrored the action on the other side. Both rings bounced across the stone with a clink, click, clatter.

I uncurled my tongue and set the knife aside. Then I took the severed tips of my ears and held them to my head again. It took three agonizing minutes, but the smoke that filled my veins stretched out and wound around my fingers. It absorbed my ears and pressed them into place again. Full, soft, and whole. I fingered the gashes mother’s piercing clamp had left behind. Apparently, even regeneration couldn’t heal injuries left by an unenchanted tool. Useful information to know.

The canetis rings disappeared into my pocket. Then I got up and pushed open the window. I took a running start, dove out, and unfurled my wings.

However, I kind of liked leaving the chapter on the cliffhanger of “Oh my gosh, what did he just do to himself???” I also couldn’t include a sink in the castle in a time period when there is no indoor plumbing. Then I decided that I would rather give Anti-Cosmo permanent gashes in his ears he had caused himself, rather than ones caused by his mother, to always remind him (and everyone around him) of that day he stood against Anti-Fairy tradition. Kind of a shame to delete the scene since I like how it gave us information about smoke and Anti-Fairy healing right from the start. I might recycle it later.

Actually, if we’re talking about the original version of Knots, everything was supposed to be different than what it was. Here is another deleted scene that was originally planned to be the opening scene of Knots:

“Mum, I’m nine and a half minutes old. I’m not a baby anymore. Come on, please? You let Anti-Robin leave home to get his wand when he was only three!”

“You weren’t even born yet. How can you possibly know that?”

“He told me about thirty seconds ago, right before you came in here.” I grabbed my mother’s skirt in two tiny fists. “Mum, I’m going to be the only pup in the colony without a wand. What about our image?”

She wavered visibly, running her thumb along her staff. “Well…”

Father peered over his spectacles and frowned. “Now, wait just a minute here, Anti-Florensa. He’s just a pup. You can’t send him into the woods to gather the materials for his first wand all by himself.”

“But it has always been our family’s tradition,” she sniffed. “It’s not as though he’ll die. On the contrary, I’m more concerned about him killing valuable plants with his acid. Anti-Cosmo, you’re drooling again.”

I wiped my mouth. “Sorry, Mum.”

I really loved the “I’m nine and a half minutes old- I’m not a baby anymore!” idea, especially since there aren’t many times when you’ll have the chance to use it. As you can see, Frayed Knots was going to begin with baby Anti-Cosmo leaving his manor home alone to obtain his first wand. 

But overall, in the end, I decided that it was more important to show the importance of smoke in Anti-Fairy culture, and we ended up with the scene we have now. Also, I really wanted Anti-Cosmo to grow up never knowing who his father was until several years after Anti-Robin had died, which meant I had to scrap or replace this scene in some way anyway.

The “Mama’s Boy” Prompt was actually written with the manor idea in mind, and I believe Anti-Florensa even uses the word “manor” in it. I added an author’s note to that piece several months ago mentioning that “Mama’s Boy” is semi-canon for now until Frayed Knots is finalized. A lot has changed.

Some other deleted scenes from the early plans of “Anti-Cosmo lives with his family in a manor near the Castle, and they are nobles but not royalty” include:

“I got something for you, kiddo.” Anti-Robin flicked an aluminum medal across the table that read #2 Son. I grinned.

“This is for me? Thanks! I love it!”

He tilted down his glasses. “You say, ‘Thank you, Father, for this generous gift.’”

I repeated the words, and he tousled my hair. “Now, go do second son things.”

“Yes, sir! I will! Thank you, Father!” With the medal swinging from my neck, I trotted happily off.

and

I clung to the frame of his office door, beating my wings to keep myself from staggering forward. I knew better than to cross the threshold, even though there was nothing I wanted more in the universe right then than to throw my arms around his waist and squeeze him in a hug. The bruise Mother had left on my arm hurt even more now than it did in the kitchen, somehow. My eyes slid back and forth across his desk.

“Where are you going?”

Anti-Robin calmly placed another folded shirt inside the suitcase. “Back to Anti-Scarlett’s.”

“With your other family?” I asked. “With her kids, Anti-Xavier and Anti-Tom?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t I come with you? I want to meet them.”

“It’s a dad thing.” He closed the suitcase with two clicks and turned around. His eyes were steely calm, his frown very firm. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

and

“ELEANOR!”

Anti-Robin and I grabbed our mouths and looked at each other, gaping with our eyes. Mother was over 150,000 years old. Her real name wasn’t supposed to be said out loud.

Father slammed a newspaper on the table, then stepped back and crossed his arms. “Might I inquire what the meaning of this is, ‘dear’?”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, not looking up from the end of her staff. She studied its base, then ran her polish rag across it again.

“Anti-Bryndin had the green fairy locked up, and I know you’re behind it.”

So, don’t feel too sad that Anti-Cosmo grows up without a dad in my works! It wouldn’t have been the best relationship anyway. Besides that, now that I’ve had time to think about it, this Anti-Robin portrayal isn’t that far off Ambrosine, and I’d rather H.P. and Anti-Cosmo had fathers with very different personalities.

If you have a really sharp memory, you may possibly remember seeing that medal around Anti-Cosmo’s neck when I drew my late-night FOP/Moana doodle dump that one time.

I also have oodles of scenes deleted from Anti-Cosmo’s visit to Winkleglint’s estate, since originally Scarletfeather was supposed to show up and Anti-Cosmo panicked when he couldn’t stop Scarletfeather from luring Mr. Thimble away. I could have filled another entire chapter with what happened during that study abroad week, but in the end I decided they were mostly self-indulgent and not important enough in the grand scheme of things to justify leaving in.

I’m skimming through my files of deleted scenes and I forgot I had this one too. Anti-Cosmo wasn’t supposed to have his intelligence test proctored by Ambrosine originally, as I was going to send him to this mental hospital facility. I decided against it, but here is a terrifying scene that we almost got. So, it’s technically an alternative ending too:

Dr. Gabriel handed me a piece of bark marked with the word Failed. “Don’t get cocky. Everyone has their limits.”

Failed? That lout outright failed me? I dropped the bark strip and looked up as Dr. Gabriel spread his wings. With a few sharp beats, he flew out of the pit. I chased after him, searching the platform above me with my eyes. So I couldn’t fly, and I was short, but I could make that leap-

“Oof!”

Or… perhaps not. I slid back down to the floor and landed on my rump. Never one to be deterred, I leaped back to my feet. Something to boost me, something to boost me… Oh! Snatching up his forgotten broom, I backed against the opposite wall, and then ran forward. I shoved the handle of the broom into the corner offered by the platform and the floor and launched myself into the air. Yes! Yes! Ahahaha! I hurtled out of the pit and went rolling across the ground. Dr. Gabriel spun around, his mouth falling open in surprise.

“Please,” I begged him, climbing to my feet again. My broken wings batted feebly behind me. “I want to gain a Fairy education. Level with me, doctor. You don’t want Anti-Fairies filling up your precious conservative school. And I don’t want Anti-Fairies filling it up either. True, we Anti-Fairies are known for our memories, but I like to feel special, and I shouldn’t want to chance anyone stealing my thunder away from me. You let me in, and I won’t breathe a word about your biases against my people.”

Dr. Gabriel studied me with idle coldness, clutching his tablets to his chest. He drifted a few steps backwards along the corridor. “Anti-Cosmo, your genius is entirely creative. You’re severely behind in your knowledge of technical skills, and you lack basic common sense as well as a sense of self-preservation. Because of this, we can’t recommend you be placed in any advanced programs. You’ll need to stay where you’re at.”

The corners of my mouth twisted into a frown. Then a sneer. “Frankly, Dr. Gabriel, I’m not particularly fond of that option.”

With that, I yanked out the can of forget-a-cin I’d nicked from his pouch when he’d been turned the other way. Dr. Gabriel had time to look horrified before I mashed the button down. My eyes were squeezed shut, but even so, the world around me lit with white. I let the empty canister fall to the floor and opened my eyes again to find the nervous fairy glancing around in bewilderment.

“There,” I said. “I’ve just put a block over this memory of yours. I do hope no one else would care to challenge me, or I will be forced to perform the same trick on them. Now, I demand that you, good sir, will have me enrolled in all the classes of my choosing. Is that understood?”

Dr. Gabriel’s wandering eyes finally latched onto me. His shoulders shivered, although he possibly didn’t remember why. He bobbed a bit lower in the air. Then his wings fell silent altogether, and he leaned his back against the wall. He slid down to the floor. “S-security! Security?”

His voice was too weak for anyone who wasn’t an Anti-Fairy to hear. I sighed. Covering my eyes again, I made a signal with my other hand. “Oh, dear. I do apologize. I really never do this, you must understand. It’s so messy.”

If he hadn’t been so hazy from the aftereffects of the forget-a-cin, I’m sure Dr. Gabriel wouldn’t have let me get away with as much as he did. As it happened, I walked right up to him and lay my claw against the karmic pouch on the left side of his neck. He yelped, but I knocked his clumsy hands away from me without any real effort. I braced my hand against my hip.

“I really never do this. It’s vile and crude. So sorry, I really am. But then again, well, perhaps I’m really not.” And with that, I sunk my fangs into his neck. Blech. He tasted of old mutton.

Dr. Gabriel screamed. He twisted, his shoulders rapidly seizing up. I rolled my eyes and kept my fangs embedded until his coughs turned to silence and he had frozen in place, as still as a stone statue. Only then did I wrench back my head, bringing the coils of his karmic weave along with me. Most of them were blue, but here and there a pink one surfaced, or a yellow. As the colourful threads of his life whisked above us, I stood back and traced one claw beneath my eye.

“Anti-Fairy tears consist mainly of sulfuric acid, of course. And I daresay you hurt my feelings quite a bit back there, didn’t you?”

Forcing myself to cry came as naturally as forcing myself not to cry always had. I captured the burning tear on the end of my claw and, very slowly, held it out towards the paralyzed fairy sitting against the wall. For several long seconds, I let him see it glistening there. Threatening to drip down on the place where I had bitten him. Which was still bleeding.

“I never do this,” I said again, truthfully apologetic. “It’s messy and you’ll be rather cross when you wake up, assuming you wake again at all. But it is true that I am crying, and here you are, lying so very still. We’re standing rather close, aren’t we? So close that I could touch you.”

Lacking the ability to move, all Dr. Gabriel could do was sit numbly, his mouth gaping. I lowered my claw towards his neck.

“But it’s only a single tear, isn’t it? Why should a fairy care if he made an anti-fairy child cry? No, a single tear cannot hurt your conscience. A single tear may sting your skin, perhaps, but it shouldn’t cause any long-lasting problem so long as no liquid in your body is particularly warm. Oh, wait…” Here I feigned surprise, and brought my claw a mere centimetre from his karmic pouch. Green liquid trickled down his neck. I smiled. “Why, internal Fairy body temperature borders on the boiling point, does it not? Oooh, I’d hate to see what happens when that acid comes into contact with your blood. I’ve heard it’s prone to such catastrophic explosions.”

There was, of course, no reply. Sighing, I withdrew my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the tear from my claw.

“No, but I suppose I’m a gentleman, so I shan’t leave you comfortless. As I told you, I really never do this. I’m all boasts and bluster, really. That’s all I really am. Let’s get you cleaned up, lad.”

I was just wiping away the last drops of acid from his stunned face when the door opened behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find Anti-Jolene floating there with a clipboard in hand. She took in the threads of wild karma and my kerchief, and looked at me with her ears cocked forward.

“So… How is it going?”

I sighed and tucked the handkerchief away. “Dr. Gabriel and I have just finished, painfully. I say, are business deals with Fairies always so messy?”

She smiled a thin smile. “It would behoove us to find a neutral party who could settle things between our two races more easily, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ll be cleaning karma out of my fur for weeks,” I muttered, and went about gathering up his tangled threads so I could stuff them back inside his soul.

He was one messed up kid in this draft, that is for sure. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll find a place for this scene in the current version someday, if I ever need to send an older Anti-Cosmo to a mental health facility. For now, however, it’s deleted.

“This Is a Box” was actually supposed to end differently as well. And of course, so was “This Is Halloween.” Every once in awhile I’ll have a piece get away from me and end the way it wants, but most of them end the way I plan from the start.

Thanks for all your requests! I really appreciate your curiosity!

[kiwischange]

Hello Change - How I got to my decision.

I am making this blog to motivate me and to keep me going when the challenge is too much. I need to see my progress and thrive by reminiscing on my achievements. 

Before I get into my daily updates and achievements, if anyone stumbles upon this blog, Hi, I’m Molly, I’m a 21-year-old student from Manchester/Lancashire and I am here to give you the 411 to why I have decided to, a) lose weight and b) have a dramatic lifestyle change. Also if you know me reading this, please try not to cringe at my ‘thinking people would actually read this’ way of typing. I find it easier to type and tell my story as though I am speaking to someone, so please be kind to me. 

SO! The change... let's go back to June 2016, the smallest I’ve ever been. I was 17 years old, had a part-time(pretty much full time) job as a waitress. I was barely eating due to my busy schedule of WORK and COLLEGE but I drank sooooooo much water, like the water bottle I would take with me to work and college was an 800ml VOSS water bottle and I filled it up at least eight to nine times a day. I was about 47-50kg. OH, forgot to mention, I am 5″1. 

Then at the end of July, I quit my job, I hated it and I definitely wasn’t appreciated. Also, I and my partner I had booked to go to Florida for the first time in August and I was going to Plymouth University with him in September, so work was the last thing on my mind. 

So the holiday was amazing, I gained a little weight but nothing major, weighing in about 49-51kg. Then I packed my bags and went to Plymouth... This is where things start to get messy. 

So I moved to Plymouth with my partner, we stayed in different accommodations but I pretty much stayed in his room every night. So I started Uni, long story short I absolutely hated it, I had no money because I couldn’t get a job down south and all my money was going into my accommodation, I missed my family like CRAZY as my little sister was only 2 and I was terrified she would forget who I am, and the course wasn’t for me. All of these things combined sent me into a spiral of depression and you can guess what happened next... I used food as comfort. I overate massives amounts of food, I wouldn’t leave my boyfriend's dorm room for weeks, I skipped university a lot and I stay awake till five in the morning and sleep till 3pm the next day. You see, you could say my boyfriend should have helped me get out of it, he tried really hard and failed. I would eat behind his back, overeat when he went into uni, I’d be nasty and shout at him if he even tried to ‘challenge’ me but he also didn’t want to upset me any more than I already was. 

The year went by and we both agreed Plymouth wasn’t for us. We both left our degrees to start fresh back home but I was bringing my biggest problem with me... my weight gain. In a little less than a year, I went from being 50kg to being 90kg!! I was extremely overweight and hated myself for it. When I got home my mum realized that that was a ridiculous amount of weight to gain in 9-10 months, so she took me to the doctors. After a few tests and an ultrasound scan on my pelvis, I was diagnosed with PCOS - Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (if you don’t know what it is, google it, this story is already long enough, lol). So in July 2017, I started to lose weight, I got down to 80kg in two months due to water weight and restricting my food portions. I then went on holiday, in September and that is where my weight loss can to a halt... for three years. I have been stagnating, gaining and losing but mainly maintaining for three whole years. 

You would think that me maintaining for so long would be the kick up the bum I needed but nope. In March 2019 I had my last normal-ish period. From April to October, I didn’t bleed once. Then at the end of October, I started streaking, I was on and off streaking from the end of October to mid-Decemeber. After this I started to bleed really heavy, it is the 10th of January 2020 and I only stopped heavy bleeding one day ago. 

I visited my doctor (back in August) and he basically blamed me for my weight which made me cry, really bad. After calming me down he offered for me to go see a gynecologist(which I should have been referred to years ago). My visit was short but very effective, she referred me to a dietitian and sent me to get a colposcopy just to make sure everything was okay. My Colposcopy was on the 12th of December, it was a very traumatic experience and very uncomfortable but I was just glad to have been referred. So this is my reasoning to shift the weight, she told me that the build-up of my periods had caused abnormal cells to form. She told me not to worry as she didn’t think it was anything serious but she took a smear and a biopsy of my cervix for further testing. She then offered me to get the cells blasted which she told me could cause more problems so I said no as she told me previously these cells go away on their own in most cases. 

After doing my own research, I wish so badly I had taken her offer to get the cells removed, which is why losing weight is so important to me now. I do not want a repeat of this again because it has been HELL and if it is anything serious I can be a stronger fighter(It apparently takes six weeks to get your results back so I still haven't received them or had my appointment with my dietitian, it’s on the 15th of January). Anyway, after tears and tantrums to all my problems, I read that weight loss is the only solution to the problem so here I am. 

Sorry, that was sooooo long, urgh, my exhausted from typing it and that was the briefest version I could give!

So today is Day 3 of my diet, I only decided today I wanted to make a blog just for my own motivation and also, to tell my story for anyone else suffering PCOS trying to just live a healthy life. 

Thank you for listening, here’s to a longer, healthier, HAPPIER life! x

[ecotone99]

[SF] Panopticon

Twenty-three hundred days in hell is exactly what you’d think. Well, unless you anticipated screaming, and praying, and begging, and wailing and gnashing of teeth no…hell is nothing like the Old Testament. Hell is an eight-foot-tall, six-by-six cell. Three walls and a ceiling, all made of concrete. That fourth wall however, now I’m betting you anticipate “bars,” right? Seeing as I’ve described hell as a cell? Well here I am to burst your bubble ‘cause hell isn’t a cell per se. The fourth wall is just…open. Completely open to a four-story drop for me, even higher for the boys above me. And if you were to drop, you’d land and shatter your fucking femurs for one, but you’d land on the sandy bottom of a tall, dark, enclosed, circular building in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

The floor of this place is about the size of a football field in all directions and in its center…in its heart. Is the Panopticon. I can still remember the metallic voice over the unseen speakers as we each awoke, drugged, in our cells. It started off with a factoid. The man who first proposed the idea of the Panopticon described it as “A mill for grinding rogues honest.” We were to be the, “First ever maximum-security inmates to be housed within the ULTIMATE STRUCTURE OF SURVEILLANCE!” Like we were supposed to be goddamn excited for it. Like they were selling us something that we should be chomping at the bit to buy.

360-degree view from the tower in the center with about 150 open cells surrounding. No human face though, scowling out at us from behind it’s dark, cold plexi-glass. No human faces EVER. See that was really the thing about hell. I hadn’t seen another human face since the moment that screeching, tinny, robotic voice woke me up to tell me what I’d won, twenty-three hundred days and counting, in hell. The point of the “open cell concept” as I like to call it, is this, we all assume we could be the one being monitored at any given time so now, we self-discipline. No need for bars when we’re met with a bone crushing fall and motion-activated machine guns mounted on every curve of that tower. No sir-e. We’ll be the good little boys our mechanical overlords know we’ll be, because we have no other fucking choice.

Now how can a maximum-security prison operate without any human beings? Much like most things in this brave new, robotic world. Our three-square meals a day are delivered to us through a perfectly fucking sealed square hole in the wall and I know that it’s being delivered on a conveyor belt, assembled and maintained by machines because for the past 6 months my meals have been coming to me with the exact same mistakes, day-in-and day-out. If that doesn’t sound like a malfunctioning robot, electronic, or machine to you than you haven’t spent a lot of time depending on one. My breakfasts used to be nice and portioned off on the tray. The scrambled eggs had their square, the toast had his, and my orange slices had theirs. Now every single morning the eggs are no longer scrambled, they’re runny as hell and I hate runny. But what’s more is my orange slices are placed right in the center of that disgusting, thick soup o’ eggs. Like two orange, radioactive islands floating within a sea of yellow shit. And my dinners no longer include any meat, just the gravy for the meat. So, I’m just getting potatoes and steamed veggies every night for the past 6 months with nothing but the idea of meat.

It used to be that once a month a palm-sized touch pad would come through the food slot and you could make selections on any malfunctions or problems you’d been experiencing under certain categories and then back through the slot it would go and within a day or so the problem would be resolved. So, once upon a time I could rectify these mistakes or at least be given the illusion of having a voice. But I haven’t seen a touch pad come through the wall in well over 3 years and I don’t expect I’ll be seeing one ever again. I mean my lunch no longer even comes at all but from the feedback I’ve gotten from the fine gentlemen around me, everybody’s lunch stopped coming about 2 years ago so a certain programed protocol has obviously kicked in. What we all want to know is what it means…

Here’s what I think it means. The people running this place, the human beings meant to give mind to this machine of hell, are all gone. Something very, very bad happened out there in the world and we’re in here completely unsupervised, by man. But now we’re so dangerously supervised by the machines that this really is a hell, and we’ll all spending eternity in this place as more parts and pieces of it fall apart with no human beings coming to put it all back together again, and call the devil back to bed. Plus, the water has started to taste a little like battery acid.

We figured out I want to say two-and-a-half years ago that we could call out to one another and have conversations without anything happening. The first guy to finally shriek out into the abyss was Bluie my neighbor. He’s a totally innocent man and one night right as I was finally beginning to drift off into my version of sleep, I hear the first human voice I’d heard since before my incarceration. It was Bluie. And Bluie yells out,

“Aye, aye RoboCops! Why ain’t ya tuck us in no more!?”

The silence that followed…whew! Could have heard the drip, drip, drip of a robot taking a gasoline piss a football field away. But then…nothing happened. I mean absolutely nothing happened for one minute, then two minutes, then seven. In the hour that followed the event that I’ve so affectionately named, “Bluie’s First Contact” it was truly as if we were in hell, yet this time, we were the demons. The screaming and shrieking, swearing and cursing, the absolute thunderous, bellowing shouts of rage and sound that erupted from all 150 inmates after Bluie’s First Contact was the most hell-ish thing I had ever known. Myself, I just yelled every horrible thing I had ever heard or thought of throughout the entire course of my life until I tasted blood in the back of my throat and no longer had any voice to speak with.

But this ushered in great change. There were conversations for a few weeks. Men confessing, mostly men declaring innocence. Men sharing jokes, men telling stories of all the best and all the worst pussy they’d had before waking up in this place. We were a tribe. But with so many conversations happening all at once we couldn’t keep track of the fractures. The fissures, the silences. And soon there were indecipherable clicks with the tongue, and combinations of words which meant nothing. High and low shouts which gave away no inflection or intention. We all developed our own secret language to communicate with the men we really trusted. We’re split now, divided. Sound is all we have so we use it as secret forms of communication. The acoustics are fantastic in our Panopticon and so each level has developed their own secret means of communication so no other level can understand them. The highest level of cells, near the ceiling are rumored to still be receiving lunch, spring water to drink, and meat with dinner so of course it goes without saying that every level hates them. The bottom level, my level is rumored to have successfully gotten some of our boys out—escape. I know this is bullshit because several months back another guy, real quiet guy likes us to call him G, kicked his pillow right out the opening in his cell. You may have wondered how I knew the machine guns mounted on the Panopticon were motion-sensitive? At least three machine guns locked onto it and shot it as it was falling through the air, and completely eviscerated it once it hit ground. So began the escape rumors. We also know that if we come to close to the opening of our cells the machine guns lock onto us and follow our every move until we step back far enough. Once, I daggled a piece of cloth over the side and a machine gun fired and nearly blew my fucking hand off.

What I’ve been trying to get my guys on this level to understand, is that there aren’t enough machine guns to handle all of us. If only we conducted more “experiments” really figured out the way they work, even if just one of us could escape that one could go find out what happened to the world. Bring help. But Bluie says this is part of the Panopticon. This is how we’re meant to be kept here, in hell.

“Men built this,” he said, “men want this.”

G thinks what I’m suggesting involves sacrificing one of “ours”. Even if we got the rest of the 147 inmates in on it everyone would scream the same thing:

“The cocksuckers on the bottom have the lowest fall! They should be the ones to distract the guns while others try an escape!”

I think G is probably right. But no one has spoken a real, human sentence in so long, I don’t intend to be the first to break the “silence” and find out. But what I haven’t told you, or told anyone for that matter, is that I’ve been pissing blood for the last 4 months. I got to get up and take a piss at least 12 times a night. I knew I was terminal before they condemned me to wake up here, but I think I must be getting to the end. Yesterday morning I woke up to blood in my underwear, which is new. Bluie’s also changed, he talks about God a lot now and what he’ll do in the Kingdom of Heaven when he finally goes “home.” G hasn’t spoken to us in over a week. I think he may be dead but it’s real hard to cut through the smell of myself and 149 other poorly washed prisoners to detect the scent of death. Plus, I never really knew what cell was his anyway, it’s not like I can crane my neck out with a, “Yooohoooo! Still alive in there?!” and find out. I wonder how hard it would be to convince Bluie to let his body drop to that warm, sandy floor…let him get on “home” then. Or me, what about me? Smear myself in my own dirty blood and go screaming over the side the same way I screamed my lungs out a few short years ago when I knew for certain that this, this was hell, this was going to be the place in which I became a demon. This mill has finally ground me down. I am a demon of the Panopticon.

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