#anyways enjoy crumbs i had fun writing the sons again

[cubedmango]

[v hastily magic of zeros ur patpran]

The first sensation Pat registers is pure pain. Pain in his head, in his eyes, in his back—pain pretty much everywhere he could name. The only place that doesn’t seem to hurt is a warm spot on right forearm, but other than that, it kind of feels like absolute hell in his body right now.

With excruciating effort, he manages to at least slowly blink open his eyes, only to find himself staring at a bright, cloud-dotted blue sky, and vaguely familiar faces in vaguely familiar clothes hovering over him. Before he can question any of that, something else comes into view that makes him forget everything else, as it always has.

It’s Pran. Messy-haired, sun-haloed Pran, right above him like some kind of an angel, looking at him wide-eyed in concern. That expression is one Pat doesn’t see from him too often, but he doesn’t care to examine the reason he’s showing it right now. It’s Pran in front of him! Pran!

“Hi,” Pat says, feeling a goofy grin creep over his face at his boyfriend’s presence. Everything’s perfect now. What was he complaining about, earlier? Nothing hurts anymore. Nothing at all.

“Shit, Pat,” Pran mutters, checking his body over with one hand. It’s then Pat has a belated realization that the warmth at his arm must’ve been Pran. That’s why it felt nice. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, with all the charm he can muster up, which is hopefully enough, “now that I’ve seen your face.”

For a long time, Pran just blinks at that response, and Pat wonders if he should’ve waited to come up with a better line. Really? No cute dimpled smile? Not even an eyeroll? Maybe he’s gotten rusty ever since they went long-distance. Maybe he just needs some practice again. Maybe he’s going to Ink for tips after this.

Instead of Pat, Pran turns to talk to someone behind him that Pat can’t quite see. “I think he hit his head bad, coach. Should I take him to the infirmary?”

You can take me anywhere you want, Pat almost says, before Pran’s words actually reach his slow-functioning brain as some pairs of hands help him stand up, and he finally, finally sees the full sight around him.

Coach? Pat repeats to himself, looking up only to see his old football coach, the one from high school he used to get in plenty trouble with, saying something back to Pran. Infirmary? He glances away, just to find himself being on the school’s football field, with the buildings not too far away, standing exactly as he remembered them. Then he looks up at the crowd gathered nearby, of guys in uniforms that Pat hasn’t thought about in a while. It’s not just them, either. Pran’s wearing the exact same thing.

Pat looks down at himself. Apparently, so is he.

“Hey, Pat,” Pran says again, and the worry on his face is starting to make a little bit more sense now. Pat doesn’t miss the way Pran begins to drag him off by the wrist, not the hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the infirmary.”

A lot of things hit Pat at once while they walk, as the fog over his head begins to dissipate. He was supposed to be on-field right now, taking care of a project his dad had dumped on him last-minute. Pran had refused to talk to him all morning because of what happened last night, which is why Pat had even accepted the dumb work in the first place. By all logic, he should currently be at work. Certainly not back at the high school he hadn’t visited in ages, in a uniform he hasn’t worn in ages, looking at faces he hasn’t seen in ages, and certainly not with Pran.

That’s when he remembers Pa mentioning something like this to him once, after she got back from her trip with Ink to Japan. A weird dream while she was passed out, or something, of her getting thrown back into the past to the day her girlfriend fell for her. Cute, if slightly concerning with it being caused by a very minor head injury, but she’d been fine after that, so it was alright.

Pat had only laughed at her unconscious brain’s creativity, back then, but the memory of it now makes him shudder. Hold on, could it be…?

“Pat?” Pran asks, taking him out of his head, but it just makes things worse. Now that he really notices, Pran looks exactly as he did at sixteen, and Pat knows this with the certainty of someone who’d once spent a lot of time looking at pictures of him from tenth grade. So, if they’re talking about the time they fell for each other, then…

“Uh, hey,” Pat starts, and prays he doesn’t sound like he needs actual medical intervention because of what he asks next, “What year is it?”

Pran makes a face like he’s out of his mind—in a mostly-troubled way—before muttering, “Did the ball really hit you that hard?”

That’s not a good sign in the slightest, but now Pat has to know. “Just tell me, once!”

The other sighs, probably about to ask if he’s fine again, before seeing whatever desperate expression’s on Pat’s face and deciding against it. “It’s 2014. There, happy?”

Pat stops right in his tracks, his shoes screeching loudly against the linoleum floor, and all he can do in that moment is stare blankly at Pran.

…Wait, what?

[strangelysamantha]

 crumbled cookies ☆

jj maybank x plus!reader (fem!reader)

warnings: abuse/hitting, hate speech, fat shaming, bullying, insecurities, swearing, fighting, jj’s dad, luke (yikes!) mad jj, mention of pills. 

words: 3,365.

summary: you decide it would be a good surprise to stop by jjs house quickly to drop off some of your homemade cookies, since you believe he isn’t feeling the best. then, unexpectedly jj's dad comes home with an unwelcoming embrace, which ruins the surprise.

request? nope, but requests are open :)

a/n: i randomly thought about this, i obviously don’t believe that us plus size baddies should ever be insecure, but i thought it would be a nice little angst imagine with fluff at the end! if you could, please comment and like if you enjoyed it, thank you! after i write a few requests i will proofread my stories :)

my masterlist

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jj hadn’t answered any of your texts, usually this would worry you, but you understood that sometimes he just needed some space to be alone. you surprisingly were used to this because he always disappeared, and if he genuinely needed you, he knew where to find you. it also wasn’t bothering you because he had only been MIA for a few hours.

you, assuming that jj was just overwhelmed, decided to stay home and bake homemade cookies. jj always complimented your cookies, he loved taste testing them, and more importantly, he loved how you put so much effort into making them perfect, even if you were only making the cookies for him. jj wouldn’t admit it, but he definitely didn’t see you as just a friend. he didn’t know how he viewed you. he was too confused for his own good with his emotions. all he did know was that he depended on you, and that he never wanted to lose you. it would ruin him,  especially if he had done something to intentionally lose and hurt you.

you preheated the oven, excited to use a new cookie flavor for jj. you danced lightly to the music playing in the background of your kitchen, softly humming along as you gathered the dry ingredients, mixing them together. it was a fun little game you guys played, where he’d try and guess what extra ingredients you added that affected the cookie's flavor. he almost always got it wrong, but he was so cute sitting there always trying to guess it right, when he didn’t even know that much about cooking anyway.

unbeknownst to you, you were completely unaware of his feelings, despite the same feelings bubbling in your heart too. jj was your best buddy, and obviously you guys had flirtatious banter but it was nothing too serious. it didn’t help that every girl jj had a one night stand with, was the complete opposite of you. how could he like you, when every girl he fucks was not only skinny, but also rich, and mysterious?

pope wasn’t on your side either. he would always express how nauseated he felt when jj would jokingly flirt with you, and openly play with your feelings. he was quite vocal in scolding you when you would tell him that jj blew you off, or jj had pissed you off. deep down you did agree with pope, he wasn’t wrong.

a beep was heard from the oven as it was fully preheated. you had fully completed the cookie dough, now adding the most important ingredients. you decided to be nicer, and chose an easier flavor for jj to guess. you did this just in case something was seriously wrong he could at least be lifted up for guessing it right. m&ms and hershey’s kisses would be mixed together, creating a chocolate m&m hershey cookie, with added caramel on top. you quickly evenly separate the dough, before placing it in the oven waiting for it to rise.

the timer in the kitchen went off as you pulled the cookies out of the oven, careful to not burn yourself. you stick a knife into the cookie to ensure it was fully cooked before smiling contently to yourself. you let them cool off as you got dressed and prepared to go to jjs house.

you added caramel before sliding four cookies into a ziplock baggie. the cute baggy had a drawn on heart and a nice message for him. you didn’t expect to stay long, and you honestly didn’t even know if he would be home.

when you arrived to jjs house it looked vacant and abandoned. the nerves finally catching up to you as you realize he hasn’t talked to you all day. you knock on the front door, waiting for a response but you are left standing there waiting. you frown before hesitatingly walking down the steps. you look up when you hear a car approach, and a glimmer of hope flashes your mind as you thought it was jj, but instead it was his dad.

your heart was beating fast, and you didn’t know what to do. you waited to see if luke would talk but he just looked at you confused, and obviously annoyed. you shook your head quickly, “i’m so sorry, i was just going to drop these off for jj, but he’s not here so i’ll be on my way.” you smile softly, and start to walk away but his strong arms grab yours. you’re startled since his reaching for your elbow was quite unexpected.

“well you are already here. might as well get it over with.” his voice was unrecognizable as his emotions weren’t clear. you nod shyly. “no really i don’t want to inconvenience you, i can come at another time.” he shakes his head before walking to his door, opening it as the door loosely opens entirely, hitting against the wall to its side. you walk behind him being extra cautious in case he tries to grab you again.

you walk straight to the kitchen to set the bag of cookies on the counter, which was no use since right when you placed the bag, luke had scooped it into his hand reading the note. “oh, so you are the one dating my son?” your face twists in confusion. “no, no. jj and i are just friends.” you laugh awkwardly, swaying from feet to feet. the floors creak beneath you causing you to stop shaking back and forth. “okay good.” his eyes look up and down your figure as his mouth forms into a line. “i wouldn’t want him dating someone like… you.” his words hurt, but you didn’t want to break down in front of him.

you feel uncomfortable under his intense stare so you hurried to put an end to the conversation. “uhm. okay, welll thank you for letting me drop them off, i appreciate it mr. maybank.” you nod softly before he states, “no.” you turn over to him, “no?” you repeat as more of a question. your patience wears thin as you notice the cookies are still in his hand, and he is carefully undoing the ziplock that concealed the cookies.

he pulled a cookie out, before admiring it closely. “chocolate chip m&m caramel cookie. very yummy, very good choice.” you avoid eye contact, trying to focus on anything else displayed in the room. “and it’s still warm.” he stares at you as he takes a bite of the cookie, its crumbs slowly falling from where he sunk his teeth in. “it’s quite good.” you smile softly, “thank you… but-.” he cuts you off completely. “of course you, of all people, would be bringing him cookies. i’m not surprised, i can see you are trying to fatten my son.” his words stung you because this wasn’t what you were expecting. his father seemed intoxicated, and before you could leave it seemed like he still had stuff to say to you.

“yes the cookies are good, but they don’t excuse you for lying to my face. you are just like my ex wife… lying, scheming, going behind my back, but still creating delicious snacks.” you stumble back a little, as shock sets over you. “how did i lie?” you ask, quite confused as you hadn’t even talked to him that much. “i know you’re dating jj! i see his hickies i see that when he leaves this house it’s always to meet with your fat ass.” his words hold no meaning, he was just a lousy drunk taking his anger out on the closest thing to him. you stayed silent, when he suddenly shook his head before grabbing the rest of the cookies and throwing them on the floor, jumping on the bag, completely squishing them.

the once yummy cookies, now downgraded into a small pitiful pile that was brutally smeared against the kitchen's tile. your heart speeds up as his eyes are focused on yours, as if trying to read your emotions. “i’m sorry, but i’m not sure what i did to deserve you ruining my cookies?” your tone comes out sassier than intended which definitely didn’t help your case.

“pick it up.” he threw paper towels towards you, as he waited patiently for you to clean up his mess. you silently obeyed scooping your mutated bakery treat up. you got most of it cleaned, but you ran out of napkins. you bite your lip trying to think of a quick solution to finish picking it up so you could possibly leave, but it’s too late because he’s already grabbing your arm forcing you up. tears stream down your face, while you contemplate your choices.

before you could even register what had just happened, his hand had collided with your cheek, as he screams hurtful comments. “you are good for nothing. i honestly hope that jj didn’t choose you, because if he did, that would make him an embarrassment to this family.” he pushes you to the floor, and you quickly try to stand up so you can leave. you hurry to the door, but he catches you before you could get in your car and drive away. 

“you can't tell anyone about this. i swear if you tell anyone...” his tone is laced with venom and your face scrunches up in confusion. “dont act stupid! god this is why people treat you the way they do.” you look at him one last time before he sends a fast fist to your face, that hits the side of your nose, and your eye. your face begins to pulse as the blood rushes to the quick forming bruise. you couldn't think straight as everything had happened so fast. all you wanted to do was drop off cookies, but somehow you were now being punished just because you resembled this man's wife. your breath is shaky as your tears are starting to slow down, but they are still evident on your cheeks. 

jj’s dad stumbled backwards as if he had finally realized what he had done, before he eventually collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. as he landed on the couch, multiple loose pills fell from his pockets ensuring you that he wasn't mentally in the right place, and he was very obviously intoxicated.

you avoided jj at all costs, which was actually easy since he hadn't even contacted you. you were dreading his routine appearance that was bound to happen soon. you knew it was inevitable, he hasn't missed a nightly check in once, and you had been doing it for months. when you first met the pogues you were slightly scared since you were new in town and you didn't have any friends. so, jj took you under his wing. he quickly became protective over you, which is why he created this elaborate plan to sneak into your bedroom before bed every night. whether it was to just chat, talk about your day, or even just cuddle. you could always expect him at your window at around the same time every night.

usually you would confide in jj, ask for his advice. granted his advice isn't the greatest but it does help that he listens to your problems. not tonight. that wasn't the case. if anything, you wholeheartedly hoped that he would forget, or he would be too busy. he hadn't seen you since before your whole encounter with his father. you wondered if his father had told jj about what he did, and if he did, how did jj react?

you glance at the clock noticing that in the next ten minutes jj would be climbing his way into your window. your body was shaking with nerves as you glanced in the mirror. your black eye was a dead give away that something had happened. could you even tell him the truth? what if you lied, and then he called you out on it saying he already knew about it because his father told him. you contemplated every outcome of the future event that you weren't even ready when he slightly tapped your window. you quickly pulled on sunglasses that easily blocked your eye.

you smile widely, sliding your window up as he gracefully lands on your floor without making a noise, a talent he had perfected. “hey princess!” he has a huge grin on his face, his goofy smile is reason enough as to why you can't break the news to him about what his father did. “hi!” jj pulls you into a hug and you gladly take it. you wrap your arms tightly around his abdomen, as his arms are rubbing your hips. the hug ends and he slowly pulls away, his hands lingering on your hips before he grabs your hand to move to the bed. “do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?” jj asked. you waited, contemplating your choices. “either way is fine, you can choose.” you smile as he immediately gets into the little spoon position.

“hey i forgot to ask you why you are wearing those stupid glasses inside.” he laughs lightly as he reaches for them and you completely jump off the bed, scared he actually grabbed them in time. luckily, you were fast enough and the glasses were still settled on your face. “i have a horrible headache, that's all.” you nodded as his face slowly fell, he stood up, moving to sit on the edge of your bed. he glanced up at you. “we can turn the lights off so it isn't as bright in your room.” you shook your head at his compromise. “princess, i need to see your pretty face before i can declare that you are okay.” you hesitated, trying to piece together a quick story that you could tell him to explain how you wounded up with a gruesome bruise. he wasn't going to leave unless he knew you were okay.

he watched you intently, trying to see what you were hiding. “before i show you please promise me you won't freak out.” you reach for his hands and he grabs them in return, slowly nodding. “no, that's not going to count. please tell me that you won't be angry at me.” his heart swiveled up inside his chest as he heard that you thought he would be mad at you. “i promise that whatever you are about to tell me won't make me upset, and that i could never stay mad at you.” you nodded to his words. “okay so you know what you just said?” he tilted his head confused, “yeah?” you breathe in, trying to calm your nerves. “remember that.”

you hesitantly reach your arm up to expose your once hidden eyes. at first it doesn't register so he stares at you blankly. but the moment he saw it, he was already standing up, and freaking out. “hey you said you wouldn't be mad!” he ran fingers through his blonde hair, his eyes wide. “what the fuck…? i said i wouldn't be mad if YOU did something, i never said anything about not getting mad when it involves someone else!” he looks back at you and immediately investigates your eye. his jaw clenched as he looked above you, his hand gripping your chin. “who the fuck did this to you?” you stayed quiet, until he looked down at you waiting for an answer. 

silence fills the room leaving it eerily silent. “i can't tell you jj,” he laughs, shaking his head, “that's a funny joke, now tell me what happened and who the fuck hit you?” you looked away. “jj there's nothing you can do.” he followed along with your shenanigans. “and why is that?” you couldn't look at him so you looked at the floor. your silence was only making him more worried. “who was it actually? who are you protecting!?” he was getting frustrated. “fine. i'll tell you, only because i know you'll find out sooner or later.” he pulled you onto his lap, one hand holding your thigh, while the other grabbed your curvy hip. you took a deep breath before continuing. “okay. earlier today i baked you cookies and i stopped by your house so i could drop them off. but your dad was there, and i was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. it was my fault. okay?” 

he shook his head, his grip on your thigh tightening. “you're telling me that my father gave you a black eye?” his tone was shockingly low as he absorbed every word you said. “yes. and he stomped on the cookies i made you.” his chest started heaving. “i fucking hate him! everything in my life he has to ruin. you, you mean so fucking much to me, and he’s over here throwing punches at you!” you stayed quiet. “jj?” he looked down at you, trying not to get too worked up because the last thing he wanted to do was scare you, “yes princess?” you hesitated with what you were going to say. you leaned your head to rest onto his shoulder.

“i- okay, i really appreciate you, but i can't have you getting hurt because of me. you're not my boyfriend, and you don't have to protect me anymore. i know you feel obligated with that pact we made when i first moved here, but you don't have to inconvenience yourself by coming over here every night, or by fighting people who harass me, or anything. jj, i feel so bad that you are roped into this position because i never intended for this to happen.” he stays silent, “no way am i leaving you. princess, please throw that thought away right now. i’m here for you always. and i am going to continue to protect you because even if i'm not your boyfriend, that doesn't mean i don't want you safe.”

you are so stunned by his response that your breath gets caught in your throat. “what do you mean?” he smiles looking down, his hands finding themselves comfortable around your hips. “what i'm saying is, that i do want to be your boyfriend. i want people to know how much you mean to me, and i want the whole world to be jealous that i have you, and they can't have you. i want to be the one who protects you. so, if you'd want me too, i'd love to be your boyfriend, if not that is completely okay.” you stared at him, “jj, you'll never know how long i've wanted to do this.” he looks at you confused before your lips connect to his. you run your hand through his hair, while the other hand is sitting on his jaw. his hands hungrily grasp your hips as he pulls you closer to enhance the kiss. you both pull away, smiling.

you asked jj to spend the night with you. he agreed, which resulted in him laying on his back as your head lay still on his chest. one of his hands was always touching you, so he could ensure you weren't going to go anywhere. as you slowly fell asleep beside him, he started to think about what his father had done. with anger clouding his better judgement, he stealthily slipped out your grasp, and climbed out your window, set to fulfil the goal in his head.

eek i hope this was good <333. perhaps a part two...???

[hermannsthumb]

Would you please be willing to write 54 from the winter prompt list? About having a rough day?

54. we don’t really know each other but you look like you’re having a rough day so i got you my favourite hot drink from the cafe

from winter writing prompts here

sometimes it’s fun to write things where they were never penpals and they’re just kind of bastards to each other. this is a WELL needed break from working on finals and zine stuff

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

Newt’s not really sure what he did to be stuck with this utter bastard of a lab partner—what sort of, like, karmic punishment he’s facing, and for what, or who high in command he pissed off in his job interview—but in terms of utter bastards, Hermann Gottlieb pretty much takes the cake. He snaps at Newt over everything. He tears down Newt’s theories in front of their superiors whenever he gets the chance. The dude even took a fucking roll of tape and divided the lab in half just so he wouldn’t have to look at Newt’s face—totally nuts behavior. Like, right? Who does that? He’s not even sure why they have to share a lab in the first place. It’s not like Hermann’s jumping at the chance to stick his arms in a kaiju chest cavity with Newt, or Newt can make head or tails of Hermann’s bizarre equation chains. Half of him is convinced they’re all just bullshit, anyway. But whatever.

At least Hermann’s being significantly less of a bastard today. Newt hasn’t heard one peep out of him—not even when Newt started playing music without his headphones, or knocked a whole chunk of kaiju intestine over onto the floor and it rolled (with a series of admittedly nasty splats) an inch across the dreaded tape line. He’s just been standing, motionless, at his chalkboard. All day. Not even writing anything. Occasionally, Newt’s heard him sigh.

It’s a drastic departure from the routine Newt’s used to. Newt doesn’t care about Hermann—he really doesn’t—but if he did, he might be…a little worried about the guy.

Hermann sighs again. This time, he wipes a hand down his face.

Oh, good grief.

Newt pulls off his work gloves with two snaps, switches his headlamp off, and clears his throat. “Hey, uh,” he says, timidly, and cringes at himself even as he does. Newt would say his odds are 50-50 that Hermann’s just gonna yell at him to mind his own business and get back to work. “Gottlieb? Hermann?”

Hermann turns from his chalkboard with a low “Mm?”

He has dark circles under his eyes; his collar, Newt notices, is tucked into his shirt, and one shirttail hangs out from his sweatervest, like he was distracted when he got dressed this morning. It’s the most disheveled Newt has ever seen him. Instantly, he feels a strange surge of pity for his weird, prickly lab partner. “You all good over there, dude?” Newt says.

“Yes,” Hermann says.

Then he sighs, and sits down heavily on the metal stool he keeps next to his ladder. It looks like the most uncomfortable thing in the world. “Frankly, no, Dr. Geiszler,” he says. “I’ve not had—the best of days.”

“Oh,” Newt says. He scuffs his boot against the floor. “…Do you want to, like…talk about it or something?”

Hermann works his weird, angular jaw furiously. For a second time, Newt’s sure the rebuke is coming—the stay out of my private affairs, Dr. Geiszler, an invitation for Newt to fire back at him with a nasty jab of his own, and then they can both be on their merry way like it never happened—but none does. “I am sure you have noticed I am not making as much headway in the updated jaeger coding as I would’ve liked,” Hermann says.

Newt didn’t notice. He doesn’t make a habit of paying attention to Hermann if he can help it. “Uh, sure,” he says.

“To put it lightly,” Hermann says, “I am stumped. And on top of this, my father—well.” He rubs his hands over his face again and doesn’t elaborate.

The amount Newt knows about Hermann can be counted on one hand. He knows that Hermann was like him—a child prodigy. He knows that Hermann cuts his own hair, because there’s no way something that bad could’ve been paid for, and Newt found dark brown hair clippings in the k-sci bathroom sink the same day Hermann’s bowlcut looked just a bit more severe than usual. He knows Hermann walks with a cane, but he doesn’t know why. He knows Hermann’s father founded the jaeger program, stuck his son at the head of it, and then suddenly and inexplicably publicly called for defunding it in favor of allocating resources to some stupid coastal wall instead. Newt can’t even imagine the pressure Hermann’s dad is putting him under to follow in his footsteps. Or how much harder it is for Hermann to complete even menial work tasks with that weighing over him. “Dude,” he says, sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

Hermann snorts.

“No, really,” Newt says, and he’s surprised to find he means it. Hermann is a bastard, but Newt kinda thinks he’s growing on him like…well, like a frumpy, bitchy old tumor. Or something like that. “I am. That really sucks. Can I help you with anything?”

“Not unless you can write this damn code for me,” Hermann says, scowling and banging the end of his cane against his chalkboard viciously. “Oh, never mind. I’m going to get a tea from the commissary before I tear my bloody hair out.”

He makes to stand, but Newt shakes his head, and says quickly, “No, dude, let me! Just stay here and chill. I was going to run out for a sandwich anyway.”

It’s a misstep, maybe—Hermann’s scowl darkens. But Newt presses on anyway. “Seriously, I’ll get it. I want to help you. Do you want a sandwich or anything too? Or noodles? I think the mess is serving noodles today. Or I could run out to get you takeout, whatever you want.”

“Newton,” Hermann says. Not Dr. Geiszler. Newt’s heart skips a beat for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. “I don’t want a sandwich or anything like that. I just want some tea.” His jaw moves back and forth again. “But—if you are so inclined to fetch it for me—I would…appreciate the gesture. I take it with milk and two sugars. Just a tea. That is all.”

“Okay!” Newt says, grinning goofily, and jogs from the lab.

He slams a bio-degradable cardboard coffee cup and a small box of pastries down onto Hermann’s desk thirty minutes later. Hermann, who was poring over a bewildering jumble of code on his computer screen, startles so badly his glasses slip off the end of his nose and bounce against his chest. He crooks his eyebrow at the cup and pastries. “Those are not from the commissary,” he says.

“They’re not,” Newt says. “Come on, the comm stuff is crap, you know they water everything down. There’s a café I go to just off base and they’ve actually got the good stuff.” It costs him a fucking fortune these days with rationing, especially on the tiny salary the PPDC is able to scrape together for him, but Newt firmly believes it’s worth it. Spending that much on Hermann is worth it too, he thinks, if it means Hermann can go back to their usual sparring faster. Sad, mopey Hermann unsettles Newt. He slides Hermann’s drink closer to him. “Come on, come onnn, try some.”

Hermann sniffs it suspiciously. He pries off the plastic lid, revealing a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle beneath. “This does not look like tea, either,” he says, and stares at Newt—unimpressed—over his glasses.

“It’s not,” Newt says. “It’s called the Geiszler—it’s my custom order at the shop. Well, I call it the Geiszler, anyway. I think they just call it ‘that one fucking guy is back again’.” Hermann cracks the world’s smallest smile, and Newt feels like he’s just scaled Mount Everest. He also feels like his stomach might twist itself up in knots, because it’s kinda a cute smile. Is that weird to think about Hermann like that? It’s totally weird. Whatever. “Go on, try it, for real. I promise it’s good.”

Hermann delicately snaps the lid back on and takes a long sip; he swallows, and hums thoughtfully. Newt has never cared about Hermann’s opinion this much before. “Well, it’s not tea,” Hermann finally says, “but I will admit it could be worse. Thank you.” He gives Newt another funny little sour smile—like it can’t decide if it wants to be a frown or not. “And thank you for the pastries, as well. Though I don’t know how on earth I’m meant to finish them all.”

“Dude, they’re totally not all for you,” Newt laughs. He digs one out of the box, takes a bite, and waves it at Hermann. Crumbs rain down on Hermann’s desk. “As if. We’re sharing.”

Hermann wrinkles his nose and sweeps off a layer of crumbs from some paperwork. “Hm,” he says. “Please do refrain from eating over my work station, Newton. I know you are far laxer with your sanitary habits, but…”

There it is again—Newton. Not Dr. Geiszler, and not Newt. No one’s called Newt Newton in years. It’s for the Newton that Newt forgoes the fight and just backs off with his pastry and a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re right, that was rude of me. Enjoy the coffee.”

They’re back at each other’s throats in a day, but Hermann doesn’t stop calling him Newton, so Newt figures that’s gotta mean something.

[paperlandings]

Footsteps

@natsume-ss gift for @polandspringz! I had a lot of fun writing this! I really related to what you said about liking the more subtle, emotional parts of the series as it pertains to Natsume’s feeling of belonging, and I hope I was able to capture that in this fic. Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!

TW: implications of bullying, emotional manipulation, and child neglect.

Word count: 1784

When Takashi was five years old, footsteps meant that his father was coming to tuck him in.

The house was big, and old, and sometimes cold, but it didn’t matter because his father would always be there with a warm smile, a gentle voice, and kind hands. At night, there would always be a book tucked under his arm, and Takashi would sit up excitedly in his bed, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“Read me a story!” he would say.

His father would chuckle and say that he would probably find the book boring.

“That’s okay,” Takashi would reply, scooting over to make space beside him.

His father would sit down, tipping the bed over ever so slightly, and open the book to whatever page he was on. Takashi didn’t always understand what was being read to him but the fact that his father was there, a warm presence next to him, was enough to lull him to sleep every night.

He vaguely remembered the feeling of a blanket being draped over him and the noise of a screen door sliding closed, and he would fall asleep to the soft thumping of his father walking away.

When Takashi was six years old, footsteps meant that the monster was coming.

There was a monster at the end of the hallway who was always following him. But the monster wasn’t real. Uncle and auntie had said so. So when there was knocking on his room door in the middle of the night, Takashi would jam his pillow over his head and ignore it.

But the monster was there. It followed Takashi around the house and knocked on his room door at night. It stood next to him at the table sometimes and called his name.

“What does it want?” they would ask.

“It wants me to draw it a mouth.”

And then they would laugh at him. And then the little girl who lived with him would glare at him. And then he would feel so, so alone.

Uncle and auntie didn’t mean anything bad, he knew that. But he also knew that they thought he was strange and stupid and had too wild of an imagination. They cared for him but they didn’t care about him.

His father would’ve understood though. His father would’ve held him and told him everything was going to be okay, and that they were going to get rid of the monster together. His father would’ve believed him.

He missed his father.

He wonders if uncle and auntie would miss him as he stepped into the car, watching his new home get smaller and smaller behind him.

When Takashi was eight years old, footsteps meant that someone was angry.

Then again, auntie was always angry. And when auntie was angry, his cousins got angry at him too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t do the things that he was accused of, they got angry at him anyway.

They said that he was the one who broke the vase in the hallway even though he had seen someone else do it. They said that he was the one who ate auntie’s cake in the fridge even though the crumbs were at the corners of their mouths. They said that he was the one who started that fight at school and they were only defending him because Takashi was weird and they were so nice. Nevermind that Takashi had never actually been anywhere near that fight.

Auntie’s sandals made a different sound than everyone else’s. They were louder, the slapping on the wood floor more sharp. They came with a decisiveness that he had never heard from anyone else. They made Takashi want to run away and hide in a place where they would never find him.

And when they sounded like that, they were always coming towards him.

Takashi thinks he might have preferred the monster.

When Takashi was thirteen years old, footsteps meant that he had to be very, very quiet.

Auntie always came home late. Uncle says it’s Takashi’s fault, and he thinks uncle might be right.

The first time auntie came home late, Takashi came to greet her at the door. He laid out her sandals for her, offered to make her tea, and tried his very best to make her like him. And then she looked at him, kicked the sandals aside, and blew past him and into her room.

She smelled strongly of alcohol, and Takashi pretended not to notice.

Auntie kept on coming home late. Takashi kept greeting her at the door and laying out her sandals. She kept on kicking them aside, harder and harder until one day they flew straight into his face.

“Just stay in your room so I can forget that you ruined my life!” she had yelled at him.

The next time auntie came home late, her sandals echoing in the empty hallway, Takashi stayed quiet in his room. Auntie came home late every day from then on.

He heard uncle yelling one night, telling auntie that she couldn’t keep on blowing their savings on alcohol, that they had Takashi to think about, that if people found out they weren’t taking proper care of Takashi they could get into very big trouble.

Auntie stormed off and slammed the door to Takashi’s room open, yelling at him that everything was hard because of him. That they could barely afford to live because of him. That she hated him. Takashi stayed quiet and hoped she would think he was asleep.

“He can’t hear you,” uncle said. “He’s sleeping. You’re wasting your breath.”

The door closed and Takashi let out a big, shuddering breath.

Tomorrow, he swore, he would learn to cut his own hair.

When Takashi was fifteen years old, footsteps meant the cold.

He could tell auntie and uncle didn’t like him much. He could tell they thought he was a dramatic troublemaker and a nuisance. But they were nice enough, and their son seemed to genuinely like him, and so he needed to stay with them.

He couldn’t make trouble. Even when auntie deliberately denied Takashi a scarf on cold days despite her son’s insistence. Even when uncle repeatedly forgot to think of Takashi when he brought home treats from work. Takashi wasn’t stupid. He could tell they hadn’t really wanted to take him in the first place. He had to be grateful that they did anyway and took care of him as best as they could bring themselves to. Besides, his new older brother was nice. He would sneak sweets into Takashi’s room when his parents weren’t looking, and loudly proclaimed that he didn’t like a certain shirt anymore and Takashi should have it even though they all knew that he had only bought it the week before. He would help Takashi with school work and insist on walking home with him when they saw each other on the way.

It wasn’t so bad, really, but Takashi was tired.

He was tired of people disliking him before even getting to know him. He was tired of having to be alone all the time. He was tired of going to live with a different person every half year, all of which never wanted him.

Which was why he had to stand down. He had to keep his head down and not do or say anything that would make them want to send him away because he needed to stay here.

He started going on runs at night to keep himself from going crazy. To let out all the pent up energy and emotion that he had to keep bottled up day after day. He focused on the sound of his footsteps on the asphalt and the bite of cold wind through his clothes and just runs until all he could think about was to go to sleep.

He’s grateful no one notices, but sometimes when he comes home to deafening silence and chilling darkness, he wished they did.

When Takashi is sixteen years old, footsteps meant kindness.

The first night he came home with Touko-san and Shigeru-san, they fussed over him until his ears rang. They asked him if his head was still hurting after his fall, what kind of food he liked to eat, what kind of clothing he needed, if he wanted a bed or a futon in his room.

Takashi’s head hurt. None of his previous guardians had ever asked him this many questions before. Especially not about his preferences. 

He apologized and told them he didn’t know, and when their faces fell, he frantically added that he liked manjuu.

The next morning, he found a box of manjuu with his name written on top on the kotatsu in the living room.

Every night after that, right before bed, he would always hear the soft thudding of his guardians’ footsteps coming towards his room. Either Touko-san or Shigeru-san or both would knock at his door, poke their head in, and ask him if he needed anything. Takashi always said no, until the night his body betrayed him and he sneezed right in Touko-san’s face.

She made a small sound of surprise and promptly ran out of his room. Takashi stared at his door in horror, thinking that was it. They were going to send him away. That had been so horribly rude of him and they were going to tell him tomorrow morning that they couldn’t keep him anymore.

And then Touko-san ran back into his room, an impressive pile of blankets in her arms, and proceeded to cover him in four layers of warmth before smoothing his hair back with a smile on her face and bidding him good night.

Takashi sweat like mad that night, but he never took any of his blankets off.

They didn’t send him away when he ruined one of Touko-san’s pans trying to make breakfast to thank her the next morning. They didn’t send him away when he ran home screaming and collapsed on the entryway. They didn’t send him away when he came home with a failing grade, or when he asked to keep the strange fat cat he had found in a shrine.

They were ecstatic when he brought friends with him for the first time. Touko-san fed them until they were full to bursting and Shigeru-san regaled them with tales of his most impressive fishing exploits.

And every night, without fail, they would still knock at his door, asking him if he needed anything. And Takashi would smile, thank them for their kindness, and fall asleep with his heart more full than it had ever been.

When Takashi is sixteen years old, footsteps meant that his family was coming.

[onyour-right]

Titans s2 finale review.

Okay y’all, I’ve finally watched it. It....... was quite alright, tbh. I’ll give it like a 6/10, but there’s definitely things that could have been so much fun.

- Deathstroke. I liked the fight between him and Dick and Rose; two people who he’s fucked up more than the rest, that moment was very significant. I’m even glad it was Rose that “killed” him. BUT it definitely happened way too quickly and easily. Like dang, all it took was a little shank with Rose’s swords? Really? I wanted to see more action, more blood, more bruises... I was kinda disappointed. (How good did Dick look in that suit, he’s too damn fine). 

- Rose. Her line of ‘The Titans are my family’ would have been so much better if we actually saw her interacting with them and bonding, as it is we hardly got any scenes with her interacting with the team, so that line definitely threw me off.. But, uh, I guess???? She was quite good when she was acting as Joey, and that moment she had with Dick was quite touching. I guess I wish they’d used her more this season. 

- Gar. I feel so bad for him. My baby. I’m so happy he had that scene with Dick (a little too late, but I’ll take it). HOPEFULLY THIS WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN IN SEASON 3 AND THEY WILL GET HIM SOME HELP FOR HIS TRAUMA. It was nice that Rachel was the one to reach him though. Although I wish they would have had him fighting the team, it would have been such a contrast from who he actually is, and also show how strong he is.

- Donna. Donna. Donna. That fight scene between her and Conner was really good and I enjoyed how it showed how powerful both of these powerful these two are (again, wished it could have been longer). LOL HER DEATH. Listen. Not that her death was funny. But they couldn’t have picked a better way for her to go? She couldn’t have gone from fighting Conner and refusing not to kill him because he’s innocent - so then he ends up killing her? I’m sorry, I really was watching that scene like:

the writing for her death was so poor. I mean she didn’t even really have to die. I know her character development was piss poor this season, but c’mon man, she could have just gone back to Themyscira or something. Did she really have to die LIKE THAT?

- Kory. I can’t wait for her season. It’s gonna be soo good. She never disappoints me. Her interaction with Conner was priceless (a brotp that I love), her and Hank are a friendship duo I never knew I needed until now. So glad she knocked out Mercy. Honestly the lack of scenes between her and Dick are ridiculous and I’m just *deep, heavy sigh*. Her moment with Rachel in the car, mother/daughter duo. Her sister coming to fuck things up, I’m so damn ready for it. They better not do her dirty though. 

- Dick. My husband. Love of my life. I’m proud of his character growth and long may it continue. I felt sad that his best-friend died in his arms. Loved his scenes with Bruce. Glad he gave us that small dickkory crumb when these goddamn stupid writers couldn’t (I’m not bitter, can you tell). I want to see more father/son scenes between him and Gar though. 

- Komand’r. I don’t fuck with her because of how she’s done Kory. But she is a BOSS ASS BITCH. And season 3 is gonna be so exciting watching these two share scenes and play off each other. Whew lord. 

Anyways. Das my review. I can’t wait till it comes on Netflix so I can binge watch it. I feel like the season will seem much better when the episodes are readily available and we don’t have to wait for upcoming episodes. I’ll give this season a B, because I have enjoyed certain aspects and looking forward for the set up next year. I hope these writers actually listen to us though, because I feel like this show could be so much better if they just listened.  

[lifesabe-ch]

this means war - billy r. and frank c. (part 2)

summary: this is a spin-off from a movie (can anyone find the title?, lol), starring Billy Russo and Frank Castle. In this AU, Billy isn’t a psycho, Frank’s family is alive, and they both really like coffee. And, you know, Y/N.

pairings: Frank Castle x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader (actually both of them, I promise)

warnings: nada

a/n: so I guess I’m writing again (with @pitaparka​, because she very heavily co-wrote this)

PART 1

A few days had passed and you and Billy had been texting back and forth non-stop.

Your grin only widened with each message you got, a small giggle slipping past your lips. You know that the entirety of this seemed a bit too good to be true but… you didn’t want to think too much on it. Your friends had always told you you didn’t put yourself out there enough. That you… were too closed off. So, you were letting yourself let a little loose. You were having fun. That was all that mattered, right?

A small cough pulled you from your little trance, causing you to look up as a tall man began speaking, “You looked so happy I almost didn’t want to interrupt you to order.”

Slipping your phone back into your apron pocket, you shook your head, flashing him a genuine smile, “Nah, don’t worry about it. In hindsight, I probably should’ve been doing my job.”

Shaking his head, he matched your smile, “What, you’re telling me you don’t live to make other people’s coffee?”

Chuckling lightly, you rolled your eyes, “Oh no, I do. That’s why I came to New York. Barista has always been my dream career.”

“You might be a little disappointed to hear that I’m not here for a coffee then. Just, you know, an plain bagel.”

Quirking a brow slightly, you nodded, “Right, so… just a plain bagel and a side of my crushed hopes and dreams?”

He chuckled, “That’s just about it, yeah.”

Getting his order together for him and cashing him out, you watched as he sat down, your eyes shamelessly trailing over his frame.

“You should get some of that.”

Morgan nudged you, nodding her head in the man’s direction. Glancing back at her, you shook your head, beginning to make the next customers order, “You’re crazy! What about Billy?”

She rolled her eyes, “Billy, who you’re not dating? Billy, whom you’ve been talking to for about two days? Don’t commit so soon. Come on, live a little. Have some fun.”

Have some fun.

Were you seriously that uptight?

Sighing, you busied yourself with covering the cup with its lid, “How would I even-”

“Your break is in ten minutes. Just walk over there. Sit down. He’s sitting alone, clearly in need of some company. You… never have company. It’s practically a sign.”

You snorted slightly, “Yeah, a sign that you’re really grasping for straws here.”

She ignored you, continuing, “I’m telling you. This is a great idea. What’ve you got to loose?”

So, fifteen minutes later, you found yourself walking out of the backroom, mascara applied, hair pulled up and out of your face, and break ready to be wasted.

Muttering to yourself as you walked over, you couldn’t help but shake your head, “I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be—Hi.”  

Underestimating how quickly your feet could move, you arrived as his table before you were fully mentally prepared to, your smile probably coming off more nervous than charming.

Ever the complete opposite of the hot mess you were, he flashed you a smile, “Hey.”

“Uh… this seat taken? I mean, I know it’s not like, currently being occupied but, you know, did you have any… uh, future plans for it?”

“Not unless you were planning to sit there, sweetheart.”

With a relieved sigh, you sat down across from him, gesturing slightly towards his bagel, “Enjoying your food?”

He nodded, “No, yeah, it’s great. I do have one complaint though.”

“What’s up?” You frowned, ready to scold your coworkers later.

“The crushed hopes and dreams you gave me on the side are a bit… bitter. Anyway I could, I don’t know, get a refund?”

Letting out a slightly relieved breath at his joke, you flashed him a smile, “No can do. Those are strictly non refundable.”

“Well shit,” he laughs and smiles off to the side.

“What’s your name?” He questions. All of a sudden, you forget everything you’ve ever known. This gorgeous, charming, sweet man wants to know your name. Goddamn.

“Uh, it’s (y/n). Y tú?”

“Oh, bilingual, I see… yo soy Frank. Tus ojos son hermosos.”

“Oh, uhm… Grazie, uhh d-donde esta tú biblioteco.”

“What? No intiendo.”

“I don’t know what you just said. I don’t even know what I just said, actually, so,” you laugh awkwardly.

“I’m not great at spanish either, to be honest,” Seemingly trying to make you feel a bit better after asking him where his library was. 

“Better than me,” You shrugged. “If my old spanish teacher could see me now? I can only imagine the disappointment.”

He raised a brow at you, “You mean to tell me, you took an entire class and that’s what you learned?”

Flipping him off as he chuckled, you managed a soft chuckle, “Shut up. I was in high school when I took the classes. And, I wasn't exactly the best student.”

“Makes sense,” He nodded. “Not that you weren’t the best student, I’m not saying...I don’t mean- I mean, makes sense that you were in high school when you took them, because that’s a thing. High schoolers, do.”

There a pause in the conversation, the two of you just silently staring at one another.

“Well, this is awkward,” the two of you broke the silence at once, causing you both to laugh.  

“Yeah, it is, I just... didn’t wanna offend you. I’m a much better conversationalist over dinner.” He pauses before speaking again, a slight smile on his face, “So… can I have your number?”

“Like, my phone number?”

Chuckling at your shocked expression, he shook his head, “No, like your social security number. I’m planning on stealing your identity.”

Nodding slowly, you pretended to reach into your pocket, “Oh yeah of course, of course. Obviously. Silly me. Let me just grab my wallet for you too, no problem. And my phone while we’re at it.”

He giggles this soft, manly giggle. As manly as a man can giggle. Is it even called giggling at that point? Is giggling even the right word? He takes his hand and rests it over his mouth, as if he were wiping it clean of bagel crumbs. His mouth was free of bagel crumbs anyway. You take out a small piece of paper and a pen from your apron, and begin to write down your number.

“You could just, I don’t know, uh, put it into my phone?”

“Oh! Right, yeah, of course.”

The two of you traded phones, giving each other your numbers, before handing them back.

With a smile, you stood up from the table, “So… I guess now we just wait to see who calls first.”

“What, you mean leaving here and immediately calling you wouldn’t be cool of me?”

Shaking your head, you grinned, “I’ll see you later, Frank.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Hope is the Thing With Feathers: Ch 2/3

Yes, this will officially have three parts. Part three is where everything will come together and all the action will take place. Chapter two is where the romance happens . . . enjoy, Krystal! It was so fun to write this for your birthday! Much thanks to @hollyethecurious   for the banner, the brainstorming, and co-writing chapter one.

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the tiny, quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to get obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the mysterious, handsome man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon discovers that both the castle and the man have secrets that she could never have imagined. For @kmomof4 on her birthday.

Rating: M (yes, I upped the rating. This isn’t smut, but I definitely flirted with the line. All for you, Krystal!)

Words: A lot. Sorry if tumblr eats the cut on mobile. I tried.

Can also be read on Ao3

Trigger warnings: none unless you're afraid of spiders. Oh, and Captain Cobra in case that messes with your ovaries ;)

@bethacaciakay @teamhook @artistic-writer @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells​ @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615

Chapter Two: That Sings the Tune Without the Words

Hope is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words-

And never stops – at all

Henry paused in his reading. “You know, Emily Dickinson was a lot like you.”

Killian looked up from the spindle he was examining. “How so?”

The boy was perched on a stool in the corner with his literature textbook open on his lap. He rolled his eyes, looking for all the world like his mother. “Isn’t it obvious? She was a recluse.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s a big word for a ten year old.”

Now Henry scowled openly. “I hate when people say that. It’s not a big word at all; only seven letters.”

Killian chuckled at that. “You are not only incredibly bright, lad, but perhaps my kindred spirit.”

Henry seemed pleased even as he focused again on his textbook. “Mom does say I’m an old soul.”

“Oh ho! Now you’re calling me old!”

Henry laughed freely. Killian gestured towards the book in his lap.

“You didn’t finish the poem. It goes on to say, And sweetest – in the gale – is heard, and sore must be the storm – That could abash the little bird that kept so many warm – I’ve heard it in the chilliest land and on the strangest sea – Yet, never, in Extremity, it asked a crumb of me.”

“You know that by heart?” Henry exclaimed.

Killian shrugged. “I have a book of Dickinson poems. They’ve always spoken to me I guess, and it’s not as if they are difficult to memorize.”

Henry picked at the binding of the thick book in his lap. “My teacher thinks studying Dickinson is cool for Halloween. I don’t get it.”

“Maybe Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me, but if she wanted Halloween poetry, she should have gone with Edgar Allan Poe.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Killian clapped his palm to his heart. “You’ve never heard of Poe? Quothe the Raven, nevermore?”

Henry shook his head. “Nope.”

“A tragedy, truly.”

“I figured you must read a lot,” Henry commented, “since Belle’s always bringing you big stacks of books. Why don’t you just go to the library?”

“I’m a recluse, remember?” Killian cleared his throat nervously and scratched behind his ear. “Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll show you how to use this lathe?”

“Cool!” Henry exclaimed, tossing aside the book and jumping up from his stool. But he hesitated before coming closer. “But Mom only let me stay if I promised to finish my homework, and you said you’d help me with those lit questions. There are more questions than there are words in the poem!”

Killian clapped his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “But I’ve also got to get this banister finished. The faster I get this last spindle done, the sooner I can help you with that poem.” He leaned closer to the boy and cocked an eyebrow at him. “And isn’t making a mess and using a loud machine more fun anyway?”

“It sure is!” Henry agreed excitedly as he donned the safety glasses Killian handed him.

Killian stood next to enry

Henry and handed him the final post of wood. “Put the wood on the spindle here,” he instructed, then he handed Henry the chisel. “Do you see this narrow part here?”

“Yeah,” Henry said with a nod.

“It doesn’t match the others, so I need to trim it just a bit. So I’ll turn on the machine, and you’ll run the chisel along this spot right here,” he shifted the chisel and lined it up properly.

“But what if I trim it too much?”

“I’ll be guiding you through it,” Killian assured him.

“Do you have like a measurement or something? I mean, do you mark the wood? I . . . I don’t want to mess it up.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Killian assured him, stilling the slight tremor of the boy’s hand. “But to answer your question, yes, many carpenters use specific measurements. But for me, it’s art. Do you do any type of art, Henry?”

The boy gnawed on his bottom lip. “Does writing stories count?”

Killian grinned at him. “Aye, my boy, it sure does. So crafting these spindles is like crafting a story. I have an idea in my head, but as I work, sometimes it turns out differently than I expected. Better, even.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “I think I get it.”

“Okay then, ready?” Henry gave a nod, and Killian turned on the machine. The boy leaned in concentration over his work, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Killian once again though of his mother, for he had noticed the same look of concentration come over her face yesterday when she was carefully cleaning the paintings they had found throughout the house. He guided Henry’s hand when it drifted, but he was impressed with how steadily he worked. He couldn’t believe the warmth he felt in his long cold heart whenever this boy and his mother were near.

Killian stopped the lathe and lifted the spindle to examine it, then ran a square of sandpaper across the newly trimmed wood. He looked at Henry with a smile upon his face. “Good job, my boy!”

He grinned broadly “Really? But how do we know it matches the other ones? If you don’t measure, I mean?”

“Well, after a while, it’s kind of instinct. But more than that, the slight variations add character. It would look odd if this old house had perfectly matched, machine made spindles on the banister, wouldn’t it?”

Henry tilted his head to think about it. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good point.” He looked down at the floor and ground his toe into the sawdust covered floor.

“What is it, Henry?”

“I don’t know . . . I was just thinking . . . At school, being a little different doesn’t mean you have character. It means you’re just . . . weird. Especially when you’re the littlest kid in seventh grade.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Now the Dickinson poetry and those algebra problems in the boy’s homework made a bit more sense. “Henry, you are a bright boy. That is something to be proud of.”

Henry’s chin only sank lower. “Being smart isn’t cool, believe me.”

Killian sighed and set aside the spindle. “I don’t know that I was ever as intelligent as you, Henry, but I was small for my age. Smaller than my brother was at that age too. Liam was built broader than I was, and I wanted nothing more than to be as strong and good as he was.”

Henry finally met his gaze. “So what did you do?”

Killian chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “There wasn’t much I could do except wait to grow up.”

“Were you ever as big and strong as Liam?”

Killian rubbed his chin in thought, but in the end couldn’t lie to the boy. “No, but I did work hard when we joined the Royal Navy. And soon, I had callouses and muscles, and could hold my own with a swo- a weapon. I was never as good as Liam either, but I tried. And learning Greek came easier for me than Liam.” He chuckled again and gave Henry a light punch in the shoulder. “I always liked to rub that in just a bit.” Killian grew serious then and grasped Henry by both shoulders. “But listen, this is very important. Never, never be less than you are just to get people to accept you. Understood?”

Henry nodded, then gave a tiny smile. “Mom says girls like smart guys.”

“I sure do.”

Killian straightened to find Emma Swan herself leaning against a post in the entryway from the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest. There was a smile on her face he hadn’t yet seen, a light in her eyes he couldn’t read. He liked the look on her, though, and he hoped in some small way it was because of him.

“Mom, look!” Henry cried. “I got to use the – what’s it called again?” He turned to look up at Killian

“A lathe.”

“A lathe! I got to use the lathe!”

“That’s awesome, kid,” Emma said, walking up to rub her son’s head. Henry wrinkled his nose and reached his hand up to fix his mussed hair.

“I promise the lad finished all of his schoolwork except for his literature assignment,” Killian assured, both hands raised.

Emma tilted her head as she gazed up at him. “I trust you.”

No three words could have flooded Killian with more elation. The sparkle hadn’t left her eyes, and he had the strongest desire to trace that dimple in her chin. Instead, he gave his head a slight shake and took a step backwards.

“I did promise to help him with Emily Dickinson, though. After . . . we . . .uh . . . finished the spindle.” He cleared his throat, wanting to curse himself. He hadn’t been tongue tied around a woman since . . . He pushed the thought away, unwilling to complete it.

Emma quickly lowered her gaze from his, taking a step back herself. “Right, well, you two get to it. I’ll . . . just . . . start sweeping out this room and the foyer, then get to work in the library.”

“Of course.”

He watched her go, unable to help himself from admiring the way her tight jeans hugged her figure. He rubbed at that hollow place in his chest also unable to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was able to make her tongue-tied. Of course, thinking of her tongue made his mind race further into inappropriate territory, and he was once again cursing himself.

Bloody hell, Jones, her son is in the room!

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

Emma sneezed as she set the next stack of books onto the desk in the library. Dust billowed up from the leather bindings and yellowed pages, causing her eyes to water. She ran her now dirty cloth over the cover of the one on top; a book called Her Handsome Hero by an author she’d never heard of. She set it in the stack destined for the thrift store. She had learned in her research on the house that after Baelfire Gold died with no heirs, ownership of the entire property had been granted to the city of Hopeful. The house itself had been sold and used as a boarding school for wealthy boys until World War II. That meant the library was full of possibilities for their haunted museum.

“Henry’s finished his homework.”

Emma looked up as Killian entered the room. “Let me guess, he’s now playing video games.”

“No, he’s actually sanding the fireplace mantel.” Killian said as he idly picked up a book from one of her piles.

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Wow. He’s really into this project.”

Killian simply nodded in reply as he continued to shuffle through the books. “I take it this is your discard pile?”

“Well, donation pile. We’re only holding on to books of literary or historical value.”

Killian chuckled at her imitation of Belle’s accent. He lifted a book from the donation pile. “This one was written by a Frenchmen in 1773. His only novel; and it barely sold any copies. A shame, really, because it’s quite good.”

Emma’s brow furrowed when she saw he was holding Her Handsome Hero. “And you know this because . . . “

He gestured around the room. “I’ve read many books in this library.”

Emma put down the book she was dusting and crossed her arms. “When? Shortly after the first moon landing? There’s fifty years’ worth of dust on these books.”

“Well, um,” he stammered, scratching behind his ear, “I didn’t mean these books exactly. I’ve taken copies from here, you know. No one else cared about them . . . ”

He trailed off, flashing her a disarming grin, and she knew he was lying. But why would he lie about where he got a copy of an 18th century French novel?

“You don’t have to justify anything to me,” Emma assured him. “We can’t be sure who bought all these books, so it’s not like they can be returned to their rightful owners.”

He turned from her and grabbed another stack of books from the shelf. Emma watched him until he turned back towards her. Then she quickly lowered her gaze to the next book in her hand.

“This one’s a keeper,” she said, “Tom Sawyer.”

Killian smiled fondly. “Ah, yes, about the mischievous orphan boy. I always identified with him.”

“Which part? Being mischievous I assume?” Emma teased.

“Both actually.” The grin he gave her was one she knew quite well. It was the kind that hid pain behind a mask of indifference.

“Oh,” she said softly, setting the book aside in the too keep pile. The last thing she wanted to do was bond with this man over past experiences. She was already on dangerous ground with him. She had frozen in place when she walked in to find him patiently instructing Henry with the woodworking. And then Henry had actually opened up to him about his struggles at school, and Killian had encouraged him to be proud of his intelligence. It was something Emma had told him a thousand times, but she knew hearing it from a male, especially one he obviously looked up to, would make a world of difference to her son. The entire thing made her heart ache in a way she had never experienced before. Henry had never bonded with any of the men she had dated, not even Graham, who had actually tried to connect with him.

“Have I said something to offend you, Swan?”

Emma looked up into Killian’s concerned gaze and realized she had fallen silent for several minutes. “Oh, um, I just . . . “ she shrugged as she turned to get another stack of books, “I know what you mean, that’s all.”

“You’re an orphan too?” He didn’t say it with sympathy or pity, just matter-of-factly, one orphan to another.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “look, can we change the subject?”

“Of course,” he told her softly, then swiftly changed gears. “That’s quite a lad you’ve got there, Swan.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, a contented smile quirking her lips, “he’s pretty great. Thanks for spending time with him.”

Killian rested his hand atop hers. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy his company.”

“Hey, mom,” Henry’s voice echoed down the corridor. Emma quickly snatched her hand away from Killian’s as they both turned to the doorway.

“Yeah, kid?” Emma hated how nervous her voice sounded. For God’s sake, all the man had done was touch her hand!

“I think I sanded the mantel pretty good, and I’m starving.”

Emma gasped as she pulled out her phone and checked the time. “Henry, I’m so sorry, it’s almost seven! Let’s head to Granny’s and get some burgers.”

“Awesome!” Henry cheered, then he turned to Killian. “You should come eat with us! Right, Mom? I mean, he helped a lot with my homework.”

Emma tilted her head at Killian and smiled, “I agree. I think he’s earned a bit of a reward.”

She expected him to tease her or lean close and murmur an innuendo under his breath that Henry couldn’t catch. She didn’t know why she enjoyed flirting with him so much, but she did. Instead, Killian looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and his normally flushed cheeks suddenly pale.

“I would love to,” he stammered, “but I really can’t.”

Emma elbowed him gently in the ribs, “Come on Jones, everyone’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah,” Henry put in, “please!”

Killian’s eyes darted between the two, and then he leaned close to Emma. His eyes pleaded with her to understand as he said in a low voice, “I really can’t Swan.”

Emma’s brow furrowed, and just like she knew he was lying about the book earlier, she now knew he was telling her the truth. She gave him a slight nod of understanding, then turned to her son.

“Killian’s had a long day, Henry, let’s get out of his hair.”

“Awww,” Henry pouted.

“Sorry, my boy, I’m old remember?” Killian told him, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“See you tomorrow, Killian!” Henry called as they headed out the door. Emma smiled at Killian over her shoulder, her arm flung around her son’s shoulder.

It was all so strange. Emma’s gut told her she could trust this man, and her gut rarely went straight to “trust.” Yet he had lied to her about the book, something that should have been inconsequential. Then when he told her he couldn’t join them for dinner, he was being absolutely truthful. Not that he didn’t want to; he couldn’t. Emma somehow knew the distinction was important. Killian Jones was a mystery for sure; one that she was determined to solve.

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

The pungent aroma of wood stain flooded Killian’s senses and made a slight headache pound at his temple. Despite that, his thoughts continued to wander in the same direction, leading him right back to Emma Swan. He rubbed wearily at his forehead with the back of his hand before rubbing at the post in front of him once again. The feelings that were stirring inside of him were those he thought he was no longer capable of; things he hadn’t felt since Milah.

For three centuries, he had watched the world pass before him, ever changing. Yet he was stuck as a mere spectator, forced to hide in the shadows lest suspicions be roused about a man who never aged. That was the reason that female company, or any company for that matter, had been rare in his life. Occasionally he would take a woman back to his cabin simply as a way to release his pent up frustrations and physical loneliness. He always chose those carefully; grifters who were just passing through, or a tourist who was up for a no-strings-attached tryst while she was on vacation. Of course, the more Hopeful deteriorated into a ghost town (pun completely intended), the more he found himself alone for long stretches of time. Until he woke up one day and realized it had been years, not months, since he last interacted with another human being. His voice was rough from misuse, and he startled to discover that he not only conversed with animals and inanimate objects, but himself. It had been a startling and frightening revelation.

That had to be why Emma Swan consumed his every thought, awake and in his dreams. He had gone from being that recluse Henry had mentioned to being in her lovely presence on an almost daily basis.

You don’t dwell on thoughts of Belle or Henry all day long. His mind argued. He sighed as he dipped the rag into the dark stain once again. And now here he was talking to himself again.

Everything had changed the day he had literally run into Belle French poking around the castle. Like Henry, she had been curious about the old place rumored to be haunted. Not to mention she was the most adventurous and curious woman he had ever encountered. She had already done extensive research in her beloved library on Gold Manor, and had recognized him immediately, gasping out his name as she dropped her flashlight. Never for one second had she found his story unbelievable. Another way she was like Henry. And now she was determined to find a way to free him from his curse.

In three hundred years he hadn’t had a single friend, and now he had three. Though if he were completely honest, his fantasies about Emma Swan were far outside the realm of mere friendship.

“Ugh, it reeks in here! How have you not passed out?”

Killian turned to find Emma Swan herself standing below the ladder he was perched on, the sunlight streaming through the brand new glass on the French doors illuminating her hair. The way she wrinkled her nose was adorable while her wide stance and hands braced on her hips shouted feisty strength. She was a contradiction in softness and strength, dark and light, and he found her absolutely mesmerizing.

“I find it clears my head,” he replied dryly.

She rolled her eyes. “Liar.” She reached down for another container of stain and a rag. “This looks tedious. I’ll start down here, and we’ll meet in the middle.” She knelt down at the bottom of the staircase, prying the lid off the stain can with a screw driver. He kept his mouth shut about messing with his tools; she hadn’t exactly been making a suggestion. More like an order.

They worked on the banister in silence for several moment before he heard Emma make a little sighing noise. He glanced down at her to see her brow furrowed and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Whatever she was contemplating, he had a feeling it wasn’t the banister in front of her.

“You’re a mystery, Killian Jones.”

He almost lost his balance on the ladder.

“I’ve asked about you around town,” she continued, still not tilting her gaze up to his.

Killian swallowed, unsure what to say as she paused. He should have expected as much. She was the town deputy, and Killian was spending a lot of time with her son.

She calmly got more stain on her rag before continuing. His heart thudded in his chest.

“The only people who’ve ever seen you around are the postmaster and the employees at the market.” She cut her eyes up to him. “You love to read, yet you never go to the library.”

“Why do that when I have a lovely librarian who makes house calls?” he quipped with his most charming grin.

Emma frowned as she turned her gaze back to the banister. Was she jealous? God, he hoped so.

“Speaking of Belle, she’s the only one who seems to know your name. And she’s definitely the only one who ever comes out to see you.” She made a funny sound in the back of her throat. “Except for me and Henry now I guess.”

“Belle is just a friend, if that’s what you’re beating around the bush for.”

Emma snorted through her nose. “Don’t really care about your social life, Jones.”

Killian made his way down the ladder. “So you say, Swan, and yet you’ve evidently spent a great deal of time looking into just that.”

She huffed as she stood to reach the next part of the banister. Killian moved the ladder down a bit. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. You are an employee of the city, so I have every right to look into your background.”

Killian couldn’t help scratching behind his ear. “I – uh – thought Belle handled my paperwork.”

“She did.”

It was all Emma said on the matter, but Killian couldn’t help but wonder. She certainly sounded suspicious. He rubbed his forehead wearily.

“You know, this stain is giving me a bit of a headache. Do you mind finishing here while I install the new doors on the curio?”

“Sure,” Emma replied, “but leave the ladder. I can barely reach where I’m staining now.”

“It’s okay, Swan, I find vertically challenged women quite fetching.”

Emma tossed her rag at him, shooting him a withering glare that held little heat. He laughed, pleased to see the spot of pink in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eye. God, he loved teasing her!

They fell into a companionable silence again as they worked, only the sound of his drill bit and the occasional scraping of the ladder breaking the quiet of the room.

“Shit, come on!” he heard Emma complain after about thirty minutes of working. He turned to see her atop the ladder, straining to wipe the last spindle in the center of the banister. She was standing on the very top rung, the one that was clearly labeled “not a step” in bright yellow. On her tip toes was more like it.

“Emma,” he warned as he set aside his drill and came closer.

“I’ve . . . almost . . . got it . . . “

The ladder rocked as she reached up, and Killian surged forward as Emma lost her balance. She let out a sharp scream as she fell backwards. It was cut off when she collided with Killian’s chest. The rag she was holding hit him in the face before fluttering to the floor, and the can of stain wobbled before tipping over, sending the dark brown liquid streaming like a waterfall down the rungs of the ladder.

He shook his face and blinked to get the dust from the rag out of his nose and eyes. When his vision cleared, he was practically nose to nose with Emma. Her green eyes widened as they stared at one another. Every cell in Killian’s body was keenly aware of Emma in his arms. The slight weight of her legs draped over his left arm, her skin beneath his calloused fingers where her shirt had ridden up, the curve of her breast against his chest, and the arms that were wrapped tightly around his neck. A smile hitched at one corner of his mouth as she continued to gaze at him, her fingertips idly toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. It sent shockwaves all the way down his spine.

“Um,” Emma finally spoke, “why are you still holding me?”

“Oh . . . right,” he muttered, his face burning as he quickly put her down. He rubbed at the back of his neck as she straightened the bottom of her shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. She stepped close, invading his space. His heart was beating so loud, he wondered if she could feel it beneath her palm when she laid it upon his chest. “Don’t try to distract me with flirting, Killian Jones. I’ll figure out your secrets.”

He quirked a brow at her, then leaned close, swiping his lower lip with his tongue. “Who’s flirting, Swan? I just saved you from a broken neck. You’re the one who was fiddling with my hair just now.”

Red crept up her neck as she blinked rapidly. “You – you are such a – a,” she stuttered, “a . . . “

“Dashing rapscallion?” he teased with a pout.

She narrowed her eyes. “An arrogant jerk,” she finished with satisfaction. He only chuckled as she marched over to grab some rags from the floor. “Oh, and by the way,” she added as she began to rub vigorously at the wood stain still dripping down the ladder, “I’ve never heard of a cocky recluse.”

His mouth fell open at that. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a smirk.

“I don’t know why you’re hiding out here, Jones, but I will find out. I’m not taking my eyes off you for a second.”

Killian threw her smirk right back at her as he sauntered into her space. He leaned close and winked at her. “I would despair if you did.”

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

The music had been Killian’s idea, and despite the fact that he was humming a tune by The Cure under his breath as he made even strokes with the paint roller, Emma couldn’t help wondering if it was a subtle way of avoiding her. Or something.

She chose to focus instead on the fireplace mantel so she wouldn’t accidently paint it “cranberry sunrise.” God, why did paint colors have such ridiculous names? She sat back on her heels, brushing at a stray hair with the back of her hand. Only half of the room was painted, but it really was a great color. For a “haunted house” anyway. The dark wood stains and deep reds would create the gothic ambience they were going for. It would look even better once they put up the gilded wallpaper and the heavy brocade curtains.

Emma glanced over at Killian and smiled when she saw him swaying his hips slightly to the music. She sighed and carefully set the brush down on the drip pan. Then she rose from her position on the floor and walked cautiously over to him.

“Um, Killian?”

He didn’t stop with the paint roller, simply looked at her and winked, still swaying a little to the music. “Like what you see, Swan?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, we, uh . . . need to talk.”

He wearily lowered the paint roller. “In my experience, it’s never a good thing when a woman says that.”

Emma grimaced. Of course he assumed she was about to give him a hard time again. When hadn’t she? Pulling her gun on him, calling him arrogant, insinuating that the time he spent with her son was anything less than innocent and kind. He rescued Henry from the barbed wire, and even saved her from a broken neck when she fell from that later. Yet how did she thank him?

“Look, about my . . . asking around about you . . .”

He came incredibly close, causing her to lose her train of thought. He reached up and began to rub his thumb gently over her cheek. She literally felt herself sway as the breath rushed from her lungs. He smiled softly at her.

“You had a bit of paint there.”

“Oh.”

His thumbed stopped rubbing gentle circles, yet his hand didn’t leave her face. His fingers gently caressed her jaw line, his thumb hovering over the dimple in her chin.

“And as for your little investigation,” Killian said in a low voice, “try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

Her eyes widened as he lowered his hand. “I do trust you! That’s what I’m trying to say.”

His brow furrowed in confusion as he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. Who carried a handkerchief anymore? He wet it with his tongue, an act that she found fascinating. Then he tilted her chin up with the tips of his fingers and dabbed at the same spot on her cheek again.

“Uh, are you wiping spit on me?”

He chuckled. “Aye. I didn’t quite get that paint off. You were saying?”

Emma swallowed thickly. It was really hard to concentrate when he was staring at her face that way. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed.

“I just know what it’s like to screw up big time. To want to start over, and not have your stupid decisions come back to bite you in the ass.”

He smiled again, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. “There, all gone.”

Emma shook her head. “Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

He tilted his head at her, both eyebrows raising. “Perhaps.”

She let out a long breath of exasperation. “What I’m saying is I don’t care why you’re a loner or what you’re running from. Because . . . you and I . . . we understand one another.”

Killian nodded as he shoved the dirty handkerchief back into his pocket. “Aye, love, I believe we do.”

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

Emma couldn’t believe how everything was coming together. The new staircase was complete, not only with the beautiful stained banister, but with patched and sanded steps. They were waiting for a runner to be delivered, and she couldn’t wait to see the rich crimson against the dark stain of the wood. Killian had picked it from the sample book she and Belle had brought form the hardware store, the same way he had chosen the paint and wallpaper.

Emma shook her head to clear such thoughts and chose instead to admire the new coat of stain on the fireplace mantel and on the hardwood floors. The house was coming together, that was what mattered. Not Killian Jones and his reclusive tendencies.

“So what are we doing today?” she asked him.

His back was to her as he hoisted a large, rolled up oriental rug off his shoulder. It caused his shirt to ride up in the back, exposing the hard muscles there. The ones Emma couldn’t deny that she had fantasized about digging her fingernails into. Why did he have to be so damn hot?

Killian leaned the rug against several others that were nestled in the corner of the room. He turned to her, flashing that easy grin of his.

“Well, the room is incomplete without rugs, not to mention historically inaccurate. I found these in the attic. They were probably stored up there after the school closed in the forties, so they aren’t period accurate, but better than brand new.”

Emma tilted her head and frowned. “They’re disgusting.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye. But Belle rented a steam cleaner. It’s out on the veranda. We need to go through all of these, clean them up, make sure they’re in good enough shape, then figure out where they should go.”

She nodded, “Okay, sounds good. We’ll need one in the foyer, two probably in the parlor, and one in the library. Think we’ll have enough?”

Killian patted the rugs. “I brought six down, and left four more on the second floor. Hopefully the rodents didn’t nibble on too many of them.”

Emma wrinkled her nose as she thought of the disgusting things they might find as they unrolled them, and Killian laughed. She pulled on the first one and grunted. “How did you lug these down from the attic all by yourself?”

“Emma,” Killian suddenly said, voice low, “don’t move.”

A shot of fear made her spine go cold as she thought of rats, snakes, and –

“It’s a spider,” Killian continued.

She had to force herself not to scream and do a ridiculous dance around the room. On her list of things that freaked her out, spiders were at the top. Without turning her head, she cut her eyes to her left and saw a black spider slowly descending from a thread of web from the top of one of the rugs. As it spun, dangling just over her shoulder, she saw a distinctive red hourglass marking on its underbelly.

“Killian,” she hissed, her fear increasing ten-fold.

“It’s a black widow, I know, just be still –“

But before either of them could figure out what to do, the spider dropped to Emma’s shoulder and then crawled more quickly than Emma could have anticipated down the front of her shirt. All calm flew out of her mind then. She screamed, trembling all over, and without thinking, she pulled her shirt over her head and flung it aside.

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

Killian should have been thinking about the poisonous spider if he was a decent man at all. But instead, he was distracted by the smooth porcelain of Emma’s skin, the curve of her waist just begging to be grabbed, and the way her breasts bounced as she brushed at imaginary spiders. Her bra was a tiny thing that dipped low on the swell of her breasts, and as she bent over, brushing at her arms, they almost burst free of their confines.

“Killian, where is it!” she screamed, startling him out of his inappropriate ogling.

He forced himself to examine her torso in a more clinical way and didn’t see anything. He strode quickly over to the t shirt she had tossed upon the floor, and there, crawling calmly over the wrinkled fabric, was the spider. Killian quickly brought his boot down on the creature, leaving a nasty smear of spider guts on Emma’s shirt.

“Sorry, love,” he apologized, “I didn’t want to risk losing sight of it again.”

“Thank you,” she shuddered, placing her hand to her chest. Which was heaving in a very distracting way, he couldn’t help noticing. “Did it get me?”

She pulled her hair up and off her neck, turning her back to him. Killian’s own heart was thudding now, as he gazed at what she was offering up for his perusal. He noted every freckle; one on her collarbone, a smattering around the clasp of her bra, and one large one begging to be kissed at the small of her back.

“Um, no, I don’t see anything.”

She turned to face him, her cheeks pale and her lower lip trembling. He didn’t blame her; black widow spiders were nothing to mess with. He once again scanned her frame, this time trying (and failing) to be more clinical.

He let out a relieved sigh. “No, Swan. It didn’t get you.”

Color returned to Emma’s cheeks as she lifted her gaze to meet his. She was still holding her hair in a messy heap atop her head. The atmosphere was suddenly charged, and he noted that her chest was heaving again, but in a different way. This wasn’t fear; it was desire. She dropped her hair, and it went tumbling over her shoulder, resting between her breasts in a teasing way. He couldn’t help that his eyes drifted from her eyes to watch the tresses brush against her cleavage. When he tore his gaze away, he was relieved to see a slight smirk upon her lips. She took several steps forward, reaching for him with her palms out. Her gaze never leaving his, she slipped them up his shirt, dragging her fingernails through his chest hair.

He couldn’t take it anymore; he grabbed her bare waist as he had been longing to do, and captured her lips. Emma’s hands snaked around to his back, her fingernails scratching in an intoxicating way. They both groaned as they deepened the kiss. Emma pressed herself flush against him, and his only thought was that there was too much fabric separating their skin. Emma seemed to have the same thought as she began to push up his shirt.

They parted just long enough for Killian to get his shirt over his head, then they surged together again. If possible, Emma was pressing herself even closer to him. His hands trailed along her spine, then back up again, pausing at the clasp of her bra. He unhooked it, and relished the feel of her completely bare back under his palms.

He practically growled against her lips as he realized how few surfaces were available to them in this room. He pivoted, pressing her back against the nearest wall as he tugged her bra straps free of her shoulders. Emma broke their kiss to tilt her head back, a moan escaping her lips. He sucked at her neck as he ran his thumbs over her breasts, then he trailed kisses down to the valley between them. Emma arched her back, and he needed no further encouragement as he worshiped each breast with his tongue.

Once he had her crying his name, he fumbled with the button and zipper of her jeans. Then he sank to his knees in front of her as he yanked them over her hips. He trailed kisses teasingly up her inner thigh until he felt her tugging at his hair.

“Killian,” she gasped.

He simply looked up and grinned.

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

Emma hooked her bra, then reached down to retrieve her t shirt from the floor. She frowned and turned to Killian, who was pulling his own shirt over his head. Watching the muscles in his arms as he performed that simple task made her think of the way she had gripped his biceps just moments ago as he had thrust into her. She shook her head to clear it. This man was like a drug!

“I . . . um . . . can’t wear this shirt,” she told him lamely. Why was this so awkward? They had been far from awkward five minutes ago. Or maybe that was easier because they hadn’t been thinking then.

“Oh, right,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “Come on out to the cabin, and I’ll find you something.”

“Yeah,” she continued, “then we can get back to these rugs.”

“Um . . .aye.”

Yes, definitely awkward.

Emma followed him out of the back of the house, through the gardens, and out of the door in the hedge. She had come to find out that he was the one who had installed the door, which was why it was so much newer than everything else. They made their way through the trees and to Killian’s cabin, the cool October air making goosebumps rise up on Emma’s bare skin. The inside of the cabin held welcomed warmth, and Killian made his way quickly to one of the two doors off the kitchen. He stepped inside and began rummaging through the drawers of a dresser in the corner of the room. Emma stood in the doorway, clutching her dirty shirt self-consciously to her chest. The bed seemed to loom large against the far wall, invitingly soft with a homey quilt draped across it.

“This should work,” Killian said as he turned to her, but when their eyes met, his expression went soft. He tossed the flannel shirt on the end of the bed before striding to her. He cupped her face with his hands and searched her face. The blue of his eyes were bright. “Oh Emma,” he breathed out, and then they were kissing again.

Emma wasn’t surprised in the least when they tumbled down to Killian’s bed for round too. Somehow, she had known all along this was why she had followed him here.

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

Killian pulled Emma close, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder blade, her back against his chest. He marveled at how perfectly she seemed to fit against him. She turned in his arms, and he was relieved to see a relaxed smile upon her face. She reached out and traced his jaw slowly, her fingers then drifting to trace the scar on his cheek. He held his breath, partly at her tender touch, and partly from fear that she would ask about the scar. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to her directly. Lies of omission weighed on him heavily enough.

“This feels strangely right, doesn’t it?” she finally said.

He arched his brow at her. “Are you calling me strange, Swan?”

She rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly in the chest. “You know what I mean.”

He pulled her closer, pressing kisses to her hair. “If you mean this feels like exactly where we’re supposed to be, then yes.”

He felt her lips curl into a smile against his collar bone “Exactly.”

He swallowed hard, then pushed her shoulders gently so he could look into her eyes. He cupped her face again, this time kissing her forehead gently. He murmured against her skin, “There’s something I want to say, but I’m afraid you don’t want to hear it.”

“Then don’t say it,” she whispered back, “please.”

He nodded, deflating somewhat, but he had been expecting her to react that way. She startled him though, when she shoved him onto his back and straddled him. She grinned down at him, pinning his arms over his head.

“I prefer we not talk at all.”

She kissed him roughly, almost desperately. “Emma,” he groaned, sitting up so he could gather her in his arms. He broke the kiss, brushing her hair away from her face. She looked almost panicked as she pressed her fingers to his lips.

“Please, Killian.”

He sighed as he let strands of her hair slip between his fingers. “I need to at least tell you that this isn’t just –“

She wouldn’t let him finish, but brushed his lips with a chaste kiss. “I know.”

For now, it would have to be enough.

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

“Belle?” Emma called as she stepped into the Hopeful Public Library.

“Over here!” the brunette called, waving her hand from behind a study cubicle in the back of the room.

Emma headed that way and found Belle surrounded by books and papers, all of which looked hundreds of years old. Emma smiled as she propped her arms on the edge of the cubicle’s partition. “I’m glad you love this part because that looks incredibly boring to me.”

Belle shrugged. “I can’t lie, I’m a total nerd. Plus, if I’m going to lead part of the ghost tours, I need to know all the facts backwards and forwards.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear in an almost nervous gesture, then quickly slammed the book in front of her shut like she had been caught at something. Before Emma could give her actions too much thought, the little bell at the circulation desk dinged, and the librarian hurried to her feet.

“Coming!” she called to her new patron.

After she left, Emma sat down in the cubicle, suddenly curious what had Belle so jumpy. An extremely old and yellowed paper, covered in a plastic sleeve, poked out from beneath the pile of books. Emma slid it out and gasped at the face she saw sketched there. The resemblance was uncanny, the slightly mussed hair, the scruffy jawline, the thick eyebrows. And even though they weren’t blue, the intensity in the eyes was the same.

It looked exactly like Killian.

In the bottom corner, the artist had scrawled her name: Milah. Emma sat back, her mind reeling. Was there a deeper reason why Killian seemed to know so much about Milah Gold and the estate? Was he a descendant of the man in this picture? And if so, why hide it?

Emma glanced over the edge of the cubicle, but Belle was guiding the elderly visitor to the arts and crafts section. Emma turned back to the stack of dusty books and opened the one Belle had shut so quickly when she arrived. Luckily, the brunette had left a slip of paper inside to mark her place. Emma scanned the words, their old-fashioned phrasing tripping her up a time or two. It was a recounting of Milah Gold’s affair with her pirate lover, that much she could comprehend. And two words stood out starkly on the page: the pirate’s name, Killian Jones.

Emma suddenly felt the air leave her lungs as she looked between what she had just read and the drawing before her. Her mind struggled to make sense of it.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

Emma jumped to find Belle standing next to her, an intense expression on her face. Emma shook her head. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s him,” Belle said simply, gesturing to the drawing, “that’s Killian, the one we both know.”

Emma closed her eyes tightly. “That can’t be . . . it isn’t . . . possible,” she breathed out the last word.

“He’s cursed, you see. He can’t leave the manor grounds. He tried to save Milah, but he didn’t understand the magic he was dabbling in –“

“Magic?” Emma interrupted incredulously. She stood quickly, shoving Belle aside. “I – I – have to go.”

She dashed from the library, her breaths coming out in gasps. She raced down the sidewalk, not slowing down until she found herself at the docks. She leaned forward on her knees, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Part of her brain told her it was crazy, but another part started to process all the little signs. How he turned down Henry’s invitation to dinner at Granny’s. How he never went to the hardware store. How Belle brought him books from the library. The way he reacted to the painting of Milah and Emma’s suggestion that her grave could be a tourist attraction.

Then there was the drawing made by Milah Gold herself. It was clearly drawn by a woman who knew every inch of her lover’s face. A face Emma herself knew so well, down to the scar Emma had traced with her finger just yesterday.

Shit, was she sleeping with a three hundred year old pirate?

[nogitsunelichen]

Hiiii! Could you do #78 please??

I’m working on these at a snail’s pace. Anyways I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it. Here’s #78: “That’s my shirt. So is that…wait?”

Stiles was the best.

Of course that was subject to opinion, but to him he was the freaking best. Ten out of ten the best friend, the best son, and especially the best boyfriend. Oh yeah that was also a thing too; he was the boyfriend of Derek Hale. The Adonis-like body, the chiseled cheeks graced with perfectly trimmed stubble, the incredibly smart and closeted jokester/nerd, the Derek Hale.

So when Stiles says he’s the best it’s because he didn’t tell Derek he was coming home from George Washington a few days earlier than planned. Oh yeah, surprise visit, probably the best idea since the whole panties thing they discovered…but that’s a story for another time.

This is how he found himself creeping up the stairs to their apartment after the longest three and a half hour drive from DC to New York ever. Even his constant music and finger drumming couldn’t distract him long enough to keep his mind off the time. It’s late; which is probably for the best since the more tired Derek was the less he used his senses, plus New York was naturally loud so the chance of blowing this too early was slim.

The chance of other forms of blowing were pretty high.

Stiles grabbed his keys, sliding them in the lock of their door as quietly as possible. The grinding of the key sliding through its riveted slot was loud and he almost wanted to scream in frustration but that would definitely give him away. Instead he huffed quietly and shoved the door open, toeing off his shoes on the mat before shuffling through the entrance to the open concept living area.

While there was no sign of Derek, the place was a mess. That was weird because Derek was such a neat freak; however blankets of all kinds were splayed about, the sink was piled with dishes, the stove top was full of crumbs…

The only thought running through Stiles’ mind was ‘what the everloving hell is going on?’.

He set his duffel bag on the couch as well as his computer bag, crossing the way to the small hallway that lead to the bedroom and bathroom. The door was cracked open slightly with soft yellow lighting pouring out. Stiles pushed the door open only to see the softest version of Derek he’s ever seen.

The socks on his feet are mismatched, he’s wearing the sweats with the holes in the legs and the sweater with the thumbholes, his hair all tousled and soft against his forehead. Stiles didn’t take out his phone despite the overwhelming urge to. This was an intimate moment and saving it on a camera felt wrong in a way.

Stiles walked over to the edge of the bed, his hand not even touching Derek before a strong grip wrapped around his wrist a tad too tight. Blue eyes flashed at him before fading quickly to reveal surprised green-ish ones.

“Hey, surpri–whoa!”

Suddenly his world was flipped, his hip smashing painfully with another as he was pulled onto the bed. Strong arms wrapped around him and held him impossibly close, a face nuzzling into his neck and making him laugh. The stubble….well beard now, tickled the hell out of him.

A possessive growl –that went straight to his dick if Stiles was being honest– echoed through the room and against his skin.

“You’re back early,” Derek said after a moment.

Stiles pulled back a little, looking his boyfriend in the eyes, “I wanted to surprise you?”

Derek still looked taken back, his mouth parted with his teeth poking out a little. This warm, bubbly, fuzzy feeling rose in his chest and suddenly he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss that shock right off his boyfriend’s face. The slight chapped feeling of his lips juxtaposed the softness of Derek’s, their noses brushing against each other’s ever so lightly every now and then.

When they pulled back Stiles finally noticed Derek’s pillow.

“That’s my shirt,” he said blankly, sitting up a little to see it better, “so is that…wait? What?”

Derek’s face went up in flames, the tan skin suddenly dark with red flush. Stiles didn’t need the gift of lycanthropy to see the embarrassment roll off the older man in waves. Under and around Derek’s pillow was his old Beacon Hills high school hoodies, a few of his graphic tee shirts, and basically anything and everything Stiles wears often.

It clicked in his head then.

“Ummm–”

“You missed me,” Stiles deadpanned.

Derek frowned, “Stiles…what? Of course I did.”

“Well duh…I just…you went as far to be with my scent,” Stiles said, motioning to the pillow.

“I always want to be with you and your scent,” Derek said, holding Stiles closer.

A grin spread across his face, “well that’s reassuring. I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

Derek took that as a cue to nuzzle his face back into Stiles’ neck and chest, scenting him immediately. Stiles laughed softly, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend tightly, letting the wolf take what he needed.

“I’m glad to be home,” Stiles said after a while.

Derek paused, looking up, “…home?”

“Once again duh, you’re my home.”

If Stiles took an extra week off school…well it was worth it if he got to stay with Derek, his home.

ASK ME A PROMPT FOR THE DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

[megades-sweet-darkness-delight]

ECLIPSA IS DISABLED!!!!!! (AND CUTE!!!!! ♠ ♿️💜😈💋♠❤) [EDITED FOR MORE READER ACCESSIBLITY]

I SENT AN ASK TO @breastforce​ A WEEK AGO, HOPING IT WOULD GAIN TRACTION WHILE I DIDN’T HAVE THE ENERGY TO POST MY WANTS AND NEED FOR (more) WHEELCHAIR USER REPRESENTATION  IN THIS SHOW AND FANDOM AND HOW I REALIZED ECLIPSA WOULD BE THE PERFECT CANDIDATE FOR IT, I WAS ORIGINALLY GOING TO TAG @breastforce, @marcodiazisatransgirl and @starbutterflyisautistic in my post addressing it to help spread the idea and gain more traction,since I love their ideas and representation they’ve created for themselves within the fandom and this has nothing to to do with anything but like, after ‘Girls Day Out’ I just got really pissed, for all the love these random side characters get, that nobody in general was drawing or even talking about Toby, or how Star vs. The Forces of Evil was the first children’s cartoon in an entire decade to, not only have a wheelchair user in their storyline, but also be the only wheelchair user on a children’s cartoon in an entire decade have their wheelchair users storyline not revolve around educating abled bodied people. While also having that character be BLACK. #DisabilityTooWhite (even in cartoons) 

And afterwords, everyone was just all: Oh. That Episode Was Cute. :) I Guess. :) Nothing to write home about tho. :) Just Cute Fun Filler Fluff! :3  No Big Deal. :))) JUST WISH SOMETHING BESIDES FILLER WOULD HAPPEN FOR ONCE  NEFCY, LOL!!! XD 

MEANWHILE, MY CRIPPLED ASS IS OVER HERE, REWATCHING ALL OF TOBY’S SCENES AND PRAISING MY FAERIE GODMOTHER HAHA TOM I KNOW YOU HATE PHYSICALLY DISABLED PEOPLE BUT I FOR ONE AM HAVING A MOMENT!!!!  (also, can i just kinda.... give bonus for like, having a joke about parking spots but like, later making a point to show the person who actually needs it EXISTING??? Without having them be the butt of that joke because like... good writing???) So, after I’m done crying my happy tears about all this, I start thinking that the only thing that could make this even better is if the show featured another wheelchair user who was a girl... Cause aside from this bitch who’s name I had to look up from The Wild Thronberry’s, all the major wheelchair users have been boys. Then “Into The Wand” came out... and in my obsession with Eclipsa’s Tapestry I had an Epiphany ... THAT ECLIPSA IS THE ONLY QUEEN....

WHO’S  SITTING DOWN.  

AND THEN 

I START THINKING ABOUT WHAT WE ALREADY HAVE. AND MY HEAD CANON MAY NOT BE A “THEORY” (bc in the case of wheelchair users we .... can’t exactly have coding the best we get is a cane your theories are still valid and needed and important an’ I wouldn’t have the courage to post this if it wasn’t for you I love you guys I’m so sorry .... ^ ^; <3 OX)  BUT MY POINT IS 

AFTER TOBY BEING IN A WHEELCHAIR IN CANON..... AND STAR BEING AUTISTIC IN FANON NOBY CAN TELL ME NO ... ;) 

IF A WANTED MY #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESSS  

#STARVSTHEFORCESOFABLEISM #ECLIPSAISDISABLED #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS  #DRAWHERSITTINGDOWN 

(The rest of this post will be put under a “READMORE” and been de- italicized, de-highlighted and de-bolded as above, for reader convenience)

AND PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DRAW HER FAT TOO SINCE EVERYONE AND THIER 9th GREAT GREAT GRANDMOTHER IS COMPARING HER TO CHERRY WHO IS OBVIOUSLY ECLIPSA’S 9th GREAT GRANDMOTHER 

ALSO DRAW HER WITH HER LOVER WHO’S NAME IS GRIMALKIN AND THEY ARE NON-BINARY AND USE ZE/ZIR PRONOUNS BECAUSE SOMEBODY NEEDS TO CARE ABOUT MY BABIES FOR OTHER THAN HOW OR IF THEY FUCKED, WHO THEY’RE RELATED TO BECAUSE OF THAT, AND AND IF THEY’RE EVIL.   

   🎵 GONNA GET A LIL’ GRIM GONNA GET A LIL’ DARK, DONE LARKING ROUND’ HERE, FLEEING THE MEWMAN  DIMENSION  🎵 See? You know you love #GrimDark, just like you love my #DisabledQueenOfDarkness head-canon and now you have a ship name to post content in so you can stop causally forgetting the big ugly monster when you draw her, and don’t worry about how the  chair effects their relationship, it’s not like Ze wouldn’t need to kneel down to her to get on her level anyway, and in the words of Margo Diaz, the ship name itself is meant to be ironic humor on the shows nature, since I suppose  people want Star Vs. to be more “GRIMDARK”  I mean ...when I realized that short version of Grimalkin would be “GRIM” and Eclipsa is the (DISABLED)Queen of (DARK)NESS  so it’s perfect, no? Move over S/T/A/R/C/O and moontoffee this couple deserved all the attention AGES is ago, and for those of you already comparing the dreaded(CO)Couple to this one since ‘Baby’ I made the the Monster Lover Non-Binary and use ze/zir  pronouns, since Margo is Trans and “Grimalkin” is traditionally the name for an old female cat who is commonly a companion of witches. You’re welcome. 

Also, I’ve decided that Grimalkin is a Cheshire Cat/My Neighbor (Totoro) based Ancient Species called Ches(SIRE) not really sure how to spell this right yet but u know how it’s supposed to to sound in ur head, right? ^^; That basically zir job is Guardian of The Spooky Forbidden Dark Forest Just Outside of Mewni TM and to protect other creatures and Monsters from the Mewmans and Demons who want to kill them; i.e,   Zie hunt and kill the demon who want to kill the unicorn for their blood and demons are actually zir primary food source living in the forest and when you eat a demon you absorb their power (hence zir horns and size) and sometimes, more often than not, zie nurse the creature/monster who was being hunted back to health, should they be hurt (hence the SIRE part) cause like, Totoro, there’s a condition on if you can see them: If your heart is dark. So yeah, Grimalkin The Forest Guardian, feel free to recreate the Totoro poster now bc I just realized Umbrellas

Just make sure to draw Eclipsa in her wheelchair when you do!!!! ^ ^ <3  When I sent this ask to Red however, it was because, with all the bombs coming down after ‘Baby’ it was because I felt as though I was... well running out of time, so to speak .... 

(CLOSE UP)

[CAPTIONED]:

How amazing foreshadowing would it be though after Toby and everything, if Eclipsa were actually a wheelchair user too and all the Past Queens of Mewni had different disabilities? And we had fan content to reflect that too like Autistic Star and Princess Margo? I'm making a post about it but like #DisabledQueenofDarkness & CpunkPastQueensofMewni should be a thing and after todays ep, I wanna get it goin' b4 Eclipsa is probs gonna get revealed to be abled bodied. Post for ppl to reblog?^ ^; ♥

So I asked @breastforce  (Red) to post that specifically so that people (the viewer) [her followers] could do one simple thing 

The ask has  42 notes not excluding my own like, so surely that means at least HALF those people must’ve REBLOGGED IT to spread the word, right? 

Huh ...  I see 38 apples with heart shaped holes 

A cute baby narwhale in the ocean (who still couldn’t be bothered to reblog tho) @natiacollins <3

And only three people who actually care.... 

Why did I ask Red to post this ask again? Oh yeah... 

And WHAT happened today? I HAVE TO DEAL WITH +5 POSTS THAT SHOW ECLIPSA STANDING UPRIGHT PARALYZED IN ICE AND NOT A PARASOL CANE TO STAND ON (she uses her Parasol/Wand for a cane/to push her chair sometimes, like Autistic Star sometimes bites her wand and uses it for other things, you’re welcome <3)

But LIKE

OH YEAH THAT’S FINE  GUYS GIMME A BUNCH OF APPLES WITH HOLES IN THEM AND THEN  RUB IT IN MY FACE CRUMBLE MY CRIPPLE PUNK PAST QUEEN OF MEWNI HEART I’M OKAY WITH THE EVENTS THAT ARE UNFOLDING CURRENTLY ....

HER LEGS ARE STILL SCISSORING THAT MEANS I STILL HAVE A CHANCE!!!!!

OR AT LEAST I STILL GOT A........

 ....GIMP GOAT .......

OKAY NOT TO OFFEND ANYBODY BUT THIS IS HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW.... 

RIVER IS ME, MY CRIPPLED HANDS REACHING FOR CRUMBS WHILE EVERYONE ELSE GET’S TO ENJOY THEIR RICH REPRESENTATION COATED TREATS BECAUSE THIS CUTE COOKIE CAT I PICKED OUT FOR MYSELF.....

MIGHT JUST TURN OUT TO BE AN ABLED-BODIED ICE POP! 

YOU KNOW WHAT? I’M BACK TO BEING A BABY AGAIN BECAUSE THE GOATS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. AND IF PEOPLE CAN’T ADAPT THEMSELVES TO DRAWING “ABLE-BODIED” CHARACTERS IN WHEELCHAIRS LET ALONE MAKE ORIGINAL ONES TO BEGIN WITH, THAT’S NOT OUR PROBLEM. 

IS IT, TOBY?

BUT THE GOAT IS GOOD FOR MY NEXT POINT.

 SO FAR IN THIS FANON/FANDOM WE HAVE FOUR AUTISTIC CHARACTERS (STAR AND JANNA AND INGRID AND STARFAN13), TWO TRANS CHARACTER (MARGO AND STARFAN13), A CHARACTER WHO’S AN ACTUAL WHEELCHAIR USER IN CANON (TOBY), AND AS OF TODAY, A GAY DISABLED MONSTER CHARACTER WHO IS CODDLED AND DOESN’T WANT TO BE “TAKEN CARE OF” BY THEIR PRIMARY CARE GIVER S/O ANY LONGER AND IS ABUSED BY THEM BECAUSE OF THAT

WHEN THEY TRY TO BE INDEPENDENT

THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO REASON FOR ECLIPSA /NOT/ TO BE A WHEELCHAIR USER AND FOR HER LOVER TO /NOT/ BE NON-BINARY. THIS FANDOM HAS THE MOST DIVERSE FREAKING NICHES I’VE EVER SEEN!!!! HECKAPOO! THERE’S NO REASON FOR STAR BUTTERFLY NOT TO BE IN A WHEELCHAIR /AND/ BE AUTISTIC!!!! “Star On Wheels” Hello?! Back when that episode first came out, I remember someone made this disgusting ablest comment about Star “becoming a Paraplegic lolXD” so please draw her in a wheelchair just to spite them!!!! OX <3 

And also like .... we have all these old cartoon Grannies in wheelchairs. PLEASE LET ECLIPSA BE THE YOUNGEST ONE!!!! PLEASE LET HER AND THE MONSTER STEAL TOBY’S CHAIR FOR HER TO GET ROUND WHEN SHIT GOES DOWN AND LATER SHE FEELS BAD ABOUT IT CAUSE THEY SCARED THE LIL’ GUY GOOD SO THEY DECIDE TO “ADOPT” HIM AND SING THIS TO HIM:    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gN-Jl1kFpX0 

FUCK TOM AND TOFFEE LET /TOBY/ BE ECLIPSA’S SON?????? AND IT WOULD BE EXACTLY LIKE THAT ONLY NO ONES TRYING TO KILL HIM GRIMALKIN’S JUST CONFUSED AND HE’S TRYING TO GET THE CHAIR FOR ECLIPSA AND IT’S CUTER <3  

ALSO GRIMALKIN REFERS TO STAR’S PARENTS AS “BULLY AND MOODY” JUST FOR CLARIFICATION YOU KNOW WHY BUT I’M OBVIOUSLY THE ONLY ONE WHO LOVES THESE CHARACTERS THIS MUCH BC AS FAR AS I KNOW I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS ABOUT THEM (EQUALLY) AS CHARACTERS AND I’M NOT USING THEM AS A PROP FOR MOONTOFFEE OR THINKING ABOUT WHO CAME OUT OF THEM WHEN THEY FUCKED <3 

BUT YES, LET ECLIPSA BE DISABLED!!!!! DRAW HER AS A WOMEN IN A WHEELCHAIR!!!!! BECAUSE APPARENTLY DESPITE THE CRIPPLING LACK OF REBLOGS ON THAT ASK... ;) THEY’RE ARE PEOPLE WHO STILL FIND MY NEED FOR REPRESENTATION INTERESTING!!!!!! 

SO THAT’S WHY I’M MAKING THIS POST!!!! TO PUT IT OUT THERE WHERE IT WASN’T ORIGINALLY AND START THE TAG. DO IT WITH ME!!!!!  #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS #ECLIPSAISDISABLED #STARVSTHEFORCESOFABLEISM  

AND REBLOG THIS POST!!!! I DON’T WANT YOU TO “LIKE” IT JUST REBLOG IT!!!!!! 

IF YOU WANNA MAKE IT UP TO ME YOU CAN START REBLOGGING MY ORIGINAL ASK HERE:  http://breastforce.tumblr.com/post/156994186895/how-amazing-foreshadowing-would-it-be-though-after BUT FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND GOOD HEAD CANONS PLEASE REBLOG THIS ONE AND HELP GET THE WORD OUT!!!!! SIGNAL BOOST THIS!!!!! NOT ONLY FOR ME BUT FOR OTHER PHYSICALLY DISABLED PEOPLE WHO LOVE STAR VS. TO SEE IT!!!!!! IT’S SUCH A GOOD HEAD CANON AND HAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME THAT #ECLIPSAISDISABLED AND I HAVE MY #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS AND THAT ALL THE PAST QUEENS OF MEWNI HAVE DIFFERENT DISABILITIES AND I MIGHT ACTUALLY GET TO CONNECT WITH DIFFERENT DISABLED PEOPLE IN ONE OF MY FANDOMS FOR ONCE. I’M GONNA DO A POST WITH ALL THE PAST QUEENS DISABILITIES SOONY BUT I WANTED TO GET THE #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS AND #ECLIPSAISDISABLED AND #STARVSTHEFORCESOFABLEISM  TAGS TRENDING TOO AND WHO KNOWS IF I’LL STILL HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO DO THAT TOMORROW.... 

IT’S NOT CRIMINAL TO BE AN INDIVIDUAL, BUT IT’S ALSO NOT CRIMINAL TO BE A CRIPPLE OR #DISABLEDANDINTODARKNESS OR A #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS ETHER AND WE  NEED OUR REPRESENTATION TOO. ;) 

IF YOU REBLOG THIS I’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER. IF YOU’RE ONLY GONNA ‘LIKE’ IT YOU CAN 

GET. OUT!!!!!!!!!

AND YOU BETTER REBLOG THIS BECAUSE I WAS UP UNTIL 5:00AM THE OTHER DAY TRYING TO FINISH THIS BECAUSE I FORGOT FRIDAY’S WERE OFF DAYS. NOT GOOD FOR MY SCOLIOSIS. NOT GOOD FOR MY LEGS. PAIN EVERYWHERE. ALL TO EDUCATE YOU. AND I HAD TO CANCEL MY PHYSICAL THERAPY THAT DAY.  

THIS MONDAY I GET MY HAND SPLINT AND BRACES PUT ON SO I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH MORE UNCOMFORTABLE TYPING WILL BE AFTER THAT. THIS MAY BE MY LAST POST FOR A WHILE AND IT’S REALLY IMPORTANT TO ME. ALSO, WHILE WE’RE TALKING ABOUT ORTHOTICS, WHEELCHAIR USERS, AND DISABILITY; ABLED-BODIED PRIVILEGE IS GROWING UP WHEN THE  ONLY REPRESENTATION FOR CHILDREN WITH “BRACES” WERE THE ONES PINCHING TEENAGERS MOUTHS, ESPECIALLY IF THERE WAS A WHOLE GODDAMN SHOW ABOUT IT 

WHILE YOU WERE SITTING THERE WONDERING WHY YOU AND YOUR BRACED UP, PINCHED UP, BRUISED UP LEGS GOT NOTHING..... 

So before I publish this, I just wanna add in the few things I forgot do to tiredness. 

ECLIPSA IS STILL TOTALLY GOING TO NEED HER CHAIR ONCE SHE GETS UN-CRYSTALIZED. THE WHOLE ENTIRE REASON SHE’S LIKE THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE IS BECAUSE THE TIME OUT GUY, BEING THE  JUDGEMENTAL PRICK THAT HE IS, THOUGHT THAT SHE WAS “EVIL” NOT BECAUSE SHE’S THE QUEEN OF DARKNESS, BUT BECAUSE FROM HIS POINT OF VIEW, SHE WAS “FAKING HER DISABILITY” BECAUSE HE SAW HER GET UP ON HER OWN FOR 5 SECONDS AND TOOK THAT AS AN INSULT TO LEKMET, FREEZING HER ONLY TO AVENGE THE GOATS HONOR. NATURALLY, HER LOVER TURNED SIGNIFICANT OTHER WASN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT THIS AND CAUGHT ON TO WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED PRETTY QUICK, SO TIME OUT GUY AND LEKMET USED HER TITLE AND ALL THIER “PAST CRIMES” AS A SCAPEGOAT TO KEEP HER THERE, RATHER THAN UN-FREEZE HER AND FACE THE MUSIC. 

AND AGAIN, I’M NOT TRYING TO OFFEND ANYBODY BECAUSE I KNOW SHE’S PEOPLES DAUGHTER AND TOBY IS MY SON TOO BUT LIKE, IF STAR VS. WERE ONE OF THOSE CARTOONS THAT TRIED TO DO EPISODES ON HOW PEOPLE IN WHEELCHAIRS ARE “JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE” (THANK GOD THEY’RE NOT .... AT LEAST NOT /YET/) MARGO DIAZ WOULD TOTALLY BE THAT ONE OVER PROTECTIVE ASSHOLE WHO TALKS IN A WEIRD BABY VOICE AND SAYS THINGS LIKE “MAYBE YOU SHOULD SIT THIS ONE OUT....” AND “IT’S FOR YOUR OWN SAFTY...” AND STAR WOULD (PROBABLY) BE THE ONE TELLING HER TO CHILL AND ACTUALLY TREATING THE WHEELCHAIR USER LIKE A PERSON ...

LIKE WHEN ECLIPSA GET’S UN-CRYSTALIZED, SHE IMMEDIATELY FALLS TO THE GROUND LIKE “IT’S OKAY! KITTY CAT OFFENSE GOT ME COVERED!” AND THEN MARGO’S LIKE “AAAH! STAR! YOUR GRANDMA’S FALLEN AND SHE CAN’T GET UP!”

“BUT SHE LANDED ON HER PAL-”

“SOMEBODY CALL ALIVE ALERT!!!!”

“OH, DON’T WORRY PRECIOUS, I ALREADY HAVE SOMEONE WHO’S ON ALERT FOR /MY LIFE/” *PRESSES THE LIL, CRESCENT MOON PENDANT ON HER CREST AND IT STARTS GLOWING* NEXT THING YOU KNOW SHE’S ROLLED OVER ON THE FLOOR....

“OH NO! SHE’S ....! IS SHE HAVING A COUGHING FIT OR A HEART ATTACK? I  CAN’T TELL.” 

“IT SOUNDS MORE LIKE A GIGGLE FIT OF OMINOUS SHUOJO LAUGHTER... BUT FOR WHAT I DON’T-- AWHNO!!!” 

“AWH WHA-?” *STAR GRAPS AT HER HOODIE* “MARGO! WE NEED TO GET HER OUTTA’ HERE! SHE CAN’T WALK OR USE MAGIC, AND ALL MY SPELLS ARE AFRAID OF HER! YOU NEED TO GET YOUR DAD!” AND MARGO GET’S OUT HER DS LIKE “OKAY!” AND ONCE SHE’S OUT OF EARSHOT, ECLIPSA SAYS TO STAR IN HER PERFECT COCKNEY ACCENT LIKE “AWWHH, WOTS’A MATTA’, CAKEPOP?! YOU DON’ WONNA STAY’ ER’ AN’ WAIT WIT’ GRANNY TA’ MEET YER’ POPPOP?!

AND STAR’S ALL ANNOYED AN’ GRUMBLY LIKE “/STEP!/ POPPOP! Myevilstep-poppop...” 

And that’s when Eclipsa gets 100% serious and her tone get’s kinda sad and soft like “ So because ze stepped in and zir part demon, zir just evil and an accessory for ‘Bad Girls’? Like those Scissors?” 

And Star’s like “HOW DID YOU-” but then Margo comes back with her mom and dad following and Rafael scoops Eclipsa off the floor and she’s like “Ooooo, Angie! Your husband is so strong ... Wait’ll you meet mine!” And Angie’s like “HAHA THANKS!” *whispers to Margo* “Howdoessheknowournames?”  

Rafs all insecure like “Whoisherhusband?”

“IdontknowMomandDad...I.Dont.Know......” 

Then later, they have her settled on the couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea, Margo realizes Eclipsa has a permeant disability but still doesn’t trust her (thinking she’s faking, putting on some cliche act) so she just drops the bomb of “LOOK .... I know you’re a Granny and all, but ....aren’t you a bit too YOUNG to be disabled?” 

And without missing a beat, right in front of her parents, Eclipsa just grins and goes “Aren’t you a bit too young to have lived 30 years of your life in an alternate dimension and have the mark of Heckapoo,  JENNIFER RINK? ;3 ”  and goes right back to sipping her tea.

“....30 /WHAT/?!”

“....... Mark of /WHO/???!!!”  

“OH!” *ECLIPSA PUTS DOWN HER TEA USING HER SPOON LIKE A WAND IN THE AIR* “IT’S ‘HECK-A-POO’. HECKAPOO!” 

*Raf gets sidetracked seeing her do a lil’ magic with her tea spoon when her eyes start to glow* “I’m sorry if this is invasive to ask, Mrs. Eclipsa, but ... Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes like these puppies?” 

Margo’s still horrified.  “STAR. HOW DOES SHE KNOW THESE THINGS????!!!??” 

Star’s just like “ CAUSE GRANDMA’S KNOW, JENNIFER! Grandma’s know!!!” 

Eclipsa’s like “That’s my girl.” 

“But Queen Eclips- ...GRANNY! You never answered Mr. Diaz’s question!” 

*sips tea* “The answer is that I most certainly can, Star.” 

“AAAWH YIIII-”  

*takes another sip of tea before adding* “But I only use my laser powers in the most EXTREME of emergencies.” 

“Awwh.” 

*Finally finishes tea and there’s a flash of light and Eclipsa appears to be gone before Star feels something warm and fuzzy curled up on her lap * “Unless ... Anyone would like to see what I look like as a laser kitty? :3″ 

“AAAAAAAAAWWHH!!!!” 

CONCEPT:  THE “TIE” AROUND ECLIPSA’S WASTE IS ACTUALLY A FASHIONABLE  BACK BRACE MADE TO LOOK LIKE A PART OF HER DRESS. IT HELPS HER STAND UP BETTER. 

And I WILL make a post for all the Past Queens disabilities, it’s just I came up with a cute little pun for mine and I don’t feel comfortable making Mewni style puns for other peoples disabilities... ^ ^; So when I make that post the disabilities will just be listed as they are on Earth and #STARVSTHEFORCESOFABLEISM seems like a better catch all, since the term “CPunk” was coined by somebody else and means a very specific thing... ^ ^; 

But Eclipsa’s disability is called “Celestial Purrsy” (a play on my own disability, Cerebral Palsy)  and it basically means she has all the advantages/disadvantages of a cat ... ^ ^; It’s taken as a birth defect by the Mewmans because she looks like she has DNA from   different dimension? ^ ^; Like this is gonna sound kinda morbid and dark but they suspect she’s a “changeling” and that the alternative version OF Eclipsa (like the one of Star we see in “MathMagic”) 

Somehow replaced/possessed the “REAL” one at birth because she was born with her little kitty eyes/mouth 

and paws 

Which she’s been made to cover up since birth in order to look more like a “normal” mewman , like think of the old wives tale of cats stealing babies breath and the dreaded dimension of Star vs. where cats  have human faces, on Mewni there’s basically this old wive tale of “Mewmans who have cat faces” and if they’re born that way it’s Bad Luck because they’re “The Cat Who Snatched The Mewmans Body” and that’s what they think happened to Eclipsa. That’s why they call her “Eclipsa” because they think “a dark shadow was cast over their baby” A “Fairy Godmothers curse” (The character of ‘Baby’ is actually described as “Star’s Fairy Godmother”in wikipedia summary. So maybe they think Eclipsa’s cursed with a cat face because the Fairy burped on her or or something AND THAT’S WHY THEY HATE HER SO MUCH OH MY GOSH. GET IT? AN OLD WIVES ABOUT BABIES BREATH? A FAIRY GODMOTHER CAT NAMED ‘BABY’? OH MY GOSH. They blame things like Eclipsa’s size and her love of food on Baby too, but that’s just another part of the stigma Eclipsa faces because her parents are arseholes. 

Eclipsa even went through Mewberty “wrong” because her Mewberty from actually looks a lot like Baby ... And other Mewmans are like “Eeew, what are you? you silly Cat/Bug/Moth thing we’re supposed to be strictly INSECT BASED!!!!” 

And instead of “BOYS” all she wanted to do was play with balls of yarn ...  She hoarded all the yarn, and then she actually CREATED the “Worlds Most Dangerous Creature” we see in ‘Inter-Dimensional Field Trip’ WITH THE YARN...  

For what purpose though, her parents were concerned... 

She was basically treated as more of a prized house pet than a mewman, a Familiar meant to serve rather than the Queen she was met to be, and, like Star, she didn’t know basic magic ... As Queen of Mewni, she was a Familiar/Figure head, an “inspiration” to the kingdom more than anything and her husband at the time, a boarder-line powerless Mewman who never left his mewberty form by choice,  King Lunar (LOO-NAR) used her for her magic, she was barely allowed to use her wand and the parasol was always opened up and propped on her wheelchair behind her where she couldn’t  reach it in order to “shield her from the elements”, as Lunar put it. 

They married because he took her out to The Bloodmoon Ball on a pity date, dancing was required according to their parents, and their souls “accidentally” bonded.  Just as they intended.  

SO you all know cerebral palsy is a muscle thing, right? Well with Eclipsa, her “Celestial Purrsy” is A BIT more exaggerated like someone (Glossaryck) will sneak up on her and she’ll have a muscle spasm, even if she’s prepared for it, but if she’s not wearing her seat belt, she’ll do that kitty thing where she’ll end up clinging to the ceiling, cat noises and everything, and she has those weird ticks that I have where she’ll get a twitch through her body like .... 

It’s less pleasant than Jiji’s in the context of that gif, but t that’s the  only way I know how to to describe it ... And then Glossaryck tries to get her to relax and “dip down” to try to get her off the ceiling but she just ... can’t do it... not because she’s afraid (it’s just an INVOLUNTARY REFLEX, EVERYONE CALLS HER A “SCAREDY CAT” OR APOLOGIZES AND NOBODY GETS  IT...) but because her purrsy effected muscles are so tense and she can’t unclench them cause ...her body is afraid it’ll hurt? ^ ^; So Glossaryck will have to call Lunar to help get her down and he’s part moth, so he’ll like make a big show of like, crawling up the ceiling to get her and he’ll do it extra slow just to freak her out more because he knows that she hates it when she touches her but she can’t show it cause he’s her care giver and her husband and she feels guilty for doubting his love and daring to think he makes her uncomfortable on purpose... yeah marriage problems ... ^ ^;  Sorry for creepy imagery ... ^ ^; 

Glossaryck tries to talk to Lunar about it and suggests that MAYBE she’ll be more comfortable around him if he actually lets her USE HER WAND... since she hasn’t  touched it since she was a teenager and WHO KNOWS HOW HER PERSONALITY HAS CHANGED SINCE THEN ... So Lunar’s like “FINE!!! HERE ECLIPSA!” (he can hand here the wand without effect on him since he doesn’t actually have hands to hold it with... he has feelers and mewberty goop... so everything just kinda... latches on to him all sticky ..... yeah, sorry for nightmare fuel again) Aaaaaaanndd we get our first glimpse of our Queen of Darkness then, wardrobe change and everything (the thorn crown doesn’t come in until she spends more time with Grimalkin and more specifically, when she’s evaluated by Baby and grows her apple tree later, when she’s been living with her Lover, they ask the Fairy Godmother to marry them right there), everyone is surprised by the transformation expect  for Glossaryck, who’s like  “Somebody’s been suppressing a lot of ANGER ....” *Looks over at Lunar* “Wonder what could be the cause* And then Lunar looks over at Eclipsa who looks about ready to KILL HIM an’ he snatches the wand away as quickly as she had it via his gross Mewberty goop and he’s like “SEE?! All that power is far too dangerous for someone so small look at what just happened! You just turned yourself into a monster when your supposed to be my sweet little muffin!”

 Now we get to Toffee’s relation to Eclipsa.... after the whole wand thing happened he was actually (supposed to be) her aid. Cause King Lunar become paranoid of his wife becoming “out of control” and needed someone to “control” her when he wasn’t there because                   “ (ableism) I’m too busy to be scrapping you off the ceiling every time you have one of your episodes!!!! (ableism)” So .... he tries some of the Mewman staff at  first ... But they’re all ether too condescending or just plain afraid of her and don’t even wanna touch her ... and Eclipsa knows this and plays it up to her advantage... So Lunar finally get’s this idea ... And he picks who he deems the most “intelligent” in the ... lizard prison... tells them that they’re going to “Keep an eye on the Queen”, takes them to Eclipsa’s room and Lunar’s like “Okay LIZARD I’m gonna show you what you’re working with here” And it’s just Eclipsa, alone, by herself, eating this big bowl of candy with her gloves off and pawing at the wrappers... 

And the lizards like “She looks SLIGHTLY less bored than I am...” 

“She’s hysterical ...” 

*mumbles* “ComingfromLunarTheLoon....” 

“What was that, REPTILE...?” 

“Nothing...! Yourbugeyedbenevolence...” 

“If you’re so keen on insulting someone today, just make sure you speak to HER in the slowest, weirdest voice possible!” 

“....OKIEDOKIEHOPEYOUCHOKIE!!!” 

Then the door slams and it’s perpetual “SURPRISE!!!!” voice until Eclipsa goes “Oi Lizzie! You like some tea from all that Buff- frog in ya throat?!” 

And then Liz drops the act like “Oh, I don’t eat garbage...” 

“Well, had me confused, you are what you eat...” 

“And you’re hysterical...” 

“Mm. So I’ve heard. But I’m sure the Buff-frogs don’t like hearing their fellow monsters think they’re ‘garbage’. That’s not a very nice thing to say about someone, is it? Even if it is used as an excuse not to eat them.” 

“I suppose that’s true... Are you going to strike me now?” 

“Why would I strike the hand that feeds me?” 

“On days like this, I can think of many reasons, especially if you’re hungry.”

*She edges the bowl of candy over to him* “Please. :3″ 

“...Thank you....” *Being the ... picky eater that he is, (or making certain it’s not poison) she notices him carefully searching for his favorite candy and laughs when he gathers a handful of it* 

“There you go!” 

*Mouth already full of Saltwater Toffee* “Whut ...?!”

”I think your name is Toffee! What would you say about that?” 

*he looks guilty for all the candy pieces he’s holding in his hands* I’d say that it would suit me, Queen Eclipsa, Thank you!”  

“Your very welcome, Toffee! Also, that reminds me, we need to buy you a suit, it’ll look more official when you help me boot out my bugger of a husband! *ironic ship teasing/future ex girlfriend reference bc she later falls for someone who wears no suits at all, CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT* 

Toffee can’t help but find this amusing and smilies “You want me to... AIDE you in starting a rebellion against your husband?” 

*Eclipsa borrows a piece of his toffee, pops it in her mouth, and grins* “Now look who’s hysterical...” 

The very next day, Toffee returns to Eclipsa all beaten and bloodied up. His tail is missing and , he’s pretty much dying. Eclipsa is freaking out...realizing her wand is gone too, doesn’t know what’s going on but has a pretty good inkling of who’s behind it. Next thing you know Lunar comes in all like “Hm. That’s two things that don’t belong to me now, or is it three? You’ll never get your kingdom back.”

 And Eclipsa is tears “I don’t care about the kingdom! What did you do to to Toffee?!” 

And Lunar throws the tail and the and the wand back to their rightful owners and says “What I could never do to my bugger of a bride!” before slamming the door on them again. 

The second he leaves, Eclipsa drops herself out of her chair unto to the floor, crawls over to Toffee, asks him to tell her what she can do to to help him, and he tells her  weakly that he’s heard of an ancient being in the dark forest who supposed to heal monsters, Eclipsa’s like “Alright, we’ll go there. Right now.” Takes off her hat and props it under his head, then goes over to her bed to get some pillows, where her book is laying. 

Glossaryck pops out and is like “What are you doing?” 

“You heard what just went on.” 

“You’re going to The Dark Forest to seek Grimalkin.” 

“ Gesundheit.” 

“No no. Grimalkin is the name of the HEALER. Trust me, if I  sneezed, you’d know it.” 

“Get away.” 

“Eclipsa, I’m you’re teacher and YOU NEED ME.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Fine. Be that as it may, I will accompany you on your journey.” 

“Why?” 

“SATISFACTION BROUGHT IT BACK!” 

“...Whatever. Help me pad my chair with these pillows while I lift Toffee up, and hurry.” 

“...Maybe if  you cast  ‘LEVITATO’-” 

“I KNOW!!!!” 

Toffee protests to taking Eclipsa’s chair but Eclipsa says that right now, he needs it more than she does. “Besides, I have my Gait Trainer, silly Gator!”  They secure some rope they got from Eclipsa’s curtains to the chair and Toffee’s under the impression that Eclipsa’s going to tie the other end around her waist and pull him herself, so he objects to that too. He earns some perfect shoujo laughter and a “Don’t be ridiculous, Toffee!” Before giving a sharp whistle and a small usher of rats scurry out from under the bed “I mean, I would if I had to, but there’s no need. Follow Mummy babies!” and just like that they grab a hold of Toffee’s rope and follow her out every door, with to rats stationed in front of her to help open them.

 One of the servants asks if they should do something, watching her head towards the dark forest from the window, to which Lunar responds “Nah, curiosity killed the cat.” And the rest is history. Basically because Toffee made her PROMISE to come back and visit him every day because he heard what Lunar had said to her before and was afraid for her at that point. Which Grimalkin allows because he BEGS xem and the Guardian sees how this monster cares for HER. Plus she looks too exhausted to do any real harm at the moment.  

Eclipsa promises Toffee that she’ll come back, and she’ll start working on her spells for self defense. 

When Eclipsa asks Grimalkin tells her that Toffee’s tail can’t be re-attached, and it could take a while for the other lizard monsters who to live there to teach him how to regenerate, maybe even generations but zie CAN preserve his life. Maybe even raise a new life from the old tail.

 When she hears this, and she’s letting it sink in that Toffee almost died,  Eclipsa considers making up an immortality spell so she’ll never have to worry about the scare of losing him ever again. Then Eclipsa tells the guardian about the prison and zie promise to see what can be done. Also this happen at some point, after they’re at least on a more friendly/flirty basis ...

“You’re a healer, right?” 

“You know what I am.”

”Yeah, well...How come other people don’t know I can’t be cured?” 

“Dunno.” 

“I mean I know I KNOW...and YOU KNOW, so how come THEY dunno? YA KNOW?!”

”The answer is as mysterious as my origins, Purple One.” 

“YOU’RE A PURPLE ONE! Also, your stripes are really pretty!” 

“So are your paws.” 

“May I feel your pretty stripes with my pretty paws? :3″ 

“You are MARRIED! Also, I am not purple, I am  Magenta.” 

“ And I’m Sorry I Asked! ;W;” 

Toffee is watching them like “Pfft ... FURRIES!” 

When things start getting more intense between them (Grimalkin & Eclipsa) later, Eclipsa tells Lunar over dinner that she wants to  make other living arrangements, of course, the tyrannical King laughs in her face. THIS is what leads the Lovers to make arrangements of their own behind the King of Mewni’s back, at least until they can get away, they’re hoping ...  

That’s pretty much it, sorry for going into a bit a mini fic mode, I just really wanted to sell the idea of Eclipsa... being a disabled person so that people would actually, you know... want to draw her as such. ^ ^; Since I don’t think it’ll happen at all in the show, twice, although it would be a freaking miracle if it did ... ^ ^; 

I’m also sorry for the snobby way that I think some of this post is worded? ^ ^; I’m not trying to play the oppression game with anyone here .... ^ ^; It’s just, people see a character and they think of ways to see themselves.... and anyone can draw a missing eye, limb, or cane as a cool character trait or accessory but absolutely NOBODY (as far as I know)  sees a character and thinks “I’m going to draw that “abled-bodied” character in a wheelchair, so people who maybe don’t have the physical ability to create sometimes can see themselves too”. Which is why I think starting a movement along the lines of #DRAWHERSITTINGDOWN, or more inclusively #DRAWTHEMSITTINGDOWN would be SUPER IMPORTANT. 

I mean, at least it’s better than saying “cripple the bitch”. Which in retrospect I’m surprised hasn’t been turned into some kind of revolutionary artistic  renaissance or reclamation movement made exclusively for disabled artists to draw what disabilities they’ve envisioned for the abled-bodied characters that they adore already (in a way that’s not the result of villainous violence or results in vendetta, unless of of course they’re a villain or simply have a vendetta against our abled-bodied overlords whom  oppress us so, that would be an excellent excuse to have those elements included in the explanation of how their disability effects them, like I just did with Eclipsa ).      

Because I feel bad and embarrassed because every time I want to see an “abled-bodied” character in a wheelchair, I think of the phrase “cripple the bitch” and then my internalized ablism thinks up some horrible accident they were in order to “make them that way”.  Because nobody draws an “abled bodied” character in a wheelchair just because. Unless it’s the disability sign. And we need to start.  

STAR VS. THE FORCES OF EVIL IS THE /ONLY SHOW/ WHERE I FEEL COMFORTABLE ENOUGH STARTING IT! AND I /STILL/ FEEL THE NEED TO EXPLAIN /WHY/ I NEED THIS HEADCANON RATHER THAN JUST SAY BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE ANY EVIDENCE OR CODING TO HELP ME. AND I’M AFRAID PEOPLE WILL ETHER HUMOR ME ONCE OR WON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH IT BECAUSE THEY’RE ABLED BODIED. AND WHERE IS TOBY?! IS MY SON STILL IN DETENTION?! I DON’T MEAN TO DISOWN HIM BUT I DESERVE BETTER THAN AN ACTUAL HUMAN SIDE CHARACTER WHO ONLY SHOWED UP ONCE, A GOAT, A WEIRD WEREWOLF GUY, AND  

I’m sorry that I feel like I’m playing the oppression olympics right now, like I’m wheeling over eggshells with every word that I type, but I know I deserve better, I really do! I deserve my Disabled Queen of Darkness, Eclipsa. And she and her wheels deserve a spot on Daron Necfy’s Diverse (and I’m not being ironic because I LOVE YOU FAERIE GOD MOM <3) wall of art, along with an actual (and still autistic)  Star on Wheels . And so do Eclipsa’s husband and their son, Toby. Like all four in the same picture; a family portrait. That Would Be AMAZING!!! Especially if “Grimalkin” was like, like both Eclipsa AND Toby up on each arm IN THIER WHEELCHAIRS like they were lifting weights like in a “strong man” pose cause they’re arms are definitely big enough to support two manual wheelchairs that weigh virtually nothing them cause they’re so strong and they just ... can. 

And Star is parked on the floor in front in her power chair ... with “The Gang” (Trans Marco, Jackie,  Tom, Janna and Starfan13) all gathered around her and they’re all just being happy an goofy and Janna’s in Star’s lap, probably. Starfan13 didn’t have enough room so she’s like, squishing Star’s face with her’s in a hug, you know that cute squishy hug face? 

Ingrid’s in the picture too, sitting in the monsters arms at Toby’s side holding his hand cause he’s a little nervous that he’ll fall. She wanted to be in the photo too and Grimalkin understood her cause they also speak German and they asked her if she could keep Toby company so he wouldn’t be scared. She said okay, but she’s not giving up her comfort item for nothin’, also it will cost The Queen her guillotine. 

Eclipsa’s over on the other arm just lookin’ as chill as ever. Cause she knows that her Lovie would never let her roll off. 

That would look PERFECT on Daron’s wall! Hopefully #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS becomes as popular as other fanon so we can make that happen! Feel to use any of the tags I’ve created to start posting!!! Maybe even said some Disabled Queen of Darkness to Daron!!! (And me of course, if I’ve convinced you that Eclipsa Is Disabled and you want to actively draw her and write her as such please send all your content to me!!! I’d love to see it!!!! <3)    

I have other thoughts on the monster themselves, their love for Eclipsa, it’s importance to the entire freaking plot of the series, and the way they’ve been treated in favor of Toffee and Eclipsa herself, like that line about treating the monster lover as an accessory was there for a reason and I’m pissed, but I’ll write up why later because YOU KNOW WHY... and I wanna go ahead and get this posted before the final airs.  

I encourage everyone who sees this to reblog this even if they’re not in the Star vs. fandom! Like you can consider this a one fandom/character/headcanon/masterpost thing but I feel like it’s a great way to get the general tags of #DRAWHERSITTINGDOWN and #DRAWTHEMSITTINGDOWN started!  Also, REMEMBER: DO /NOT/ USE THE WORD “CRIPPLE” IF YOU ARE NOT PHYSICALLY DISABLED!!!!! 

I know using “if” in an apology is wrong but I don’t know how else to word this so ... I’m genuinely sorry if any other physically disabled people reading this are uncomfortable with my usage of the word in this post? ^ ^; It’s just it’s used as a catchall by other people in our community and after finding cpunk, I recently started identifying with the word to help me find other people ... ^ ^; <3 OX 

Also  people, when you reblog this, please clarify whether or not you physically disabled in the tags in order to help me find other people...  ^ ^; <3 OX I’ve never done this before, so words of encouragement and feed back would also be appreciated, and if you said something ... vaguely kind or encouraging before? ^ ^; <3 Know they still are (just now is your chance to reblog ^ ^; <3 OX)  

I really would appreciate it if @starbutterflyisautistic     and @marcodiazisatransgirl would reblog this too since *themorrison’svoice* YOU GUYS ARE SO COOL!!!!!  ❤ 

And SPEAKING of cool criminal individuals I just want to thank Red for publishing my ask in the first place. She’s helped and inspired so many with the Trans Marco theory and she’s the one who helped me realize I had a basis for my Disabled Queen of Darkness too. Also, she’s the one who inspired the idea of Eclipsa’s husband being some weird bug thing who preferred to stay in their  Mewberty stage, “like an invading body snatcher virus took over.” Because it shows some real contrast between some monsters and the mewmans I think, rather than just being some humanoid oppressors afraid of the scary monsters because they “don’t understand”. Because they had this “mewberty” thing happen to them, where they ether “wouldn’t be back to normal”, or they made the conscious decision to stay in or out of it, good or bad, and if they understood exactly what they were doing to the other monsters and enjoyed it because they considered THEMSELVES the“ideal” of what a monster should look like. And then that bad history was erased through centuries of .... literal humanization I just think there’s a bit more to explore through that narrative then having Eclipsa’s former husband be some cliche Gaston stereotype, or even the “well meaning Nice Guy TM who lets the girl go” trope. 

And I know that making the Mewman King Eclipsa was married to a tyrant is a bit of a cliche as well, but striping Eclipsa of the powers she’s supposed have because of that, giving Eclipsa a physical disability and have her be oppressed because of that, like Star would be with the autism headcanon... It would kinda level the playing flied between Eclipsa and the Monster a bit because THEY’RE BOTH MINORITIES!!! THEY’RE BOTH OPPRESSED!!!!  The Monster a bit more than Eclipsa but still ... the thing common helps them understand each other a bit more and helps this become much more than “ I married my oppressor because I changed them and they changed me” “love” story, because c’mon, so far, the basis for these two finding a connection in these fandom has been “You’re not bad for a ______” AND WE ARE SO NOT DOING THAT WITH WHAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE AN ALLEGORY FOR AN INTERRACIAL RELATIONSHIP C’MON .... 

And I wouldn’t have thought any of this if it weren’t for Red, she’s our rebel princess, she’s the best, loves the wayward sister in the purple dress, she’s given me the courage to fight, for Heckapoo On Wheels, Disabled Dark Queens and Butterfly’s ....and TOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBBYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!! 

Okay so I hope that wasn’t too corny but like, seriously, I love you Red!! You are ROCK and are (truly) an inspiring beautiful person who’s fun to be around and I hope this isn’t embarrassing or too much because I know we only ever had contact from that ask, but I owe you so much credit for inspiring me to claim Queen Eclipsa for myself as well as the other Past Queens of Mewni for other people with disabilities because it’s amazing that you and Daron have made me feel comfortable in my own skin enough to do that! I love this show and this little niche fandom of Wayward Princesses SO MUCH and it all means so much to me you have no idea and I am SO GLAD you’re a part of it!!! I’m worried that some of this post as well as that ask was worded with some twinges of jealously ... and maybe that’s why it wasn’t originally reblogged .... because I sounded so ...impatient? But I want you to know that I mean this, un-ironically, from bottom of my heart and I’m not just saying for notes or popularity: You are important. You are loved. You have done so much for the community and so much for me and so many other great things and more than enough things for me to thank you for so you don’t need to feel pressured to reblog this, Red! Just know that I thank you from the bottom of my heart and you’ll continue to do even more, I wouldn’t have known there was an interest in Eclipsa being disabled or have the courage to write this if it weren’t for you!! So Thank You!!! OX ❤

If it’s okay, I just want to link everyone to Red’s Princess Marco and Star vs. Trailer’s since they’re Hecka magical and wonderful, haven’t gotten comments in a while and all you Poo heads should leave some more love for them!!!!!   ;)  ❤ 

Princess Marco Trailer: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4pYrOO68ys

Star Vs. Trailer:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qkjUFB-NcA  

Congrats on Trans Marco being canon, everyone! ;) ❤ OX 

Well, here I am, 12:50 AM, Monday. The night before they air the final. About to get my hand brace in the morning. About to finally post something that’s been  in my drafts for a week, with spelling errors and other things I can’t be bothered to fix, with this post being the best post about Eclipsa that you will ever read. With Eclipsa (probably) about to be confirmed to be the abled-bodied ice pop I was worried about. FANON DON’T FAIL ME NOW!!!!!!! ❤ OX  

(Get it...? Cause the saying is? And I’m? Yeah ....Side note about the goat and my sense of humor earlier DO NOT USE THE WORD “GIMP” IF YOU ARE NOT PHYSICALLY DISABLED ETHER, NOT EVEN IF YOU’RE USING THE BADLY NAMED ART PROGRAM TO DRAW ECLIPSA, THANK YOU!)  

 ♠💜😈💋♠ ❤ ALL LOVE ECLIPSA, DISABLED QUEEN OF DARKNESS!!!!!! ♠💜😈💋♠❤

   ♠💜😈💋♠❤AND MAY YOU ALL .... DRAW HER SITTING DOWN... ♠💜😈💋♠❤

 #ECLIPSAISDISABLED #DISABLEDQUEENOFDARKNESS #DRAWHERSITTINGDOWN #STARVSTHEFORCESOFABLIESM #DRAWTHEMSITTINGDOWN

[moricatlibrary]

The Moon and The Sea

Short mourning blurb:

In which Ymir stops by to chat with her friend Armin one evening near the end of her 13 years to talk about the late Eren Yeager on the beach.

I love any excuse to write Ymir and especially to write her up against Armin and ESPECIALLY to write eremin and yumihisu supporting each other, so this was a hecka fun blurb to write! I’m not at my computer right now so I will edit the italics and such later.

Enjoy if you can!!!

Armin watched as the waves crashed on the shore, the familiar smell of salt and brine traveling up through his nose. He swept his thumb over his own arm, holding himself tight as he rested against the sea stack in front of the sea on his home beach. Over a year had passed since the tragedy that everyone knew Armin would struggle to recover from… The smell of the ocean and the sound of the endless waves in the wind was something he associated with Eren’s loss ever since that awful day. While the tears fell less often than they did at the beginning, the empty place in his heart never stopped howling for his lover to come back. It never stopped hurting. Of course Armin expected as much, and was rather proud of himself for holding up as well as he was in the mean time though. He’d been traveling, staying in touch with his friends, writing, praying, and dreaming, keeping himself as healthy as possible. But the empty feeling, he knew, would never go away. And some nights, like this one, his heart ached extra woefully…

He blinked slowly, his body simply going through its motions at the moment while his depression depleted him of emotions. He tried not to think, a difficult task for Armin Arlert, but, though slow, his brain still ran through any number of different thoughts… Why does sand feel so hot in the daytime but cold and damp in the evenings, like this one? He supposed the crumbled rocks and shells in it just conducted heat from the sun very well. Why does the light blue sky turn lavender, pink, and violet in the twilight hour like this? Maybe the heavens churn it that way to give humans pleasant sights for comfortable dreams… Why does the ocean have so much salt? No idea. Did god just put it there? Was it whale semen like the outside world teenagers always joked? He hoped not. Maybe there’s a big salt rock somewhere on earth that the waves always smack and carry its essence to all the oceans of the world? No matter… Nothing matters anymore… “Eren…”

“Hey, Shrimplet!” A familiar voice called.

Armin slowly turned around, his heavy body taking its time, and found that the snarky voice came from Ymir.

Ymir swaggered over to Armin’s space and plopped down beside him by the rock. “Ahh, these old bones of mine really don’t work like they used to. ‘My curse’ sure creeps up on you fast, I must say.” She croaned.

The corner of Armin’s lip slightly floated up before floating back down to its empty expression.

Ymir glanced at him and pursed her lips. “Alright, lamb chop, what’s eatin’ you, eh? No one likes a sad sack.”

Armin glanced back but resumed his gaze at the sea just as quickly. “Sorry, Ymir… Just depressed.”

“…Missing your cuddle buddy, eh?”

“… Yeah.”

“Hmm. Well, you know, as morbid as it sounds, you’ve only got 4 years left before the clock strikes for you too. He’ll be waiting for you.”

Armin’s eyes welled up as his throat heated, a cry bubbling through his lips and burning his ticklish nose. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms, crying quietly in spite of Ymir’s presence.

Ymir winced at herself, feeling guilty for misspeaking in her attempts to comfort him. “Ah, not the right thing to say, huh? My bad. That’s what I’d be telling myself if I were you, is all. Historia wouldn’t like that, but what can I say? I’m an honest human being.”

“…Eren wanted me to live. I’m trying my best. And I’m okay for the most part, but there’s still this part of me deep down that wants to hurry up and be with him again…” he confessed, his voice cracking and his tears growing as they fell in big drops from his eyelids. “And I feel like he’d be so ashamed of me… betraying his will for me like that…” He buried his face back in his arms, still crying, while Ymir thought for a moment…

“…That suicidal bastard has no room to talk.”

Armin gritted his teeth at such a disrespectful comment towards his late husband and raised his head back up, but Ymir continued before he could speak.

“As much as he sought after death? He’s got no reason to judge you. My point is, don’t feel shitty over that. He knows you, he knows how hard it is. He’s not gonna be ashamed of you. He’s not gonna be mad. The only thing that big sap would do is hold you and say ‘I’m sorry’ while he drools over your hair and dry humps your knee. You two were gross, you know that? And that’s coming from ME.” She laughed.

Armin’s jaw relaxed and his expression softened again. As always, Ymir knew what to say to him, even if she was horrible at saying it. She was right though… If Eren were alive and sitting there before him, hearing that Armin felt this way, the first thing he’d do is hold him tight, and kiss him, and beg him in a whisper to forgive him and to ‘Just hold on… Just hold on…’ Armin prayed an apology for minding Eren’s will above actually remembering Eren. Eren is always alive if he remembers him… He is always alive… And of course, Eren would just say ‘Hey, come on, it’s not your fault. Everything’s okay. Don’t be sad, please. Crying is my job. I love you, Armin…’

“…You with me, shorty?” Ymir finally asked after Armin seemed to drift off into space in his mind for a long moment.

“Ymir, Historia is grateful for every single second you have with her. Don’t ever change. And give her every second of your time.”

Ymir snorted. “What a sap, you certainly never change, do you, bunny boy?” she laughed, ruffling his hair and smiling to hear him laugh in return. “…So tell me, are there any non-sappy stories about you two getting into mischief over the years?”

“Oh, we got into trouble all the time when we were kids. If there was something I wanted to do, Eren would make sure we’d do it, no matter how much people were against it.” He chuckled. “Oh, there was a time in the trainees corps where the commandant said something really mean to me and Eren got so mad he insisted I help him break into his office and steal his cookie stash. And of course, I said we shouldn’t do that. But of course we did it anyway.”

“I think I remember how this one ends…”

Armin blushed and stifled his embarrassed laughter. “The Commandant made an example of us as soon as he found out the cookies were stolen. He said he would have done nothing about it except the culprits made a fatal mistake he wouldn’t accept from his soldiers in training: We left the cookie tin right out in the open in the cabin during a surprise inspection, crumbs all over our beds. He pulled us both out of roll formation by the hair and displayed us as incompetent fools.”

“That was pretty hilarious!” Ymir commented, hunched over laughing in the cold sand.

“Yeah. But after that he was surprisingly pretty nice to us. He said he liked our gumption. And he actually hoped we would use our team work get back at him for calling me whatever it was he called me. It was strange, really. But it turns out he was fond of Eren anyway for being the son of Carla Yeager.”

“Damn, how did I miss all this gossip?”

“You were MIA when we found out about the Carla thing.”

“Ah, right.”

“Historia missed you a lot back then by the way.”

“Yeah, crazy-eyes told me.” She said, of course referring to Eren. “Say, fuzz nuts… You’re smart. Do you think she resents me at all?…” she inquired sadly.

Armin was surprised. Ymir never showed herself in a vulnerable light… “No, of course not. Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty hard to love sometimes. In the face of a goddess, who wouldn’t be?”

“I understand… That’s why it’s good to have friends. To tell you that it’s all in your head and that you’ve nothing to worry about cuz we can see that she loves you more than anything.” He gave her a reassuring smile and placed his hand on her shoulder affectionately. “Even when you call her friends mean nick names and drink all the wine.”

Ymir snorted again, giving Armin a playful nudge, and Armin could swear he saw her wipe a tear from her eye… “Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, baby face! Heaven knows I’m a goddess too.”

Armin grinned. “That’s right.”

Ymir sighed and shifted in the sand with an aching groan, ready to stand back up again. “Welp, guess I’m headin’ home. Nice talking to ya, goo goo eyes.”

Armin quickly took her arm. “Ah– wait, wait… Wouldn’t you like to watch the moon rise over the ocean? It’s pretty soul cleansing.”

Ymir beamed. Of course she knew the beauty of the moon… It was her favorite thing in the world. “Yeah, alright.” And with that, she settled back in her sandy seat.

The friends watched as the moon slowly rose over the horizon, chatting about nostalgic memories of their trainee days and gossiping about their lovers. Since talking about Eren was Armin’s best medicine in mourning, he desperately needed this quality time and sent Ymir endless gratitude with his happy eyes. Ymir smiled to herself the entire time, so glad to have had this lovely evening reminiscing with this good friend on the tail end of her life… She never once had a boring conversation with Armin Arlert.