#i could smack myself for the time stone reference at the end there gods | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drunkcnsunlight · 5 years ago

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---- JAIME DID CARE. gods, he cared more than he did anything else. the greatest joys of his life had involved the brief seconds that he’d been permitted to be joffrey, myrcella, and tommen’s FATHER. of course, those seconds were wrapped up in the times when each of his three children had been BORN. when the fat king was off hunting boars and fucking whores, jaime was by cersei’s side--- he never left her, not for a second. not even when the birthing wives and maesters insisted that he was not allowed in the birthing room. which one of you proposes to keep me OUT? his own words rushed into his mind then. the memories brought tears to his eyes, but what difference could they make now? he’d been disarmed--- by the one opponent--- perhaps the only one--- who could defeat him with reliability. for most of his life, no man could best him with a SWORD. like ser barristan selmy, ser jaime lannister had been a painter, who only used the hues of RED. but everywhere else? cersei was capable of putting him off of his guard, of making him drop his pretenses, his hopes, his dreams, his apologies. but gods, he’d loved her--- and he loved her fiercely, even now. not as he had, when myrcella’s newborn fingers curled around the scruff of his beard. not as he had, when joffrey wailed, and outstretched his nimble arms in jaime’s direction. not as he had, when tommen was so quiet, exiting his mother’s womb, that both parents were mightily fearful that some medical condition--- that had gone undetected--- must have plagued him.

it had taken years, and it continued to take TIME. but jaime was slowly learning to deconstruct all of the lessons that his lord father had shoveled to him, ever since his boyhood. anyone whose last name is not lannister is an ENEMY. gods, what a heap of royal horse shit that message had been. on the one hand, it was elitist and entitled and horrifying. on the other hand, it was all that he’d ever known--- he and cersei had been told as much, the second that JOANNA had given birth to them. but tyrion? tyrion had rarely, if he’d ever, fallen for it. maybe he escaped with his sanity because he’d been tortured, outcasted, and abused from the second that he first drew breath. perhaps if his little brother had been born NORMAL, then he, too, would have fallen for the lessons of lannisters. but he hadn’t been born normal--- he’d been born as a DWARF, and he’d been punished for this area of his difference for all of his life. as a result, he’d come to appreciate those who were different than him--- he valued the lesser and the greater. he valued the able-bodied and the differently so. he valued the people of the forests, and the stone masons, and the noble people behind their high walls. he was a man of the PEOPLE--- a true man of the people. and gods, jaime envied him for being able to escape in that tiny, obsolete way that he did.

if she called brienne a WHORE one more time.... jaime could feel his jaw clench, and he felt the most painful combination of emotions that he’d felt in perhaps all of his life--- he was angry. he was angry that cersei did not mind her tongue, that she pushed him--- that she did not care enough to consider what was good for HIM, what he wanted. as horrible as it felt to contemplate another man held between his sister’s arms.... part of jaime WANTED that for her, if it meant that she could experience happiness in her life.... if it meant that their children could experience a more positive--- PRESENT--- male role model. but she could never want an analogous situation for him.... she would sooner destroy the woman whom he loved, than to see him grow happy and old with her. gods, what had happened to the small children whom they’d been? confiding fears and hopes and dreams openly with one another? cersei’s nails had pierced harder than his, even back then... but she used to whisper to him, too.... that she wanted him to be HAPPY. she did not want him to be happy now, did she?

“i did walk away from you,” jaime returned, doing his best to keep his tone as diplomatic as possible, but he was struggling. he was losing his edge, his grip, his control. “but i did not intend to do so forever--- and you can swear that i am LYING to you, but i did not GO NORTH for her. i didn’t think....” he didn’t think that far ahead.... he couldn’t.... he knew that she was there, and of course, there had always existed that unspoken, magnetic PULL between them, but... his motivation had been far grander than cersei was composing it to be. “i went north to ensure that all of humanity did not join the dead. you will believe what you will believe, CERSEI--- i cannot control your perceptions, nor would i wish to. i would be a savage man to want for that. but my motivation is not as simple as you are suggesting it to be.” but her latter words.... he could not help but to SOFTEN at those--- she knew how to harden him. in more ways than one. but she also knew how to make his heart grow heavy with sadness, with remorse. it was one of the finest tools of her manipulation chest. “cersei, do you think that i did not consider how you were, high up in the red keep? i thought of you always. i struggled with myself--- always. for the decision that i made.” it was true, that he’d chosen to walk away--- in the most basic sense. but that did not mean that he did so without FEELING--- that he’d callously kicked his horse into action, rode into the deep snows, and forgot about his remaining family.

“does it bring you JOY to watch your twin WEEP?” jaime quipped back, finally losing his composure--- truly, deeply, finally, absolutely, jaime lannister began to CRY. he did not hold back now. he’d been defeated, and he knew it. he could overcome hoards of the undead. he could fight with only one hand still crafted of FLESH. he could defend the innocent and the guilty alike. but he could not outwit his sister--- he didn’t even think that he wanted to, it was not his AIM. all he wanted was for her to accept him--- to FORGIVE him for what he should be forgiven for.... to give him the chance to be in her life in a more healthy capacity, to co-parent their children, even if from more of a distance than either of them wanted. and if she could not be happy for him--- or accept how he felt about the maid of tarth--- then she could at least agree not to interfere. that is not CERSEI, his head insisted to him--- he knew that his thoughts were right, but just as he always had, he wanted to fight them. he wanted cersei to be more capable of moral growth than she was. it was much of what had killed him in the end. she is a DISEASE, you do know that, don’t you? olenna’s voice rang between his ears now. she’ll be the END OF YOU. “to call him nothing?” jaime took a step away from her--- and he hated himself for it. he should have punished her for calling brienne a whore. he should have smacked her for calling him all of the names that had chipped away at his well-being for all of his previous existence. but he couldn’t--- he didn’t have the STRENGTH to do so, nor the will. “you can celebrate happily--- your victory here, over your one-handed, oathbreaker, man without honor, pathetic-nothing of a BROTHER.”

she could have more WINE, he thought inwardly. he could smell it on her lips, he was always capable of that. but now, he could not blame her cruelty on alcohol. it was a scapegoat, and perhaps it always had been, but her habit had grown.... ever since the two, misshapen parents had lost their first child. “i was wrong about daenerys,” jaime continued, in reference to what he’d learned--- the same as every inhabitant of king’s landing had on that fateful day. “i can confess to that--- not that my confessions hold much weight to you, sister. but what would have been so terrible about KNEELING, cersei? about surrendering a crown so that our child could live? so that we could live? so that we could have found some island somewhere, and.... started over?” it was because that was not what cersei wanted--- she wished to rule, to continue her reign of terror, to spit on the little people, to make only LIONS grow stronger, and to instill the same rigid, immoral values into their next generation. well, if that was the case, then jaime was pleased that he had no part in it. “and she is NOT a whore--- you don’t know her, cersei. and you owe HER a great deal, too, you know. without her, i never would have made it home to you, after i was taken prisoner by ROBB STARK. she was the reason that we came back to one another.” perhaps it was something that cersei now regretted, but... she could not speak of brienne in such a foul way. she was right, he could not hold her tongue--- he’d never been able to do that. but he would not support her in it.

“i never gave a damn about my own children?” jaime growled back, and now anger was rising to replace his sadness--- although the mixture of emotions still swirled defiantly behind his emerald eyes. the man took a step closer to his sister, and he was SHAKING in the intensity of his fury. her victory was rooted in the fact that she could still shake him in this way--- that her poking, prodding, tearing words could still unhinge him--- and leave him exhausted, and teeming with self-hatred. “i was never allowed to be a father to them! i ran to my first son, and i could not save him. i held our baby girl in my own arms as she DIED! as the sand women exacted their revenge.... right after sweet cella told me that she was PROUD that i was her father!” jaime took in a deep breath, before he continued--- all he saw was the blues of his sadness, and the reds of his anger. “and tommen.... gods, you called him a traitor! i said no such thing. and our unborn baby? i would have died for them, the same as i would have died for any and all of our children.” how could he have ever been a father to them? it was as he’d told her, all of that time ago... if he acted as their father, each and every one of them would have been whipped through the streets. or KILLED.

“aye, i’ve done it BEFORE.” the anger in jaime’s eyes was becoming HATEFUL, and he did not like how he was feeling in the present moment, as he took another step closer to his sister. until they were only a few inches apart from one another. “i strangled our own cousin in order to get back to you--- because at that moment, i took him to be my enemy, rather than the innocent that he was.” he paused. “i gave lady olenna poisonous tears, because she rebelled against us. i did not speak against you, when you decided--- on your own--- what ellaria sand’s fate would be. i followed your orders, i went along as EURON GREYJOY brought his traitor sailors behind the safety of our gates.” the name-calling was one thing, and it was a horrible, unjustifiable thing. brienne had told him, how much she’d been wounded over the years, because of people’s INSULTS. but actions were another--- and cersei’s actions never failed to produce deadly consequences. “but if you hatch a plan to harm the KNIGHT of tarth....” jaime ducked his head downward, and his green eyes were serious and infuriated. “then YOU become my enemy, sister. and lose that battle as i might, i will not allow you to touch a single hair on brienne’s head.” his former lover did not need to want him back--- she did not need to lay with him again. his loyalties resided with her in this way--- she’d EARNED them.

“do you know what she told me?” jaime continued, and cersei’s plan was working. he’d cried so much that his tears started to dry the skin of his face. she’d wounded him so, that his legs wobbled, and he resembled a hurt child, more than he did the seasoned battle commander whom he was. “she told me that i was a good man--- that i was brave. that i’d redeemed--- and that i might have been trouble at times, but that i have never been NOTHING.” perhaps it was too much information that he was sharing--- he knew that cersei would stow it away for later use, that she would reflect upon it down the road, and that she could weaponize it against him. but in the midst of his GRIEF, his better judgment escaped him. “i commanded men who were loyal to you and to father--- you have been held hostage yourself, cersei! how can you call my involuntary capture.... voluntary abandonment?” jaime blinked, and it forever amazed him, how rules could apply to all others, but never to her.... fine, lancel was a means to an end, but she’d still laid with him. she’d still shared parts of herself with him that she swore could only ever be HIS. and jaime? jaime had been virginal for all of his life.... he must have been the only lord commander who did not lay with a woman in every brothel that his men happened upon. and he’d been so.... because he’d LOVED his sister. because he believed that she was the only one for him, that she would be the only woman for him EVER.

“i was not there for you,” jaime agreed, and it still pained him that... that was the case. “but you cannot pin the blame solely on me, cersei. we would have remained together, if i remained in king’s landing--- you are right about that. but we ALSO would have remained together, if you chose to come with me on my journey to the north.” they’d both denied each other. they’d both betrayed each other, to differing extents. the difference was.... that jaime was willing to admit his faults where they were due.... but that cersei was not willing to acknowledge hers--- if she did at all, she certainly would not speak of them ALOUD. “oh, gods, how wonderful for you.... a son to call GREYJOY. and you refer to ME as ‘low,’ sister?” the traditional lannister disdain for sea krakens was not lost upon jaime.... he hated the ironborn and their men, and he had for a long, long time... but theon and yara.... he liked them. admittedly, he did. and neither of the siblings deserved to suffer in the ways that they had--- even less so by the hands of their own UNCLE. the cackling, ugly fool. if jaime knew anything, then it was that he did not love cersei, and that cersei did not love EURON either.

“would you KILL ME, cersei? speak truly--- once now, if never again. would you kill your own brother?” no, he had to be more specific than that. the woman was more than willing to discard the littlest lion--- he had meant less than nothing to her. less than the common folk, who she was already willing to do away with, but when it came to TYRION? she’d actively tried to kill him. her and their father both--- and both of them would have succeeded, had jaime and varys not interceded, to prevent that horrible crime from happening. “would you kill ME? i am your twin! i am the man who entered this world with you--- not by his own choice, and who LEFT IT alongside you.... out of his own decision.” if that was not enough, then he knew what held a chance of convincing her... “i am the FATHER of all of your children--- perhaps not of any who might come for you--- and gods, cersei, i wish for you to be HAPPY! don’t you believe me when i tell you that?--- but for all of your past and current offspring. do you wish to tell little joanna and cerion of how you butchered their father?” it was the same as it had been when he’d walked away from her. “i do not believe you, sister.”

“CERSEI....” it hurt him--- it all hurt him. to know that she’d always hated tyrion. to know that she might have hated jaime now. but what wounded him worse was how HOT TEARS poured down her supple cheeks now. his eyes softened, they betrayed him, and his reserve, as they tended to--- whenever he saw her UPSET. jaime would have vanquished any enemy, real or imaginary, in order to make her sadness disappear. “i still love you.” they could fight, could they not? they could still fight, and find a way to overcome their differences... could they not? it could not be TOO LATE for them... it couldn’t be... this was not the way that their story was supposed to end--- and then, to start again. “i am still the brother who shall defend you... who shall come to your aid, when you call upon me... but we must make some concessions--- both of us, and for each other’s betterment.” he paused, wondering if she would meet him halfway on this--- but feeling disheartened to know that she might not. “i wish to be here for you. i wish for us to be HONEST with one another. i wish to have a role in raising our children, and in being life partners to one another.... in some way, even if the nature of that way must change.” jaime could not be her lover again--- he had much healing and reflection and growth to do still, but... he could not be that to her again. “i wish to be your BROTHER. to be your protector. to be your friend. to be the man i am meant to be for our children--- the man of HONOR that i am, and that you know that i am, too.”

the ugliest whore in the seven kingdoms. gods, why was she doing this to him? why was she forcing his hand in this way? euron greyjoy was not winning any beauty competitions--- and while jaime did not hold compliments for the man, he was not desecrating him as much as he could have been at this moment. and that was all for CERSEI. “how many times can i tell you to stop speaking of brienne as you are?” it seemed that the effect of words would fall short... but gods, he did not wish to spur himself into hasty ACTION. he did not even know what it would mean, or what it would look like, in general... but he would refrain. because he did not wish to harm her--- not as she aimed to harm HIM--- and because acting hastily may bring harm to brienne. he would not do that to her.

jaime did exactly as she commanded him. he listened attentively as she told him how things were--- and how they would be. his gaze softened, his heart melted, as cersei explained that CERION looked exactly like him. jaime held no way of knowing whether or not that was true, but... the idea of it was enough to bring both sadness and gladness to him. it filled him with joy, to think about his young son... growing up happy, and safe, and in a new world. “she must be a beautiful girl,” jaime said about joanna--- if she resembled their mother and CERSEI, then she had to be gorgeous--- a little, to-be heartbreaker. jaime even swallowed the words that he wanted to say--- that if cerion was like him in all ways, then he, too, must have been a boy without honor, in cersei’s eyes. wasn’t that JAIME was to her? nothing and no one, as she’d claimed? and then, the VENOM came... the venom that proved to him that he was RIGHT all along. the venom that showed him part of why he’d rode north in the first place--- although his motivation had been to protect the living, first and foremost. “you would punish your children... you would deprive them of a father... out of hurt? out of a perceived betrayal?” jaime stared at her--- he stared at her daggers, at what resembled a smile that was forming in her eyes. she was not smiling, he could see that--- but she was punishing him. and hadn’t that brought her contentment, if not outright gladness? “no, cersei....” he denied, in a tone that was both weary and pained. “YOU are the reason that i will not be allowed to watch my children grow--- to fuel their happiness, to hold them in my arms. YOU are the one who is keeping me at a distance..... brienne has nothing to bring about this result.” he looked at her--- her eyes matched his own, but oh, how they differed. he felt miles away from her, even if meager inches separated them. jaime wanted to curl up into a ball and.... well, it was not enough for him to CRY any longer. he’d cried what felt like all of his tears, but more would come tonight... when he retired to his lonesome bed, and wept himself into a restless slumber. “you are the bringer of that denial. and you can tell them that, when they are old enough to UNDERSTAND IT.” jaime had every intention of being around--- oh, he would be. for THEM--- and for her, too. somehow, and however he would come to be permitted to be. but if cersei wished to name herself the VICTOR on this night... then she could do so. “and for once, you’ve gotten her descriptor right...” there was no chill to his tone--- he did not wish to hurt her. not intentionally, not even when he was furious with her. “my BELOVED brienne of tarth.” jaime loved her. gods, he did--- with all of his heart. he should have TOLD HER THAT--- not once, but every day. “even if she would not describe me in the same way.... you’ve gotten that one descriptor RIGHT.”

@bcssbitchs

#( JAIME LANNISTER )#sex mention tw #weapons tw #violence tw #abuse tw #incest tw #ableism tw #childbirth tw #death tw #murder tw #gore tw #grief tw #drinking tw #alcohol tw #kidnapping tw #suicide tw #poison tw

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sunlightdances · 6 years ago

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Blooming in the Shadows (5/6)

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Rating: Overall PG-13 because of canon-typical violence. Also swearing. Words: 2,730 (this part) Warnings: Angst! Dean and the Reader swearing like sailors! Mutual pining with a dash of bed sharing and a slow burn romance added in for extra fluffy goodness. Summary: You and Dean Winchester are barely friends. His sudden reappearance from Hell brings you together, and you find yourself right back in the life you ran away from when you were a teenager. (Canon AU that takes place during season 4, specifically starting at 4.01 - for reference, Dean is 29) This chapter: This is the first chapter I wrote that originally was intended to be a oneshot. There’s a particular line of dialogue in here that inspired this entire fic. One more chapter after this one, folks. Thanks for sticking with me.

Links aren’t working - find the full master list for this plus the link to this story on AO3 on my blog!

You take a deep breath, the sound of it rattling through your rib cage on its way out. It’s silent in the old barn. Almost too quiet.

Your mind keeps flashing back to the way Dean was looking at you outside, the way he keeps half confessing things to you… you’re at your wit’s end.

You know deep down inside you that Dean Winchester doesn’t hate you. Just the same, you’ve never hated him, even after he basically stomped on your heart.

It’s time to put it in the past. There are bigger things to worry about, and you can’t lie - you’re terrified.

Pamela is out of the ICU now, according to Bobby, but blind, obviously. You’ve never seen anything like that. You think the sound of her screams will stay with you for the rest of your life, as will the crazed look in Dean’s own eyes during the attack as he held onto you and Sam for dear life.

And now you’re summoning whatever did it. Truly, probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever been a part of as a hunter. Sam’s fidgeting and Dean is pacing. The ritual has been done. The summoning is over. Now… you just wait. You’re still struck by the absolute silence.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re not alone.

Suddenly, the doors to the barn begin to shake. The lights flicker, and sam and Dean both ready their rifles filled with rock salt. You do the same, the sawed-off comfortable in your hands despite the way your hands are trembling. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, though you can’t get rid of the feeling that tells you you’re in way over your head.

A clap of thunder, and then there’s a man standing there. Piercing blue eyes, almost blank expression on his face, but somehow still an intense look in his eyes. The look he’s giving you all makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

He takes a step forward, right through the devil’s trap, and your heart starts to race. “What the fuck…” you breathe, feeling Sam and Dean come closer on either side.

Almost as if on cue, the three of you begin firing, your rock salt doing nothing to slow down the man striding towards you like he’s on a mission. Your heart stutters again when he gets close enough to touch.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asks, and you want to smack him for being so flippant.

The man’s voice is deeper than you expected and seems to echo around the barn. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."

A beat, and then Dean’s smirking, the idiot. “Thanks,” he says snidely before lunging forward, the demon knife in his hand, and stabs the man in the chest, almost to the hilt.

It does nothing.

“Shit,” you say, and take a step forward, Sam heading up the rear. Before you can do anything, the man is turning to face Sam, two fingers on his forehead, and then Sam slumps to the ground.

Dean curses, and your eyes widen when he turns his attention on you, but the man is already there in between the two of you, pressing his fingers to your face before you can defend yourself.

Everything goes black.

“Wake up, kid. Come on,” is the first thing you hear, Dean’s voice low and worried. “She’s not waking up.”

“Give her a minute. It took me a second too,” Sam replies.

You groan in response, and can almost feel the relief palpable in the room.

“What happened?”

“A fuckin’ angel of the Lord. That’s what happened.” Dean says, and underneath his posturing, you can hear the fear there.

You sit up, with his help. “He’s-- what the hell did he want?”

Dean almost smiles, probably at your choice of words. “Said he was the one who got me out of hell. He said he did it--” Dean swallows, face turning serious. “Said he did it on God’s order. That I had a job to do.”

“Dean, what the fuck.”

He pulls you to your feet, and Sam steadies you on your other side as you get your bearings.

“I-- I’m not really sure where to go from here.” Dean admits, and it shocks you, really, to see him being vulnerable like this.

“We have to find somewhere to sleep.” Sam says, always the level head. “Let’s get a room and we’ll call Bobby. We should probably head back to his place next, anyway.”

“Two rooms,” you tell Sam on the way to the Impala. He gives you a look, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know he wishes you and Dean would just hash things out once and for all, and there’s no way he’s missed how differently Dean is acting now.

You just can’t quite face it. After everything that happened today… the prospect of finding out whatever Dean was trying to tell you earlier today… it scares the hell out of you and you’re not sure how to deal with it.

Call it fight or flight, but it is what it is. You need a break.

The neon lights of a motel are like a beacon, and Dean practically speeds into the parking lot. He’s rattled and it makes you nervous.

Sam goes into the motel office while you hang out by the car with Dean. He’s fidgeting and you find that you want to put a hand on his arm, or his shoulder… find some way to comfort him. You haven’t had that feeling in a really long time.

“You coming with us to Bobby’s?” He asks, breaking the silence. It feels like a loaded question.

You dig the tip of your boot into the dirt, creating a pattern. “Not sure yet. Need to get my car eventually.”

He nods. “Is that the only reason you’d go back there?”

It’s not the question you think he’s going to ask, and you have no idea how to answer him.

Saved by the bell, the ringing above the door signals Sam’s exit from the building, and you heave a sigh of relief when he hands one key to you, and keeps another in his fist.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You say, grabbing your bag out of the backseat and slinging it over your shoulder.

You take two steps before there’s a hand gripping your elbow. Your heart practically stops when you turn around to meet Dean’s eyes. He lets go almost immediately, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Just-- don’t leave without saying something.”

You can’t place the look in his eyes and you’re not sure you want to. You’re not sure you want to deal with any of this, but somehow you should have known you were always going to get dragged back into life with the Winchesters one way or another.

You nod and tug your arm out of his grasp, smiling weakly at Sam over your shoulder as you find your room and push your way inside, the weight of the last few days obvious as your shoulders slump.

A shower is in order, and then you plan on sleeping for about fifteen hours. You know you should eat something, too, but you’re too exhausted, too freaked out, too off your game to do anything other than collapse in your bed.

A knock on your door startles you awake after what feels like hours, but only turns out to have been about fifteen minutes. You stumble to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, immediately on edge.

“What?” You ask when you pull open the door, revealing the eldest Winchester on the other side, a sheepish look on his face and his fist still raised to knock one more time.

“You were asleep.”

You shrug. “Not for long. What’s going on?”

He swallows. “Nothing. I mean, nothing bad. I just-- can I come in for a second?”

The nerves start up again. You feel anxious and feel like you want to leap out of your skin and sink beneath the earth. The dread coiling in your veins is only matched by what feels like anticipation.

You shut the door behind you, and watch as Dean rubs his jaw, pacing in front of the bed.

“Are you okay?” You echo your same question from earlier, because it really looks like he’s lost it this time.

“I have to-- I need to explain something to you.”

You say nothing. You’re caught completely off guard, with nothing to go on here but the desperate look in his eyes. He takes your silence as permission to keep going.

“When we were growing up, you… you showed up one day and completely flipped our world upside down. It’s always been just me and Sam. We never knew how to handle someone else being there, but then there was you.”

You find your voice. “Is that why you were so awful to me?” It comes out harsh, more than you intended.

“I deserve that.” He looks down at his feet. “I deserve that and I deserve everything you’ve ever said about me or thought about me since that night.”

You immediately know he’s talking about when you left. You just can’t figure out why he’s doing this now, why he’s trying to explain this now. It was all so simple for you. There’s nothing to talk about, as far as you’re concerned.

“I pushed you away when we were teens because you made me feel things that I was nowhere near prepared to feel. I thought it would be easier…” He stops for a second, laughs bitterly, “thought you would be safer if you were as far away from me as you could get.”

“Dean--”

“Wait,” he says gently, “I have to get this out or I’ll never do it.” He takes a small step closer to you, meeting your eyes now. “I also thought I was protecting myself. Killing two birds with one stone, you know?”

“Protecting yourself from what? From me?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks on the last word.

He smiles, but it’s sad. “You scare me.” Dean’s voice is raw, honest. It makes your heart rate speed up.

“Why?” Your reply is barely a whisper.

His voice cracks, “Because you could break my heart in half and walk away without a scratch.”

You have no idea what to say. You’re frozen, rooted to the spot. It’s all at once everything you’ve ever wanted to hear from Dean, and the last thing you ever expected.

“You’re so strong. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before. You came into my life, this spitfire full of loud opinions and the hardest left hook I’ve ever seen, and I knew… I knew that if I let myself feel these things for you, I’d never recover. You would. Because you’ve always been the strongest of the three of us. But me? I’d be ruined.”

A tear splashes off the end of your nose and startles you, because you didn’t even realize you were crying. You want to scream, want to tell him he’s so stupid for not just talking to you. This entire time, all these years… wasted. Because you both were so stupid for each other you couldn’t see the other’s feelings right in front of your face.

“So I put you down and I was cold to you and I pushed you away… and you want to know the dumbest thing of all?”

He takes a step even closer so he can reach out and use his thumb to wipe away a tear slowly tracking its way down your cheek. He’s close enough you can feel the heat radiating off him and can feel the way he’s shaking ever so slightly as he touches you.

“What’s the dumbest thing?” You ask, and his shoulders seem to curl in as he finally tells you whatever it is he’s been trying to say this entire time.

“It didn’t even work.” He whispers. “You left, and I moved on, and so did you, and you show up again… and it’s like I was punched right in the chest by all the feelings I thought I got rid of,” he says, grabbing your hand and placing it on his chest so you can feel the way his heart is pounding.

“Dean,” his name is a choked breath, the things you’ve never said to him stuck inside your throat. You swallow a sob that’s threatening to burst out and he steps up even closer, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

“You’ve hated me for years and I deserved it. But trust me, sweetheart. You could never hate me as much as I do for what I did to you. You never deserved to feel like you didn’t have a home there. I even blamed you for leaving. The things I said…” He shakes his head.

“Can I say something now?” You ask shakily, a burst of confidence coming over you as you watch Dean practically bare his soul to you.

“You don’t need to--”

“Yes I do.” Your hand covers his, both of you locked there in a strange but wonderful embrace. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear something like this from you. I-- Dean, I fell in love with you when I was sixteen years old.”

Dean’s eyes slide shut, a pained noise escaping his throat. You feel the exact same way - all this time wasted, all the time you both felt the same way but were too scared to say or do anything.

“If you think that I could walk away from you without a scratch… well, you don’t know me very well, Dean Winchester.” You say quietly, his fingers gripping yours almost painfully.

“We don’t, do we, though.” He says, “We don’t really know each other anymore.” He pulls back and his eyes rove over your face. “Or, at least I thought I didn’t know you. I thought you didn’t know me either. But you’ve still got that necklace. And you’re still able to look right through me, just like you always were.”

Something’s still eating at you. “Dean… why now?”

His eyes are so fucking green as he stares at you. “We went up against an angel today. I thought-- at any point, that could have gone so far South. You could have died today.” His eyes are pained. “I went to hell and came back. And still the thing that scared me today was losing you before I had a chance to make things right. I didn’t-- it made all my reasons seem pointless.”

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. “What do we do now?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

You pull away and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I need to sleep. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Dean nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll let you get some rest. I just-- I needed to say that to you.” He takes a few steps backwards towards the door. “There’s no pressure here, okay? This whole thing--” he gestures between the two of you, “it’s on me. It always has been. I just had to get it off my chest.”

He frowns. “Dumping all that on you wasn’t fair.”

“Dean.” You stand, coming closer to him. “That’s enough self blame for one day, okay? I just-- I need to think. I’m not going to disappear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A small smile is on his face, one you’re beginning to think is reserved just for you. “Okay.” He grips the doorknob with one hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When you shut and lock the door behind him, you finally let yourself cry all the tears you tried to hold back earlier, slumping down to the floor, the weight of everything that’s happened between you and Dean crashing down on you all at once.

A hell of a day.

What an understatement.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #blooming in the shadows fic

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echoesofbooks · 3 years ago

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Willow -- Ronie Kendig

CW: Rape/attempted rape

This book really just took off from the beginning. From page one, you got a hint of danger and it really never let up. The things Willow and the others had to endure weren't easy by any stretch. Ronie Kendig did a good job of showing the horrors that the victims of human trafficking can endure, but also showed how hope can shine through even if you have to look harder to find it.

I liked that through everything, even when she was scared, Willow still managed to hold onto her fire. I liked that she thought of the others and was trying to keep them as safe as she could, even knowing there were going to be times she couldn't do anything. I liked how she took to Ife and wanted to protect him. Initially, it did seem like she was close to giving up but then things were revealed with Chiji and she got her hope back. Then she got them safely to land and at the end, she was going to be willing to do something she never thought, in order to protect Chiji this time. I did kind of waver on her frustration with God/when Chiji would ask her to pray. My own relationship with God/religion is complicated I'll admit but as much as I hate it, even I recognize that sometimes the answers aren't always what we want.

Chiji was great. I loved the way he was kind of a mentor to Tox, back in the Tox Files books and I did have to laugh at that conversation at the beginning. Kind of hope Tox and Haven are able to come and visit. Even though Chiji knew he wouldn't be able to stop everything, I did like the fact that he did what he could initially. Then it became too much, so he did what he had to to get Willow to safety. The whole thing with Chiasoka is interesting, and definitely has me the slightest bit worried. I hope Chiji is able to find her again and bring her back, but there's a small part of me that's worried that she's a little more willing than anyone is wanting to acknowledge. I also hope he's able to help Willow find Nkechi and the twins along with the others that were offloaded before they jumped off the boat

Like always, I loved the cameos! Not only with Tox, but there was a reference to Trinity/Breed Apart and then of course Canyon and Stone. Hopefully we get more cameos and maybe Leif/Iskra get to make an appearance?

Range was interesting, although I'll admit I wanted to smack him. I do want to know more about the reasons he's basically cut ties. He admitted himself that he wasn't planning on talking to any of his family again and coming from an interesting dynamic myself, there's baggage around statements like that. And then there was his call to Cord and let's just say I'm glad his book is next!

Of course Range's book being next means we have to wait a little longer to figure out what Brooke's up to. I really hope that it's not the fact that she somehow got involved in this ring that they're tracking and more like she's trying to go lone wolf (which is still stupid but at least that way Cord gets to save her; well, he's probably going to save her anyway but yeah)

#WillowMetcalfe #Chiji #TheMetcalfes #thrillingromanticsuspense #romanticsuspense #thriller #actionadventure #roniekendig #nigeria #mustread #releaseday #alreadyread #youshouldreadthis

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hyungbean · 7 years ago

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My Heart Beats For You | Sehun Soulmate!AU

Prompt: “When you look at me heart starts to race. GOD, even when you walk by me my heart starts running!”

Prologue - Part 1 - Part 2

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Attempted Humor?

“I just.. don’t understand.”

“Byun Baekhyun. I swear if you don’t leave me alone I will shove you to Greenland. I’m trying to study, just like everyone else in this damned library.”.

Baekhyun looked at me with a raised eyebrow and smirk causing me to pick up one of my textbooks and crane my hand back, in feign threat.

“Yah! Yah! Alright, Alright. Don’t damage the money maker you bean.” He said before resting his face on his hands, giving me the most innocent smile he could pull.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up my pen and started jotting some notes down on what seemed like the hundredth paper I’ve used today.

While that was happening, Baekhyun was somewhat deep in thought, a blank expression washing over his once playful one.

“What was I saying…? Oh! But whyyy, I mean how can you be friends with all of us but Sehun! You are nothing like the girls I’ve seen here, they practically jump onto Sehun. It just doesn’t make any sens—“

Before he could continue is blubbering, my pen was suddenly hovering above my paper… and then being hurled at his face.

The pen merely tapped his forehead before descending onto the table with a rather loud tap.

The weak action caused him to wear a blank and confused facial expression leading to me rolling my eyes.

“Hyun. Look. I’m not like the rest of the female body here at this school. Besides, remember when you and Chan set me up with him? He was two hours late, not to mention he spilled lasagna on me! The lasagna. Don’t even get me started on the fact that he has probably slept with all the girls around here AND their mothers!”.

At my mini rant, Baekhyun proceeded to give me the puppy eyes and practically jump onto the table, the only thing stopping him was the overwhelming amount of paper scattered on the dark wooden table.

“Look just don’t judge him too quickly, and he has definitely not slept with every girl here, you included. Besides be grateful, Chan and I did you a favor. We won you your very first date with someone who is actually remotely attractive. You could say we’re your fairy godmothers.”.

With that he picked up his bag and walked off, most likely going to find Chanyeol or Jongdae so that they could go gossip or weird out a bunch of girls in Sehun’s fan club.

f a n c l u b.

“What a dork. Fairy Godmothers. Tsk.” I whispered and rolled my eyes and checking the time in excitement, looking forward to when I could bippity-boppity-boo myself the hell out of this school.

“Jisoo! I’m home!” I quickly kicked the wooden door with my heel, resulting in the door swinging shut with a loud thud. The sudden bang from the strong force, causing me to flinch and take on an expression of grimace.

Before I could think too much more about the abrupt slamming of the apartment door, Jisoo quickly appeared from the little kitchen doorway.

“hey Y/N, mom and dad called. They asked about how you were and if you had any luck with finding your soulmate-” she shrugged and looked at you with a grin before continuing.”- I obviously said that you’re still lonely as ever because come on-”

Before she could continue I cut in with fake offense, “Obviously what?”

“Well I mean.. it’s just, we were referring to the person who refuses to date because of the lasagna disaster and decides to mope around eating ramen and watching Spongebob.”.

I shrugged in response, “You’re right. But I don’t know if I should just refer to them as aunt and uncle.. I mean technically they aren’t my parents.”

Jisoo quickly shook her head, walking over and smacking the back of my head as if I had accidentally bought the wrong kind of pads and she would now resort to bleeding out on the carpet.

“Don’t be stupid. Mom and dad love you very much and besides where is this all coming from? You’ve been calling them your parents for the past 10 years, besides its not like you can even remember your parents Y/N. Anddd even though you’re my cousin, you’re like a sister to me so if you don’t stop with the nonsense, I’ll hit you with a spatula.”.

My mouth twitched up as she hurriedly walked back to the kitchen, most likely to attempt at baking again, which would just end up in an apartment of grey smoke and burnt cookies that could pass for decorative stones.

Sometimes I wish that I could remember who they were, what they did for a living.. what cheesy music they liked.. what type of parents they had been.. if only someone remembered.

“mummy? where’s dad? why are you crying?”

“Y/N. Dad’s alright he’s just.. busy. You have to get to school sweetheart, can’t be late for the last day of second grade! You have to go celebrate!” the woman responded with a fake cheerful tone, quickly wiping the salty drops from her red cheeks.

“Yeh! But can we get some lasagna on the way back?” young Y/N responded, oblivious to the fact that everything wasn’t okay.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

The mind of a 7 year old toddler who thought that the world was all sunshine and giggles, couldn’t detect that there was something wrong. Although, even if she could’ve sensed the eerie difference in her mother’s mood and the heavy atmosphere, fate was already sealed like ink on paper.

The world was really twisted but just how twisted?

That day, Y/N sat at her regular bench waiting for mother to come and pick her up, seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, and without realizing it, it was already three hours after school ended.

The scratching of dead leaves, the ones that descended from the tall oak trees, on the grey pavement and the gusts of cool wind, like a supernatural howl, were all that kept Y/N company.

Although it didn’t seem like it, the world seemed to gift Y/N a present after taking away something that a person should never have to lose at such an age, her parents.

And so the silence was broken, replaced with heavy footsteps and a shocked voice. Replaced with someone that Y/N would grow up with, her oldest friend.

“Y/N? It’s nearly half passed five, why are you still here?”

Jisoo.

“I haven’t been picked up yet. Why are you still here Jisoo?”

“After school club, besides my mom is going to take me out to eat to celebrate my promotion. I’m going to middle school next year chump.”

Young Jisoo proceeded to ruffle the youngling’s hair

“My mom was supposed to take me to go eat today too.”

“oh, well you can come with us instead if your mom is busy.”

Jisoo sat herself next to Y/N on the bench, talking about nonsense until they could be picked up, neither of them knowing that the day would take a horrid turn and change Y/N’s life forever.

“What? What about Y/N? What about the family?”

Jisoo and I stopped laughing and turning to look at the woman with a quizzical expression.

She quickly walked to the kitchen, leaning against the marble counter, back facing the confused children.

Not understanding the seriousness of the situation, they decided to become spies and eavesdrop on the phone call.

They quickly ran to doorway of the kitchen, leaning on the wall and bringing their index finger up to their lips.

Peeking their head from behind the wall, they listened intently trying to make mean of the random words being spewed out frantically.

“Jiwoo? … didn’t my sister operate on him though?… didn’t make it? when?.. what about my sister?.. dead?.. Suicide?”.

Jisoo quickly realizing what was happening, pulled Y/N back to the living room and decided to try and crack some jokes, giving the child temporary happiness that would just fall flat the next morning.

Parents dead and nothing to go back to.

There was little to almost no time to mourn over a deceased friend or family member, when they would soon be wiped away, like they never existed.

And that’s what happened, Kim Jiwoo and Kim Minseo seemed as though they had never existed just a mere week later.

The world was cruel, the deceased didn’t have a face in the world, after someone dies their loved ones and friends and anyone they’ve ever met or interacted with seem to forget that they were ever in their lives.

One day they would wake up and all recollection of the person would be as good as nothing.

Photos and videos, all gone like magic.

In a universe like Y/N’s the world was a peculiar place, from soulmates to reincarnation.

Getting a chance to live twice with the same identity and soulmate although with a different life and no memories of ever being alive previously. It all seemed too good to be true, the thought of being able to just die and restart over and over again. But.. luck runs dry, after the second time around they would be forced to move on to an afterlife, one where you would have to be separated from your soulmate. An afterlife where nothing happened, wandering in endless fields of tall grass or rice plants, where every minute that passes could be years on Earth.

Life is just a long road trip with many bumps, where the destination is unknown and undesired.

Life is life. What can we do?

Nothing.

End : Part 1

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kdenbibi · 7 years ago

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Forgive, don’t forget

Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader

Request: “Could you do a bucky x black reader where she tries to get him up to date on the modern world and has to explain that the way poc’s are treated, especially blacks hasn’t changed?”

Summary: Bucky is a grumpy old man, but for good reason!!

Warnings: Racism, like one curse word, a hint of fluff ;D

Tag List: @chrisemi @mirajanestrauss1999

Authors note : I’m so sorry this took so long work has been trying to drain my soul , the devil trynna test me y’all lmao anyway I hope you like this!!! I’m sorry if its not what you wanted I tried my best :> Any who, Requests are open! -Admin A

Another cold day had come and gone, by the time I walked in my door the sun had long fallen, I had stepped inside my apartment expecting the traditional bear hug from my boyfriend I always got when I came home, but instead I was greeted with silence, after receiving no answer I began to tip toe in the rest of the way, alert, preparing myself for a robber or something awful, only to see the back of Buck’s head, his attention was entirely on on the television, that in and of itself was concerning, after all Bucky was from the 1940’s, him and modern technology just didn’t always end up well.If the silent greeting wasn’t clue enough the moment I saw him I could tell something was off, so I slowly walked over, tossing my bag on the nearby counter not really caring where it landed. “Hey baby?”

I spoke slowly coming up to his stone like form. I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, pulling him from the screen. He finally turned away from what I now saw was the news, looking up at me from his seat on our couch, and if I wasn’t sure before I was now, something was definitely wrong. I shuffled around his body until I was sat next to him, out of instinct I reached for his hand, to my relief he returned the gesture, though he remained silent. I stared at the man before me, my brows creased in concern.

If you’re with someone long enough you get to know them better than yourself, and for me? Reading Bucky was as easy as breathing for me.

What gave him away most of the time was his eyes.

See, Bucky had these eyes, and yeah, they were beautiful, but what was really incredible about them was the stories they told, if he let you close enough, you could almost seethe stories, the pain, for a master assassin he was pretty bad about hiding the way he felt, but then again I always figured it was his own way of rebelling against what had been drilled into his head, he was always told to be a stone, an unmovable rock, but now that he had the freedom to be who he wanted, he was an open book.

To my dismay, at the moment he had that cold, unflinching anger resting in those baby blues. My worry increased ten fold, I’d only seen that look when he fell back down a few pegs, having lived the life he’s lived, there were always going to be slip ups, always moments where Bucky would slip away and the soldier would come back, moments where the life would fade from his eyes and things he thought too dark to show me would replace it, memories soaked deep with blood and pain, and even though these moments happened less and less as time went on, it didn’t make them any less horrifying to witness.

A breath I didn’t know I was holding released once he gave my hand two gentle squeezes, a signal this wasn’t an episode and he was still in control, my body instantly relaxed, I folded myself into his side, basking in the warmth that was Bucky, as I waited for him to open up.

Although he seemed relatively okay, he still hadn’t spoken, but I knew better than to rush him into it, so I took the chance to turn towards what had seemed to have gotten so far under his skin, Four figures, A black woman, a hispanic man and two white men sat at a long table discussing the very heavy, very unfortunate, topic of racism in America and how it mirrored the country’s dark past far too much for comfort.

I’d joined in mid debate but I could grasp the gist of that was happening, I’d grown accustomed to the uncomfortable, hot anger that came to me when i watched this kind of stuff, but to my surprise every person on the panel passionately disagreed with the nations handling of its ever growing racism and its inability to deal with it, all but one man.

”Now I’ll be clear here, as a God fearing American it is my right to say how i’m feeling and how i’m feeling is, you people are all too sensitive.” He went on, to the rest of the panels horror, to say how equality was the end of the world and to add the cherry on top of this shit show he ended up referring to the rest of his panel as, and i quote, “Colored loving pansy’s.”

yeah, he was the human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you throw up.

and the actual throw up.

I could only stomach a few minutes of hate speech spewing from his mouth, with a roll of my eyes I snatched the remote from my boyfriend’s hands and turned the channel, much to his dismay.

Yeah that’s enough bullshit for today.

“I was watching that.”

He finally spoke, his tone matched irritated expression.

“Yeah well I can tell you how it was gonna end."

I yawned leaning into the soft cushion, the weight of a hard days work finally seeped into my bones.

“Either he’d continue on with his little hate speech, or he’d get dragged to hell by the remaining three hair follicles hanging on his scalp for dear life.”

He shook his head sitting back into the faux leather cushions, a smirk just barly graced his handsome features.

The hand holding mine began to rub small circles into the back of my skin.

"You’d think I never left the 40’s with this shit happening as much as it is.” He scoffed still staring at the now black screen. I nodded into his shoulder, I knew how angry he could get with all the injustices in the world, after all he did fight in a war against people like this, so I could understand the irritation once seeing that the mindset hadn’t disappeared.

“So that’s what has you so upset?”

He shot me a half smile, his shoulders un-tensing as he brought our laced fingers to his lips. “Is it that obvious?” “Well I didn’t get my hug at the door so one could only assume.” He offered me an apologetic smile, before speaking up again. “I’ve been catching up, like you told me to and,” he sighed, the irritation flaring in his expression again.“-I’m angry.” I tossed my legs over his lap, his free hand subconsciously began to work it’s way over my outstretched limbs, a habit he had when his mind was running a mile a minute. “It’s pretty crap huh?” I leaned on my hand, watching his facial expressions closely. He gestured to the blank screen with a nudge of his head, a humorless laugh leaving his tight set lips. “This shit hasn’t stopped happening, I don’t know how it’s continued to go on but I-” the hand rubbing at my legs stopped as he spoke, his prosthetic fingers twitching as his anger rose. “I know what it’s like to live in a world that doesn’t want you, doesn’t appreciate you, but I’ll never know it like you do.” He looked hopeless, and I knew that feeling all too well, watch enough of that kinda crap and the world always look darker. I listened to him rant, a sympathetic smile on my face. “I’m angry because the world hasn’t changed at all, I’m angry because people like that can walk around freely but innocent, good hearted people get denied the chance of a decent life just because of what they look like-” he huffed cutting himself off. “I’m angry because it feels like all that fighting and death was for nothing, and like there isn’t a thing I can do to help.” I sighed removing my legs from his lap and folding them underneath me, grabbing both his hands I made him meet my eye. “I know how you feel baby- trust and believe I know, and I won’t lie to you it’s not easy, it is frustrating that the world hasn’t changed all that much but it is better than before, and it will keep getting better, because of people like you, people who acknowledge the problem, and want to do something about it.” My thumb traced patterns into the flesh of his cheek as i spoke.

“And because we’ve always made it though we may not all look alike or share the same blood but people who struggle and fall together get back up together just as easy."

He was silent a moment, and I could see the walls of anger he no doubt had been brooding in begin to crack.

"Aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry, I’m absolutely livid, but I’ve turned that anger into a source of power. People who look like me have always been at the short end of the stick, and let me tell you, acting through strength rather than anger is a hell'uva lot more helpful than letting that rage get the best of us.” He sat there, drinking in my words, so I continued.

“They don’t get our rage, they don’t get our pain, what they get is a calm grace, because in the end, people with hate in their hearts end up alone and angry, and they deserve nothing more than that.”

With a slow nod of his head I could visibly see the stress chipping off his shoulders the more time ticked on. I swooped up to steal a kiss from his unsuspecting lips.

"I meant what i said too, it really helps to have people like you in the world, not everyone is an evil bastard I promise, The world can be good, don’t lose faith too soon. “

He sighed staring down at me, arms wrapping their way around my waist, the butterfly’s he gave me went bonkers as his hands settled gently on my hips, his grip tight but not uncomfortable.

"I know it can be good, it gave me you after all.”

I made a face pushing myself away from the taller man.

"Ew, Buck that was corny!“ I whined, he pulled me back into his embrace,a soft laugh accompanying his action, and as gently as one could, he smashed my face back into his warm chest. I squirmed against his hold until he let me up, the smile was back in his eyes, just where it belonged. I smacked his arm for the dirty move before I leaned forward on my own, finally getting my end of the day hug. He tucked a stray curl away from my face, leaning down to press a warm, slow kiss into my lips.

"Sorry for that- I didn’t mean to get so worked up."

I laughed at his words, pecking his cheek before responding.

"Never apologize for being woke my man."

His goofy smile morphed into absolute confusion.

"What does me being awake have to do with any of this?”

I rolled my eyes at the both literal and figurative old man, rising from his lap with a laugh. “I’m serious!” He yelled at my retreating figure.

(Bonus)

Later that night, the universe blessed me with a moment I’ll treasure as long as I lived, and Buck would cringe at whenever I brought it up, as I woke from bed at a way too early time, I shuffled like a zombie to the fridge for some much needed water, I was surprised to see the soldier standing silently in our kitchen, the only reason I knew it was him was the bright blow light from his phone screen painting his face, I prepared my dry throat to call out to the man, who by the way had no type of business just chilling in our kitchen at 4 AM like that, and question him only to be interrupted by his harsh whisper.

“Siri, what does being woke mean?”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #poc imagine #poc reader #poc x reader #poc reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #bucky x black reader #black reader #the winter solider imagine #the winter solider x reader #requested

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leaveharmony · 7 years ago

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** this got mad towards the end and it wasn't a targeted sort of mad at anyone in particular so much as a tired & probably-stemming-from-always-having-thing-I-enjoy-and-the-way-I-engage-with-it belittled sort of mad. And as my father has always taught me, having or expressing emotions is shameful and wrong, so sorry.

Idk I think it's like....harder for me to cast judgement RE: ~cheating scandals~ or w/e because it goes back to it all being completely theoretical to me. No one's ever, face to face, at any time in any way expressed any kind of romantic interest in me whatsoever, I've never been in a relationship of any kind. It hasn't come up, and that's fine. Whether this is a case of you cannot miss what you've never had or whether I'm just like....a broken empty vessel for whom the yearning for human contact has gone beyond recall or desire, I dunno, and it doesn't concern me. This isn't a pity me statement or an uwu secret crush notice me statement, I literally don't care at this point and tbh can't remember ever having done so.

Probably my oldest friend at this point, she....like as long as I've known her she's dated married men almost exclusively (and this started when we were both in highschool, when she was screwing around w/ her married english teacher - something I now understand was shocking predatory behaviour and probably statutory rape besides, but she does not acknowledge it as such so bring it up isn't my place). She's been seeing the current one for at least three years now, I think, and he's married. It's certainly an uncomfortable thing, and god knows I don't believe he could possibly think much of her or his wife if he's been doing this for so long and never once manned up and been honest or seriously considered ending his marriage. But it's her life and we don't talk much anymore anyway, so I've never felt like it was my job or my place to be her therapist RE: holy shit what the fuck is wrong with you why do you do this to yourself and how could you do this to someone else?

Like full disclosure she started ‘seeing’ that english teacher when we were sort of puppy love internet-together (another long story but she wanted to or at least said she did and I sorta went along with it cos I didn't want to hurt her feelings...which of course, then it certainly seemed v. much like she didn't have many of, considering within a week she was having it off w/ someone else...again, this was a detached ‘Oh’ kind of moment, not really connected to any real hurt as she had instigated this and I hadn't really felt anything myself...it was upsetting in a sort of, ‘so this is what people do when they tell you they love you, that is disappointing but I guess life is not fiction’ kind of way but not in a ‘how could you, I love you’ kind of way. As a first/only experience it could have gone better tbh, but it certainly gave me the right level of expectation afa being used & discarded when someone more convenient came along).

It's possible that most of the people I have ever known have just been fundamentally really bad at relationships and so I just sort of assume this is a normal thing; my father is an abusive shitbag and we're inescapably trapped with him, grandpa was a sort of...disinterested stick in the mud with a frightening temper for whom my grandmother gave up all her interests in sports and the outdoors because he did not share them. Wabs never married, Tosh told me like she was expecting a pat on the back and a medal that she'd been faithful to her husband as he died of cancer 'even though she ‘didn't have to be.’ And my instinctive reaction wasn't GOOD FOR YOU so much as it was “....what?!” but again...I didn't speak, because what the fuck do I know? Maybe ppl run off and start seeing other ppl as soon as their partners get so much as a headcold all the time.

Ppl just sorta get abused and trampled and left and cheated on and discarded, or they do the same to others, and it just looks like a hell of a mess I'm well out of, tbh. Which I guess is another reason...unless somebody's getting beat or otherwise abused, I feel like it's none of my business. So honestly, “Tana slept around when he was single and one day some chick he canoodled with for like two months stabbed him for it” is filed under “Yeah that'll happen, thank god he didn't die” rather than “Hahahahaha karma amiright he totes deserved it, domestic abuse and attempted murder are hilarious when they’re directed at men who’re full of themselves!”

Nobody needs to tell me to have low fuckin' expectations for men, ok, I live under the boot of one of their idiot kings. Tell me Tana fatshames his family for eating, tell me he gaslights them or acts like when they’re hurt or injured they’re making it up to personally inconvenience him, tell me they have to rigidly control their emotions around him to avoid setting off his violent temper, and ok. Tell me he's a bigot, tell me he hits his family, tell me he hates women, tell me he's a rapist, ok. But like...’he had a lot of sex and probably hurt people's feelings’ is not really high on my list of cardinal offenses b/c as far as I can tell, that's fucking everyone. It isn't like he still does, it isn't like he's not tried to put it behind him and grow from it and be better. It's practically his motto. Why is ‘I acted in a shitty way but I'm trying to atone and I still look back and feel guilty about it’ only an admirable, affirming thing to aspire to when it's a tumblr post & not when a guy is straight up saying it? Which he has, on multiple occasions. Can't change the past, can only try to learn from it.

At. Least. He. Fucking. Tries.

When has redneck george ever walked back his comments about gay ppl or his Islamophobia, when has Lesnar? Beyond a token apology and chasing it w/ a dozen I'M NOT A RACIST THO interviews when has Hogan really acknowledged the depths of how he fucked up? When did Warrior apologize for his vile bigotry, where's Elgin sincerely regretting being a fucking piece of shit dragging a rape victim's name through the mud? Jericho's response to ‘hey maybe you shouldn't be advertising your cruise by saying there will be loads of bikini-clad women there available for you to ogle’ was essentially ‘are you triggered, bro, y so srys?’ and at no point did he objections seriously. Orton never so much as thinks for two seconds before condemning BLM protesters or footballers who take the knee, AND he voted for Trump, but other than hollowly chanting that he's not a racist while blatantly doing things that are racist, silence. Honma beat his girlfriend, Snuka murdered his partner, Austin smacked Debra around, Angle got stoned out of his mind and broke into his ex's apartment, X-Pac hit Chyna, exactly how often do they refer back to what happened, when did they apologize or express regret or even acknowledge any of it? I mean I guess Benoit can't, what with the fucking suicide after he bashed in Nancy's skull and murdered his son.

Ppl have different things they can tolerate and forgive, is I guess my point, or at least one of them. Which is fine! I mean...I'd sure fucking side-eye anybody who writes any of the above a pass, but, I guess everybody's stories and reasons are different.

I like Tana. I'm a fan of his. Ok? Like it probably sounds like I think he's a flawless angel crowned with light b/c compared to my fucking father, he IS. It doesn't mean I'm being willfully blind to mistakes he's made or that I'm absolving him of every sin he's ever committed. I think he's a good person and it's heartening and encouraging that he's in the world and if saying so without adding 18 asterisks about past behaviour and an disclaimer acknowledging all men as shit and all people as inherently flawed makes me a gullible childish ~fangirl~ than ok, I guess I am. Everybody knows my tags for wrestling/wrestlers, which are there as much as a courtesy to anybody who needs to blacklist as they are a filing system for me (that’s why there’s a catch-all! For ppl I haven’t thought up tags for yet or don’t intend to!), and tumblr savior is right there if me being silly about my favs in my own space bothers everybody so fucking much, god knows it wouldn't be the first time I set somebody cringing and they had to tune me out before they quietly dropped my ass like a particularly stupid puppy on a country road. That I am a sloppy fawning emotional mess of untreated neurosis who hyperfixates on things & people who make me feel halfway hopeful for entire minutes at a time & gets stupidly overexcited about stuff isn't new information to me, so if you can't deal with that then... Well...sorry, honestly. Like sincerely. I know how I am and I try not to be but I can't help it sometimes when I like something. Don't feel bad about leaving if you don't want to deal with it, cos I get it, honestly. Have exactly zero (0) guilt feelings about it. I’m a fundamentally repulsive creature, ppl have hard limits on how long they can put up with me, and so it has always been, and so it goes.

#Tanariffic #COMPUTER: ERASE THAT ENTIRE PERSONAL LOG

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jigensass · 7 years ago

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So, this is my story. So far.

Loneliness is the anathema of taking this job, but then again, I really didn't have a choice. It was either save the world or be engulfed in a sea of agony that was the Dark Dimension. It's what I dreaded the most, but I had to come with this sacrifice eventually, Wong said it was written somewhre by the gods and the Vishanti that some guy was going to stop Dormammu. Heh, lucky me. The empty, hallowed sounds of 177A Bleeker Street, or the Sanctum Sanctorum or the Sanctum of New York or whatever the Mystics called this place, hum through my veins, almost as if I'm starting to become one with it. I just refer to it as 'this old house.' Not the oldest house in New York, though it might be, I haven't researched into that yet. Every step I take the floors creak and groan, sometimes my boots echo off the walls as I slowly make way in and out of the rooms as they move around me, literally. Its one of the house's defense system to ward off intruders. I recently fixed the enchantment so only Wong and myself knew how to control it since Kaecilius could play this place like a fiddle when he infiltrated the first, and last time. The Cloak does give me company, but he (it? I don't know anymore, it's like a cat that doesn't do cat...things) can be fussy at times when sometimes it knows the place more than I do. The guy knows the library infrastructure from the inside out. The library, THE LIBRARY IS A DISASTER. Jericho Drumm had no organization quirks at all. I've been slowly working up to try to get some of my own grounding in that mess. Why is the Asgardian lore mixed in with that of this far off planet called...Xandar? The two aren't even connected at all in the past. Well, apparently Thor has been connecting all of the realms recently because of this whole mess with the Infinity Stones being awoken which I got caught up in that. The "God of Thunder", who just decided to get drunk here, explained humans COULD NOT use the Stones at their raw power or they would die. Well, shit. I just broke the laws of the universe....again. For the 1000th time. Yeah, that's normal now. Long story short, my favourite relic, the Eye of Agamatto, is an Infinity Stone, the Time Stone to be more exact. It's what I used to save the world. (Wasn't supposed to use it, but I did it anyway). Yet am I alive? Better get that X23 kit.

But I digress, the house and my loneliness. It is difficult, to say the least, to adjust to this humble lifestyle. Wong still chuckles at all my quips but going too far has resulted in the back of head smack. (yes, just like the Gibbs headsmack from NCIS. Man, that show went downhill fast. WHY DID THEY KILL ZIVA AND JUST STRAIGHT UP SAY TONY AND ZIVA HAD AN AFFAIR? Terrible writing.) Learning the spells is not hard, just lots of reading, nothing different from the college days. I can astral project up to the limit now, which is 24 hours, or I will just end up on the Astral Plane and a rotting corpse of a body. Dimension hopping still makes me nauseous, but after a few BiFrost trips, it's not that bad.

I've sent...some (247) emails back to Christine, telling her to come visit, I'm just 10 blocks down from the hospital. But no response. Maybe it is time to give up and give in that I have evolved into a lonely, old man (It's the greying at 35, isn't it? Well, intense stress DOES THAT). Maybe she still thinks that I'm in the cult business. The watch I wear keeps reminding me of her, but it also reminds me of that day, the day where I fucked up, yet I somehow turned my life around in this position. Just maybe being Master of the Mystic Arts isn't so bad, there are other people in the magical community that actually know what they're doing, right?

#look what I just threw up #MCU #drabble

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spotlightsaga · 7 years ago

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Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Rick and Morty (S03E02) Rickmancing The Stone Airdate: July 30, 2017 @adultswim Ratings: 2.859 Million :: 1.48 18-49 Demo Share Score: 8.5/10 @cartoonnetwork @danharmon TVTime/FB/Twitter/Tumblr/Path/Pinterest: @SpotlightSaga *********MINIMAL TO NO SPOILERS********* Change is fucking hard. When something as monumental as divorce goes down during your childhood, whether it be at a very young age to all the way through to your later teen years and even beyond, it's never an easy adjustment. While it's true that i don't have a father, biologically speaking (I do but he literally has NEVER contacted me - lines open, pussy, redemption is just a call away), I was lucky enough to see my mother stand by her husband, a man whose rightfully earned the title of 'Dad' in my life. Don't trip, I'm not getting mushy here, I know my cartoon audience! Parents fuck us up, then they nag, then they don't speak to you, then they smother you (sometimes with a pillow). It's a vicious cycle, really. Seeing my mother stand by a man who literally almost completely destroyed himself and nearly took everyone down the dark and treacherous rabbit hole of addiction with him was extremely confusing. I harbored feelings of anger and resentment at first, but after awhile he made spectacular & unexpected life changes for the better. Suddenly I realized he wasn't some shit sucking asshole, he was just human, something we're all guilty of in one way or another. People make mistakes, and they sometimes self-destruct for no reason at all, and most everyone's first 'Fight or Flight' reaction is to pack up your shit and fucking RUN. I'm so glad that my mother didn't do that, we have our differences, but my Dad is one of the few male role models I have, that actually taught me something real in this world and given things I can really use and apply to real life situations. Sometimes you have to step away from people for awhile, but if you really love them, you never give up. I'm not sure if 'Rick & Morty' is the best place to pull out my existential bucket of ooey-gooey fun, maybe sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't... That's the incredible thing about this series in general! Where a great toon like 'Mike Tyson Mysteries' is frankly all fun & games, 'Rick & Morty' is layered (like a fucking onion, y'all) and far more than just a slapstick cartoon for stoners. People are finding that not only is this series funny beyond all reason, it's also incredibly endearing and real. The series main character, chemical friendly & artist of intellect, Rick Sanchez (Justin Rowland), would never admit it, but underneath all the multi-dimensional murders and lowbrow side effects from his chemical hobbies is a regular, mad scientist type Grandpa with a big ol' heart. Don't get me wrong, Rick has every right to tell Jerry (Chris Parnell) to fuck off... The whole 'tiny planet' fiasco and selling Rick out just wasn't a good look, it was a pathetic disaster, a true low point, and it landed Jerry in a job where he's paid in pill supplements and is basically a cuckold to the invading alien race... Oh, and then there's that god-awful windbreaker. Most straight men have problems dressing themselves after a separation or divorce, but damn... Can't nobody tell Jerry 1992 has long since came and gone, even though I wish it hadn't!?! Beth (Sarah Chalke) and Jerry had already been on the outs for two seasons, so this whole divorce thing was a long time coming. As much as I hate Gary's new post-relationship windbreaker, I am so in love with this new, improved, 'no fucks given' Summer Smith (Spencer Grammer). I feel like the place that Summer is at in her life in this very moment is the exact same place I would be and the exact same something I would do if I had an evil/heartwarming genius Grandfather, like Rick, who could travel back in time & space and alternate dimensions... And spend extended time in another realm ala Turbo Kid (2015), Doomsday (2008), or Escape From New York (1981 - Prepare for more Post-Apocalyptic film references). Not all R&M fans are happy tho, but that's because the show is expanding and going deeper... We're seeing an important evolution of the show and like it or not, it's a road that's necessary for the series to take so that it may spread its wings, giving us something new every time. R&M isn't a show that just pops us often... It's sacred, there's nothing on tv like it. It's literally a revolutionary metamorphosis for the #animatedseries genre. It cannot keep giving you the same ol', same ol' and hitting that one note that caught our attention in the first place and still survive with integrity... There's so many goddamn different and unexpected notes that this show can and will hit, both in the near and distant future, that it's completely unfair to ask it to remain stagnant so that we can have our normal R&M laughs. Shit just doesn't work like that, bruh'. Morty is terrified of this new Summer... But I don't think it's purely 'genuine concern'. Sure, that's a part of it, but already in S3 we are seeing Summer kind of inch him out of his co-anchor or sidekick spot with his Grandad. It's never easy to share the attention and affection of the ones we love, especially when the 'one that's loved' in question can literally make the impossible completely and totally possible. Morty has his own shit he's dealing with though, hell even Rick is feeling the toxic effects of the biggest divorce ever broadcast on animated tv. Weird, but true. In 'Rickmancing The Stone', Morty, Summer, and Rick all head to a 'Mad Max', post apocalyptic, style universe where men wear buckets on their heads, killing is for sport, and ultimately a place where you have to fight for all the things you want, to the death... Basically the literal opposite of what Jerry is doing with Beth. It's all a fantastic juxtaposition of the very life back at their original 'Earth 1' that they are trying to escape from and it's incredible to see this 'Nihilistic Wasteland' through three different sets of eyes, each character gaining something different from the experience. Spotlight Saga's Cartoon Fans are incredibly strict when it comes to spoilers, so I'm not here to spoil the episode (Spoiler Free! Yayy). I know that there are many of you, outside of TVTime, that read these articles for the content and don't necessarily watch the show. I'd love to take you deeper on this one, but I simply can't. We can give you the rundown on the basic plot, but trust me, anything beyond that and Cartoon Purists will legit crucify all of us over here on a broken telephone pole. Besides, when we tell you that 'Rick & Morty' could possibly be the greatest American Animated Television Series of All Time... We fucking mean it. This isn't a show that you want to miss out on, so those that are avid readers (and yeah, we fucking love you for it), know that this is one of the special ones that you need to set your DVR, buy the season on #Vudu or wherever you can access it and give it a thorough once, twice, three or even more times over. I, myself, have personally watched this particular episode 4 times already, and it won't be the last. The series, as a whole, is still holding strong at #7 on #IMDB's user rated list of Top Rated TV Shows (of all time), holding a 9.3/10 with nearly 138,000 votes and counting. That's some seriously heavy shit for an Adult Swim cartoon to find itself smack dab in the middle of a comprehensive list of all the greats w/series like GOT, Breaking Bad, The Wire, and The Sopranos. It's seriously everything that everyone says it is and more. Really. Those that ARE watching and are a little taken aback by the show suddenly taking a new direction and tackling serious issues through brand new avenues, give it a chance. This show has done right by you so far, it's definitely not going to let you down. I rarely put my stamp on a series outside of praising a season, or certain episodes because you never know what kind of hard turn a show is going to take... But let me tell you... I believe in 'Rick & Morty', and wherever this fresh faced S3 is taking us, I want in on the fucked up, Science Fiction laced, blood soaked, LSD inspired shot storm of a road trip fully stocked with McDonald's Mulan Szchuan Sauce... ESPECIALLY since the show is clearly embracing a bit of #existentialism and stirring it up in its big bowl of psychedelic, 'what the fucks', never-ending, unpredictable journeys... All while continuing to turn old tropes into something that feels incredibly new and progressive. Wabba Lubba Dub Dub!

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the-captains-ayebrows · 8 years ago

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A Family For Christmas (2/2)

I swore to myself that I would post this thing by the end of January and here it is with 6 minutes to go! This is at least partially unbeta-ed so please to forgive. I may go back and fix it later if need be.

This is the second part of my Gutter Flower Christmas gift to @shady-swan-jones. It does verge into M-ish territory, but Sophie, I must confess that it’s not as M as I told you earlier. I tamed it down a bit... Sorry?

Recap: Emma Swan and Killian Jones have a deal. She helps him find his half-brother, he helps her adopt her son. Her case is going great. His... not so much. Over late nights and Chinese take-out, their partnership has developed into friendship. Or could it be something more?

When we last saw Emma and Killian, Emma had just completed her home-study visit with Sister Blue from Henry’s orphanage, who (shocker) mistook Emma and Killian for a couple. There was hugging. There was almost a kiss? Maybe?

Catch up on AO3 here, or Tumblr here.

Re: Cause No. 2016-362-0815, “In the Interest of Henry Swan”

Dear Mr. Jones,

After review of the adoption request submitted by your client as well as the initial home study report by Sister Blue, it is our great pleasure to inform you that your client, Ms. Emma Swan has been approved…

Killian scanned through the rest of the email quickly, already buzzing with excitement on Emma’s behalf. She could meet Henry that very day. His first instinct was to call her immediately, but this news was far too important to give her over the phone. No, no. He would text her - some flimsy pretext to get her to his office - then he would tell her. Maybe make her squirm a bit first, let her pester him for information as to whether he’d heard back from the Sisters or some such thing. Her face when he finally told her would be well worth it. Yes, that was just what he would do.

-/-

“Okay, I’m here. So what’s with the cryptic text m-”

“You’ve been approved to meet Henry!”

Emma blinked once, twice, as Killian’s outburst began to sink in. Bloody hell, he’d practically shouted it at her. So much for making her squirm. Ah, well. He hadn’t counted on the way she’d look before he told her - the furrow of her brow, the way her body seemed to be tensed like a spring ready to snap.

Still, even that was better than the way she looked at him now. She stood stock still, eyes wide as saucers - clearly in a terrible shock - and Killian’s hand began drifting up to rub at the back of his neck, a stammered explanation on the tip of his tongue.

“I, ah - I mean to say the Sisters-”

“I get to see Henry?” Emma interrupted in a whisper almost as though afraid if she spoke too loudly this small victory would be taken away from her.

Killian couldn’t help the warmth in his gaze, nor the smile that spread across his face and grew broader as Emma’s own lips seemed to finally catch on and mirror his. “Aye, love. You get to see Henry.”

“I get to see Henry!” Suddenly Emma’s entire being changed from that of a stone statue to a confetti-filled balloon bursting in a flurry of joy all over his office.

Never in a thousand years would he ever have believed he’d see the day that Emma Swan bounced - literally bounced - around his office babbling like a brook, and yet here she was. He allowed himself to savor it, awash in amusement and amazement as he observed her, never interrupting except to give quick answers to her when’s, where’s and how’s. Storing the images up to warm himself on some lonely night in the near future when her case was complete and she wouldn’t need him anymore.

Not that he thought he’d never see her again when the case was over. They were friends (as he kept reminding himself over and over each time he felt the phantom of Emma’s embrace from the day before) and would remain such. Yet, he’d grown accustomed to her constant presence in his office and his life and surely that would taper off once she began caring full time for her son. Killian wasn’t jealous of the lad, not at all. It’s just that… well, he would miss her.

And so he watched her celebrate. Just a moment more. Just one last look at the way she glowed as she gestured wildly in her excitement, and then it was time to resume his role as her attorney. He walked around his desk to catch her by the upper arms, chuckling as she quivered in his grasp.

“Swan, there will still be more steps in the process after this. You’ll be limited to supervised visits at the group home before Henry can move in with you, and then there will be a second home visit either by one of the Sisters or a social worker after Henry’s been settled a couple of weeks. You’ll have to submit character references to the court and-”

“I don’t care!” She shook her head, still smiling bright as day. “Killian, I get to meet my son, and it’s all thanks to you and…”

She trailed off and Killian only had a fraction of a second to notice the way her eyes had drifted down to his mouth before she lunged forward and kissed him. It wasn’t a romantic kiss exactly, more like a protracted smack of lips. He didn’t really even have time for his brain to catch up and give him the wherewithal to kiss her back, but it was enough. He felt rather like a cartoon character who’s just been struck with a frying pan, his ears ringing with the sound of that same bell he’d heard the day he met her, but this time the chimes echoed the very thing that he’d tried not to think, tried not to admit to himself, but could no longer deny. He was in love with Emma Swan.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the realization, however. Some part of his mind registered as she pulled back that she looked for a moment nearly as stupefied as he felt, but then she swatted his arm, snapping him back to attention.

“Get your keys!” She shoved him lightly in the chest to encourage him to move.

“What?”

“So you can lock up. This could take - wait. You don’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the day, do you? Nevermind. I don’t care, just reschedule it. We’re going to meet my son!”

“We are?” He’d assumed Emma would want to go alone to meet Henry for the first time - it was such a pivotal and personal moment after all. Surely, she wouldn’t want him tagging along?

She strode past him toward the door, and turned back to stare at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Of course we are. Come on!”

He shook his head minutely, clearing out the last of the daze left behind by her kiss, then retrieved his keys as commanded. “As you wish, Swan. I’ll drive.”

-/-

Emma’s initial exuberance waned the longer they drove, giving way to agitation. She began with worrying her lower lip between her teeth, which admittedly Killian found a bit distracting for reasons completely unrelated to his concerns for her mental state. Next came the fidgeting: crossing and uncrossing her legs, a bouncing knee, a complete inability to keep her fingers off the radio buttons. By the time they reached the orphanage, her white-knuckled grip on the door handle indicated she’d reached a level of outright panic.

“Alright there, Swan?” Killian asked as he shifted the car into park.

She turned to him looking like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. “What if he hates me? I mean…” She inhaled deeply, flopping back against her seat and turning her face skyward. “What am I supposed tell him when he asks me why I gave him up? Why it took me so long to find him?”

Gingerly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to, Killian reached out and took her hand. He waited until she met his eyes to speak. “Just tell him the truth. He’ll understand - in time if not right away.”

Emma started to turn away again, but Killian tugged gently on their joined hands to bring her attention back to him. “Emma, look at me.” She met his gaze, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging nod. “He’s going to love you.”

Emma still looked unconvinced, but she laced their fingers together and squeezed tightly. “Thank you.”

“You ready?”

Emma gave a tight lipped smile and determined nod. “Let’s go.”

-/-

The bloody chair in the bloody waiting room was uncomfortable as all hell, and how bloody long could it possibly take to go and find a ten year-old boy in a building this bloody small, and if Emma didn’t stop picking at her bloody fingernails she’d end up a bloody mess. Literally. Oh god, he was a nervous wreck on her behalf.

To be fair, it had truly only been about fifteen minutes since Sister Nova had greeted them at the door and showed them into this “introduction room” as she’d called it, but every second felt like an eternity. He wanted to hold Emma’s hand again, to offer her some measure of physical comfort, but it didn’t seem appropriate. He’d already given the Sisters the wrong impression once about his relationship with Emma. He blanched a bit, remembering how Sister Blue had looked at the two of them. She must’ve seen it, his feelings for Emma. Must’ve known what he himself hadn’t yet been able to put into words.

He looked over at Emma taking in the furrow of her brow, the way her eyes darted between the clock on the wall and her own twisting fingers in her lap. This was hardly the time for him to be thinking about his own feelings. Today was about her and her boy.

He stood abruptly, seeming to startle her to attention. “Swan, would you like me to-”

“Mom?”

The door swung open to reveal Sister Nova standing behind a young lad with dark brown eyes, a tousled mop of mousy hair and his mother’s chin. He didn’t move from the doorway at first, and Killian could see in his eyes that same wariness that Emma possessed, yet there was shade of difference. Where Emma often refused to believe that anything good could happen to her, as if that belief would make it easier for her happiness to be taken away, this boy wanted to believe. He practically vibrated with hope, and perhaps it was that bright energy radiating from him that finally prompted Emma to move.

She hesitantly rose from her seat, her eyes devouring every detail of the boy in front of her. “Hi,” she breathed out in a watery voice, raising one hand in an awkward attempt at a wave. “I’m - I’m Emma. I’m your-”

“Mom!” In a few surprisingly quick strides, Henry’s little legs carried him across the room, practically tackling Emma into a hug, one side of his face pressed against her stomach. “You found me! I knew you’d find me.”

After the first few seconds of shock, Emma leaned down and slowly wound her arms around the boy’s back. Killian felt the prick of moisture in the corners of his eyes as Emma looked at him over her son’s head, her expression equal parts awe and terror. She swallowed hard, and Killian felt a lump rise in his own throat as she mouthed her thanks to him before closing her eyes and resting her chin atop Henry’s hair.

“Yeah, kid,” she murmured. “I finally did.”

-/-

After the first couple of successful visits at the orphanage, the Sisters had finally permitted Emma to take Henry off campus for dinner. Emma had insisted that Killian come along, and Killian had insisted in return that she permit him to treat her and her son to Granny’s finest. It seemed only fitting that their first meal together should be at Emma’s favorite diner.

“I have to ask, kid - how did you know I would find you eventually?” Emma tried to cover her unease at her own question by taking a large bite of her grilled cheese.

Henry screwed up his face in thought. “It was hard sometimes, especially when other kids got adopted…”

Emma’s face crumpled and it was all Killian could do not to reach for her, but Henry continued, building momentum as he told his tale. “Then my teacher, Ms. Blanchard, she gave me this book. It was all fairytales, but not the usual ones. Anyway, there was this story in it about a princess who gets lost and doesn’t find her family again until she’s a grown-up, but she does find them, and I figured maybe that could happen to me someday. Like maybe it’s never too late to find your family. I just had to hold onto my esperance.”

“Esperance?” Emma asked bemusedly.

Henry ducked his head to the side, seeming to study his french fries intently as his cheeks pinkened. “It means ‘hope’. Ms. Blanchard - she has this Word of the Day calendar…”

Killian smiled, thinking to himself that he’d very much like to shake this Ms. Blanchard’s hand. “Ah! So you fancy elaborate words, do you lad?”

Henry perked up immediately at the acknowledgment, all traces of shyness gone. “Indubitably!” Henry glowed with pride at Emma and Killian’s matching grins. “That was one of my words from last week. I’m gonna be a writer!”

“And a fine one you’ll make I’m sure, if you’re anything as clever as your mum.” Killian spared a glance over at Emma who was making a token attempt at rolling her eyes at him, but her countenance held a softness that belied any real annoyance.

“But,” Killian continued with a solemn tone, “have you considered a career in the law? Noble calling, that. There’s a fair bit of writing involved, but you get to use many other skills as well. Oration, debate, strategy, showmanship…” He waggled his eyebrows dramatically at Emma who was again doing her level best to look unamused.

“Braggadocio.”

Killian’s mouth fell open, even as Emma very nearly choked on her hot chocolate. He turned to find Henry looking up at him with an eerily familiar expression of feigned innocence. The boy shrugged. “That was yesterday’s word. I just remembered it.”

Killian narrowed his eyes, taking the boy’s measure and smiled approvingly. “You’re cheeky as your mum, that’s for sure.”

-/-

All of Killian’s powers of persuasion could not convince Emma to let him pay for dinner, but she did finally relent enough to allow him to split the check with her. Letting the adults take care of such boring financial matters, Henry excused himself to go to the restroom, and Emma and Killian walked over to the front counter to wait for him. As soon as the lad was out of earshot, Emma crossed her arms and turned to Killian with a wry tilt to her lips.

“So what was all that about? Oration, strategy, showmanship-”

“Don't forget debate, love.”

“Oh right. I'm sure you're a master at debating, aren't you?”

Did she just? Killian raised an eyebrow. “It's going to be like that, is it? Very well, then.” He stepped closer to her, crowding her space and reached out to tug on the end of a golden tress. “I’d also like to point out since many legal terms are in either Latin or French, I'm quite cunning at linguistics as well.”

Emma raised an eyebrow of her own in disbelief, but didn’t move away. If anything it felt to Killian as though she swayed closer, and his pulse responded despite his better judgment. What were they playing at? Was she flirting with him? They’d never talked about the kiss. He’d written it off as a one-time thing, a side-effect of her excitement that day, but there was something about the way her lush, pink lips curved into a teasing smirk...

“You speak Latin? Seriously?”

“You’d be surprised what they teach you in law school.”

Emma shook her head, but her smile was warm - a fact of which he was keenly aware as he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from her lips. She uncrossed her arms and rested her hands on her hips, lowering her chin and her voice as she looked up at him through long eyelashes.

“Just who exactly do you think you’re trying to impress, Jones.”

“That all depends,” he replied, his voice a little throaty and rough, and he reached out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, keen to feel those silken strands again. “On whom is it working?”

Oh god, she was so close now and she was looking up at him like she might - just might - feel as he did. When had the air between them grown so thick? He could could scarcely breathe.

“You guys ready?”

Killian and Emma startled backward away from each other and into awareness of their very public surroundings at the sound of Henry’s chirping voice and clomping steps moving in their direction. Emma recrossed her arms protectively over her chest as Killian reached up to scratch a phantom itch behind his ear, yet Henry prattled on, thoroughly oblivious to Killian’s internal tumult and whatever tension may or may not have existed between the adults.

“Cause I don’t have to be back for a little while longer and there’s this ice cream shop that we passed on the way here-”

“It’s literally freezing outside and you want ice cream?”

Henry fixed Emma with wide, pleading eyes, and Killian knew the lad had won the battle despite Emma’s protestations. “But mom,” he wheedled, “it’s never a bad time for rocky road. It has almonds and almonds have protein and protein is good for a growing kid.”

Henry looked over at Killian with raised eyebrows that asked ‘How’d I do?’ to which Killian responded with a surreptitious thumbs up behind Emma’s back. “He makes a compelling argument, Swan.”

Emma glared at Killian out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t you start.” She leaned down with a resigned sigh and tugged Henry’s woolen hat down over his ears. “Okay, kid. Rocky road it is.” She straightened and began to walk toward the door, bumping Killian’s shoulder with hers as she passed. “You’re buying, Jones.”

-/-

Once Henry was safely back in the care of the Sisters, Emma returned to her lovingly dilapidated yellow Beetle where Killian waited in the passenger seat. Her door closed with a heavy thud, the engine spluttered to life, and soon they were rumbling along the two-lane road through the wooded acreage surrounding the convent and children’s home. Night had fallen hours ago, the only light that which shone from the Beetle’s headlamps and the stars above them, but it was a peaceful darkness, and a companionable silence stretched between the two of them as they drove.

Still, a thought niggled at the back of Killian’s mind, and as they merged onto the brightly lit highway that would take them back to his office, he could hold his question in no longer.

“Swan, please don’t think I’m complaining, quite the opposite in fact, but I must ask - why do you keep including me in all of your meetings with Henry?” In the sharp halogen glare of the street lights, Killian could see the way Emma blanched, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. He knew he was entering dangerous waters, but he pressed on. “Are you afraid to be alone together?”

If Emma had appeared tense before, she now seemed utterly alarmed despite her effort to sound casual. “What? No. Wha - why would you think that?”

Killian placed his hand over hers on the gearshift, caressing the fine bones of her wrist with the pad of his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “It would be completely understandable, love. I can only imagine how overwhelming it must be adjusting to new motherhood, and it’s all happening rather quickly. Most women get nine months to come to terms with it, aye? You’ve scarcely had more than two. I’m happy to keep acting as a buffer, but you must see how well Henry’s taken to you. I’m certain the two of you will get on swimmingly on your own.”

“Oh you meant- Oh.” Emma’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, and she quickly cast a glance down to their joined hands as she seemed to process his words. “Yes. Well? I mean sort of, but not-” She huffed out breath. “Lemme start over. Yes, it is overwhelming and scary and really, really wonderful. And yes, at first I seriously needed you there for moral support, but now…” She paused, chewing on her lip as if deciding how much she wanted to say. “Henry - he seems to really like you and it’s just kind of nice, I guess. Having a friend to share this whole life changing experience with.”

Killian let his hand drop back to his side, but managed to maintain his smile even as a single word reverberated deafeningly in the quiet between them. Friend, friend, friend… “In that case, I’m honored.”

“There’s another thing, though. I know I haven’t been around the office much this week, and with Henry moving in this weekend-”

“He’s moving in this weekend? That’s wonderful, Swan. Will you be needing any assistance in retrieving his things?”

“Yeah, the Sisters just told me tonight when I dropped him off. But no, he doesn’t have much stuff. You know how it is…”

Killian heard again the echo of the lost little girl in her voice, and it stirred to wakefulness the lost boy in his heart. Aye, he knew. It was only his distraction at her good news that made him forget for a moment. Of course Henry wouldn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions. The lost tend to travel light.

“But what I was getting at is that I didn’t want you to think that…” Emma cleared her throat. “I, um I - I haven’t forgotten you know. About your brother. I’m still working on your case, it’s just been kind of busy with Henry this past week. I can be at your office first thing tomorrow-”

Killian had known this was coming, had been preparing himself for it, but he hadn’t found the right time to talk to her about it. Since the day they’d found the death certificate for Liam’s mother, he’d decided that they should call off the search for his brother. He didn’t doubt Emma’s tenacity - if anyone could succeed in finding him it was her - but why should she continue at this sisyphean task when she had her child to care for and her own business to run.

He waved her off. “Swan, it’s fine. I know you’ve more important things to attend to right now than running down a dead end street on my behalf.”

“No!” She seemed a bit startled at her own vehemence. “No, this was supposed to be a reciprocal arrangement and-”

“Right. Our business arrangement.” Killian felt as though he’d been doused in ice water, and he couldn’t help it if some of that chill creeped into his tone. “Don’t worry, love. You’ve gone above and beyond the work I asked you to do. We’re square.”

“No, that’s…” She tentatively sought out his hand again and - meeting no resistance from him - laced their fingers together. “Killian, that’s not what I meant. I want to do this for you. You’ve stood by me, you’ve supported me, you’ve given me my family - everything I never thought I could have. And I am going to find your brother because you deserve to have that, too.”

Killian swallowed back the words that were threatening to pour out of him, words he was certain she wouldn’t want to hear. That what he’d done was nothing compared to the light that she, and now Henry as well, had brought back into his life. That it didn’t matter to him anymore whether they found this person with whom he only might have a blood tie, because for the first time since his older brother’s passing, he no longer felt alone in the world. That she was enough and her friendship was more than he deserved. That he loved her.

No. Tonight was not a night for hopeless confessions. Instead, he squeezed her hand and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Swan, I’m a rake and a scoundrel and a bloody divorce lawyer. May the gods help me if I ever get what I deserve.”

Emma snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes, just as he’d hoped she would. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned cheekily at her. “Aye, but I’m devilishly handsome as well, so I expect it balances out.”

-/-

True to her word, Emma resumed her commandeering of Killian’s office, though with less frequency than had been her habit heretofore. When she came by in the evenings, Henry came with her. Soon enough, the lad had claimed his own piece of real estate on Killian’s desk where he could do his homework, and an order of chicken fried rice with an extra egg roll had been added to their “usual” at The Dragon’s Temple. The three of them made an oddly domestic picture despite the professional setting. Perhaps a bit too domestic, in fact, if Tink’s teasing comments about ‘the wife and kid’ were anything to go by.

Emma was determined to give Henry every cheesy holiday cliche for their first Christmas together, and more often than not, Killian got pulled right into the thick of it with them. There was the photo with Santa (“She knows I don’t still believe in Santa Claus, right?” “Best humor your mother, lad.”), shopping for a Christmas tree (“Jones, you know an eight foot tree won’t fit in my apartment and I swear if the two of you don’t stop with the puppy eyes, I’m gonna tie YOU to the top of the car.”), decorating said tree (“See mom? Mr. Jones was right. This was DEFINITELY the perfect tree.” “Yeah, you’re right, kid. But he can be the one to risk his neck putting the star on top.”), and, of course, the sacred ritual of watching sappy Christmas movies (“So you DO have an apartment. Nice couch, Jones.” “Swan, you don’t get to call dibs on the furniture in my home.” “You move your feet, you lose your seat.”).

Though he cherished the time spent with Emma and Henry, it filled Killian with a certain longing. Watching Emma and her son bond together into a little family of two rekindled his desire for a family to call his own. Maybe it was Henry’s eternal ‘esperance’ or Emma’s determination, but for all that he had tried, Killian couldn’t quite snuff the tiny remaining spark of hope that his half-brother would be found. While he was grateful to have the Swans in his life - truly they were a blessing he had never expected - he was an outsider. A friend of the family.

A friend they currently seemed determined to murder.

“No. Absolutely not. Water is meant to be a liquid. To be sailed across in a mighty vessel. It is not for man to unnaturally freeze a bloody pool of it and then strap slivers of metal to his feet to attempt to walk upon the surface. I believe the very man whose birth this season celebrates would resent the presumptuous attempt by mere mortals to imitate-”

“Oh, calm down with the closing arguments, counselor. It’s just ice skating.”

“Come on, Mr. Jones. Please?”

“Henry, I thought we had a gentlemen’s agreement that the puppy eyes were only to be used on your mother.”

Killian regretted the comment immediately because no sooner were the words out of his mouth than he found himself caught by not one but two pairs of plaintive eyes. He felt his resolve crumble to dust right along side his sense of self-preservation.

“Fine, but if I lose a limb…”

Emma smirked in victory. “Then your blood will be on our hands for all eternity. I can live with that. Let’s go!”

-/-

Skating with the Swans proved to be better than Killian expected. They’d been at it for nearly an hour with no death or dismemberment as of yet, though not completely without mishap. It had taken him a bit to get his sea legs, so to speak, and in the interim he’d discovered exactly how unforgiving a landing spot ice could be. It had all been worth the literal pain in his arse and injured dignity to witness Emma and Henry’s laughter and easy smiles, all set to the tune of cheerful holiday music drifting down from the rink’s tinny outdoor speakers.

“Just one more lap. Please?”

“Lad, I don’t think I have it in me. My legs are starting to burn.”

Emma scoffed. “What are you - like, three hundred?”

“And yet I’ve retained my youthful glow. Swan, how are you not exhausted?”

Emma placed a hand on one hip, gesturing downward with the other as a smug grin tilted her lips. “Chasing down bad guys keeps the legs in shape.”

Killian cocked his head, admiring the legs in question. “I can hardly argue with that, love.”

She snickered at the attempted charm, but Henry was undeterred.

“Come on, Mr. Jones. We’ll pull you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Here. Like this.” At that, Henry placed his mittened hand in Killian’s. “Mom, you get the other side.”

Emma hesitated for only a moment, a strangely guarded expression on her face. She blinked and it was gone, replaced by a small smile and a nod at Henry as she linked hands with Killian. Though her fingers felt like icicles against his palm, an undeniable warmth spread through him at the contact. He felt a grin turn up the corners of his mouth and readjusted his grip on Emma and Henry, giving each of their hands a squeeze.

Emma looked up at him. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I’d wager.”

“Try something new, Jones. It’s called trust.” She grinned mischievously at Killian, then leaned around him to get Henry’s attention. “Alright, kid. 1-2-3 go!”

As they pushed off, dragging Killian slightly behind them, Emma turned her head and caught Killian’s eye.

“Hold on tight!”

He found at that moment there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

That is... until a few minutes later when they crashed breathlessly into the guardrail near the gate.

“That was bloody terrifying. The pair of you are menaces and should be arrested for reckless endangerment.”

Emma laughed wholeheartedly, a wonderfully undignified sound accompanied by a scrunched nose and awkward doubling over that Killian thought was perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Would a little hot chocolate make it better?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Killian scowled but allowed himself to be led in the direction of the snack bar. “I’d prefer a large glass of rum, but I suppose given the present underage company hot chocolate will suffice.”

He paused at the benches and gestured to their skates. “Let’s get these bloody death traps off our feet though first, yeah?”

The three of them sat down and Killian assisted Henry in removing his skates before attending to his own. The lad scampered off presumably to return the skates to the rental counter, so it came as a surprise to hear his voice coming from a different direction.

“Hey guys, over here.” Emma and Killian raised their eyes to find Henry standing next to a weatherbeaten photo booth. “Can we take some pictures, mom?”

Emma agreed, and once their skates had been returned, their original mission for hot chocolate was forgotten in favor of a spirited argument over who could make the silliest face for the camera. Even before the first flash had gone off, they were jostling and prodding each other, all vying for a better spot in front of the lens and trying to make the others laugh. One flash followed by some shuffling around, then another, then another, and by the fourth flash, Emma was sitting on Killian’s lap with his hand gripping her waist. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten that way, but in the seconds before the final flash their eyes met and time seemed to stop.

Their contorted expressions fell away, leaving behind only soft smiles and for the space of a heartbeat, Killian was lost in the deep green of her eyes which seemed to shine with something he was too afraid to hope for. Another blinding flash and whatever he had seen was gone, leaving the two of them to the inelegant process of disentangling themselves after Henry hopped down from his place in front of them.

Henry fidgeted while the printer whirred, and Emma apparently became deeply interested in straightening the hem of her sweater. Just as Killian was about to step outside the cramped booth, the machine spit out their photo strips and Henry snatched them up, handing one each to Emma and Killian, looking between the two adults and then, strangely, above their heads.

“Osculation.” Henry pronounced.

“Beg your pardon, lad?”

“It means kissing,” Henry said as if it should be perfectly obvious. “Are you guys gonna kiss now?”

“Why-” Emma cleared her throat and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the stiffness of the motion belying her casual tone. “Why would we do that?”

Henry pointed toward the ceiling of the booth, where yes, in fact, of all bloody things, hung a single sprig of mistletoe. Killian’s mouth went dry and though Emma’s entire face turned red (a fact he’d have to analyze later), she seemed to recover her wits first.

“Looks like you’re the one under the mistletoe, kid,” she replied and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Henry’s forehead, tousling his hair for good measure before quickly squeezing her way out of the booth.

Henry trailed behind her with an indignantly drawn out ‘moooooom’, and Killian finally followed, thankful that neither of the Swans could see his face. More specifically, the way he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that final photo.

Henry appeared in the foreground, a finger hooked in each cheek and his tongue sticking out, but in the background, well… There’s a word for the way Killian was gazing at Emma in that picture and the word was besotted. Funny thing was, the camera had captured Emma looking at Killian exactly the same way.

-/-

“All rise.”

At the sound of the bailiff’s voice, Killian felt a surge of adrenaline flood his system. This was it, the moment they’d been working toward for months. He stood slowly and with as much dignity as he could muster considering he felt as though he was about to burst out of his skin.

“December 23, 2016. The Court will begin its docket.” Judge Merlin straightened the stack of papers in front of him and opened the top case file. “Calling cause number 2016-362-0815, ‘In the Interest of Henry Swan’. Are all parties present and ready to proceed?”

“Petitioner is here and ready, Your Honor.” He allowed himself a moment of pride at the steadiness of his own voice, his years in practice having taught him to project composure no matter the state of nerves.

Another voice sounded from across the aisle. “Sister Blue of the Second Star Children’s Home here and ready, Your Honor.”

“You may be seated.” The judge paused a few seconds until the sounds of shuffling feet and creaking chairs had subsided. “Let the record reflect that I, the presiding Judge of this Court, have read and familiarized myself with the contents of Sister Blue’s reports, both prior to and post-placement, as well as the Petitioner’s affidavit, criminal background results and letters of recommendation. Such documents are hereby admitted as evidence in this cause. Sister Blue, is there any relevant information that you wish to add to your formal report at this time?”

Killian felt Emma tense beside him as the Sister stood to address the judge again.

“No, Your Honor. I stand by my conclusions.”

That was good. Killian had read the reports and they’d all been very much in Emma’s favor. Still, she grasped his wrist underneath the counsel table, a slight tremor in her hand.

“Very well. Mr. Jones, you and your client please approach the bench. Bring Henry up here with you, too.”

Emma’s grip on his wrist tightened to bone-crushing. He turned to her and ducked his head until she met his eyes, giving her his most encouraging smile. After a breath, she finally nodded, released her death-grip on him and stood. Together, Killian, Emma and Henry moved to stand before the judge’s bench.

Judge Merlin closed the file folder and fixed his steady gaze on Emma. “Ms. Swan?”

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“This isn’t like a wedding. There are no official vows or ceremony for an adoption, but since this is probably the happiest kind of case that I ever get to handle in family court, I’m going take a moment to make a little speech. Now I understand that this case is special in that you are not only Henry’s prospective adoptive mother, you are also his biological mother as well. Is that right?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Parenthood is a magical thing, Ms. Swan. It supersedes definitions of blood or law, and in its best form drives you to do whatever it takes to give your child his or her best chance. That is, to act in the child’s best interest. Biology can make you a mother, this gavel here in my hand can make you the legal custodian of a child, but only love can make you a mom. Do you love Henry, Ms. Swan? Do you want to be his mom?”

Emma gave a shaky exhale and swiped discreetly under her eye, then squared her shoulders and answered resolutely. “I do, Your Honor. More than I ever thought possible.”

Judge Merlin smiled and turned his attention to Henry. “How about you, young man. Do you love Ms. Swan? Do you want her to be your mom?”

Henry beamed. “Yes! I mean - yes, Your Honor, sir.”

The judge nodded in approval and focused back on Emma once more. “Then the Court finds that the petition of Emma Swan for the legal adoption of the child Henry Swan is in the best interest of said child, and such petition is hereby granted. Mr. Jones, please take the Court’s file downstairs to the clerk’s office to get your official copies of the Order. You are all dismissed, and if I may, I’d like to wish a very merry Christmas to the Swan family.”

With a wink of the judge’s eye and a rap of his gavel, it was finished. Henry practically lept into Emma’s arms, squeezing tight as she rested her tear-streaked cheek on top of his head. Killian strode across the aisle to shake Sister Blue’s hand in thanks, giving the new little family a moment of relative privacy. Soon, the bailiff was calling the next case and Killian had to usher them out to the hallway with Emma’s arm wrapped across Henry’s shoulders trapping him to her side.

Outside the decorum of the courtroom, there was more hugging, of course. Henry and Emma both hugged Sister Blue as she took her leave. Henry hugged Killian who couldn’t resist hoisting the laughing boy and swinging him around in a circle. As he set the lad’s feet back to earth, a soft voice caught his attention.

“My turn?”

There was a teasing curl to Emma’s lips, but as Killian took her in his arms (because of bloody course it was her turn - it would always be her turn), she seemed to melt into him as though she’d been holding her breath for the last three months and was finally able to let it out, to let go of everything. Her arms fit perfectly around his ribs, her head at the exact right level to tuck beneath his jaw, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there, to close his eyes and breath her in and linger in this moment. Yet, it wasn’t his moment, it was theirs, so he swallowed hard and unwrapped one arm from Emma’s shoulders using it to gesture to Henry.

“Come on, lad. Group hug, aye?”

Somehow, though, as he pulled Henry to his side, the three of them forming a small circle of arms and smiles, the moment managed to congeal into something better. Something complete.

A heartbeat passed, then two, then three before the spell was finally broken by a loud gurgling rumble from Henry’s stomach.

“Whoa!” Emma pulled back and ruffled Henry’s hair. “I guess I better feed this guy. We were both too nervous to eat this morning. Breakfast seems like a good first official act of motherhood, right? Then we need to go pick up some groceries and finishing wrapping presents so we can spend all day tomorrow cooking.”

That got Killian’s attention. “You’re cooking? All day?”

“Don’t act so shocked. Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean that I can’t.”

Henry tugged on Killian’s coat sleeve. “You’re coming over for Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow, right Mr. Jones?”

“I’m not your mum’s attorney any more, so ‘Killian’ will do. But, as loathe as I am to miss a chance to sample your mother’s culinary prowess, I haven’t actually been invited.”

In a flash, Henry rounded on Emma, lower lip protruding and eyes wide. “Mom, can Killian come over for Christmas Eve dinner?”

Killian chuckled to himself and as subtly as possible extended his fist to bump the boy’s knuckles, muttering ‘well played, lad’ under his breath.

Emma crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Well, I was going to invite him, but now I’m not so sure. I think you two are bad influences on each other.”

As man and boy only grinned unabashedly at her, she looked heavenward and shook her head, a small smile of her own tickling at the corners of her mouth. “My place at 7:00.”

-/-

Turkey and all the trimmings followed by a highly competitive round of Mario Kart (“Bloody hell, Swan, you can’t just throw an elbow like that. Bad form!) combined with the excitement of the past couple of days and promise of Christmas on the morrow, soon had Henry dozing off in Emma’s arm chair, his soft snores barely audible as strains of a musical number from White Christmas played in the background. Emma smiled at her son over the top of her mug of hot chocolate, sighing wistfully as she set the mug down and moved to rouse him.

She managed bring him to just enough of a state of consciousness for her to walk the bleary-eyed boy to his room mumbling something that may have been ‘Merry Christmas.’ A few minutes later Emma reemerged to resume her cocoa and her place on the sofa next to Killian.

“He basically face-planted onto the bed. I did manage to wrestle his shoes off and throw a blanket over him at least. I’ll get better at this mom stuff eventually.” She huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

Killian tried to reassure her that she was doing a fine job, but Emma only hummed in response, her pensive expression half-hidden by her mug as she took a long sip.

They settled into silence and watched the movie for a bit, though Killian found himself distracted by the way Emma seemed to be incrementally scooting closer to him. By the time the couple on-screen had been maneuvered by their friends into a late night tete-a-tete, Emma’s thigh was pressed flush against his, her shoulder leaning into his arm. One old-fashioned fake yawn from him and they’d be properly snuggling. As much as he wanted to make the move, he sensed an uneasiness about Emma that made him worry.

“Everything alright, Swan?”

“It’s…” she sighed, setting her mug on the coffee table. “It’s been a day. This has all been such an emotional ride and now that it’s over, I’m kind of having a hard time winding down from it. It's like I've been dreaming about this future and it's finally here and it's real and it's starting right now. It's a lot to process. Does that make sense?”

Killian turned fully toward her, his expression soft. “Well, I suppose you could do as the song Mr. Crosby just sang suggests and count your blessings to help you sleep.”

Emma laughed lightly. “Well, I’ve got one big 10 year-old ball of blessing passed out down the hall.”

Killian smiled in return. “Aye, he’s a remarkable lad. What was it he said at Granny’s that first trip?

“That it’s never the wrong time for rocky road?”

“That it’s never too late to find your family. I count it as a blessing that I was able to have a small part in helping the two of you find each other.”

“It's not too late for you either, you know. We’ll put our two ‘bloody brilliant’ minds together and come up with something.”

She chucked him on the shoulder good-naturedly and while her failed imitation of his accent was amusing, Killian wasn’t quite ready to lighten the mood. He’d held his tongue, kept his feelings to himself for as long as he could, but tonight… Now that her case was over and Emma was about to embark on her happily ever after with her son, it somehow felt like his last chance.

“Emma, I…”

“What? I thought we agreed there was no giving up?” She shifted away from him and her back went stiff - sure signs she was readying herself to raise her guard again, and he cursed himself for putting that edge of worry in her eyes.

“It isn't that. It's…” He took a deep breath and steeled himself to lay his heart at her feet, not knowing whether his confession would make things worse or infinitely better. “I lost my mother when I was too young to remember much, and then my father was barely around and finally he left as well. But it was alright because I had Liam - my Liam - and he was everything to me. Brother, Father, bossy mother hen.” Killian smiled sadly at the memory.

“When he passed, I resigned myself to the idea that I would always be alone. That’s how I was meant to be, and that was alright, too. Look out for yourself and you never get hurt, aye? And for a long time it worked quite well for me. Until one day it didn't.”

Emma had gone completely still, her gaze focused downward at her hands in her lap, but she wasn’t running away. Not yet, at least. He took both her hands in his, gently caressing her palms with his thumbs, and she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and almost disbelieving, but they held the tiniest hint of a spark and it was enough to give him the courage to continue.

“One day this blond tornado blew into my office and turned my world upside down. And then I got to know her and her lovely son, and suddenly I… I don't feel alone anymore. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that while it would still mean the world to me to find my half-brother, I no longer feel the same sense of urgency about it. You and Henry have given me the chance to be a part of something good, and I didn't think I'd ever be capable of that again. That is, until I met you.”

Never taking his eyes off hers, Killian lifted Emma’s hand and brushed a chaste kiss to the inside of her wrist. She blinked rapidly, the delicate lines of her throat shifting as she swallowed and he feared he’d gone too far. He hadn’t meant to push her, only to thank her. He released her hands, letting them settle back into her lap.

“Emma, I want you to know that I’m not saying any of this because I expect something from you. Your friendship is priceless to me and I would be honored to continue as your friend, just as it has been an honor to have you as my client-”

“I'm not your client anymore.” The words tumbled from Emma’s lips as though she didn’t quite realize she’d said them, and she immediately clapped a hand to her mouth.

Killian felt as though his heart were being crushed by an invisible hand. He let his head drop forward, scratching roughly at the back of his neck, and moved to stand, but the sudden grasp of Emma’s hand on his arm stilled him.

“Wait! Sorry that was the wrong place to start.” She let go of his arm to scrub her hand down her face. “I really suck at this.”

“Emma, it's alright. You don't have to-”

“I meant to say that…” She exhaled heavily and Killian forced himself to meet her eyes. “I'm not your client anymore, so it'd be okay if we were maybe more than that. If you want to.” Her smile was nervous but hopeful, a tenuous little thing that blossomed into its full beauty as Killian felt his own features mirror hers. “Because if I'm really counting my blessings here, I'd definitely count you.”

“And I, you.”

Killian sighed happily, finally wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side as he’d wanted to do - had that only been minutes ago?

Emma chuckled as she nestled her head against his chest. “Took you long enough. I’ve been hinting since we started the movie.” Killian could feel the smile in her voice when she spoke next. “So this is okay?” She walked her fingers across his stomach to wrap her arm around his waist.

“Aye, but be gentle with me, Swan. I must admit I’m a bit ticklish.”

“You realize I’m gonna hold that against you later.”

“Darling, you can hold anything you want against me right now.”

He felt her shift against him and she raised her chin to look at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes that had his blood pounding in his ears. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Well that was articulate, but at least he managed what he hoped was a seductive smirk.

She twisted her body toward him, draping a leg over his knee and slowly glided her hands up his chest to toy with the collar of his shirt. “How about this, then?”

The warmth of her breath tickled his lips, as Killian’s own became shallow and quick, and the only coherent thought his addled brain would form was that she was clearly trying to kill him and he couldn’t think of a better way to go. All he could see was the soft curve of her lips, the way her tongue darted out to trace the lower one. Only aware of the flickering heat that radiated from each point of contact between their bodies. His blood had all fled southward, robbing him of his usually quite proficient powers of speech. He must have made some sort of grunting noise of approval because Emma tugged on his collar pulling him ever closer until the tip of her nose traced along the edge of his.

“And this?” Her words were nothing more than a flutter of butterfly wings against his lips, before she threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him.

Heaven. He’d never considered himself a religious person before, but surely this must be what heaven felt like. Gentle and warm, light-headed and nearly giddy with happiness. Like he was a new man, and yet more himself than he’d ever been. Even his own arms felt stronger, more sure with Emma wrapped inside them. For several heartbeats he remained still, content with the simple pleasure of their lips finally meeting. Sweet, far sweeter than even his imaginings, and when he did move his lips against hers, it was careful, reverent almost.

Ah, but his Swan was as much a siren as an angel. He broke the kiss, opening his eyes and pulling back only enough to see her face to make sure she felt as he did. It only took a second for him to note her lust darkened eyes and the way her teeth sank into her lip before he pounced.

God he loved her. He loved the warm press of her body as he scooped her up and settled her in his lap. The way they fit together perfectly. He loved the way she smiled against his lips before hungrily devouring him, her tongue seeking his then coyly slipping away to make him chase her. But chase her he would, the bloody minx, because he couldn’t get enough.

She leaned back, pulling him down on top of her, but with the way they’d been sitting the angle was all wrong. He landed with his face between her breasts, not that he minded in the slightest, but he wasn’t quite done plundering her mouth yet, and so he stood to get into a better position as Emma scooted backward to rest her head on a throw pillow against the arm of the couch. She dropped one foot to the floor, hitching her other knee up, and he found himself completely arrested by the sight spread before him. She was an absolute vision, her tangled blonde hair spilling over the arm of the couch, eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners as she smiled at him with kiss-reddened lips. Those three important words that he hadn’t yet said to her tingled at the tip of his tongue, but he still didn’t know if she was ready to hear them. He already couldn’t believe the way the fates or the heavens had smiled on him this evening and he didn’t want to strain his luck.

He must’ve paused for too long because her smile faded slightly and she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. “Killian?”

“You are simply too tempting for your own good, love. I was taking a moment to count my blessings I suppose.

“Well are you done yet? Because I’d really like you to be kissing me right now.”

And kiss her he did. He lay down atop her, his hips in the cradle of her thighs, and kissed her for all he was worth. No, scratch that. For all she was worth. For nothing in all his worthless existence could possibly compare to her. To the softness of her lips, the taste of her skin as he traced her collarbone with his tongue, the scratch of her nails against his scalp, the welcoming heat of her body that he could feel even through her clothes and his as they rocked together. Reveling in each other. Whispering nonsense into each other’s skin.

“We should-” She hummed in pleasure as he nipped at the pulse of her neck. “Mmmm...probably stop. Oh. Before we can’t.”

“Aye, love.” She rolled her hips against him and he groaned low in the back of his throat. “Though you’re making it quite difficult.”

She chuckled underneath him, the movement pressing her breasts tantalizingly against his chest. She surprised him reaching down to grab his arse and pull his hips down tightly into hers, grinding him against her.

“Don’t you mean, I’m making it hard?”

“That was a terrible pun, Swan. Do it again.” He inclined his head to nuzzle beneath her jaw, dusting a light kiss here and there.

“You mean make a bad joke? Or this.” She swirled her hips in a dirty grind, groping his arse with both hands this time.

Bloody buggering hell. “You are a wicked, wicked woman.” Killian kissed her, long and deep, then pulled away with a frustrated groan. “But we really do need to stop.”

He sighed and raised himself up off of her, giving her space enough to shift her legs so that when he sat back down she could drape them across his lap. He offered her a hand and she took it, pulling herself up to sitting. She grabbed a cushion to wedge behind her back, while Killian stroked his hand up and down her thigh, unable to stop touching her completely.

Emma leaned up and he pressed an innocent (by comparison at least) kiss to his mouth.

“It’s for the best. I wouldn’t want our first time together to be some frantic, whispered tryst on the couch.”

Emma laughed and raised an eyebrow. “First time?”

Killian offered her a devilish grin, and raised a brow of his own. Perhaps he couldn’t indulge the baser urges of his body tonight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little bit of fun. Try to rile her up just a bit more. He glanced down the hall in the direction of Henry’s room, listening for any sign that the lad might be awake before responding, but all was silent.

“Yes, first time. I’m in this for the long haul, love. Don’t think for a moment I’ll ever tire of you. But the first time I make love to you, Swan, I want to savor it. I want to worship every inch of you with my hands and tongue, draw every possible sound of pleasure from that gorgeous mouth of yours until you cry my name as you come apart with me buried deep inside you.”

He concluded with his most lecherous smirk taking moment to enjoy the darkening of her eyes, the quickening of her breath.

“You make a solid case there, counselor. But may I submit a counter-offer?”

Decidedly intrigued, he raised an eyebrow. “Do go on.”

She grabbed his hand where it caressed her thigh and moved it higher, closer to where he so desperately wanted to touch her.

She scrunched her nose fetchingly and shrugged. “How about just a little bit of super-quiet hand stuff now-” She traced a hand down his chest and palmed him over his jeans. “-and we save the ‘savoring’ for later?”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” he growled, and with a lightning fast move that left her giggling against his mouth, he was pressing her into the couch again.

-/-

Killian awoke Christmas morning with a crick in his neck and a smile on his face. He pulled the blanket up over his head to block out the light coming from the kitchen. He’d been having the most beautiful dream, specifically the exquisite contortion of Emma’s features last night as he’d worked her higher and higher, the way her lips parted in a silent cry as she fell to pieces under his touch. So distracted was he reliving the previous night’s amorous activities, that it didn’t at first occur to him that something was wrong.

Emma was not with him, but that made sense. They’d agreed she should sleep in her own bed last night, lest Henry awake early and find them together. But the light was on in the kitchen, which meant someone was awake. If someone was awake, then why couldn’t he hear anyone? If it were Emma, she’d be rattling around making coffee. Were it Henry, there would surely be a flurry of activity and the tearing open of wrapping paper.

He strained his ears and finally made out the sound of whispering coming from down the hall. A minute more and Emma and Henry appeared, fully dressed and with strangely serious expressions on their faces. Killian sat up and Emma smiled at him awkwardly.

“Hey, um, we were just about to wake you up.”

Killian yawned, scratching lazily at his chest. “What’s going on, Swan?” His sleep muddled brain couldn’t make sense of any of it, but a sensation of dread was slowly creeping up his spine.

“Nothing, nothing. We just-” she glanced at Henry before turning back to Killian. “We’re just going out for a little mother-son bonding. You can crash here for a while longer if you want to. I’ll leave you the spare key. Or if you want to go home and shower or something…”

She seemed to be floundering and Henry was looking anywhere but at him. Killian’s blood ran cold as the pieces finally began to click into place. Swan may have been interested in something more with him, but he was still an outsider. An interloper on their first Christmas as a family, and they wanted him to leave.

“Right,” he answered finally, barely recognizing his own voice. “Right, yeah, I’ll just be off then.”

He stood and neatly folded the throw blanket he’d slept under. Grabbing his car keys from the end table, he moved to walk past Emma to the front door, but she stepped in front of him.

“Will you-”

Killian tried to step around her, anxious to get away from the apartment and the crushing disappointment he felt, but Emma grabbed his hand and spun him around to face her. The way she was looking at him was so foreign - neither happy nor sad nor angry, but intense - and it gave him pause.

“Would you please meet us for brunch at Granny’s in a few hours?” Her eyes still held the same intensity, but her voice held that note of hopeful vulnerability that he was powerless against.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, but quickly shook it off and nodded.

“Very well, Swan. I’ll be there.”

-/-

He almost backed out three times. As he took his shower in his own apartment, he convinced himself they had only invited him out of pity and he wouldn’t burden them with his presence. As he dressed himself, styling his hair into the calculated mess that Emma seemed to fancy, he told himself he was angry. If Emma had wanted to spend Christmas alone with Henry, she could’ve bloody well told him the night before, rather than engaging in their secretive skulking that morning. It was the guilty behavior that hurt him, not her desire to spend time with her son. Finally, as he drove to the diner, he called himself an idiot, a bloody fool for ever thinking that he and Emma and Henry could possibly ever be a… no, he wouldn’t even let himself think the word.

As he walked through the doors of the diner, however and saw their glowing faces he knew for a fact he’d been a fool. For not trusting her, for letting his old insecurities get the better of him. There on the table sat a small package no bigger than a deck of cards and wrapped in shiny green paper, tied with a golden bow. Green and gold, just like Emma. The woman in question was beaming at him, lighting up the room as if she were the sunrise itself, and Henry beside her practically bouncing in his seat.

“Merry Christmas!” they chimed in unison as he sat down across from them.

“What’s this?” Killian asked, fully aware of the awe in his voice and not caring in the slightest.

“Open it!” Henry urged, nudging the box to Killian’s side of the table.

Killian picked it up gingerly, looking to Emma for confirmation and she nodded vigorously, her smile turning slightly nervous.

Killian slid the bow off the end and tore into the paper, not having the faintest clue what to expect, but his heart raced in anticipation nonetheless. But as he opened the lid, his face fell, a divot forming between his brows as his face twisted in confusion. In the bottom of the box lay a small piece of paper where in Emma’s erratic scrawl was written an address, a phone number and the name “L. P. Dakkar”.

“I don’t understand…” He raised his eyes to meet Emma’s again and she reached a hand across the table to take his.

“It’s him. It’s Liam. Killian, I found him.”

Killian’s eyes widened, his expression changing from confusion to utter disbelief. “This is him? This-” he glanced down at the paper again, seeing it with new eyes. “This is my brother?”

She nodded vigorously, giving his hand a squeeze. “Uh-huh.”

He didn’t respond for a moment unable to do anything but stare between her and Henry in amazement, a grin splitting his face. “Emma, you’re a bloody miracle worker. When did - How?”

“It was Henry,” she answered, smiling down at the boy. “Well, it was you when you reminded me last night of what Henry said. About it never being too late. I got to thinking. We never did check the adoption records for Liam, because I knew from experience how rare it is for a teenager to get adopted. It was a long shot, but like Henry said, it’s never too late, right?”

She shrugged as if she hadn’t just done the impossible and continued her tale. “So, I did a court records search on my laptop last night after you fell asleep, and I found him. Liam Patrick Jones was adopted at the age of 17 by a man named Nemo Dakkar. There was a name change filed with the adoption. That’s why we couldn’t find him, Killian. We were looking for Liam Patrick Jones when the person we needed to find was Liam Patrick Dakkar.”

“So then this morning when you and Henry snuck off?”

“Operation Finding Nemo!” Henry piped up. “You know, because of his adopted dad’s name?”

“What Henry means is we went to my office so I could do a little bit of legally questionable research that you really shouldn’t ask too many questions about. I got an address and Henry wrapped the box. Merry Christmas?”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Killian slid out of the booth and moved to Emma’s side, taking her hand and pulling her up into a fierce embrace.

“Swan, I can’t begin to thank you for this.” Her hair muffled his voice as he held her to him. “Just knowing that he’s out there and that he has a home. That he wasn’t left alone in the world…” Killian’s voice cracked as hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and Emma pulled back still clutching at his forearms as she studied his face.

“You have to promise to tell me how it goes. Promise you’ll call later?”

He shook his head bemusedly. “Whatever do you mean, love?”

“Aren’t you about to go plug that address into your GPS and find your family?”

As he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the curve of her jaw, it occurred to him that she had no idea. After everything, she still had no idea. Very well, he’d simply have to spell it out for her. “Emma, this is an amazing gift you’ve given me, and I absolutely intend to use it, but I expect my half-brother would rather spend his Christmas with his family, now that I know he has one. And for the record, I’d prefer to spend my Christmas with mine.”

She tilted her head, her features forming an adorable scowl. “But you just said -”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. You and Henry are all the family I need.”

She didn’t answer. Only leaned toward him, her eyes falling to his lips as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Are you guys gonna kiss for real this time?”

Killian froze, his eyes closing as he laughed under his breath. “Yes, Henry. I’m about to kiss your mum. If she’ll have me?”

He looked up at her and her all-too-familiar eye roll and soft smile were all the confirmation he needed.

“Good,” Henry affirmed. “Can I go play Ms. Pacman? I don’t really want to watch this.”

Emma laughed and looked over at her boy. “There’s a few quarters in my purse, kid. Knock yourself out.”

After a quick bit of rummaging in Emma’s handbag, the lad scampered off, the sound of the adults’ laughter fading in his wake.

“Now where were we, Swan?” Killian asked with a leer, already leaning in to claim her lips, but Emma squeezed her eyes closed as if in pain and stopped him with a finger to his mouth.

She cautiously opened one eye, then the other. “There’s, um, there’s one more thing.”

“And what’s that, love?” Killian’s placed his hands at her waist and pulled her into him, sure that nothing she could say would dampen his mood.

“I, um -” she licked her lips nervously and took a deep breath. “I may possibly, maybe befeelinglikeI’minlovewithyou,” she muttered, the words spilling out in a jumble.

“What?” Killian’s heart stopped, god only knows what his face was doing, but he was afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

Emma reached up and cupped his chin. “I love you.”

In an instant his lips met hers, sweetly, passionately drinking her in as her hand drifted up his jaw to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. She rose up on her tiptoes as she pressed closer to him and he lifted her off her feet, nearly crushing her in his embrace as their lips moved in perfect counterpoint.

Slowly he brought her back to earth, but even before their kiss fully broke, he whispered the words against her mouth. “I love you, too.”

Then she giggled. Emma bloody Swan giggled and smiled up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They separated (at least as much as they could make themselves), paying some heed to the idea of propriety as they were very much still in public. Killian’s arm still draped around Emma’s waist and her head rested on his shoulder as they turned together to watch Henry, blissfully unaware and shouting enthusiastically at the colorful 8-bit ghosts that chased his character around the gaming screen.

“Looks like we all got a family for Christmas after all, doesn’t it, Swan?”

Emma

sighed contentedly. “Yeah, Jones. I guess we did.”

A/N: **The last name ‘Dakkar’ is from the Jules Verne books. At some point Captain Nemo introduces himself as ‘Prince Dakkar’.

Thank you to @captainswannl29 for reading through parts of this and helping me fix it.

Bonus thanks to @tnlph and @ilovemesomekillianjones for strongly encouraging me to finish this. I need a good ass kicking every now and then, lol!

Soooooo.... What’d ya think of part 2?

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au ff #cs christmas fic #cs modern au #lawyer!Killian #bailbonds!Emma #A Family For Christmas

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