#i need to go for a walk my art are tired will revisit later

[magnesia]

The Bribe And The ugly ass groom

[lemongogo]

[orbitariums]

older art x younger black reader sugar daddy aspect... short lil smut included with breeding kink... art is grown and tired as ever but the most alive when he's with you.

older! art + younger black reader is something so sacred like. he's absolutely smitten by you, obsessed, and not shy about showing it. your laugh is like tinkling bells to him, and you laugh a lot. you're so innocent in the sense that you haven't been marked with the scar of age that mars your joie de vivre. each time you laugh, really laugh with the full force of your body, throwing your head back so your nose aligns with the stars, he just grins up at you in pure bliss.

you're so gentle with each other – when you're out walking together he always holds your hand, pulls you gently aside when a bike whizzes by. when he's tired after a day of training you straddle his lap on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around his neck and pressing your forehead to his, like you're trying to telecommunicate a feeling of calm. you never fight, at least not the way art used to in his past relationships. if you're upset about something, you listen to each other. you come to a compromise. you sleep on it and revisit it the next day with a fresh mind (but you never go to bed angry). he speaks to you in dulcet, crooning tones — "you okay honey?" "i know baby."

he buys you whatever you want. if you're out with him you might as well leave your wallet at home. art is your wallet. he knows it and doesn't even think twice about it. even when you do try to pay for something, he's already taken care of it or he's stepping in front of you wordlessly and tapping his card. if you want something, it's in your hands in a heartbeat, no matter how expensive. if you even mention a bag you’ve been eyeing, it’s at your doorstep the next day.

you've introduced him to so many new things aligning with your generation. sometimes it's hard not to feel like an old fogey, but he takes a genuine interest in filming your tiktoks, brainstorming instagram post captions, and rating movies on letterboxd with you. his latest favorite has been watching reels and tiktoks of wig installs with you. he's practically begging you to let him do your braid down. you settle on letting him do the voiceover for your grwm tiktoks instead. you even enrich his taste palate — he'd never had or heard of seafood boil before you and now slapping on a pair of plastic gloves and getting king crab legs is your favorite thing to do on date nights.

you've taken to your own nicknames for him — "artie", "pookie", "my love." the most curious one though, and possibly his favorite — is "baby daddy."

you'd said it one time casually in conversation after he bought you a dress you'd tried on in the airport before your flight to fiji, hugging him close at the register and doting on him,

"thank you baby daddy!"

he stills when he hears you say it, swipes his card wordlessly and heads out of the shop with you still clung to his hip. while you're sitting in the lounge at the airport, he suddenly needs clarification,

"baby daddy? doesn't that imply that... i'm the father of your children?"

"huh...?" you were occupied with your nails. you looked up at him, noting the slightly clouded expression on his face. "i mean, technically yeah. but it's just a cute pet name to me. why, do you not like it?"

"i like it," was all art said in reply, and you placed a big kiss on his cheek, snuggling into his neck.

later that night in the hotel room, you're pressed beneath art as he places practically all of his weight on top of you. his hips are rolling into yours, unforgivably deep and penetrating. you can feel the curvature of his body digging against you. he can feel the plush of your breasts and the sweat slicking between the two of you. you're moaning raucously into his ear, fingers combing through his hair, damp with sweat.

"i'm your baby daddy?" he questions, his mouth pressed against your ear. you whimper when you hear it from him, low and imploring, even though he knows you can't respond right now. he's fucking you too good and he knows it, knows when you've reached an unresponsive state while he fucks you into oblivion. "want me to pump you full of my fucking kids? feed your pussy my cum?"

you're pulsing around him like crazy the more he talks, and he pulls away just slightly so he can see your face. his eyes gazing into yours, he asks,

"hmm? you want that? you want me to get you pregnant?"

his thrusts grow sharper and quicker, and somehow deeper. you yelp at the pleasure, and nod vigorously as you throw your hand over your mouth.

"art," you can barely whisper. he nods, his jaw grit so hard it's visible through his cheeks.

"i know baby, i know. i wanna hear you say it. want you to cum around this cock while you say it."

your back arches off the bed as you squeal,

"fuck, daddy, yes! i want you to get me fucking pregnant, want you to fill this pussy up with your cum, please."

it's like that sends him into overdrive and he fucks you at a pace you didn't know was previously possible. you're shaking as he thrusts harshly into you, pulsating around his dick and squeezing him with a vice grip when you finally come.

art's head hangs when he feels you squeeze around him and his thrusts start to grow stuttered and sloppy as he whimpers your name,

"fuck, yn. make me come, yes."

as promised, he shoots ropes of cum inside of you. when you think he's done, there's still more, painting your insides and eventually oozing out of you. two slow, redeeming thrusts to keep it all inside of you, and he's finally slowly pulling out. the both of you watch as some of it drips out of you. art rushes to finger it back inside of your sensitive, sore pussy. but you have no complaints.

he collapses beside you and you immediately bury yourself into his side.

"so baby daddy does it for you, huh?" you giggle.

art sighs deeply, resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on his stomach. even he is in awe of himself. he takes a deep breath, trying to commit the memory of your pussy dripping with his cum to his mind,

"you could say that."

[rauhallinen-hauki]

so I finished the fic that I wrote about in its cover art posts. it is a dialogue heavy shepvance marriage proposal story. there isn't any hardcore violence or detailed erotica in it, so I can post it here without putting a mature label on it. it is also on ao3

I doubt this post will show up in the tags, but as always, warnings for past depression, mentioned suicidal ideation, a brief implication and mention of sex, and a single mention of masturbation in the text

about 6000 words under the "read more". I'm really sorry if the read more doesn't show up

An assumed epilogue

Summary

The Resistance's leading lady proposes to a former HECU corporal. Seemingly redundant conversations follow.

Notes

Set in a post-Combine occupation Earth after a hypothetical Half-Life 3. This hypothetical Half-Life 3 takes the storyline of Mark Laidlaw's Epistle 3, with the changes that Alyx doesn't kill Judith and that she and Gordon close the Combine's portals to Earth, both returning to it. The G-man is driven away by them and ultimately loses interest in Earth, so by extension, in his employees on it. Return to Ravenholm (Opposing Force's canceled sequel) happens, somewhere between Episode 2 and Half-Life 3. Adrian eventually ends up working for the Resistance, basically as a forest ranger.

I don't actually think any of that would happen in the real Half-Life 3 (if it ever comes out). Nor do I think Alyx and Adrian meeting each other, let alone being a couple, will ever happen officially. And this goes without saying, but neither do I think nor want my personal take on these characters and world to be the "definitive" or "canonical" interpretation.

Written for many reasons, but mainly because it helped me process some things I've been going through. Also written because these games and especially this pairing mean a lot to me. I wanted to see these characters getting to live in a relatively "happy ending" scenario. Or at least get them some closure. I had scrapped this fic for good, but upon revisiting it almost two months later, I revived and subsequently finished it in a couple of days. Doing so has brought me further closure in some things.

All possible corniness, purple prose, repetition or overuse of phrases and words, and general redundancy in the text is intentional.

Partially based on personal experiences.

***

  It's not that she needs to do this. She's been dating the Resistance's unofficial-official 'alien fauna* shepherd for almost three years now. Too little time for some, but enough for her to know that what is going on is something special. Even the Vortigaunts said it: it is a strong bond, vortal or not.

  It's not that this will make that bond better, or validate it, or whatever.

  No, she just thinks it'd be at least nice to ask. She wants to find out. Get the intrigue out of her head. But how?

  It's a sunny evening at White Forest. Alyx and Adrian are on a walk, talking. Alyx does most of the literal talking; Adrian leads the way. One of Alyx's hands holds one of Adrian's, caressing his knuckles with her thumb. Her free hand rests on her utility belt.

  But as they walk through these groves that they've walked a thousand times before, so familiar yet at this moment so alien – not in the way Xen or the Combine Overworld felt alien – Alyx's steps falter. The grasp on the belt tightens slightly.

  Between Alyx's stories, Adrian asks: "...Are you okay?"

  "Yes. Just a little tired," Alyx says with a smile, hesitantly letting go of Adrian's hand to readjust her headband. "Guess I'm still not used to this summer heat, huh?"

  "Mmm. Is that why you've been at the garage so much?"

  "Yeah."

  Adrian curiously raises an eyebrow, as if about to ask something else, but is reassured for the moment. He slows down his pace.

  They fall into a comfortable silence. But Alyx's heart flutters with the force of a hurricane. Her mind spins, a maelstrom of thoughts cascading onto it.

  She thinks about her father. How he was always there with great advice. She never got to ask him in detail how he felt when proposing. And how did mom feel? She thinks, despite how useless it is.

  If only they were both still here, when almost everyone, everything is...

  She takes deep breaths. Welcomes the clear, earthy air in her lungs. It rained last night. Not acid rain nor metallic shells filled with headcrabs. She stops thinking about her parents. She does, however, think about their wedding. About her father's and Dr. Kleiner's stories of a small party with some family and close friends.

  Maybe she and Adrian will do the same. Blast some Rainbow and Kyuss since the radio has been fixed, and since it can be used without fear of attracting unwanted attention. Go plant some zinnias. Ah, and gardenias. Adrian has always been fond of those.

  Well, of flowers in general. His gaze lingers on the blossoms speckling the trees' branches. Then it lingers on her. Like usual, he catches her staring.

  Alyx combs her hair with her fingers and winks at Adrian. Adrian looks away, faking sheepishness. Alyx grins. So...

  How do you ask a sweet guy like him how to marry you without coming off as too hyped up? I don't want to pressure him!

  Gordon answered her calmly in straightforward sign language: "Do what feels right, be honest with him like you always have." Other fellow rebels gave her words along the same lines of that. Barney casually rolled his eyes and said: "Just ask him already!"

  But how do you do it? Get on one knee, hope for the best? What if she overwhelms him, makes him uncomfortable...

  She thinks and overthinks, getting too ahead of herself... when she hasn't even asked.

  Come on, just enjoy the moment!

  The birds chirping in the trees. The soft breeze playing with her hair. The snarks chirping in the undergrowth. The soothing sound of Adrian's quiet, gas mask-filtered breathing.

  Then, something rustling. The glimmer of sapphires and amethysts inbetween the emerald thicket. They come to a halt, Alyx motioning with her hand for Adrian to come closer.

  A shock roach scuttles out of the bushes. Electricity makes its whole body jitter, overcharged as it is in the humid ground. Poor thing must be exhausted. Alyx stoops and takes a closer look.

  It doesn't seem hostile. Why would it be, when its species doesn't need to fight every second to survive anymore? Doesn't look like it'd want to attach itself to her arm either. It just shakes there, petrified in the shade of the bushes.

  You'll be fine. Everything's alright.

  Alyx carefully picks up the shock roach and gives it to Adrian. As much of an animal person as she is, she'd rather let the expert in bugs himself handle it.

  Adrian cradles the shock roach with one arm, his free hand petting it. Soon enough, the bug leans against his chest, buzzing with joy. The same hands that once wielded its species as a weapon now pet it with the gentleness of an angel. A brawny angel, whose strong arms know how to hold someone in their worst days.

  He's always been a hunk. But God, does he look great these days. Healthier. He's put on a few pounds. There's more energy in his steps. More of that glimmer behind the green lenses. Especially here.

  In the soft glow of the canopy-filtered sunlight, the forest's greens take on a myriad of shades. Camouflaging, mixing with the color palette of his helmet and vest's suspender straps. At a quick glance, it's like he's wearing a veil of leaves. He looks so happy. So at ease.

  The perfect moment doesn't exist. But if there was a right place at the right time, then this is it!

  Adrian puts the shock roach back on the ground. It scuttles off to adventure in the undergrowth.

  If he says no, then that's fine, too.

  Without making a sound, Alyx opens one of the utility belt's pouches, pulling something out. She holds it in her fist. "Adrian, I uh... I actually wanted to ask you something."

  He turns around to look at her. Notices the muted coldness in her tone. Subconsciously grabs the vest's straps, fidgeting with them.

  "I've been thinking lately. About lots of stuff. How fast time goes, how it flies." Alyx sighs. Same dialogue she's had with herself countless times on restless nights. The same she's managed to confide only bits and pieces of to Adrian before. "The Combine... that man in a suit... I know they're all gone. But..."

  She clutches her necklace with her free hand. She frowns. Always the same old crap rotting in the back of her mind.

  "Sometimes I just can't get it clear in my head. It's like... yesterday I was at the Borealis. Now I'm okay. We're fine. Everything's alright. And it's like I'm still not used to it."

  There is a gentle but firm touch on her shoulder. She swallows.

  "Alyx... are you really okay?"

  "I'll be alright. I'm just so damn tired." She has to stop looking into those green lenses. Into those beautiful eyes that beg for an answer she can't really explain nor give with her own gaze, so she looks down at the ground instead.

  Taking a deep breath, she welcomes the clear, earthy air in her lungs. Welcomes the sight of grass, leaves and dirt. Listens to that quiet, gas mask-filtered breathing.

  An exhale. "I know there was a lot of bullshit going on when we met."

  Most of what comes after are things she bothers to explain but not to delve too deep on. Partially because Adrian knows firsthand the type of struggle Alyx recalls – trying to move on when those you love are killed, almost dying yourself when the world faces a thousand interdimensional crises at once, said world surviving but being so ravaged it looks just like the way you feel after dealing or trying to deal with so many problems that counting them reads like a supply list, existential dread at that man in a suit, etc. Memories and thoughts that just won't shut up sometimes.

  And partially because Alyx is exhausted. Putting these last three years into words puts things into perspective: it's been rough.

  Not all has been bad. But good or bad, it's still been one big decision, or "big thing" or most often a big damn catastrophe after the other. And yes, life is cyclical. No peace and no strife last forever.

  But it can't always, always, always go so fast. Like running a marathon or climbing a tower when your lungs and limbs burn, and you gasp for air and it's like you're about to trip and fall, right? How do you live like that?

  She leans on him. "I can't keep up sometimes. It's too much."

  They fall into an otherwise comfortable silence, if it wasn't for her anxious breathing. His hand moves down from her shoulder to her waist. He pulls her close.

  "We'll figure it out" he says.

  "Yeah."

  A pause. Anxiety fading, she closes her eyes. Thinks. Probably overthinks a little, too.

  A smile teases her lips. "...Still though, I'm so glad we met when we did."

  He holds her a little closer in agreement.

  She clears her throat and opens her eyes. "Well, like I said, I've been thinking. What is it that I wanna do now, when all that's over?"

  Another pause. Why is it so hard to say the obvious all of a sudden?

  "Listen, I think you already know how I feel about you. About us. These past years have been... God, it's been amazing."

  Alyx turns to face Adrian, carefully pulling herself away. She gives him a small but warm smile. "I want to move on, make the most of what time I have left. Keep helping everyone around here. Well, everyone I can in general. 'Heal the Earth.'"

  This is so corny! But despite almost chuckling at the thought, she continues. "And I want to keep going on walks with you, holding you... just being with you..."

  Alyx's smile widens. She lets go of her necklace and cups Adrian's left cheek – her hand caressing the canister – and looks at him in the eyes. It's not uncomfortable. Not when she has finally decided, right now, what to say to that sweet, hunky unofficial-official Resistance shepherd. To that someone that has helped, helps, and will always help her figure it out.

  "What I'm really trying to ask is... Adrian..."

  Bringing her fist to her chest, she holds it up to him and opens it, a ring made out of scrap on her palm. Crafted in restless evenings thinking about him and all they have shared. She asks: "Do you want to marry me?"

  Before getting an answer, Alyx realizes that she should be on one knee. And isn't it supposed to go: Would you marry me?

  But that doesn't matter anymore.

  Adrian can only stare. He blinks. Blinks again. Only on the third or fourth time he blinks does realization dawn on him, eyes widening the longer he observes the ring. The why.

  Why she's been so much by herself at the garage. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Everyone needs their space and alone time. But now it makes sense why she's been vaguely distant lately.

  Why she's been so contemplative.

  Adrian carefully takes the ring, his hand holding Alyx's for a couple of seconds. Alyx brings her hands together, looking expectantly at him. Trying to guess the entirety of the face he's making under the mask.

  It's a simple design. She must've recycled parts from Combine structures, because the scrap metal has a subtle, strange silver sheen to it. He turns it. It's engraved with a pattern of delicate curves and hard edges. Resembling the petals, leaves and stems of a rose or a gardenia.

  It's gorgeous. Not only in the physical sense, but also for (or maybe because of) what it represents. He puts it on the middle finger of his right hand. Relishing its texture.

  Never in his dreams, not even in those his mind might've come across in the infinite void while "sleeping" in that astral Osprey, did he imagine this.

  Alyx. This funny, smart, brave, hot as hell... and yes, stubborn woman. This post-apocalyptic princess that sometimes can't process the new non-apocalyptic realm. This downright good person.

  "Honey?"

  Her, radiant in the golden sunlight permeating through the canopy, every detail he could get lost in highlighted. The streaks of red accentuating her hair, those subtle laugh lines, that mole at her collarbone. The sweetest smile. *Even when she's also been thinking about her most hellish days.

  Her, offering a piece of her art (herself) to him. Asking him to be hers.

  "Adrian?"

  Tears well up in his eyes. His heart beats in his ears, so loud he can barely hear his own quiet, gas mask-filtered sobbing. How did he ever get so lucky?

  "Adrian?!"

  "Y-yes! Yes! YES!"

  Adrian gazes into Alyx's eyes for a couple of seconds before wrapping his arms around her. And Alyx nimbly throws her arms around Adrian's neck before he can give her the tight (not too tight to hurt her) squeeze he's been holding back this whole evening.

  Bodies pressed tight together, they hug in a way resembling the ones in their sweatier, steamier moments. Not that this is a sexy situation. They just need to hold and squeeze and get good grips on each other right now.

  He leans down slightly and rests his head on her shoulder. Past the light armor that is the PCV, a tender touch settles between his shoulder blades. Trying and failing to stop his crying, he closes his eyes. Relishing the sensation.

  His hands roam her body, rubbing her back, massaging off any vestiges of anxiety. Until one hand stays on her lower back. The other holds the back of her head, his fingers running through her hair. She laughs.

  She smells so good. Of forest and sweat and a cool, specific scent. Holding and massaging and being held and massaged with the mask filtering but still taking her whole essence in... it all sends some kind of energy through him. He keeps sobbing.

  Birds and snarks sing in the distance. Then that warm, beautiful voice again. Although it sounds a bit brittle...

  "Take it easy."

  He sighs, tension leaving his muscles. His grip loosens. The hand on her lower back moves up. Stops at a spot in her worn jacket which has been further mended with duct tape. Over the hunter's wounds.

  He wasn't there for her when it happened. Not that he could've been; both unaware of each other's existence and all. Lost somewhere he can't really describe. But he still regrets it. Regretting leads to reminiscing about other regrets from around that time, in the very beginnings of their friendship. Never getting to meet Eli. Petty jealousy over Gordon. Feeling alienated without reason.

  But that's all over now. "Oh Alyx, I..."

  As he holds her, he decides (reminds himself). He couldn't do anything back then. But his regrets won't stop him from cherishing what they've built together. No enslaved alien creatures, nor inter-dimensional empires, not even that creepy government guy can change that.

  And although her own anxieties and regrets aren't something he can fight for her, he can help in dealing with them.

  Her hands on his chest, she tugs him closer somehow by the vest's straps. Heat radiates from her. And he gets completely lost in her embrace.

  "...Thanks," he manages to say. For telling him what has been bothering her, for the ring, for the hug, for everything. For so much he can't say since words won't suffice right now.

  She understands.

  Eventually, they break the hug and dry their tears. Adrian apologizes for getting overwhelmed. Alyx says it's okay and in turn apologizes for taking him "off-guard". Adrian nods.

  They continue their walk. Adrian recognizes the glade up ahead and explains which edge of the forest they're approaching. Alyx leads the way back to White Forest base.

  Between the tree trunks, the lake nestled in the middle of the mountains gradually comes into view. Its surface shimmers in the setting sunlight. A chill breeze flutters across the valley.

  "Man, is it weird..." Adrian thinks out loud, stretching.

  "What?"

  "Seeing the lake like this."

  Alyx observes the lake as well. The wind sketches the barest of ripples on it.

  "It just hits me sometimes how things change." Adrian chuckles softly. "I get sent to kill Gordon Freeman, and he ends up becoming one of my best friends. I want to beat some g-man to a bloody pulp. Now? I don't give a crap about him."

  Alyx brings a hand to her chin.

  "...I thought the sunset couldn't be calm again."

  They come to another halt. She meets his gaze. "What do you mean?"

  He looks away. He's never spoken this much in... hell, probably weeks. He's never been much of a talker in general. And he's told her the main facts before. Why tell the details?

  But she told him what's been bothering her. So maybe he should do the same. Even if that isn't the most romantic thing to reminisce about after being asked your hand in marriage.

  Adrian's voice comes out in a strangely clear tone. "The night before the mission at Black Mesa, my squad and I were having a long talk. Just shooting the shit I mean. Anyway, I don't remember how we got to the topic, but Jackson asked how we'd like to die."

  He stares at the lake again. "I guess in case the whole operation went FUBAR."

  "...Which it did," Alyx says. She can't help but think about failed attempts to overthrow the Combine over the years. About all these fellow rebels lost.

  Those from City 17 and Black Mesa East. Her father. Judith – God, what happened to Judith? Those she never knew, but who she knows would've been at her side too. Like her mother, or doctors Cross and Green. And maybe countless others whose stories never got told.

  Humans, Vortigaunts, literal or figurative animals, from Earth or Xen or anywhere else. In the end she ends up thinking about almost everyone; not only about those long gone but also about those still alive. About those in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The chill breeze snaps her back to the moment. She stares at the lake again. It's so silent here, as if that gas mask-filtered breathing were the only sound of the valley.

  Adrian nods slowly. "Jackson said he wanted something explosive."

  "Ah, like an action hero. And what did you say?"

  "Freezing. I once heard it was like falling asleep. And that in the end, you'd feel warm." He wraps his arms around himself. "Then Tower said drowning was actually the peaceful way to go.

  ...Fast forward a bit. Or a lot. I get out of Ravenholm. Gri- Father Grigori sort of... you know..."

  "Exploded?" Alyx asks. She only knew the pastor in stories. Always amazing how much crazy stuff happened in Ravenholm. Crazy how Adrian was there too. What is it about quiet guys finding their way into these places?

  "...Yes. So there I was. Alone, tired as hell, walking through the woods surrounding the town as the sun set. Until I found a lake." Adrian pauses. Taking longer, deeper breaths. And he just keeps staring at the lake. Lost in thought.

  The more Alyx stares at the water, the more at peace she is with... something. It's hypnotic. Except it's conscious. Gingerly grabbing her necklace, she listens to Adrian as the lake is a puzzle to be solved. A machine she seemingly can't hack.

  Wow, it goes over and over and over again.

  The wind keeps sketching on the lake's shimmering surface. Its lines become more confident. Small circles and interlapping wisps. In water, the sky's purples, reds, oranges and pinks mirror, the setting sunlight dispersing. The wind draws in longer strokes. Jet black ink, brushpens dancing on a collage of amethysts, rubies, ambers and morganites speckled with fading gold.

  The more she stares at the lake, the more its surface resembles outer space. The more the wind's strokes of ink a complete darkness. Like cosmic voids between galaxies.

  It also resembles a certain figurative darkness, where the figurative gemstones lose their luster. There was a time – well, maybe more – when she wanted to swim in it. To get away from everything, escape from a wrong place and a wrong time.

  She and Gordon had returned from the Combine Overworld. The war that had waged through almost all her life was over. Except that in her heart it wasn't.

  Adrian trembles slightly. "...Everyone was gone. I had nowhere to go. No reason to go on living. So into the lake I went." His breathing hitches. An inaudible gasp before continuing. "I waded for a while. Thought my body could at least feed the pikes or ichthyosaurs. Maybe I could've swam a bit too."

  Alyx takes one of Adrian's hands and guides it to her waist. Adrian's breathing gradually slows down. He pulls her close, wrapping an arm around her while his free hand fidgets with the vest's straps. She leans on him and closes her eyes. Cracking the code.

  The darkness of the lake and the void. Same to the one in her fever dreams and nightmares of running in the woods, Advisors in hangars, vortexes of collapsing universes, citadels and black holes, trains and planes going nowhere in the nothingness.

  Some where the man in a suit said: Miss Vance, you can't afford this misery. It would have been far easier to accept an offer when given the chance. Let go of squandered investments. Sunk cost fallacy.

  Miss Vance. Will weeping over your father's corpse bring him back? Does the steel husk you call a pet really not know something is amiss... every time you insist you are alright? What would the Resistance think of their dear leader, unable to hold a coherent thought behind her reassuring smile? Hm. Is it a wonder nothing became of you and Doctor Freeman, even with the blessing of friends? Or was he always a mere indulgence, so you would feel no remorse now, here in your quarters, touching yourself to the thought of another silent man? Another squandered employee. Would this heal all of Corporal Shephard's pain? Are you healing yours?

  Does only thinking about everything fix anything? Can you keep up?

  Do you believe in living like this?

  She keeps holding her necklace, trying to focus on the warmth around her.

  Adrian keeps a steady arm wrapped around Alyx. "And then I stopped wading. There wasn't warmth in the sun. The water was so cold. Too cold. And maybe I was too anxious or hungry or both, since I got this killer bellyache." He sighs. "I... I couldn't do it."

  In the darkness of her room, at hours that didn't pass at night, she thought about sneaking to her nightstand, or to the base's communal kitchen or laundry room. Where it could've been her pistol or a myriad of knives or detergent that finally did the trick of swimming out of water.

  But she couldn't get out of bed. The hunter's wounds burnt as if she was being impaled all over again. But lying there, headaches and back pain tearing her apart, always felt like drowning on air.

  "...So I decided to circle the lake. A river sprang from it, I followed it. An dirt road ran parallel. I came across a busted up shack along the way... must've been rebels raided by the Combine. I stayed there a couple of days."

  The man in a suit kept talking. But despite feeling like she'd forever fall and drift through the void, her lungs and limbs burning, she always gasped for air and replied: No.

  Because in the darkness she also came to understand its cycle. After all those eternal nights came the cycle where she learned to keep moving and sleep again. To wake up and tell those in the wrong place at the wrong time: Guys, I need help.

  "Weird place. Birds sang at the exact same time every morning."

  Alyx giggles. She could fall asleep standing here, her head resting on Adrian's shoulder. "Any other critters living there?"

  Adrian nods. "There was this cave nearby. I saw antlions for the first time..."

  Alyx takes deep breaths and lets her senses refocus on the moment.

  As she opens her eyes, his words about the sunset make sense. Or rather, she understood them all along. She just had to remind herself.

  Adrian lets out a Phew!-sounding sigh. "A certain ex-Black Mesa security guard passed by the road." He almost chuckles as he gazes into the horizon. He still remembers the ex-security guard recognizing the HECU uniform. "We scared the hell out of each other."

  "Yeah, I think I know who you're talking about," Alyx says. "But anyone who knew Otis Laurey is a friend of his, right?"

  Adrian nods, vaguely sad. Insane how things work out once you talk them out first. "He said something about owing beers and that the alien apocalypse had ended for good. He also talked about the return of Gordon Freeman and this... Alyx Vance."

  He pauses again before returning to look at her. He has also reminded himself of certain facts. "Figured I could stay at the base for a while and meet some more people. You know the rest."

  She smiles. "Say Adrian, that day... what did you think of Alyx Vance when you saw her for the first time?"

  "That she was the most beautiful person I've ever seen. She still is."

  "Funny you say that. You've only gotten hunkier since!"

  He looks away for a second as his cheeks heat up. Never before has he been more thankful for the mask and helmet covering him.

  The winds strengthens. Still a breeze, but strong enough to dishevel Alyx a little. Adrian gently tucks some of her hair locks back into her headband. He combs her hair with his fingers before it turns into a gentle but firm touch on her shoulder.

  "...We're going in circles," he says in a whisper, ashamed of himself. He stares at his free hand. At the gleam of the ring in his fingers. "Why think about it now?"

  She thinks. Thinks about all that has led to this moment. Why she's been overthinking about shock roaches and water and literal and figurative stuff in proposing to her boyfriend.

  Well, even if she didn't need to do it, she wanted to marry him. It's a decision. A step. A beginning cycle, although it also isn't because sometimes it feels like they've been married for years. A paradox in of itself.

  But she thinks about a broader one. "Because to take the next step you gotta look back."

  He curiously raises an eyebrow.

  "I mean, everyone does that, right? Get all nostalgic? Focus on the hard stuff it took to get us here?"

  She attempts to explain it physically, her hands sweeping circles and pointing to the lake and doing whatever her nerves subconsciously tell them to do. "I get why you're all shy about it. We were depressed. Think of it like uh... the ripples of the wind on the lake. The circles. Our depression and us meeting are circles. They just happened to overlap!

  And sometimes in that overlap I go, 'Damn, how the hell did I pull this sweet, awesome guy? Why is he taking me out on walks and all when I actually suck ass at everything? He deserves someone better.' I was having some of those thoughts this morning. Not that we're depressed now, but..."

  "I... I know. I get these kinds of thoughts sometimes, too."

  "Yeah. But Adrian, there's nothing wrong with that. It's okay. Really. Remember the other circles overlapping. Us dating... is one big circle. There are so many ripples in there! Like this whole evening, for example."

  She presses her forehead against his helmet with a gentle thud. Staring down at his chest, she draws circles on it with her fingers. And for a moment, she feels a couple of years younger.

  "...Remember the day we started dating?" he asks. He feels a couple of years younger for a moment, too.

  The forest was golden brown, the sun was lost in the mist. She took him for a walk to the base's small gardens after a long workday. It was the evening she confronted him about a certain letter addressed to her. Where he confessed having written it, the confession within it. Where she confessed her own figurative letters – as in, the flirting over months – addressed to him. And she threw her arms around his neck, and he was as cold as the air and as hot as the...

  "How to forget it? It's like I'm there aaall over again," she says, partially thinking out loud in admiration of the sunset they're in. She sighs. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

  He holds her a little closer in agreement. Looks at her with more of that glimmer behind the green lenses.

  Everything wasn't suddenly, completely alright after that evening. But despite being in the latter half of autumn, the sun was warming up again. And little by little, the world would regain its luster.

  She smiles warmly, mirroring his hidden smile. Goddamn. What a beautiful, calm sunset it really is.

  And there was – is – always something to be learned and to be reminded of in their countless other shared cycles, too. Making up after those rare times they have a fight. In more frequent times, both spent after having casual or passionate sex. Speaking without words. Or when taking care of alien and terrestrial fauna together; or just in hanging around, or...

  Alyx places a hand on Adrian's belly and rubs it gingerly. Thinking about the Vortigaunts, how they channel electricity.

  The energy surrounding her when being revived from the hunter's wounds. As she woke up, for a couple of seconds, she saw Gordon aglow with a bright, orange light, mixing with the multicolored ones from the Vortigaunts.

  Right know she almost palpably senses Adrian's energy. It's so vibrant here. For a millisecond, she can see its light clearly: the soft, green glow she has felt countless times before.

  She imagines that she is sharing, giving some of her energy to to him. It's a corny thought, but that doesn't matter anymore.

  A gradient of golden and red light illuminates her palms for a millisecond.

  Eventually, after a long pause of once again simply relishing the moment, before either can suggest resuming their walk, they pull away from each other. The ground shakes. Thumping, although there aren't any antlions living in this beach.

  "Dog!" Alyx exclaims.

  From up on the hill cresting the lake, Dog sprints towards Alyx and Adrian. He must've gotten worried, so he personally came to see what's taking them so long to come back home. Time just slips away on walks.

  Dog takes a laughing Alyx into his forelegs, giving her a hug. About to properly greet Adrian as well, he notices the subtle gleam of the ring.

  He looks at Alyx, who just confirms something with a nod. And he shimmies in his entirety and stomps his forelegs on the ground, the rattling of his metallic frame like a triumphant giggle.

  "You know, Dog helped me decide what materials to use on the ring," Alyx says.

  "Really? I'm not surprised," Adrian says. He gives a few affectionate scratches and rubs to Dog's metallic frame, thanking him. The robot always had a sharp eye for seemingly "useless" things.

  Adrian's eyes widen in (late) realization. He looks sheepishly at Alyx. "Now I've got to make a ring for you. Maybe we could go collect scrap together next time?"

  "Sounds good to me. Dog?"

  The metal frame rattles harder. A small cloud of dirt forms at Dog's legs. Then it subsides as Dog calms down.

  "One condition though..." Alyx says, without planning to state an actual condition.

  "Mmm?"

  "Write something nice on it for me."

  Adrian freezes for a moment. He's never been much of awriter: most of his experience comes from keeping a diary back in his HECU days. He remembers how he managed to confess his feelings for Alyx on a letter, so long and so little time ago. How hard it was to make pencil kiss paper.

  But he still journals, although he isn't the same man he was back in his HECU days. Or the one he was three years ago. Hell, even the one he was less than a year ago. Yet at the same time he is still him. It must be some kind of paradox. Thankfully not a temporal one though.

  Adrian snaps out of his thoughts with a shrug. "Sure. Anything for my radiant wife..."

  He'll write this time too. It'll just be engraving words on metal instead of paper. Something fitting for her. Like the beauty of a zinnia, or the re- (he'll figure this out in due time).

  "Hey! What wife?" Alyx quips with her hands on her hips. "Didn't I tell you to take it easy? We haven't married yet, honey."

  Adrian looks away, but Alyx can tell that he is faking sheepishness. And despite Alyx's words, without noticing it, their conversation takes a turn towards planning their wedding. Dog sits transfixed by the brainstorming.

  Rainbow and Kyuss for the reception is a must. And while it'll be an "unofficial ceremony" with no dress code, Alyx says she'd like to wear a pretty dress under her jacket. Adrian considers attaching a veil to his helmet.

  Gordon had already promised to be a bridesman to Alyx. But it works out, since Barney once told Adrian to "just tell him when it all happens," and that he'd be his best man if needed; and that he'd take care of the drinks (he keeps owing beers to everyone). Kleiner is a party animal so he'll-

  In the back of his mind, he remembers some passages from his old diary. How he used to write about wanting adventure. Change, something exciting. And he got it. But it wasn't only about enlisting and boot camp, or the Resonance Cascade and Black Mesa, or all about race X and Xen, or Ravenholm and adapting to the new world.

  It's also about these walks, and all those other everyday little adventures among the bigger, overlapping ones (ripples, circles) along the way.

  ...Man, is ex-corporal Shephard lucky.

  Dog "barks" and motions with his forelegs towards the hill.

  "Okay, okay. Let's go before Magnusson gets antsy," Alyx says. There will be time to plan the wedding. "I bet Kleiner's already made tea for everyone."

  The night is young. Despite walking and standing all evening, Alyx and Adrian have full energy in their steps. Dog leads the way back to White Forest base through the lake's shoreline.

  One of Alyx's hands holds one of Adrian's, caressing his knuckles with her thumb.

  She observes their enlinked hands. The holes in his biker-styled tactical gloves. She brings his hand to her lips and kisses his bare knuckles.

  "You DO know that I love you, right?" she asks.

  He replies with an affirming, quiet chuckle and gently nuzzles his front voicemitter against her cheek, giving her a gas masked kiss. "...And I love you too."

  And all this is just one of the unforeseen consequences of the Resonance Cascade. Two paths that under impossible circumstances still crossed, the accident that screwed the world having brought them together.

  The Resonance Cascade was the worst and also the best thing to have ever happened to them. Another grand paradox in the struggle, wonder and gift that is life.

[kuramirocket]

Whenever I visit Olvera Street, as I did a couple of weeks ago, my walk through the historic corridor is always the same.

Start at the plaza. Pass the stand where out-of-towners and politicians have donned sombreros and serapes for photos ever since the city turned this area into a tourist trap in 1930.

Look at the vendor stalls. Wonder if I need a new guayabera. Gobble up two beef taquitos bathed in avocado salsa at Cielito Lindo. Then return to my car and go home.

I’ve done this walk as a kid, and as an adult. For food crawls and quick lunches. With grad students on field trips, and with the late Anthony Bourdain for an episode of his “Parts Unknown.”

This last visit was different, though: I had my own camera crew with me.

My last chance at Hollywood fame was going to live or die on Olvera Street.

I was shooting a sizzle reel — footage that a producer will turn into a clip for television executives to determine whether I’m worthy of a show. In this case, I want to turn my 2012 book “Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America” into the next “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.” Or “Somebody Feed Phil.” Or an Alton Brown ripoff. Or a TikTok series.

Anything at this point, really.

For more than a decade, I’ve tried to break into Hollywood with some success — but the experience has left me cynical. Personal experience and the historical record have taught me that studios and streamers still want Mexicans to stay in the same cinematic lane that American film has paved for more than a century. We’re forever labeled… something. Exotic. Dangerous. Weighed down with problems. Never fully developed, autonomous humans. Always “Mexican.”

Even if we’re natives of Southern California. Especially if we’re natives of Southern California.

I hope my sizzle reel will lead to something different. I doubt it will because the issue is systemic. Industry executives, producers, directors and scriptwriters can only portray the Mexicans they know — and in a perverse, self-fulfilling prophecy, they mostly only know the Mexicans their industry depicts even in a region where Latinos make up nearly half the population.

The vicious cycle even infects creators like me.

As the film crew and I left for our next location, I stopped and looked around. We were right where I began, except I now looked south on Main Street. The plaza was to my left. City Hall loomed on the horizon. The vista was the same as the opening scene of “Bordertown,” a 1935 Warner Bros. film I had seen the night before. It was the first Hollywood movie to address modern-day Mexican Americans in Los Angeles.

What I saw was more than déjà vu. It was a reminder that 86 years later, Hollywood’s Mexican problem hasn’t really progressed at all.

Birth of a stereotype

Screen misrepresentation of Mexicans isn’t just a longstanding wrong; it’s an original sin. And it has an unsurprising Adam: D.W. Griffith.

He’s most infamous for reawakening the Ku Klux Klan with his 1915 epic “The Birth of a Nation.” Far less examined is how Griffith’s earliest works also helped give American filmmakers a language with which to typecast Mexicans.

Two of his first six films were so-called “greaser” movies, one-reelers where Mexican Americans were racialized as inherently criminal and played by white people. His 1908 effort “The Greaser’s Gauntlet” is the earliest film to use the slur in its title. Griffith filmed at least eight greaser movies on the East Coast before heading to Southern California in early 1910 for better weather.

The new setting allowed Griffith to double down on his Mexican obsession. He used the San Gabriel and San Juan Capistrano missions as backdrops for melodramas embossed with the Spanish Fantasy Heritage, the white California myth that romanticized the state’s Mexican past even as it discriminated against the Mexicans of the present.

In films such as his 1910 shorts “The Thread of Destiny,” “In Old California” (the first movie shot in what would become Hollywood) and “The Two Brothers,” Griffith codified cinematic Mexican characters and themes that persist. The reprobate father. The saintly mother. The wayward son. The idea that Mexicans are forever doomed because they’re, well, Mexicans.

Griffith based his plots not on how modern-day Mexicans actually lived, but rather on how white people thought they did. 

A riot nearly broke out as Latinos felt the scene mocked them. It was perhaps the earliest Latino protest against negative depictions of them on the big screen.

But the threat of angry Mexicans didn’t kill greaser movies. Griffith showed the box-office potential of the genre, and many American cinematic pioneers dabbled in them. Thomas Edison’s company shot some, as did its biggest rival, Vitagraph Studios. So did Mutual Film, an early home for Charlie Chaplin. Horror legend Lon Chaney played a greaser. The first western star, Broncho Billy Anderson, made a career out of besting them.

These films were so noxious that the Mexican government in 1922 banned studios that produced them from the country until they “retired... denigrating films from worldwide circulation,” according to a letter that Mexican President Álvaro Obregón wrote to his Secretariat of External Relations. The gambit worked: the greaser films ended. Screenwriters instead reimagined Mexicans as Latin lovers, Mexican spitfires, buffoons, peons, mere bandits and other negative stereotypes.

That’s why “Bordertown” surprised me when I finally saw it. The Warner Bros. movie, starring Paul Muni as an Eastside lawyer named Johnny Ramirez and Bette Davis as the temptress whom he spurns, was popular when released. Today, it’s almost impossible to see outside of a hard-to-find DVD and an occasional Muni marathon on Turner Classic Movies.

Based on a novel of the same name; Muni was a non-Mexican playing a Mexican. Johnny Ramirez had a fiery temper, a bad accent and repeatedly called his mother (played by Spanish actress Soledad Jiminez ) “mamacita,” who in turn calls him “Juanito.” The infamous, incredulous ending has Ramirez suddenly realizing the vacuity of his fast, fun life and returning to the Eastside “back where I belong ... with my own people.” And the film’s poster features a bug-eyed, sombrero-wearing Muni pawing a fetching Davis, even though Ramirez never made a move on Davis’ character or wore a sombrero.

These and other faux pas (like Ramirez’s friends singing “La Cucaracha” at a party) distract from a movie that didn’t try to mask the discrimination Mexicans faced in 1930s Los Angeles. Ramirez can’t find justice for his neighbor, who lost his produce truck after a drunk socialite on her way back from dinner at Las Golondrinas on Olvera Street smashed into it. That very socialite, whom Ramirez goes on to date (don’t ask), repeatedly calls him “Savage” as a term of endearment. When Ramirez tires of American bigotry and announces he’s moving south of the border to run a casino, a priest in brownface asks him to remain.

“For what?” Ramirez replies. “So those white little mugs who call themselves gentlemen and aristocrats can make a fool out of me?”

“Bordertown” sprung up from Warner Bros.’ Depression-era roster of social-problem films that served as a rough-edged alternative to the escapism offered by MGM, Disney and Paramount. But its makers committed the same error Griffith did: They fell back on tropes instead of talking to Mexicans right in front of them who might offer a better tale.

Just take the first shot of “Bordertown,” the one I inadvertently recreated on my television shoot.

Under a title that reads “Los Angeles … the Mexican Quarter,” viewers see Olvera Street’s plaza emptier than it should be. That’s because just four years earlier, immigration officials rounded up hundreds of individuals at that very spot. The move was part of a repatriation effort by the American government that saw them boot about a million Mexicans — citizens and not — from the United States during the 1930s.

Following that opening shot is a brief glimpse of a theater marquee that advertises a Mexican music trio called Los Madrugadores (“The Early Risers”). They were the most popular Spanish-language group in Southern California at the time, singing traditional corridos but also ballads about the struggles Mexicans faced in the United States. Lead singer Pedro J. González hosted a popular AM radio morning show heard as far away as Texas that mixed music and denunciations against racism.

By the time “Bordertown” was released in 1935, Gonzalez was in San Quentin, jailed by a false accusation of statutory rape pursued by an L.A. district attorney’s office happy to lock up a critic. He was freed in 1940 after the alleged victim recanted her confession, then summarily deported to Tijuana, where Gonzalez continued his career before returning to California in the 1970s.

Doesn’t Gonzalez and his times make a better movie than “Bordertown”? Warner Bros. could have offered a bold corrective to the image of Mexican Americans if they had just paid attention to their own footage! Instead, Gonzalez’s saga wouldn’t be told on film until a 1984 documentary and 1988 drama.

Both were shot in San Diego. Both received only limited screenings at theaters across the American Southwest and an airing on PBS before going on video. No streamer carries it.

How Hollywood imagines Mexicans versus how we really are turned real for me in 2013, when I became a consulting producer for a Fox cartoon about life on the U.S.-Mexico border.

The title? “Bordertown.”

It aired in 2015 and lasted one season. I enjoyed the end product. I even got to write an episode, which just so happened to be the series finale.

The gig was a dream long deferred. My bachelor’s degree from Chapman University was in film. I had visions of becoming the brown Tarantino or a Mexican Truffaut before journalism got in the way. Over the years, there was Hollywood interest in articles or columns I wrote but never anything that required I do more than a couple of meetings — or scripts by white screenwriters that went nowhere.

But “Bordertown” opened up more doors for me and inspired me to give Hollywood a go.

While I worked on the cartoon, I got another consulting producer credit on a Fusion special for comedian Al Madrigal and sold a script to ABC that same year about gentrification in Boyle Heights through the eyes of a restaurant years before the subject became a trend. Pitch meetings piled up with so much frequency that my childhood friends coined a nickname for me: Hollywood Gus.

My run wouldn’t last long. The microagressions became too annoying.

The veteran writers on “Bordertown” rolled their eyes any time I said that one of their jokes was clichéd, like the one about how eating beans gave our characters flatulent superpowers or the one about a donkey show in Tijuana. Or when they initially rejected a joke about menudo, saying no one knew what the soup was, and they weren’t happy when another Latino writer and I pointed out that you’re pretty clueless if you’ve lived in Southern California for a while and don’t know what menudo is.

The writers were so petty, in fact, that they snuck a line into the animated “Bordertown” where the main character said, “There’s nothing worse than a Mexican with glasses” — which is now my public email to forever remind me of how clueless Hollywood is.

The insults didn’t bother me so much as the insight I gained from those interactions: The only Latinos most Hollywood types know are the janitors and security guards at the studio, and nannies and gardeners at their homes. The few Latinos in the industry I met had assimilated into this worldview as well.

Could I blame them for their ignorance when it came to capturing Mexican American stories, especially those in Southern California? Of course I can.

What ended any aspirations for a full-time Hollywood career was a meeting with a television executive shortly after ABC passed on my Boyle Heights script (characters weren’t believable, per the rejection). They repeatedly asked that I think about doing a show about my father’s life, which didn’t interest me. Comedies about immigrant parents are clichéd at this point. So one day I blurted that I was more interested in telling my stories.

I never heard from the executive again.

A pair of boots

Five years later, and that Hollywood dream just won’t leave me.

I’m not leaving journalism. But at this point, I just want to prove to myself that I can help exorcise D.W. Griffith’s anti-Mexican demons from Hollywood once and for all. That I can show the Netflix honcho they were wrong for passing on a “Taco USA” series with the excuse that the topic of Mexican food in the United States was too “limited.” And the Food Network people who said they just couldn’t see a show about the subject as being as “fun” as it was. Or the bigtime Latino actor’s production company who wanted the rights to my "¡Ask a Mexican!” book, then ghosted me after I said I didn’t hold them but I did own the rights to my brain.

When this food-show sizzle reel gets cut, and I start my Hollywood jarabe anew, I’ll keep in mind a line in “Bordertown” that Johnny Ramirez said: “An American man can lift himself up by his bootstraps. All he needs is strength and a pair of boots.”

Mexicans have had the strength since forever in this town. But can Hollywood finally give us the botas?

[flutteringphalanges]

Hold Me Tight Under The Moonlight

Summary:  It's 1945 and the war with Germany is officially over. While all of Whitby has its own means of celebrating, Count Dracula has something a little bit more intimate planned for his night with Agatha. A surprise that surely will be memorable.

Chapters: 1/1 *Complete*

Pairing: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

A/N: Just a little, fluffy fic for you folks! Thank you again to my partner-in-crime, @mitsukatsu​, who makes all of this possible! She is responsible for this glorious cover! Please go to her tumblr and check out all of the fantastic art she does!  I hope you guys like it! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

Read on FFN and AO3

It was well into the night and yet, the atmosphere in the old tavern, Prospect of Whitby, was only growing. Cheers and loud conversations intermingled, all sharing the same theme. The war was finally over. Hitler was dead. Germany had surrendered. And soon, loved ones, some separated for years, would be reunited. It was cause for celebration. Peace would once again find England.

"Can I get you anything, Miss?"

Agatha turned her head to see a young man standing before her. A soldier. Handsome, with a wide smile and the brightest green eyes she'd ever seen. His accent was clearly American. New York perhaps? She'd never sampled one before, as tempting as it always was. Unlike someone, impulse control and resisting temptations came easy to her. But even though she fought it, her throat always burned making it painfully aware of her true nature.

"Oh, I'm quite alright," she assured him with a soft smile. "I don't drink."

"It's the end of the war," the young man laughed. "Can't you make an exception? Why, I…"

"She said she doesn't drink," came a low voice.

The scent of fear knitted with the sweet aroma of the soldier's blood. Agatha didn't need to turn around to know who stood looming over her. She chewed on her lower lip, biting back a grin as Dracula glared menacingly at her suitor. So overprotective. Almost annoyingly so. But she'd be lying if she didn't admit that it was charming in its own way. Not that he ever had a reason to be so possessive. Her heart, though still for decades, belonged to him. Just as his centuries old one was her's.

"I'm sorry," the man stumbled over his words. "I didn't realize she…"

"Wasn't alone?" Dracula finished. "Far from it. Now I highly suggest that you run along. It's never good to stray away from a party. Especially when it's so late."

Agatha rolled her eyes and turned forward, listening as the human scuttled off. She pretended to be interested in a spot on the counter as the other vampire sat beside her. It was rather surprising that it took him this long to locate her.

"Well, I didn't expect to find you here," he commented. "When I invited you for a drink, I hadn't intended on going to a pub."

"I know," she replied, trying to feign disinterest. "I desired a change in scenery. The war is over. What a time it truly is to be alive."

"Yes, yes, I know," the other vampire waved dismissively. "But with such festivities, we are missing out on a great opportunity to savor the diverse nightlife." He always had quite a way to put things. Even making the idea of sucking blood from a helpless human appealing. A trait she both despised and desired in him. "Won't you join me?"

The former nun turned her body just enough so that she was facing the majority of the bar patrons. People watching was something that fascinated her. It still hadn't quite sunken in that she was immortal. That sooner or later, every single being in the room would die. It certainly showed that life shouldn't be taken for granted. An acknowledgement she always did her best to keep in mind.

"Look how happy they are," she mused. "It's good to see that around."

"Your sentimental nature is both alluring and bothersome," her mate huffed. "There will always be more wars, more victories, more celebrations...you'll grow tired of it eventually. Humans are rather predictable."

"Was I?" She questioned, finally meeting his gaze.

"You were...an anomaly," the Count smirked. "A rare specimen amongst a drab populace."

"How poetic of you," Agatha snorted. "I'm surprised it took you centuries to find someone who could stand you."

"Ah, and it's always reassuring to see that both your sarcasm and quick wit have survived far past our first introduction those many, many years back." Dracula grinned, leaning close so that their foreheads touched. "I'd begin to worry if they didn't."

"You have a very odd way of flirting." She remarked, cocking an eyebrow. "One might even find it a little endearing."

"And that someone being you?"

"Perhaps."

She smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth before pulling away-much to the other vampire's dismay. By dawn, many ships would be docked at the port awaiting to transport soldiers back home-whether that be the United States or elsewhere. But until the sun rose, they seemed more than content to spend their last hours in England here.

"Have you reconsidered my proposal?" Dracula ventured, breaking the silence. "About leaving this establishment and going somewhere more private?"

"Do your intentions involve the consumption of blood?"

"Originally," he admitted. "But I'm assuming that is no longer an option. In any case, I'd at least like to leave here. Go somewhere more fitting. If you'd be so kind as to humor me."

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully. "Where did you have in mind?"

The Count was smiling once more as he extended a hand towards his mate. "I believe it's best that I show rather than tell," he answered. "It'd ruin the surprise."

If she had known that they'd be taking a midnight stroll through the fields, Agatha would've certainly put on different shoes. Her heels sunk into the soft ground, still saturated from the morning's rain and she found herself gripping onto Dracula's forearm to keep from slipping out of them. They'd be ruined for sure, but she didn't mind that much. She'd never really been into material things-something the Count didn't exactly understand. So there wouldn't be any shock if he'd immediately replace them.

"So," the former nun began, cutting through the silence. "Can I at least ask how far we are from your destination?"

"Reasonably close," he answered. "Not much longer now."

They kept walking, the breeze picking up and bringing with it the salty smell of the ocean. It reminded her of home. Of Holland. Of when, as a child, her family would travel to the sea. Good memories she hoped would stay with her as the years passed. That's why she'd grown to love Whitby. Watching as the little seaside town developed over time.

"And here we are!"

It took Agatha a moment to register where they were. More so why than anything else. Before them stood the ruins of what used to be Whitby Abbey. She remembered very clearly when it was severely damaged in the Raid on Scarborough, Hartlepool and Whitby in 1914. It had been the first time she'd witnessed war. Something that she would never forget.

"The Abbey…" She said slowly, looking at him in amusement. "Are you saying I should rejoin the Church?"

"I was going for the more ironic aspect of it," he smirked. "Though, you did wear that ridiculous habit of yours very well...even if you do look better without it or," and his eyes grew dark. "Without anything on."

"We didn't come up her for just sex did we?" Agatha snorted, arms folded over her chest. "While I'm quite fond of you, I'm not in the mood to roll around in the mud like some pig."

"A very beautiful pig," he added, earning him a smack on his arm. "What? I'm merely being honest."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Count Dracula," the former nun grinned. "Especially when you're doing a terrible job at it."

"Very well," the vampire sighed. "But we shall be revisiting this subject later. For now, my main reason for bringing you here," he motioned forward. "Ladies first."

The abbey was one of the greatest highlights of Whitby, provided that it offered such a great view of the town and the ocean depending on where a person stood. Agatha stood in the very center of it, watching as lights twinkled in the windows of nearby houses. She felt Dracula join her by her side, his fingers lightly brushing against hers. It truly was a wonderful place.

"Gorgeous," he commented.

"It is, isn't it?" Agatha greed.

"I wasn't referring to the view."

The former nun turned and eyed the Count's crooked smile. Her own lips pursed as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. They stood there silently, gazes locked on one another until a faint noise cut through the air. Music. Distant, most likely from one of the far off houses, but clear enough to be picked up by their heightened senses. Dracula once more held out his hand towards her.

"Might I have this dance?"

In the beginning, Agatha might as well have been born with two left feet with how poorly her skills on the dance floor were. She stumbled. Tripped. On more than one occasion stepped on Dracula's toes. It took months on his part to teach her to teach her to the point where one might consider her remotely decent. But it was worth it. She could now dance, on his lead of course, without feeling like a total fool. And so, with a small smile, Agatha took his hand.

"Are you surprised?"

Dracula watched her closely as they spun gracefully, careful to avoid pieces of stray stone that stuck up from the ground. Their dance floor was far from an ordinary ballroom, but they weren't exactly ordinary people.

"If I had known you planned to take me dancing, I would've dressed better for the occasion," she smirked, leaning into his chest. "Perhaps I was wrong about you lacking in the department of romance. This is rather nice."

"I try my best for you," he grinned. "Emphasis on try."

"And tonight you successed." Agatha complimented, gliding gracefully across the grass. "I'm impressed."

"Oh?" Dracula's movement changed to match the rhythm of the song. "Do I win an award?"

"Yes." A small smile played across her features. "You get to bask in my presence."

Her mate snorted, rolling his eyes. "You are quite the tease, Agatha Van Helsing."

"I am, as you put it, an anomaly." The woman replied, pushing herself onto the tips of her toes. "And you're very lucky to have me."

"I am."

Their lips met and though her blood no longer flowed in the way that a human's did, warmth spread throughout her. Dracula's arms wrapped around her waist as she allowed her eyes to close. There was no fiery passion, no animalistic hunger behind it. It was sweet. Endearing. One of her favorite moments to drink in and savor. Even when she pulled back, Agatha made sure not to break their embrace.

"Well, I suppose I should plan outings like this more often," he chuckled.

"I'm not one to object," Agatha replied, allowing her head to rest against his chest. "Thank you."

"Anything for my love," Dracula murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Even if it means I must act mawkish."

"If it is any consolation, I think it's rather becoming," she responded playfully. "I quite enjoy this side of you."

Before Dracula could reply, there was a faint buzz of static before the music, wherever it was being played, switched. A new melody began to float through the air and Agatha's eyes gazed off into the distance. Off to where the horizon was still blanketed by the night.

"Come," she finally said, catching his stare. "You owe me at least another dance before sunrise and I quite like this song. Let's celebrate tonight and however many nights we'll have together to follow. We can both afford to be sappy for now."

Dracula chuckled, his dark brown eyes meeting the blues of hers. "If that's what you want," he smiled, touching his forehead to hers. "Then may I have this dance?"

"Always."

[pizza-soup]

I'm glad my bro's friend has talked some sense into him. He's thinking twice now, and he's also discovering that a lot of his usual haunts in ABQ are still closed and may be that way for some time, so he'll have to make his own fun, which I've been saying for the past month. It's not going back to normal for awhile, so he better get used to not having as much variety in entertainment.

That's why I recommended we start making a summer schedule, a list of activities that don't involve going to the city. One of these is a remote summer camping trip. As my long time followers know, I've camped in very remote areas, places so far off the trail you could walk around without a stitch, not that you'd want to out here unless you wanted to get a sunburn from hell, but you get the idea. We don't even have to stay in one area to camp, we could go to a new spot every two days. There’s a lot little ghost towns out there to revisit too.

For local stuff, we can make frequent trips to the creek and rivers, take evening walks after dinner (something we've already been doing now), go urbexing, go on a photo safari, go hike, go out to the river at night and just be stupid, lol. I used to like taking breakfast real early in the morning to the riverside too. Really, he’s biggest complaint is that he’s tired of sitting at home gaming. It was fun at first, until it became nearly the only thing he could do for fun. Yup, see? Why do you think I’m into so many different arts and trades? 

Another thing I've been wanting to do is work on the backyard. Get rid of the wind panels, since the trees I planted are big enough now to be barriers. Re-dig the firepit to be wider to accommodate larger logs, as well as raising the grill plate. Then I can set up the patio table and chairs my mom gave me and we can start cooking/eating outside during the evenings for the rest of the summer and later on til the bonfire season.

My bro has been wanting to redo his room. He gets the full sun, so we were thinking of putting foil on the top part of the windows, getting some heavy curtains or maybe just putting his bookshelf against the window for now. This might give him more room for his computer and gaming set up. He has a lot of comics, movies and magazines to put in the garage as well. His room needs to be repainted in my opinion, the white walls are looking a tad dull, he doesn’t notice it, but I do. Summer’s also the perfect time to repaint, it’ll dry super fast. I’ve been thinking of repainting my room’s floor tbh, I’m tired of the design and red-white-gold theme, now I’m leaning toward neutrals.

There’s a lot to keep us busy and I doubt we’ll even get half of that done this summer. We won’t get bored. If we really want a project...we can tackle the garage. D: But I don’t want to think about that scary place.

[vegetacide]

Fluff●ember - Message

Veg●notable:  Dipping my toe into da fluff.  Will be posting either art or ficlets at random throughout the month and in no particular order.  As art takes me way longer to pump out, I most likely won’t get to all the prompts but will see what I can do. 

A massive thank you to @gumnut-logic for putting this together.

Characters: Virgil 

Universe: TaG’verse 

Prompt: #14 - Message

Enjoy 😊

oOo

It was a tradition that they had started in more recent years.  Falling back on an old game that they used to play during a childhood spent in a crowded farm house with little ears that loved to listen in on everything.  

Privacy of the ‘big boy’ nature had been needed and the two eldest Tracy’s had devised a way to keep things just between them.  

Conversations held late at night once the youngest had gone to bed could be done without the need to sneak away to the barn under the cover of night and fear of reprisal if Grandma discovered their nightly forays.  

Now it was as simple as knocking a quiet message on a shared bedroom wall. 

Many a brotherly conversation went on like this for years but as they grew older the need for it lessened until it stopped altogether. 

The necessity to revisit the old tactic came about rather randomly many years later.  With the brothers usually being scattered all over the four corners of the globe or above it at all hours of the day and night it meant that they grabbed sleep whenever and wherever they could.  

The unwritten rule of Do Not Disturb took on new meaning and silently walking about the living area of the villa became the norm. Consequently, because of this the light tapping of messages had resumed.  

The ritual of drumming out a quick "I'm safe" on a closed bedroom door upon returning to the island grew from that and for the two oldest brothers it acted as a means to reassure the other that everything was fine and worrying was unnecessary.  

It was less intrusive than comms and kept the sanctity and privacy of the bedroom intact.

The others were aware of this odd behavior between the two eldest siblings and on occasion after a grueling rescue had grown to expect it on their own doors, a fast rat-a-tat to signal that all was well had come to be a welcome and reassuring sound.

This particular night it was Virgil who was greeted by a silent house open his return to their volcanic island home.  With post flight done,  his mission log submitted, Virgil stumbled up from the hanger on sleep laden feet in search of one of three things; his eldest brother,�� coffee or his bed for a couple rounds of R.E.M sleep if the other two weren’t readily available. 

The comms room lay empty, the patio doors closed and main hub long since shut down. The kitchen was quiet, the smell of dinner long passed and most likely aired out if the burnt offerings in the sink said anything on the topic. 

Sighing with reluctant relief at the fact that he could indeed go to sleep without getting waylaid with a mission debrief, Virgil all but fell up the last flight of stairs and shuffled drunkenly down the long hallway. 

The sun was just starting to kiss the sky with the briefest slash of pale yellow slicing the starry blanket of night but Virgil really couldn't be bothered giving it a closer inspection.  

Had he not spent that last so many hours shuttling people out from a rain sodden hillside to safer ground, he might have the energy to spare.  A shower, and a face plant in warm sheets and a warmer body was all he could manage.  

Like always though he stopped at the door at the head of the hallway, reached out a hand and rapped a light but quick series on the smooth panel before continuing on his way.  

Even half awake, the action had become impulse and he knew that if their positions were reversed, there was no way he would be able to rest without knowing the other was safe and sound.  

Mission accomplished he slipped into his own room and sagged back against the door.  

A few seconds later, a light response came through the wall to his right and a soft smile curved up the tired line of his mouth.  

"Night Scott" He whispered to himself and dragged himself off to the bathroom for his much sought after shower and the waiting arms in his bed. 

End.

oOo

[missbrightsky]

Velaris National Park

Fics Masterlist

Chapter 1

Green light filtered through the canopy, patches of gold peppering the road ahead. Rolled down windows allowed the late spring air weave through the car, carrying the scent of growing things and warmth to wrap around us.

Elain had some 2000s pop station pouring from the speakers, all of us belting out the familiar words to our audience of Mother Nature. Nesta had called shotgun at the beginning, leaving me to have the back seat to stretch out, propping my feet on the bag that held our borrowed tent.

It was May in Prythian, warm and good and green. I had just graduated from my master’s program in Art History, my whole future stretching out ahead of me. Elain had insisted we celebrate but all of us were in educational debt and couldn’t afford to fly anywhere. Ever the florist, she found a state park a few hours away that boasted the largest collection of wildflowers in the country, one especially that bloomed once every three years. And because Elain was always lucky, this year was one of the few that it blooms in full.

A few days after graduation, she managed to wrangle Nesta away from the publishing house and me away from my couch and stuffed us all into her 2005 Honda.

Velaris National Park

Turn off 5 miles

Elain’s singing broke off mid-verse, a squeal replacing the lyrics as she pointed out the sign. I could only smile at her excitement; camping was never really our family’s thing, but her happiness was too infectious. At least I had managed to throw my sketchbook and watercolor pencils into my bag before she dragged me out the door. It had been a while since I had done some wildlife sketching, there was not a lot of green space or biodiversity in the city.

She turned down the music while Nesta and I straightened in our seats, ready to hop out of the car and get blood flowing back into our legs.

Even Nesta who normally tolerated Elain’s antics had a ghost of a smile playing around her lips, the fresh air loosening her iron grip on her emotions.

Elain slowed the car, turning right before the massive stone wall that announced the entrance to the park, gravel crunching under the tires.

The rough road weaved with the terrain, up and down and curving around hills and patches of meadows that peaked through the trees. We even rumbled over a wooden bridge that spanned the banks of a sparkling stream, the water throwing shimmering rainbows into the air.

A low log cabin-like building greeted us, its small parking lot only holding a Jeep with the park logo on the side and another car.

Elain turned the car off and all of us popped our doors open, slightly stumbling as our legs reacclimated to moving. Small groans slipped out of our mouths as we stretched feeling back into our lower halves, taking in the new environment.

A small sign in the window informed us of the park’s office hours and the emergency phone line. Elain pushed in first, a petite ding announcing our arrival.

The inside was a simple, square room, half the room stocked with souvenirs and anything campers may need in a pinch. A long, low counter ran along the back wall with an open doorway hinting at the back room. This was where a perky blonde emerged, greeting them with a bright smile. Her long hair was braided down her back, a forest green polo stamped with the logo somehow accented her curves instead of looking dorky and too stiff.

“Hi! Welcome to Velaris National Park. I’m Mor, what can I help y’all with today?”

“Hello! I’m Elain and these are my sisters Nesta and Feyre,” she gestured to each of us in turn, we all shook her hand, surprised to find it calloused and strong.

“How long do y’all plan on staying?”

“Two nights, please. And if you can point out on a map where the Starfall flower will be blooming?”

Mor laughed, a grin splitting her mouth. “I should’ve guessed, this is some of our busiest weeks of the year. Well, you’re in luck, we have only a few campsites left. Any preference to where?”

“None at all, we’re not too picky.”

“Perfect, how about y’all take site 20. It’s near the trailheads and not too far from the bathrooms.”

Elain turned to confirm with us, we each nodded back. Our lack of experience had us indifferent to where we camped, as long as it wasn’t out in the middle of nowhere.

Elain and Mor exchanged money and maps, paying for our spot and pointing out the major landmarks of the park.

“We do allow fires, as long as they’re in the designated fire pits. Please use the trash cans we have all along the park, anyone caught littering can be fined up to 200 dollars along with not being allowed to revisit the park. No glass or alcohol on park grounds. If y’all need anything, please don’t hesitate to call up to here the main office, and the numbers for our rangers are on the maps, along with the emergency line. Further into the park, cell service can get a little spotty, but as long as you stay near the trails, our rangers can spot you if you get into trouble. A little tip, don’t feed the wildlife, we have them on a diet,” she finished with a laugh and a wink. We laughed along with her, it was easy to feel a friendship forming with the bright woman.

“Well if that’s all y’all need, just keep following the road and you’ll see the signs pointing out the campsite. Parking gets a bit limited so try not to double park.”

We thanked her and headed out to pile back into the car.

As we were pulling out and getting back onto the road, I spotted one of the rangers on top of a horse.

The animal was tall, taller than any of the horses I had ever encountered before, and blacker than the deepest night sky. Its rider was sitting perfectly still, used to having to blend into the background.

I stifled a gasp. The ranger was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they peeked through the leaves, boring into mine. His shoulders were broad, covered with a khaki shirt, he gripped the horse with powerful legs clad in dark green pants that were tucked into wore brown boots.

Our car soon turned a corner, breaking my gaze from his, banishing me of the spell he had cast.

More gorgeous forest passed us by, feeding my artist's mind with texture and light and color. Maybe this trip would replenish my weary mind after years of rigorous study. I loved every minute of my classes, but it left little free time for drawing and painting.

Wooden signs ticked up, eventually indicating where our sight was. Once again parking, we exited the car and took in the scenery.

We were to share a small common area with a few other campers, picnic tables and grills dotting the grassy area. Two cars were already parked there, brightly colored tents peeking out from the bushes that gave each sight a bit of privacy. Under a massive oak tree, there was a ring of rocks that held gray and black ashes from prior fires, stumps surrounding it for us to sit and enjoy the company.

I grabbed the tent from the backseat and slung my pack over my shoulder, leading the way to the small clearing that would be our home for the next few days. It was simply packed dirt, slightly raised from the rest of the ground so that if it rained, our tent would not get flooded.

I had never set up a tent before but with the instructions from the bag combined with the store owners’ tips, it was soon popped up in no time. Maybe only slightly leaning to the left but that would be a problem for later.

Nesta had pulled out our coolers of food, prepping sandwiches for a late lunch. Elain was already off in the surrounding area, making notes of the greenery and wildflowers that grew nearby. It was not the elusive Starfall but it did not take much for her to get wrapped up in flora.

Satisfied at my work, I tossed our bags into the tent and zipped it up. We could unpack after a bit of exploring.

Joining Nesta at the table, I swiped one of the completed sandwiches, ignoring her protest to wait for Elain. She was the one who refused to stop for lunch so she would just have to get the next one.

My fingers itched to start drawing the massive oak tree, its complex branches and multicolored leaves begging to be noticed and put onto paper. My stomach, however, told me it can wait.

Nesta somehow pulled Elain away from a blue flower, convincing her that it won’t disappear in the next 15 minutes.

“So, what’s first on the agenda, sis?” I asked her.

“Well it is getting a little late so I don’t want to go too far before it gets dark, but I thought we could start with one of the short trails!” Elain radiated energy, feeding off the teeming forest around us.

I smiled back at her, excited to start cataloging the world around us. We finished off the sandwiches and repacked the coolers into the car. One thing we all learned from watching TV was to not let wild animals get into a camper’s stash of food.

A quick trip into the tent had us changed into t-shirts, shorts and tennis shoes with light jackets tied to our waists. Even with Prythian warming up, the nights could still get a bit cool.

Elain consulted the map Mor gave us, confidently leading us to the first trailhead. It was only two miles long and would introduce us to the wildlife we could see in the park.

Every few hundred feet, plastic signs would pop up, listing fun facts about the park and giving an example of some of its inhabitants. Some would show a burst of color followed by the flower’s common name, scientific name and any medicinal or historical facts about it. Others would tell you how to spot an animal camouflaged in the surrounding foliage.

We all talked and joked with each other, with no tension that usually accompanied us when we got together. Nesta told us a story about an author that tried to sneak in her friends’ manuscript that turned out to be an awful rendition of Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. By the end, all of us were in stitches and barely able to walk, clinging onto tree trunks and each other in an attempt to stay upright.

Just as the sky was glowing orange and pink, the trail delivered us back to the beginning of the campsites, all we had to do was follow the gravel road back to ours.

The smell of meat and potatoes set our stomachs growling, the sandwiches from earlier long gone from the hike and laughter.

The other campers that were out earlier had returned.

“Howdy!” one of the men shouted at us waving his arm. He looked to be in his late fifties with combed back salt and pepper hair, sporting cargo pants and a navy long sleeve to ward off any wayward cool breezes.

We all gave back nervous smiles, unsure of who our neighbors were.

“Kevin,” a voice scolded, “you can’t just yell at unsuspecting young girls.” The source of the admonishment appeared from the bushes.

“Sorry about my husband, he’s just excited to have more company,” a man apologized. He also looked to be in his fifties, a bit shorter than Mike but leaner. Dark brown skin was covered in matching cargo pants, but a faded Prythian U sweatshirt covered his torso.

“I’m Raymond, this is our third night at the park.”

We tried not to look too relieved as we shook his hand. All of us had experience taking care of ourselves but we were in the middle of a national park with the other nearest humans about 50 yards down the road.

Kevin looked appropriately sheepish as he came to greet us. “Sorry about that, I am excited to have more company. The couple that’s over there just keeps glaring at us and avoids us like the plague.” His words were playful enough but there was a deeper sadness buried in his eyes as if he was used to this sort of treatment.

“Well it’s awesome to meet you,” Elain gushed, ever the social butterfly. “I’m Elain and these are my sisters, Nesta and Feyre. We’re here in celebration of Feyre graduating!”

“Congratulations! Where from?” Raymond asked.

“Well you’re actually wearing my college right now,” I replied with a smile. There were tons of people who went to Pryth U but it was always fun to meet someone who graduated there in the past.

I fell into conversation with Ray, who insisted on using the shorter version of his name about the campus and how much it has changed from when he was there. He was an engineering major but still asked me a million questions about the art history department and why I wanted to get my masters there. Elain roped Kevin into a debate about botany and the best soil for growing tulips in. It sounded like he was also in the flower business and was here to see the blooming of Starfalls.

Nesta was never one to make easy friends and opted to start our dinner, taking over the grill next to Kevin’s. Tonight was burgers with potato chips and then s’mores for dessert that would be roasted over the campfire.

Dinner was full of lively conversation under the night sky. We were far enough away from the city’s light pollution that we were able to make out constellations that we had only read about and see the dusting of galaxies that spanned the sky.

“And that’s when the professor realized he had designed a system that looked exactly like a dick!” We burst out laughing at the end of Ray’s story from his time in college, even Nesta couldn’t keep her giggles contained at the raunchy tale.

Our cheeks were rosy from the fire that crackled happily before us, the smell of burnt marshmallow filling the air. As perfect as Nesta was at everything, it took her a few tries to get the timing and distance right for roasting.

“Sounds like I missed a hell of a tale,” the new midnight voice sent shivers down my spine.

“Ah! Rhys! I was wondering when you would show up,” Kevin greeted the newcomer. “Where are Cas and Az?”

The figure stepped into the ring of light and perched on an open stump beside Feyre. I forced myself not to freeze and stare at him. It was the same man I saw on top of the horse.

Closer up I could see how his dark hair shone blue in the firelight, no longer hidden beneath the Mountie hat he wore earlier.

He shifted his body to angle slightly towards me, catching my eyes with his. They were so blue they seemed to be an impossible violet, sparking with hidden laughter at an inside joke. “They’re right behind me,” he said without breaking eye contact with me.

I forced my eyes to drop to the page I was intermittently sketching on. I was lucky that I had started a new outline of the stream we passed on the way in instead of still having the sketch of him on his horse open. Hopefully the blush that was already on my cheeks hid the new blood that was rushing there.

“What was all that laughing about? I hope someone was making fun of Rhys,” another male voice called out as he came into view. He was tall and even more well-muscled than the man beside me but had his dark hair pulled into a low bun on the nape of his neck and his eyes glowed amber.

Rhys broke his stare at me to twist to the man, “No, I was telling them about the time you got stuck in what you thought was quicksand but turned out to be just a massive mud pit,” he shot back. The group laughed at the retort, including me while trying to shake off my embarrassment.

He pouted at the memory, “Aw com’on, you promised you would stop bringing that up.”

“Never in your dreams, brother.”

“Cas, come sit by me and have a s’more, I’m sure you thought you were right at the time,” Kevin teased, offering a marshmallow already speared on a stick. Cas threw one more sulky look at Rhys and walked over to where Kevin and Nesta were sitting. Nesta sized up the addition, bracing herself for interaction.

Cas saw her reaction, immediately forgetting his brother’s teasing. There was a new opponent to spare with. He aimed a feral grin at her, spurring her to narrow her eyes at his assessment.

A final figure, presumably Az, emerged from the dark, almost as if melting from it. He nodded a polite greeting to the group opting to stand near Ray and Elain. It took no time at all for her sister to draw him into a conversation about what all she can see at the park and if she was allowed to take any wildflower clippings home to preserve.

I turned back to my book, darkening the path the water took over, around and through the stones on the creek bed. The weight of Rhys’s gaze settled over me, making me tighten my grip on the pencil.

“You’re a good artist,” he remarked.

I smiled slightly in his direction. “I would hope so, I staked most of my career on it.”

“You do this professionally?”

“Well, I hope so someday,” I admitted, “I just graduated with a master’s in art history.”

“Really? Congrats. What’s next for you?”

He finally succeeded in pulling me away from the drawing, meeting his gaze again, looking for any sign of mockery at my chosen path. Most heard the words “art history” and assumed I would become a starving artist or elementary art school teacher.

There was no trace of judgment in his face, only open curiosity.

“In my dreams, I would open up my own studio, maybe a few galleries. For now, I’ve applied to a few museums as a curator and I have an interview with one of them next week.”

“I hope it goes well, anyone who can draw that well must know a thing or two about Picasso.”

I barked a laugh at his statement, “I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are,” giggling my way through the sentence. “You won’t believe the number of students I met who couldn’t tell the difference between Picasso and their own ass.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, followed by laughter rich and clear as a bell spilling from his mouth. “I can believe it, I’ve met my fair share of idiots in this world.”

“I bet, being a park ranger must set you up for a whole slew of idiots who watched one episode of Bear Grylls and thinks they can survive out here with nothing more than their wits.”

His face jokingly darkened, “Do. Not. Get. Me. Started.”

“Please, start,” my sketch was now long forgotten, pulled into his expressive voice and body. He wove the tale of a couple that thought they could go all Naked and Afraid only 20 feet off the trail, managing to get as far as cutting down a few trees to start a shelter before another camper contacted them and they were able to stop them from scarring any more people.

My cheeks hurt from the constant smiling and laughter, unable to stop myself from leaning closer to catch every detail.

By the end of his story, our knees were brushing each other every few seconds, both of us catching our breath. He paused at the end, taking the small bubble we had trapped ourselves in.

His eyes dipped to brush my lips before meeting mine again. My breath caught in my throat at the intensity of his gaze, heat blooming across my cheeks and down my neck. Our shared air was sweet with chocolate and heavy with anticipation…

A hiss startled us apart.

Across the fire, Nesta looked to be about two seconds away from slapping Cas, fury twisting her face into a knot. Cas looked like he was the cat that got the cream, lazily reclining against the stump, looking up into her wrathful face.

“And that’s our queue,” Rhys muttered under his breath. “It was wonderful to talk with you. I’ll see you around the park.”

I blinked a few times, mentally shaking myself out of the trance he put me in. “Uh, yeah sure, see you around.”

“Cas, Az,” his voice was sharp, “We need to go to the next campsite. Thank you for the s’mores and have a good evening everyone.” He pulled his brothers away, retreating into the dark. From the blackness came the sound of a sharp slap and angry words being whispered.

Everyone exchanged awkward looks at their departure. Nesta was still fuming, glaring at the direction they disappeared in. Feyre and Elain knew better that the question her on what Cas said, knowing it would only infuriate her more.

“It’s been a long day, and we have a lot of hiking tomorrow,” I broke through the tension, “I’m off to bed.” Elain and Nesta got up to join me, bidding Kevin and Raymond good night and that they’ll see them for breakfast.

Elain and I exchanged worried looks behind Nesta’s back, but it would be better to let her sleep it off. She was quick to anger but given time, could squash it back down.

We all climbed into the tent, leaving our shoes by the door. It was colder away from the fire, so we didn’t waste time layering on warmer clothes and crawling into our respective sleeping bags.

I fell asleep with purple eyes burning behind my eyelids, chasing me through my fitful dreams.

Next Chapter

[mysticsparklewings]

A Monster Trap

Happy Halloween! :D I hadn't originally planned on making a piece specifically for Halloween, or at least nothing more so than my Spoopy Kitty I did back in September. But one night a few nights ago, I was feeling artistically inclined but with no solid/good ideas to run with. After scrolling through some photos on my phone I'd taken or saved specifically for inspiration, I came across one I'd taken about a year ago, of a Halloween decoration one of my friends got from Michaels. A pretty gnarly plastic Venus Flytrap that I think very few of us would be eager to encounter if it was real and alive. That night I was just having a really hard time trying to draw much of anything--the want to make art was there, but evidently, something integral to the process was not, or was just very very off--so I struggled through a few preliminary sketches before managing to tackle one that I felt was half-decent. Still, but the time I got that far, it was late and I was tired, so I let the sketches rest for the night. I came back to them later, naturally. I'd had plans to draw this thing for so long and I had finally sort-of started; maybe something could be salvaged and turned into a final piece. Fortunately, upon coming back to it something had shifted back into place and I had a much easier time finishing up the sketch and decided what to do and where to take it afterward. Recently, I acquired some 400 series watercolor paper by Strathmore, which has seemed to be a little divisive among watercolor artists I watch/follow. Some use it as their standard, go-to watercolor paper, others say it's eh, okay but not great or their first choice and others swear it off entirely because it's not 100% cotton. I don't think I've ever seen one specific paper have so many wildly differing opinions among upper-tier artists. This is largely why I wanted to get some; I wanted to see what it was like for myself. And in general, I've been trying out different walks of watercolor paper to see what the best buying option for me is. I'm not going to do a super in-depth review like you might expect when I come home with some new pencils or markers or whatever, as I don't feel like I have enough knowledge of paper to do that, but I am here to tell you that I liked the paper just fine. In a way, I think it lands somewhere between the 100% cotton paper that I've tried (Canson L'Aquarelle Heritage) and the Canson XL that's usually "artists' first watercolor paper" because it's so accessible and cheap. It doesn't behave quite like the cotton paper--the paint dries a little more quickly and flows a bit differently--but I think it's close enough for my taste that it'll work just fine when I run out of my current cotton stash and am too frugal to spend $20+ on some more. (My current stash consists of lucky clearance finds that were like $5 each, for reference.) That is coming from someone that isn't a professional at watercolor and hasn't grown attached to using 100% cotton paper, though. So maybe take my thoughts with a grain of salt, depending on your situation? This was also my first time since I was a very small child in using a Micron pen (I don't know why I had one in my possession to use back then; I didn't even know what it was at the time, I just remember that distinct beige barrel and the various markings on the outside of the pen that define it as what it is). Hard to believe, right? Microns are such an artist staple! I've just had other options in my possession that work just fine for me before. But the same day I picked up the watercolor paper, I had coupons to use and decided to pick one up and finally try them out. And no complaints there; it didn't move at all once I started in with the water and paint, which is all I could really ask for. The real test is going to be seeing how it resists smudging with alcohol markers, but that's for another day.   Anyway. Point is, I chose to try out that paper for the first time here since I didn't think what I wanted to do with this piece would be a good fit for alcohol markers and I didn't feel like investing the time it would take to do it in colored pencils, either. I wanted something that was looser and quicker, which led me to watercolor. Well, sort of. Watercolor can be quick for me depending on what I'm doing. For certain projects, it's more time and hassle than I'm willing to put up with. And it also depends on which paints I'm reaching for too. This time I decided to revisit my Viviva watercolor sheets since I haven't used them much lately but by their very nature, they're one of the quick'n'easiest sets I have. I used them for the entirety of the plant/creature, including his pot. The colors aren't quite as they are in my reference photo, but I knew that wouldn't be the case going in. The colors might also be a little funky/shaded strangely because I didn't feel like dragging out a mixing palette, so I just used the colors straight off the sheets and any mixing was done on-the-fly. And by fly I mean paper. Which created some interesting things inside the mouth that I rather like.  The hardest part was getting the red on the leaves without the colors turning to mud, but even that turned out pretty alright. And after that, the plan was to be done. But it felt...empty. It needed more. Once I gave it some thought, I picked out a black, gray, and a metallic (though that part doesn't show up on the scan) pale spring green color in my Faber Castell Gelatos and scribbled in a few places in the background, then uses my watercolor brush to spread the color around and blend things together a little. Then I went back and forth on that process for a bit to get it all just right. I went with the gelatos because I wanted the flat, bright colors of my plant monster thing to still stand out, but I didn't think the soft look of adding some PanPastel in the background would suit the tone here.  Additionally, this was a test of new watercolor paper, and I thought using the water-soluble gelatos for some texture might be a good way to push its limits a little more. And yet even after that, it was still missing something. I'm not sure where the idea came from, but eventually, it came upon me to do a faux-blood-splatter, primarily stemming from the bottom right corner. For this, I ended up using one of my Jane Davenport Mermaid Markers, since I tried an Inktense pencil and it wasn't doing much of anything, and I didn't feel like dragging out a more involved form of watercolor to do it. It took some patience and trial and error (and a paper mask so I wouldn't get any on Mr. Flytrap), but I did manage to get pretty much what I wanted out of it in the end. And...I guess that's pretty much the end of the story of my monstrous venus flytrap  (Which is where the title came from; he's one monster of a venus flytrap!) He's not terribly complicated, but I like him. And it's something a little less conventional for a Halloween piece, which makes me happy.   My plans for today/tonight so far don't go beyond posting this and dropping by Krispy Kreme (because tonight if you go in-costume you get a free donut), but that's more than I had planned for last year, so I'll take it. Do you guys have anything fun planned for All Hallows this Eve? ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[homesoutofhuman]

Part 10 - I just called to say I love you

Warning: smut ahoy

I just called to say I love you I just called to say how much I care I just called to say I love you And I mean it from the bottom of my heart

- I just called to say I love you, Stevie Wonder

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

Your misdirection has worked, and although you cannot bear to see John looking so sad, you are relieved to see Santino no longer looks in the mood for a fight. You turn to your husband gently.

“Can you let me have 5 minutes Santino? I just want to thank Dr Wick...then we can go home…”

He snorts at you, his eyes still a little suspicious, but you squeeze his hand, well versed in manipulation and he nods.

“Fine. Don’t take too long,” He goes, muttering under his breath.

As soon as he’s gone John turns on you, his beautiful brown eyes glistening with hurt.

“We’re back to Dr Wick now? You weren’t calling me that in the storage cupboard…”

He is sulking and you feel frustrated, grabbing his hand. “Don’t be a baby, John. You know why I spoke that way. Santino is a powerful man...I don’t want you hurt…”

John blinks, puzzled, then frowns. “I’m not scared of your husband (y/n). He’s all talk…”

“Maybe…” you sigh and lift his hand to your lips to kiss it. John lets out a gentle sigh.

“Now you’re being unfair. I have to say goodbye to you...I don’t want to…”

He sits on the bed and pulls you into his arms. You dart a worried look towards the doorway but sink into his embrace, clinging onto him and feeling his warmth soak into you, relaxing your tense muscles. Suddenly, the reality that you have to leave him washes over you and you whimper, searching for his mouth in desperation.

John kisses you, a kiss designed to make sure you won’t forget him, leaving some of his gentleness behind as he cups your face and passionately covers your mouth with his. By the end of the kiss you’re a wilting mess in his arms.

“It’s going to be okay.” he reassures you gently and you catch his smile, smiling back, flushing a bit, remembering what you just shared together.

John gives a small smirk and presses his thumb into your dimple. “I’m far from finished with you….”

He smooths your hair, moving to zip up your suitcase just as Santino strides back into the room.

“All done with the goodbyes? Honestly...you’d think this was a fucking summer camp...it’s definitely time to go home…”

You nod and stand shakily. John clenches his fists by his sides not to rush to help you, Santino gives you a cold glance and lets you struggle alone. You walk out of the hospital doors, everything moving around you almost in slow motion.  You sit in the Lamborghini  and concentrate on breathing calmly. Santino drives you back home, lost in his own thoughts.

You struggle up the steps and he does help you then, his hand on your back, and you feel guilty as you instantly compare it to John’s larger, warmer one.

“I’m going to take a nap...I’m beat from the journey…”

Santino nods, his eyes scanning your face. “I was thinking of booking a holiday for us...we could go back to Rome...revisit where we first fell in love…”

You sigh, knowing you should take it as a sweet gesture, but you know your husband too well, and you know he is just trying to get you out of the country and away from a certain handsome doctor.

“I need to go back to the hospital every week for a checkup...Dr Wick told you that…”

Santino makes an annoyed sound in his throat. “How could I fucking forget? Of course my precious...we’ll stay here…”

The look he gives you is far from fond, so you stumble upstairs as fast as you can, hearing him on the phone, you hope he will be distracted by work. You flop down onto your four-poster bed and look around the room which seems ornate and gaudy compared to the simple white walls of the hospital. It is strange how quickly you began to think of the hospital as home, and you already feel a longing in your chest for those you’ve left behind.

Your phone buzzes quietly in your pocket and you pull it out, seeing a number you don’t recognise. You answer cautiously and a deep, familiar voice caresses your ear, making you smile.

“I miss you already…” says John and you sigh, letting his voice calm you down as you move to lean back into the pillows.

“I miss you too…so much, John…how did you get my number?”

You’re pleased about it, but surprised. John explains a little guiltily he stole it from your file.

“I’m just with Nora...she wants to say hi.”

You hear him pass the phone and the voice of your sassy little friend tells you she is feeling better but wishes she got to say goodbye.

“I wish that too Nora...but I’ll come and visit.”

Delighted with your promise you hear a skirmish between her and John for phone.  John must come out the winner as you hear his voice alone next.

“I’m back...I’ve left Nora’s room.” he makes a sound almost like a whimper. “I need to kiss you…”

You sigh, his tone and his eagerness causing a tingle between your legs, but you try to be sensible. “We need to be careful, Santino is already suspicious.”

John gives a harsh sigh down the phone. “I don’t care about him. I care about you…”

You whimper a bit to hear him say it out loud like that. “John...do you really?”

“Why, did you think this was just fun to me?”

You can almost imagine him frowning in that beautifully confused way of his and giggle a bit at the image, teasing him playfully.

“So you don’t do that with all your patients?”

His answer is fervent “No. Only you. And I can still taste you on my tongue…”

You shiver, tipping your head back against the pillow, pressing the phone closer to your ear so you can hear him more clearly.

“I never felt that way before John….you made me so dizzy I couldn’t control myself.”

He chuckles and the sound goes right to the spot between your legs. “Do you want more?”

“You know I do.” you answer quickly.

He groans “Shit. I’m still at work. Can I call you back later?”

“Why Dr Wick, are you trying to talk dirty to me over the phone?”

“Yes.” he replies candidly and you flush. “If I can’t touch you myself then at least I can hear you do it…”

“Or watch…” you suggest, stunned at your own boldness. “We do have camera phones y’know, this is the 21st century old man…”

“Oh shush your pretty mouth. You know I’m old school. I like vinyl and face-to-face conversation.”

“I like that about you. You’re so adorable John…”

He makes a muffled sound of protest. “I’m going to have to show you I’m not just a ‘nice guy’ doctor aren’t I?”

You find yourself intrigued by the promise. “You can start later tonight. I’ll be waiting. I want to see your handsome face.”

“Santino won’t bother you?”

“No. We...sleep separately.”

“What? Since when?”

“He has a bad back and gets restless...I sleep late when he goes to work so we figured...it worked smoother this way.”

“Well it certainly makes me feel better but I am sorry for you my baby…”

Hearing him call you ‘baby’ melts your heart and you feel an almost physical longing for him. “I wish I had you in my bed John…”

“Not as much as I wish I was there (y/n). Listen...fuck..I gotta go but I’ll see when I get home…bye for now…”

“Bye…” you sadly end the call and drop back against the bed with a pathetic whimper.  

You tell Santino you’re having an early night and take a bath in your en-suite, trying to relax. Your gaze falls on  the shower and remember your accident, pondering how if you hadn’t fallen you’d never have met John. 

You sing softly under your breath, a sad love song, thinking about him. He lifts your heart, makes you feel like your old and true self, makes you feel like there is hope life can change and get better. You know that you’re in deep but somehow you’re not afraid because of the best thing he does for you; he makes you feel you are truly lovable.

---------

You’re listening to soft music, checking for art gallery jobs when your phone flashes. It is John requesting to FaceTime with you and you smile. Answering, you are confronted with a close-up of dark stubble shot with specks of grey.

“It’s too close John…” you giggle fondly.

“Oh...sorry…” he pulls back and you can see him sitting on a brown leather sofa. He looks tired, but achingly gorgeous. A slightly rumpled grey t-shirt replacing his scrubs.

“You look good.” you say a little breathlessly.

He rubs a hand over his face “I doubt it. I had a long shift, and I was cut up about you leaving. Almost made a mess of some poor man’s stitches.”

You touch your forehead. John’s work on you was so delicate you’ve been left with only a tiny white mark the shape of crescent moon just beneath your hairline, and you’re finding you like the scar, it reminds you of him.

John watches you. His dark eyes running over your face properly, taking advantage of the chance the phone gives him. Maybe technology isn’t so bad after all, he thinks.

“You’re beautiful…” he tells you, and you see him blushing.

“John? I thought you were going to show me Dr ‘not a nice guy’” you tease him gently, touched by his softness.

He blushes even more. “Actually I was having a very ‘not nice guy’ thought.”

“What? Tell me…”

“I want to see more of you…”

Without hesitation you angle the phone downwards so he can see the top of your breasts. You’re wearing the lace nightdress he liked so much before and it covers very little of your skin.  When you look back at the phone John is breathing hard, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly.  

“I have a confession to make…” he pants.

You tilt your head. The sight of him getting turned on just from looking at you is making you feel like a vixen. You bite your lip. “You better tell me quick…”

“I….you know you couldn’t find your underwear in the supply closet? That’s cause I took them…”

“John!” you whimper, the thought scandalising you and turning you on at the same time. “Why? Why did you take them?”

John hangs his head but gives you puppy dog eyes. “I wanted to keep a part of you.”

He digs in his jeans and to your embarrassment pulls out your panties, bringing them to his nose and inhaling.

“I fucking love the way you smell…”

“...John…” you almost moan, the look in his eyes is hungry, lustful. Your sweet-natured doctor is sniffing your underwear, and it’s hotter than hell.

“I need you so much sweetheart…” he groans and you twist against your bed, your pussy throbbing in response.

“I need you too…”

You hear the sound of metal jangling, John is removing his belt. Your mouth goes dry. Even though you can’t see below his torso, you can imagine how hard he is.

“Touch yourself for me…” he commands in a low, soft voice, sounding just like he did when he was checking you over in the hospital, but this time, laced with sin.

“What do you mean?” you act dumb, stalling for a moment, stunned with lust, but worrying you will fall short of his expectations.

“As if I was touching you...please…”

You let your fingers skim the top of your cleavage, moving from your collarbone downwards, pushing aside the silk of your nightdress to expose your breasts. You see John lick his lips.

“Fuck sweetheart you’re so sexy….I love your breasts. Squeeze those pretty nipples for me…”

Your cheeks are on fire, but you’re soaking against your own sheets at his words, so you obey, hearing him hiss in response.

“Do you like that?” he asks, his voice shaking as he stares into the phone with such intensity you almost feel like he’s there with you.

“Yes John...they’re sensitive...but I wish it was you touching me…”

You keep your voice low, just in case Santino can hear you, but he’s in another part of the house far away, so you feel you are safe. John’s harsh breathing echoes in your ear and you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating through the phone.

“I wish that too.” he says vehemently, “I want you so badly…”

He sounds almost in pain and in a rush of sympathy you move to undress so you’re completely naked. Your desire for him outstripping your shyness.

John gasps as you move the phone to show him your body and you hear him unzip his jeans. You remember the size of him, how big he was when you held him in your hand and you wish once again he was really there in your bed.

“Are you...pleasuring  yourself John?” you ask, voice shaking with nervous craving and he nods, bringing your panties to his face as he strokes himself, watching you through the screen with dark eyes.

“You too….” he urges and you let your hand trail down your front and between your legs.

“How?” You want him to instruct you, to command you almost and you’re not sure where that desire came from.

“Pet that lovely little clit of yours...fuck it felt so good against my tongue…”

So it turns out John is amazing at phone sex. 

“You were so wet, tasted so good, made me practically purr…”

“I remember…” you tell him, moving your fingers slowly at first, but speeding up as you see his own wrist moving faster, his face twisting with pleasure.

“Oh God...gorgeous please….put your fingers inside you...imagine they’re mine...”

You follow his instructions, whimpering at the image as well as in anguish at the fact your smaller fingers feel nothing like John’s lovely long, thick ones.

John is sweating, his head pushing back against the couch as he desperately tries to keep his eyes open and watch what you’re doing.

“How does it feel lovely? I remember you being so tight....”

You let out a tiny grunt of effort, trying to hold back your orgasm until he tells you. “It feels...oh if it was you...I wish it was you...”

“It will be me.” he groans passionately “I’m going to be inside you so soon...I promise...and it will be even more incredible than we can imagine...I can’t wait to make love to you....”

His words descend into groans and you pause in chasing your own orgasm to watch him. His face scrunched in ecstasy, the obscene sound of him jerking his cock, he blinks at you with eyes drugged with carnality, his mouth hanging open as he comes with your name on his lips.

You rub yourself, taking it all in, and even surprise yourself at the white hot pleasure that hits you suddenly as you reach your climax, your body arching off the bed, muffling your cries with your own hand.

John watches you, wishing he could record the scene somehow. When you both recover you exchange slightly shy but knowing smirks. You shared something intimate and you feel so close to him.

“John that was....so good...”

“I know....all my stress has just drained away...but I really have to just go collapse into bed now.”

You laugh fondly. “And my underwear?”

“I kinda messed them up I’m sorry...” he shifts awkwardly in his seat and you cover your face with shyness.

“Oh my god...John you didn’t...”

He grins then. “I’ll buy you more don’t worry.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t realise what a pervert my doctor was.”

“Again...only with you...” he confirms and your heart aches at his sincere expression.

“Sleep well doctor, you deserve it.”

“I just wish I could hold you...”

He’s starting to look melancholy so you shush him. “Soon, I promise, okay?”

John looks so hopeful, blowing kisses down the phone when you say goodbye. You turn your light off to sleep and wonder how the hell you're going to keep that promise.

[soysaucevictim]

One of these days - I’ll get my exercise stuff back on schedule. And my sleep hygiene, for that matter. Also this post is long. orz

-

May 27

I got up a bit after 2PM, today.

The only thing exercise-related I managed to get done today was the DD. 15 pike push-ups with EC. Form was just acceptable. But that's how it is for push-ups for me. :P

Pretty much the only other productive things I got around to doing today was doing some dishes and washing my hair.

Yeah. You know the drill at this point. :/

-

May 28

I technically got up around 6AM for a bit before getting some coffee going and sleeping til a bit after 7:30. Didn’t have the most restful night’s sleep.

One of the first things I did while at the facility was the DD. 20 up/down planks with EC. Got a bit winded from it... mostly from not running on enough sleep for it. But I got though it. :P

I was nevertheless in a pretty bad way (about the stuff mentioned in last post, bleh). Talked a bit about it at the facility (I probably REALLY need to review my WRAP). Made some vent art and vented about it with a friend and a peer advocate... did help.

Got home, got some Subway... and pretty much tanked my whole day with the usual noise.

I wound up also feeling too tired to be up for my workouts anyways.

-

May 29

I got up after 2PM today.

Mostly spent my day with the usual... and wound up getting my exercise a bit later than intended for it. (Oi... I’m so behind schedule...)

First, today’s DD. 30 circle crunches with EC. Not much to say other than I found this fun and manageable.

Second, Day 27 of the YCal. Today’s video was “Yoga Rinse“. This was a fun revisit for me, given that I already had it in my favorites list. There was a lot to like about this sequence. My favorite bit might be that wide-legged forward fold stuff. :D

Third, Day 28 of the YCal. Today’s video was “Head & Heart Reset“. I also enjoyed this sequence enough to add it to my favorites. But my shoulders did get pretty tired by the end - possibly also from stacking it on top of the previous workout.

Fourth, Days 26+27 of the PWC. 9′+2′ of march steps. Counted 874 and 204 steps respectively. Pretty to the point.

Last, Days 26+27 of the 1′MC. I like this challenge - but I guess I should soon get back to longer sessions to get more out of it. *Shrugs.*

-

May 30

I did wake up at about 7:30AM again.

Got to the facility and had to lie down for a bit because I was too tired to do anything, right off. But after some light snooze, I did get in the DD, too. 30 jump squats with EC. Being sleep-deprived made it far more winding than it should have been. Oof. :U

WRAP Group went okay and I mostly spent the rest of my time there socializing and listening to music.

Got back home and pretty much immediately needed to take a nap for a few hours.

Then was up to the same time-wasting nonsense. Did get some dishes done, but not anymore exercise. I guess I was too tired and distracted.

-

May 31

I got up a bit before 1PM.

I kind of lost track of the day. I think I spent most of it on the usual noise. Only productive things I know I did for certain were making dinner and doing the DD.

2′ arm scissors with EC. I counted 243 reps by the end, and it was quite tough to maintain that average pace of 2/sec. I know I slowed down quite a bit by the end from muscle fatigue. But I had fun!

Other than that and pulling an all-nighter BSing... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-

June 1*

Blah... I stayed up till a bit before 2PM until I just couldn’t stay awake. Slept between then and a bit before 5PM before starting my “day“.

Been up to the same shit. Did also watch the first episode of Black Mirror too (pretty good show, imo), before getting my exercise stuff taken care of.

First, today’s DD. 3′ punches with EC. As always, I love punching! So this was a lot of fun to do and I counted 362 punches by the time was up. 

{After getting far too damn distracted...)

Second, Day 29 of the YCal. Today’s video was “Meditation for Anxiety“. I decided to do this meditation lying down. This was mostly relaxing... but it was difficult to get into that 4-7-8 count breath rhythm. Probably fretted about that a bit more than helpful. Perhaps in a better headspace, I could appreciate this material a bit more. :Ic

Third, Day 30 of the YCal. Today’s video was “No Fear Yoga“. I’d say that this was just okay. One of the more intense ones, so I kinda mixed and matched with which prompts/variations to do today. I did like the toe stand stuff, though!

(*Okay technically... I got to doing the next thing past dawn.)

Fourth, Day 31 of the March ‘19 Yoga Calendar. Today’s video was “Office Break Yoga“. This was lovely and breezy work. Despite doing it so late, at this point. Pretty gentle and a good reminder for me to get up from my computer more. Also liked the eagle balance work too. Favorite material! =w=

Yeah... should’ve been in bed many hours ago by that point.

-

June 2

I’ve been up since about 4PM.

I’m just going to get into the productive stuff... and I had a lot of my exercise to get done today, to try to get mostly on schedule.

First, Days 28-30 of the Power Walk Challenge. 9′30″ + 2′ + 10′ march steps. I counted 905, 211, and 1002 march steps respectively. With that, my total number of steps in this challenge is 12,614.

Second, Days 28-30 of the 1‘ Meditation Challenge. 3x1′ sessions consecutively is a bit awkward for the timer resets - but still pleasant. Even if I have procrastinated so hard with it. :I

Third, today’s DD. 2′ half jacks with EC. This is still a personal favorite, and is just about manageable. I counted 129 reps by the time was up. :D

Fourth, Day 1 of the Ninja Challenge. Today’s was “speed“, involving high knees. I went for Level 2 (1′), and I counted 255 steps by the end. I figured this was more sensible than 2′ shortly after the DD. I’ll take the levels of challenge on a day-to-day basis.

Last, Day 1 of the new Power Up Program. This is a tendon strength program, and today focused on the lower body. I decided to try to do all the 6′ as fluidly as possible. The final leg raise hold on both sides took some willpower, but it burned real good. I think this program is a good way to cap off the challenge and I enjoy this kind of workout.

Oi. With that, I really should’ve been in bed hours ago. So I’m going to do that short-like.

I’m going to need to pick up some meds, write a summary of experiences, and archive some fitness log stuff after the snooze.

[thenobullshtblog-blog]

Ink Etiquette

Since I am getting a new tattoo in September it’s made me think about all the questions, comments and unwanted concerns that I usually get when I advertise I am getting a new piece.With that, I've been inspired to do a rant style blog on stupid shit people say regarding my tattoos. At the end I’ll answer some typical general questions for those who want to get inked but are doing a little more research first.

First things First-tattoo etiquette, you gonna learn today.

Stop telling people they will regret their tattoos

What do you care? It’s not your body, you don’t have to look at it every day! Who gives AF. I cant tell you how many times people have told me I will regret the size of my tattoos, the placement, and that if all my pieces don’t have a huge significant meaning that im gonna wish I never got them. IT’S NOT TRUE. I am not you, so don’t project your shit onto me-10/10 we have different views about life, Negative Nancy. My two largest tattoo pieces have no special meaning. It’s Art. I love art of all kinds, and wanted it on my body because its beautiful and badass. I’ve had one of those tattoos for over 4 years now, have never regretted it a day in my life and its honestly my most highly complimented piece. So suck it.

Stop asking people if they’ve thought about how they will look when theyre 40 or 80

Well spoiler alert, I take phenomenal care of my skin and body in general and I have full intentions of being a super hot milf until I reach the puma and then cougar stage so I’m really not worried about anything up until my mid 70’s. I do understand the general laws of aging and gravity but can you honestly tell me that 80 year old saggy wrinkly tattooed skin looks WORSE than non tattooed saggy wrinkly 80 year old skin? Yeah I didn’t think so.

If you don’t like someones tattoo-you actually don’t have to Say Anything.

So many people have this burning desire to voice an opinion that was never actually asked for. If you don’t have anything nice to say-don’t say anything at all. Unless they ask you for your brutal honest opinion, I would try and avoid commenting. Now if someone has a shitty tattoo I’m not saying lie to them, but just keep their feelings in mind as this will be on their body Forever unless they get it removed or covered up. I've had people ask me if I like their tattoos-and if I don’t like them either because i’ts not my personal style, or it’s a poorly done tattoo this is what I say “oh wow, who did you go to?” and then I start asking about the artist. That’s a safe bet. You don’t need to comment, especially if your comment is not nice. Again-these are permanent, it’s not a shirt that they can return at the store.

Realize that your preference of tattoo style and size may be different than someone else

Go big or go home, has always been my thought when getting a new piece. I’ve always loved large tattoos, dainty isn’t really my style. I am a little extra and I like that part of my personality to show with the art I wear on my body. I’m so tired of the bulging eyes people give me when I tell them how big my piece will be, or when I show them the ones I have (after they ask). You don’t have to get a massive tattoo and I understand large pieces aren’t for everyone-OK but get your active bitch face under control especially if you’re going to ask someone a question about size. I’m not shitting on the infinity sign you have on your ankle-lets move forward.

Stop saying “my tattoos are for me”

This is also something people say to me once I tell them how large my piece will be, they normally respond with “oh, I’d never get a tattoo that big-my tattoos are just for me”. Cool? Mine are too? I didn’t pay all that money, give my literal blood sweat and tears to the ink table if all my pieces weren’t for me. I honestly prefer to have pieces that I can see in pictures, that are easily displayed where I will be able to admire them every day without being totally naked. I don’t need a hidden tattoo on my ass cheek for it to be “for me”. Unless you literally have a tattoo that you got because someone else begged you to get it for them because their skin physically cant be tattooed for some odd reason, and you want to specify that the new tattoo is for you-OKAY THEN STFU.

Stop asking people how much their pieces cost-it’s tacky.

We ALL KNOW that nice ink isn’t cheap. Generally speaking people don’t go around bragging about how much they dropped on a sleeve. Ink is an expression of Self, not Wealth. If you really like the artist who did that persons piece, ask them for the artists Instagram or website so you can get their contact info and email the artist directly to inquire about pricing. On the flip side-if someone’s tattoo looks like dogshit, don’t ask them how much they paid for it. They probably know it looks like dogshit and it’s a sensitive subject- you asking about the price is just salting the wound.

Before you ask somebody Why they are getting what they are getting, consider WHY you are asking them that.

There are usually only a few reasons why people ask about what someone is getting, whether they know it or not. A lot of people don’t even Realize why they are asking what they are asking until they think about it.

1. they love art, and are truly interested

2. they don’t support tattoos and want to give you the whole “don’t put a bumper sticker on a Ferrari spiel”

3. they want to add their two cents to what it is you are getting, try and impose their ideas or change your mind to redirect your vision. Regardless they will subconsciously judge you by the content of your piece and form ideas about you based on what you’re putting on your body and where.

If you are asking “why” for any reason other than the first one. Kindly fu*k off.

Nobody puts bumper stickers on Ferraris, but how many ‘rraris have you see with custom pant jobs, bruh?  And as for you Linda, nobody cares that you don’t like my futuristic post-apocalyptic leg sleeve idea-you’re not changing my mind. Fu*k your two cents if it’s not going toward the bill. And we both know it’s not, so again-kindly fu*k off.

 Alright- so that just about concludes my ranting about stupid shit people say or ask. Lets get to some actual Q&A’s/tips and comments.

What does it Actually Cost?

It depends on the artist! Some artists charge by the size of the piece, and some charge by the hour. Whenever I email a new artist I always ask them if they charge by the piece, or hourly-they’ll let you know. From what I’ve experienced I’ve typically had artists who charge between $150-$250 per hour, but my philosophy when getting a piece is “spare no expense”. This is going to be on your body FOREVER. No, I’m not ballin like LeBron, I’m ballin on a budget, so yes I do have to save up to get my pieces-but it’s always worth it. You get what you pay for.

What does it feel like?

The best way I can describe it, is a hot cat scratch over and over again. In some more sensitive areas it can feel like what I imagine branding would feel like. Everyone has a different pain tolerance and skin sensitivity, so some areas may be more sensitive on some, than others. A lot of people say the ribs are by far the most painful-to be honest when I got my sternum piece although the bony part of the sternum was murder, the ribs weren’t bad at all-in some spots it rattled my rib cage so much it kind of ticked. Likewise, some people get inner bicep/tricep tattoos like it’s nothing, the back of my tricep killed me. I was almost in tears. It totally just depends on your skin.

Go the Extra Mile

If you cant find a local artist that you Love, drive. Even if it’s 2-3 hours out of the way. Again, this is going to be on your body forever. I would rather drive an extra 2 hours or so for the artist I know is going to crush my piece, than a local artist who would probably do an okay job. That’s not to say you cant find a good local artist-but if you cant, expand your search radius.

Walk in, or wait?

It depends on what you want, but if you’re asking for my suggestion I would do as much research as you can on the tattoo shop. Look at customer reviews, the artists online portfolios. You'll have better luck than hoping you randomly pick a good place for a walk in. Although I do have a walk in lettering tattoo and it looks just fine haha For a planned piece understand that the artist you want may be booked for the next couple weeks, months or up to a year. Don’t get discouraged, you'll have time to really think about the piece you want, change any details, and usually if they're booked that far out-they're pretty good and well worth the wait.

Color or Black and Gray?

This is a personal preference. Growing up I Hated how pale I was, being a ginger was a struggle all around but the porcelain skin was definitely a target. I hated wearing shorts, and never did all through high school because of how beaming white my legs are. To be honest I didn’t start wearing shorts until I got my First tattoo. Artists and tattoo admirers alike have complimented my skin time and time again, and how the colors in my tattoos really pop because of how pale I am. So, I prefer color tattoos because they show up super vibrant and it makes me feel even more comfortable in this vampire skin. I don’t necessarily think color is better over black and gray and in some cases I think that it also totally depends on the type of piece you are going for. Consider your skin tone, the type/style of piece you are getting and then decide.

Think it over, and speak up.

I feel like a lot of the “regret” that people are talking about with tattoos comes from spontaneous ideas or trends. There have been so many times I have seen a bad ass concept for a tattoo and I thought about finding and artist and setting an appointment ASAP. The next day I will revisit the idea and go eh, I guess I don’t love it that much. I have a Pinterest board that is just for my tattoo ideas, I pin shit on there so later I can look at it and think if that’s something I really want or not. I definitely recommend either pinning similar images of a concept you want, drawing it out, or writing it down in a notepad and then sleep on it. You'll be surprised how quickly you may change your mind in the course of even a few days, a week, months or a year. If you’ve had the same tattoo concept for quite a while, and every time you revisit the idea you still love it just as much-it’s probably safe to start on that piece when you're ready.

When you finally decide to get your piece, the artist will usually have it drawn out in some form, either on paper-or on an iPad of sorts that shows you all the details and potential coloring (if you're getting color). Do Not be afraid to speak up if you don’t like something or want to change something. It is their job as the artist to accommodate your wants especially since they are putting something permanent on your body. Even when you get the stencil on, if you don’t like the placement, or want to change something-let them know. They can remove the stencil pretty easily and print out a new one after they fix whatever it is you want fixed. But don’t just deal with something if you're certain you don’t like it. You're gonna have to look at it every day.

Artistic Freedom

This is just another opinion-and by no means a fact. But I’ve found by giving the artist freedom on my piece has always made them turn out even better than I imagined. There are quite a few people out there who go in with a very specific piece or picture in mind and are disappointed when their piece doesn’t look EXACTLY like the picture. Well, that’s pretty hard to replicate as it is but especially when that artist isn’t the original artist of that picture or drawing that you bring to the table. This does not go for portraits-obviously you want your Marilyn Monroe to look like Marilyn Monroe and a portrait artist definitely should be able to replicate that haha I am talking about more “creative” pieces you want. My suggestion, have a few pictures of things you like (and some things you don’t like) regarding the concept of your tattoo and tell your artist to have fun with it. If your artist enjoys drawing up your piece and has freedom to add their flair on it, it will probably turn out better than you micro managing the shit out of them. I’ve always given artists freedom and I’ve always been crazy surprised at how the piece they gave me turned out way better than anything I had in mind.

This is all that I can think of? I probably lost 99% of you by the first 500 words, but to those of you who made it to 2,376..cheers.

[10paezinhos]

Imaginary San Diego Comic Con 2018

On Monday, we go to the airport in the middle of the afternoon, as most international flights leave at night. So, it's rush hour traffic for close to an hour to get to the airport. We get there three hours before the flight. We don't like to take chances. We already lost a flight at LAX back to Brazil (or Houston or Dallas or Panama, I don't remember where the first layover was). We almost lost our flight to Angola, and had to carry our baggage with us inside the plane because check-in was already closed for twenty minutes. We eat some crappy airport food, because it's going to be around midnight by the time the flight attendants bring dinner to the passengers, and by that time we'll be starving even if we did eat at the airport, and the airport food will be as crappy as the one we had close to the gate. We always bring something to read on the plane, and we might read a little of it, but inevitably we'll choose a movie, preferably a movie both of us have not seen (usually a super hero movie), and watch it while we eat the plane dinner. After the movie, we'll try to get some sleep, but if we struggle to find our way to slumberland, we'll choose another movie. Sometimes we can finish this second movie after we wake up at the crack of dawn when the flight attendants serve breakfast. And then we land on Houston. Usually Houston, anyway. There are no straight flights from Brazil to San Diego, and we usually get better deals on our tickets going through Houston. We usually meet other brazilians on the same flight, also going to Comic Con. Once we met all of Jeff Smith's Cartoon Books crew coming from Columbus, meeting up with Terry Moore's Abstract Studio's crew on the gate so they could all go to San Diego together (Jeff and Terry weren't there, it was just their entourages). We arrive in San Diego before lunch, sometimes just after regular breakfast hours in California, and we go to our hotel. We could easily have a second breakfast, but we try to remind ourselves we're not Hobbits. It's Tuesday on the A.M, and we check in at the hotel. Now what? --- Tuesday is our free-pre-con-day, so we can take it easy and recover from the jet lag. With the four hour difference from São Paulo time, it's very easy to get up early in the morning while in San Diego, even with little sleep the night before, but we need this first day to be low key because our trip is long and before 10 pm on Tuesday we're already dead tired. We usually meet some friends for an early dinner (we're not the only international artists that arrive one day early to recover from jet lag, so there's always someone about, and our friends who work at many of the publishers arrive earlier to set up the publisher's booth on Mondays and Tuesdays), have some drinks at the hotel bar and crash at the room early. Wednesday is when our job begins. Before Comic Con became this crazy giant thing, we did all sorts of different things on Tuesdays. For some years, staying at the Hostel, we would hang around with foreigners from all over the world who came to San Diego because of the beaches and the weather. We would have to explain to them that we were there for this comic book convention that happened around the corner (the Hostel is right there on Fifth Avenue at the Gaslamp District), and the ones we managed to leave curious would say over the course of that week that one day they decided to try out that Comic Con thing, went there and bought tickets right then and there and got in. They had fun. We, too, went to the beach some years on Tuesdays. When we started going, Shane (Amaya, who wrote Roland and lived in Santa Barbara at the time and would drive down to San Diego) would drive us to the nice beaches and we would admire giant American biquinis and think about Brazilian biquinis instead. Back then, we would go back to that part of town even at night, after our Comic Con days, to try our luck on Pacific Beach bars, karaoke and pool included. Once, I don't know how, we ended up on a rooftop party of some local indy cartoonists. All that, and it was only Tuesday. --- You can read here the announcement of the Hellboy Winter Special 2018. We're back at Mike Mignola's backyard for a little while, writing and drawing a short story revisiting the B.P.R.D Vampire world (don't know B.P.R.D Vampire? It well be reprinted soon). Mignola did a knock-out cover for this issue, and we both did variant covers. With two other stories in this comic (one by the uber-talented Tonci Zonjic), it should be a fun read. Maybe a little scary, but fun.

---

We don't want to wake up too early on Wednesday, but the jet lag is still on full swing so we can't help it. Bá will probably hit the gym, and I'll try to join him (at least this early in the week). We have a quiet breakfast, probably our only meal for the rest of the week which isn't also some sort of meeting. I'm probably finishing a drawing I'm going to hide later as part of my Moon Art Hunt game. I'll consider going to the hotel pool for a swim (I prefer the Hyatt when it comes to a suitable pool for swimming). At lunch, we'll probably have our first meet-up, usually with our brazilians friends. This year, we would go meet Rafael Albuquerque, who's a guest of the convention and has just released a beautiful adaptation of Neil Gaiman's A Study in Emerald (with Rafael Scavone and Dave Stewart). A talented Brazilian artist going to San Diego for the first time this year is Eduardo Medeiros. It will be good for him (and for the comics' world) to widen his horizons and experience a little bit of the craziness of SDCC. This will be a long lunch, with drinks, that will last as long as it takes for the line of people waiting to get their badges to get smaller (the Brazilian posse won't mind spending an afternoon drinking). Then we'll go get our badges so we can get in for a light, commitment-free preview night. If there's some book I really want and made a mental note to track down during SDCC, I try to find it on Wednesday, because I might forget during the week, and if I don't, by the time I go back there it might have already be sold out . Last year, I stopped at the beginning of the con at the Fantagraphics booth and got some books they had published, and forgot to get the new Jason book. I went back on Sunday, and it was all gone. Saying hi to Terry Moore and Jeff Smith is usually part of our preview night. Wednesday is still preview night, so it isn't so crazy to find places to have dinner. We usually choose as we walk around the Gaslamp, depending on who we're meeting for dinner. Still, it's a relaxing dinner with friends. The calm before the storm. --- From Thursday on, the con game is on. After a breakfast meeting with one of our publishers, we usually have a signing. If we don't, it's my first chance to hide a drawing and start posting pictures online and giving people clues so they can find it. Lunch is also a meeting, probably with a foreign publisher. Our foreigner publishers from France (Urban Comics) and Italy (Bao) usually go to San Diego. In fact, we met both of them in San Diego years ago, before they were our publishers, and now, besides being our publishers, I think of them as friends. Signings await in the afternoon, and we also usually stop at the Comic Book Legal Defence Fund (CBLDF) booth to leave the original art we brought for the art auction on Saturday. Their booth is near the DC comics booth, on the way to the Drawn & Quarterly booth. Alex Cox will probably have a lot to say about their relocation to Portland, and if he doesn't, I'll simply ask. I'm curious. We leave the artwork  personally on the first day because we are not mailing it from Brazil in advance, and because we know they'll display all the artwork they got on Thursday night at the party so people can get a good look of what is available and get excited about the auction. Thursday night, the rooftop CBLDF Welcome Party at the Westgate Hotel is the party to go. It's traditional, and in this modern day of Entertainment World takeover, it's your better chance to hang out with the cartoonists you know and/or admire. And to meet new ones. It was at a CBLDF party that Bá and I saw Neil Gaiman for the first time, relaxing in a hallway before he had to go back inside to read something for everyone to enjoy. It was at a CBLDF party that we hung out next to Frank Miller in an outside balcony while he smoked a cigarette and talked passionately about comics, standing tall in his red Converse sneakers. This party has always been about the shared love for comics, and about the people who love them: the fans and the creators, interacting together and having a good time. Maybe we'll have energy to go to a second party, probably with Sierra, and probably at the Bayfront. The Boom Studios crew have good parties at the Bayfront bar. If all goes right, the night might end in pizza in the lobby. (the Bayfront bar has a brazilian bartender who makes some great caipirinhas) Friday begins with another breakfast meeting. Maybe with someone from Vertigo/DC to talk about the Absolute edition of Daytripper and decide what sort of extra material would be fun to put in this oversided deluxe edition. Maybe to talk about something else. (See, the same way I forgot to mention that every morning before breakfast, we'll try to go to the hotel gym, in real life we'll also probably forget to go to the hotel gym before breakfast) After the Hall-H celebration of Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Reunion (which I'm not going, as I have never been to Hall-H in my life), I would probably stop at the Dark Horse booth at 12pm to get some of the posters they'll give away, because I think they turned out pretty nice (hint: I did the artwork). During the week, we usually have a signing at the Dark Horse booth, next to a panel or announcement we're involved. After the panel, Dark Horse normally sets up interviews from media outlets. Lunch meeting, but all day on Friday we're thinking about the Eisner Awards later that night at the Bayfront Ballroom. I hide another drawing across town, and we're thinking about the Eisners. I meet some friends for drinks around six and I try not to think about the Eisners. If these friends happen to be Skottie Young or Jason Latour, their jokes alone will keep me busy laughing and I'll forget everything. I'm still going to the Eisners afterwards. Mainly because of the Umbrella Academy Netflix show, Bá got an invitation for the Universal party. The Umbrella crew is still shooting in Toronto, so I don't think we'll be able to make it this year. We arrive at the Bayfront, where they're presenting the Eisners. Every awards ceremony is boring, I know. Still, we like the Eisners. We like to see people get happy about how other people love what they do enough to vote for them. We like the celebratory aspect of it. We miss that the ceremony doesn't have a keynote speech anymore, or a keynote speaker. We heard some earth-shattering-life-changing speeches at previous Eisner awards that motivated us, and still do, to try harder, and do more, and to do it better. There's some drinking after the awards are all delivered at the Bayfront, and then we'll probably head back to the Hyatt bar and catch up with our gang of idiots. The convention night scene is definitely more spread out nowadays, to all sorts of places and hotels and bars, but there are a bunch of us comics' folk who still hang out the the Hyatt bar. There's a panel on Saturday I can't help but think we would be in if we were there. We're usually invited to those kind of Dark Horse panels. Here's the description:

3:00-4:00 PM:  Artists Who Write: The Craft and Creation of Comics (Room: 7AB)

Whether it's a superhero adventure, a colorful fantasy world, an ultra-violent crime noir, or a new take on an old classic, creators put a lot of thought into the sequential art that drives stories told in comics. Join an all-star lineup of Dark Horse creators including Frank Miller (Xerxes: The Fall of the House of Darius and the Rise of Alexander, Sin City), Dave Gibbons (The Originals, The Life and Times of Martha Washington in the Twenty-First Century), Joëlle Jones (Lady Killer), Wendy Pini (ElfQuest), and Rafael Albuquerque (EI8HT) as they discuss turning an idea into a full-fledged story and how they continue to keep their writing fresh.

I would be interested to be there just to listen to Frank Miller and Dave Gibbons talk, but Albuquerque and Joëlle are so talented that it's no surprise they've reached the success they have, and I also want to hear they talk about how they got there. Saturday is the big hollywood day. It's crazy. It's fuller. We usually hide in the green room for lunch.  If I haven't run into Joss Whedon up until this point at a hotel bar (I like that he started going to Comic Con again after two giant Avenger movies), then on Saturday he's easier to bump into, relaxing and having a good time. We stop by Mike Mignola's booth to make sure we say goodbye to him, as he doesn't do Sundays anymore. Close by, we might try to walk around artists' alley for a bit, but nothing sticks out. A lot of crazy talented creators with original art, prints and commission lists. People who sells books usually have booths on the other side of the convention floor, where we used to have our booth, and we have always been book people. We make comics so people can read them. For the past few years, we have tried to have at least one signing at the CBLDF booth as well, where they have a great selection of our work from all publishers we work with. You'll find there (signed) copies of Daytripper, Casanova, Umbrella Academy, Two Brothers, How to Talk To Girls at Parties (with a special signed bookplate) and much more. At the end of the day, the CBLDF live art auction will take place at the Bayfront, on the Sapphire AB room, starting at 8 PM, where you'll be able to bid for some amazing original art from your favourite creator. There are some pretty neat Frank Miller, Jeff Smith and Howard Chaikin originals being offered, among many other incredible pieces of art. The night is full of wonders. We have a much better time at dinner, usually catching up with old friends. For the past few years, this has been editor's dinner for us, so to speak. Bob Schreck, Diana Schutz, Karen Berger, Sierra Hahn, Pornsak Pichetshote, all great editors, dear friends, and during the craziness of Comic Con, we catch up with them, and they catch up with us, and we start our night just right. We met some great cartoonists while on those dinners, which always involved big tables and lots of people. I'm pretty sure I met Scott Morse and Jim Mahfood in one of those dinners with Bob. I met Eduardo Barreto in a dinner with Diana (actually, Eduardo Barreto comes from Uruguay, and was the very first "international" comic book artist I met when he went to São Paulo for a book fair to promote his Batman book, and I was around 13). I met Jeff Lemire in a dinner with Karen. I met John Cassaday in a dinner with Sierra.

Saturday is the night that never ends, no matter if California law says otherwise, and we all meet up at some point after the Hyatt bar closes. The backsteps crew doesn't disappoint. (Will Dennis always has our backs, fellas). One of the recent topics I ask my friends is when are they coming to Brazil, as the Brazilian convention, Comic Con Experience (CCXP), as well as the Brazilian audience, would welcome them with open arms (I'm trying to convince myself the reason I didn't get Skottie Young to come last year was because, on a very energetic Saturday night, I didn't agree to go have matching tattoos made the following Sunday – he got an amazing Alfred Newman). The spotlight panel on Rafael Albuquerque is at 10 AM (room 24 ABC) on Sunday morning. We'll need breakfast before going to the panel. I'm not sure Albuquerque will wake up in time to get anything to eat, but at least he's a special guest of the convention and there will be people who will go to his hotel room and make sure he attends his own panel. (the convention organisers have a volunteer who speaks Portuguese, who took care of me when I was a guest in 2009. He was taking care of Eduardo Risso last year. I bet he'll take care of Albuquerque).    ​Our last stop of the Con is the Dead Dog Party, organised by Bob Chapman and the Grapphitti Design crew. Every friend we didn't have a chance to talk to during the convention will stop by, have a few drinks, have a few laughs. Things start to die out earlier on Sunday, like the magic pixie dust starting to wear off. The Hyatt bar is still open, and some other friends are there. It might close soon, tho, and so we'll cross the street and stop by the Lion's Share. When will we ever go to sleep? Probably on the flight back home, the next day, and for the entire following week. --- Maybe now it's a good time to say Bá and I didn’t go to San Diego this year. We have been going since 1997 every year. We didn't go in 2013 to focus on work (making Two Brothers, specifically), and I went alone in 2014 (Bá was still drawing Two Brothers) to negotiate which publisher would publish the book in the US. Aside from that, we've been there every year. It's our safe port in the american market, where we know our way around, where we see our friends. This is one of those years where we decided to focus on work. And, like those years, we did miss San Diego greatly throughout the week. I recommend the experience. I still think it's a special show. You don't have to go 20 times. But do it at least once.

[swanderful1]

A Cold Awakening: 25/25

Summary:  Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Notes: Well here it is, the final chapter.  I can't believe it's coming to an end, this story has been my baby for the past two years until I finally worked up the courage to put it on here. I am forever grateful for the kind and supportive responses that I have had on this story, makes it a bit easier to put my work out there. Feel free to leave comments or messages or whatever. I love hearing from people, even if it is the end. Thanks so much for taking the time to read!!!!  I hope to have something in the works again in January after a bit of a break. Stay tuned for that if you're interested!

Forever appreciative of all the support. Happy holidays to everyone, hope they're filled with lots of love!

Banner art done by the lovely @shady-swan-jones

The whole story can be found on AO3 and ffnet !!!

Disclaimer: All rights to OUAT

Rating: M

Word Count: ~11,000

One Year Later: October, 2018

Six months had gone by since Emma had given birth to a seven pound, four ounce, beautiful baby girl. One that now slept in her arms as Emma rocked back and forth in the same chair she had held Henry in fourteen years ago. Dragged out of storage for their new house, it was one of the few things Emma kept from when Henry was a baby. The blue floral rocking chair now belonged in his little sister’s room.

Anna Faith Jones.

Anna because it was a simple, classic name Killian and Emma had both agreed on (and the closest Emma would get to letting Killian name the baby after her… having 2 Emma’s in the house was just out of the question). Then, Faith because it was the Latin meaning of the name Moira.

Princess, the dog, was at Emma’s feet. She slept in the baby’s room as well, normally under the crib. As much as the dog had initially belonged to Killian, it was clear she had an unmatched loyalty to both Henry and Anna. Going back and forth between their bedrooms at night, watching as Henry caught the school bus each day, standing under Emma at the sink when she bathed Anna as if to catch the baby if she fell.

“Love, why don’t you let her rest in the crib for a while.” Emma looked up to see Killian in the doorway of the baby’s room. The light was dim, a faint yellow glow from the lamp on the table next to where Emma sat. Even still Killian’s face looked exhausted. The bags under his eyes growing to be a deep purple. The normal stubble on his face a full beard now.

Whoever said building a new house while pregnant was a good idea, was actually insane (she had, it was entirely her idea). The whole process had been far more work than anything she or Killian had ever tackled in their lives.

Choosing a kitchen backsplash between ultrasounds.

Rushing to meet the contractor for an emergency lighting decision after the baby shower.

Prioritizing the nursery to be finished before any other part of the house.

Moving herself, Killian, Henry, the baby, and the dog into a brand new home a month after giving birth.

However, it was all worth it the second Emma stepped into her new home. Their new home. The sprawling blue victorian, with the giant front porch and turret, the structure facing the ocean so they had a view of the beach every day. All of the things they had talked about the day they had come here for the first time. When it was nothing more than a grass field. Every faucet, every piece of furniture, every doorway, was there because of Emma and Killian. Making the exhausting process worth it when Emma was able to walk through the front door and into their vision. The deep brown wood floors, with large area rugs so the baby could crawl on a soft surface. The marble kitchen, with white cabinets and a breakfast nook. The cozy living room that was now littered with toys and blankets and baby gates. The bedroom she and Killian shared, though most nights they found themselves falling asleep in Anna’s room. Their child hardly slept, rarely cried but wouldn’t sleep. She was always awake. So when she did sleep, Emma or Killian took full advantage and passed out on the nearest pillow.

“I just don’t want to disturb her,” Emma whispered to Killian, and he smiled, walking over to where Emma rocked. He sat down on the ottoman in front of the chair, Emma noticing up close that his gray Oxford t-shirt was on inside out.

“Why don’t you let me take over, and you can get ready for tomorrow,” he suggested after pressing a gentle kiss to his daughter’s forehead.

Tomorrow. Emma’s first day doing field work. In her first few months working there, Emma had laid low. The buzz from the trial and the Jones case still fresh, she needed to be on the back burner for a while. Then after the baby, Elsa had been kind enough to let Emma do office paperwork when she had returned. Knowing that her job of chasing down criminals wasn’t your normal 9 to 5, and that Emma wanted at least some stability during the early months of having a newborn. It wasn’t like this when Emma had Henry, she had no choice, she was 19 years old, she had to work whatever job she had. But now she was older, and had enough money saved that she could take more time…

Killian noticed Emma hesitate, slowly she handed the baby to him. As per usual he held Anna with the utmost of care before setting the sleeping child in her crib.

“Come now, love,” Killian said taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. “By my calculations we have a full forty five minutes before she wakes up again.”

Emma followed him out of the room, their bodies tired from sleep deprivation so they moved a bit slower these days. Killian had returned to work almost immediately after the baby was born. Being that he could make his own schedule, his job wasn’t as risky as Emma’s, and he also wasn’t breastfeeding. A task she had given up about one month in to Anna’s life, switching to formula. Nevertheless Killian was highly involved as a parent, despite his work in therapy he was still terrified that somehow he would wake up one day and turn into his father.

“I know you’re nervous about returning to work…” He still held her hand, leading Emma to the master bathroom off of their bedroom. A gorgeous, spa-like place that had been mostly neglected for their first few months in the house. There wasn’t much time to utilize the jacuzzi tub when there was hardly five minutes to shower. “But everything here will be taken care of…”

His hands on her shoulder led her to the part of the room with the tub. A white, porcelain masterpiece that, at the moment was surrounded by soft pink flowers and candles.

“Killian…” she stammered, completely floored by how beautiful their bathroom looked. As of late the tub had become a dumping ground for dirty clothes and towels. “When did you…?”

“While you were with the little one, I figured you could use a bit of time,” he whispered in her ear. “The baby monitor is right there, so we will hear the second she makes a peep, love.”

Emma spun in his arms, looking up at his tired, smiling face. She reached up and caressed his cheek, still feeling the spark that burned beneath her touch to him. Even sleep deprived, hair a knotty mess, sweatpants, and absolutely no makeup Emma found herself yearning for him.

“We should get in, the water will run cold and the baby will be up in about forty one minutes now,” he joked, pulling Emma’s hair from the bun on top of her head. It fell in curls down her back as she stripped in front of him. She was well aware her body was no longer what it was before the baby. Her breasts swollen and heavy, her legs untoned, her stomach with faint stretch marks. As of one week ago she had gone back to running, on day’s when Killian worked from home and could watch Anna while she went.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said once he had removed his clothes as well. Killian took slow, measured steps toward her, his arms snaking around her effortlessly. “Yesterday, today, every day.”

Emma felt her cheeks redden. Despite the fact that they had been given the greenlight to have sex again months ago, she was different now. When they had met, she had been a mother on her own for years. Killian and Henry got along very well, luckily. But now they had a child together as well.

“I love you,” Emma said leaning in to kiss him. Their lips melted together, getting carried away in a kiss that could only be described as heated. Killian, without missing a beat, lifted Emma and wrapped her legs around his waist. She let out a giggle at the surprise. Then gently he lowered them together in the warm waters of the bathtub.

Emma straddled him in the water, letting the lavender bath bomb create a layer of film on the surface. Her lips pressed against his, and his mouth opened granting her access to his tongue. They played with each other for a while. Their hands exploring one another, whispering each other’s names, messing around like two teenagers in the back of a car. Her hands slowly gravitated toward his now hardened length that rested between them.

“Emma, darling, if you don’t slow down…” he breathed between kisses, Emma not really listening. Her hand grabbing on to his length. Her core ached for him, and he was so close. Their damp skin pressed to each other.

“Need you… now….” she begged, her teeth claiming his bottom lip. Without another word he aligned himself to her entrance, surging forward into her where her walls clenched around him.

“You feel amazing,” he groaned once inside of her. “So incredible.”

Emma’s heart raced, he felt just as good. But he needed to move, she needed friction, her arousal making her desperate for him. Hands wrapped around his neck, they began to grind against one another, so roughly that the waters of the tub began to fly out the sides.

“That’s it…” she moaned. “Killian….”

Emma threw her head back, arching her back for a different angle. Killian went deeper, not asking for permission before quickening the pace. Their breath heavy they kept up with each other. Killian’s mouth nipping and biting down her neck to her breasts.

“Mmmm,” a deep humming growl sounded from Killian’s throat. The sound that made Emma even more turned on in almost seconds. “You taste like cinnamon…”

Emma smirked, the feeling of his mouth on her skin it was right. The bite of his teeth, the caress of his lips. He was just the right amount of pleasure and pain. With each thrust of their grinding hips she felt herself climbing higher and higher. As much as she knew they didn’t have the luxury of dragging this out, she wanted so badly to linger in the moments before her climax.

The moment when she and Killian ceased kissing, as they did right now, and looked into each other’s eyes.

“Fall for me, darling,” he whispered, continuing to roll his hips into her. His cock filling her to the brim as she gave way to him. “That’s it, love… take it….”

She did as he said, milking him of all he had in him. Her walls fluttering around him as they crashed down together.

Their breath was heavy in the air. The thick inhale and exhale that could only come from that kind of physical exertion. That had by far been the best round since the baby. Not that it had ever been bad, they certainly knew how to push each other’s buttons at this point. But especially in the first few weeks of their return to sexual encounters, Killian had been so tender with Emma. Scared to push too hard or hurt her in any way. He wouldn’t even touch her breasts until he was sure she wouldn’t be breast feeding anymore.

Emma’s legs still straddled Killian, her body resting on top of his, her ear on his chest listening to his quickened heartbeat.

“What are you so afraid of, my love?” he asked her after their breathing had slowed, his fingers dancing along her back in soothing motions. “I’ve never known you to be an overly cautious person.”

“I don’t want to miss anything with her…”

“You worked when Henry was small,” he offered, his hands a comfort to her vibrating skin.

“I also worked right down the street from where he went to daycare. I could walk to see him every 10 minutes if I wanted.”

He stayed silent, save for the gentle kiss he pressed to the top of her head.

“I don’t exactly work a cubicle job, Killian. I can’t leave a stakeout to go see a dance recital. If anything happens to me…”

“Emma,” Killian’s fingers caught her chin and lifted her head so their eyes met. “You can’t live your life in fear. I know it’s scary, that anything can happen, but that’s true of any job. Life is inherently unpredictable.”

“Why are you being so supportive?” She had wondered this to herself for a while now. Most partners would have absolutely not been okay with the mother of their child chasing down dangerous people.

“Everyone’s different, love. And I feel at this point I know you well enough to see that you want to be back out there.” His hand toyed with the hair that fell along her shoulders. “Any time we watch a cop show your eyes light up.”

Emma blushed again, she knew she was guilty of it. She wasn’t the most open of people, but with Killian, he just knew her. He read her like a book, and with that also knew when to keep an interpretation to himself.

“Returning to work doesn’t make you a bad mother. Just as staying home and caring for your child doesn’t make you any less of a contributing society member. What’s right for everyone is different. But I don’t want you to regret anything. If it turns out your job isn’t what you want anymore, then we figure it out from there but not from a lack of trying.”

“Thank you,” was all Emma said in reply. He was her rock, her support system, just as she was for him. It was a balance.

“Besides… I quite like working from home and spending the day with the little one when I can,” Killian said with his face lit up. Anna wasn’t even a year old and already she had Killian wrapped around her finger. Even before Anna had been born, Killian was highly attentive to Emma’s growing belly. He would say good morning to the kicking stomach before he did anything else. It was evident the two were a lot a like. Killian and Anna. Though their daughter had Emma’s green eyes, she had Killian’s dark hair and his spirit. The two both quiet, stoic types.

“Oh you do? I would have never guessed…” Emma thought back to last week when she had started running again, leaving the baby with Killian’s sister-in-law Laura. She was a stay at home mom and had offered to care for Anna when Killian couldn’t work from home or when Mary Margaret was teaching. But when Emma came home that day, Laura was gone but Killian was there and was carrying Anna from room to room singing her a lullaby.

“She’s perfect,” he said, with the glow only a father referencing his child could have.

“I agree,” Emma smiled back. “But we might be a little biased.”

“Aye, just a bit.”

“But if we keep this up we’re going to end up with ten kids,” Emma said, eyes glancing down to where their centers were still connected.

“And is that such a bad thing?” His eyebrow went up in that suggestive way that it did when he was half kidding, half picturing the actual scenario he was joking about.

As if on cue, the baby began to cry. The sound from the monitor filling the cavernous bathroom with the cries of their daughter. For the most part Anna was a quiet baby, but she did cry to warn them she had woken up.

“I’ll get her, you get ready for your day tomorrow, my love.” Killian pressed a soft kiss to her lips, taking her hands in his before standing to get out of the tub.

“Killian,” Emma said breathily pulling him a bit closer, looking up into his bright blue eyes. “Whether we have one kid or ten… it wouldn’t matter. You are still an incredible father.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, bending down to kiss her again. Emma knew it was the hardest job in the world for him, being a father, but also the one he cared most about. Inherently he wasn’t an uncertain person, but she could see it in his eyes. Every move with their daughter he second guessed himself.

So when given the opportunity Emma did her best to remind him he was doing an amazing job, and that their daughter was lucky to have him as her dad. Sometimes it was hard to believe how far they had come. There was a point where it felt like the investigation, the media, the drama, the trial would never end. But in time all things have a cycle, and now here they were in their dream house. A new baby asleep in her nursery, Henry in his own room down the hall, it was surreal.

Emma had never thought she could grow old with someone. She pictured herself on her own after she and Neal had ended things. She just didn’t have a spark with anyone, and she wasn’t about to settle. But then Killian had come along and suddenly there was a living, breathing exception to every rule she had blocked herself off with. Though some of the wounds of the past could never fully heal, for both of them, there was so much hope in moving forward. Together.

Four Years Later: September, 2021

This time of year was always hardest on Killian, Emma knew that. But right now as she peaked out the living room window to see the beach not far from their house, the heaviness that the anniversary of Moira and Brennan’s death brought about, seemed to lighten for a little while.

Princess, the dog, jumping in the water, the clouds opening to reveal a blue sky above, waves crashing onto the shore, and seeing Killian play with his three year old daughter in the sand. It was difficult to imagine a time he had ever been alone. It was even harder to imagine Killian without Anna sitting on his shoulders, where she was now, a spot she had claimed as her own the second she was able to sit up.

The day was warm for the beginning of autumn, so Emma had all of the windows open, letting in the fresh air. In with the wind drifted the perfect little laugh Anna had, just about the loudest sound she ever made. Their first daughter’s calm traits as a baby had carried through as she grew to a toddler. Anna had a maturity about her that most 3 year olds didn’t, she rarely cried but still never slept.

Their youngest daughter, Leila Elizabeth Jones, was another matter entirely. The one year old was stretched out on a blanket on the floor of the living room. A mobile of animal shapes swung above the bright, blue eyed child whose traits from Killian began and ended with the eyes. Leila’s little hands hit and grabbed each one of the floating shapes with all the might her tiny body could muster.

“She reminds me so much of you,” Mary Margaret said from the other side of the leather couch. Emma’s parents often came over on Sundays to see their three grandchildren. It was a way to stay involved in each other’s lives despite Emma not working for David anymore. Years ago when she had left Storybrooke Police to be a PI he had been utterly terrified, but in time came around to it.

“You were a crier too,” David chimed in, bringing over a tray of snacks he and Henry had put together. Being that Henry would be off to college next fall, they wanted to have as many family Sundays as possible. “Relentless. You barely slept too. Some nights I had to drive you around in the car for hours just to get you to sleep.”

“Now you see why we only had the one kid,” Mary Margaret joked. “But we have grandkids, who we can spoil all we want.”

Ruby, who also usually came over for Sunday dinner, and who was also Leila’s godmother, picked up the child from the floor. The brunette lifted her godchild into her arms where the baby remained quiet… at least for a few minutes before she would inevitably start grabbing Emma’s best friend’s dangly earrings.

“Luckily Henry was an absolute angel.” Emma remembered how terrified she had been having Henry so young, and then when he was born he was so well behaved and engaging. People in the supermarket used to compliment her on what a well behaved kid she had. Meanwhile last week, Leila had thrown periodic fits throughout their grocery store trip.

“Can’t all be like me.” Henry reached over and tickled his baby sister’s foot until she smiled. For whatever reason the little girl had a soft spot for her older brother, and even though Henry split his time between Neal’s and Emma’s homes he was still invested in the lives of his siblings. He had been an only child for a while, he liked having sisters around. “She’s gonna be a handful when she’s a teenager.”

“Don’t remind me… or Killian. He has a hard enough time dropping Anna off at preschool. I can’t even imagine when the girls start dating.”

“Kind of like you with Henry….” Ruby said. Emma had almost had a heart attack when her son had gone to the junior prom last spring. And that he had taken a date. A girl from his class named Violet who he claimed was just a friend. Yeah. Whatever.

“Hey I was very laid back about the dating thing!” Everyone in the room knew that wasn’t true. Even the one year old Leila probably knew.

To save Emma from having to argue any further about how ‘laid back’ she was as a parent, the front door opened. And she heard the pitter patter of little feet running through the hall to the living room. First she saw the dog, who immediately jumped up on the couch next to Emma. Then came her daughter, dressed in red rainboots and a yellow coat, who was dragging Killian along by two fingers.

“Mommy! Look!” Anna said excitedly, her dark hair wild from the salty air. Wisps of her black locks falling from her pink scrunchie. She opened her hands in front of Emma to reveal a smooth shell. “Daddy’s says it’s a crab!”

“Wow! And he let you bring it in the house?” Emma feigned annoyance, glancing up at Killian. Not that she had any rules about a spotless home; she had a toddler and a baby, the house would be a mess until they were both in college.

“In fairness, I told her to leave it on the porch…” Killian said, taking steps so he was right behind his daughter. Anna came up to his knee in height, but she still had him in the palm of her hand.

“Right.”

“And how’s the little one?” Killian asked, walking over to where Leila was. Almost immediately her arms started going faster, reaching for him. He picked her up and raised her in the air, Leila drooling in delight.

“Rather vocal as per usual,” said David.

“There’s my girl,” Killian kissed his daughter’s blonde curls. Another characteristic she had inherited from Emma. “Need any help with dinner?”

“No, it’s mostly taken care of.” Henry and David had worked to prepare a nice Sunday dinner, as it was the anniversary of Killian’s parents’ death.

“I told Liam and Laura to come over around six.” Emma stood, taking her daughter’s hand.

“Anna honey, why don’t you leave your friend there on the porch and help me and Aunt Ruby set the table?”

“Will he be okay?” asked Anna, ever the conscientious one.

“Yes, he will be fine. We can find a home for him after.”

“Okay,” she looked uncertain, back and forth between Emma and Killian, who both tried to remain serious. But she was just so cute, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to not give her everything she wanted at the moment she wanted it. After a minute or so, Anna took the small crab and put him in an old fishbowl on the porch, leaving her scarf outside next to it ‘in case he got cold’.

Later that evening when they all sat down to eat, gathering around the large circular table in the dining room, Emma found Killian’s hand under the table and squeezed. Not only were they surrounded by family, loved ones, good food and the four walls of their home. But the home was decorated with the paintings his mother had done throughout her life.

A year ago when the Jones mansion was finally torn down, the land sold at auction, Killian only wanted to retrieve one thing. His mother’s art. So now most rooms in their house were made better by Moira Jones originals. The particular one in the dining room, was a large arrangement of sunflowers, painted painstakingly on a large canvas. In the corner, her scribbled initials.

“I thought that, since it’s been about 24 years since mum and dad have been gone, that I should say a few words before we eat,” Liam said as he stood. Laura was in the seat next to him, beaming with pride. Emma understood that feeling, it was one she always had toward Killian. “It still feels like someone’s missing at the table when we get together, but luckily it’s being filled by our ever growing family.”

Emma looked at Anna, sitting next to her older cousin Harper, probably scheming some way to get out of sitting at the dinner table and getting back to playing. And to Killian’s nephew, Liam Jr. who came along just before Anna did. The little boy looked at Henry with the utmost admiration. Leila wasn’t at the table, instead sitting in a high chair and throwing bits of cereal to the ground where the dog happily ate them up. The family was certainly growing.

“I assume they’re watching over us now, and always, probably laughing at the fact that Killian, Mr. Eternal Bachelor, has not one but three ladies in his life that turn him into an absolute puddle…”

Everyone laughed at that, Liam always able to restore a lightness to the darkest of conversations. Emma caught a glance at Killian next to her, who was scratching behind his ear nervously but with a smirk on his face.

“So tonight, we remember them and continue to honor them always.” Liam raised his glass, the adults around the table joining in as well. “To mom and dad.”

The clinking of glasses filled the room, Emma mouthing a quick ‘I love you’ to Killian before letting the bubbly champagne fall down her throat.

After everyone had left, and all of the kids were finally asleep, Emma made her way to the master bedroom where she found Killian already in bed. His face pensive in thought as he stared at the canopy above the four post bed.

“Hey handsome,” she said walking over to her dresser to take off her jewelry, setting the gold studs Killian had bought her when Anna was born on the mahogany surface. Then the matching bracelet from when Leila was born. “What are ya thinking about?”

“Well… as you know, this time of year specifically harbors a lot of bad memories for me…” he said, tearing his gaze from the ceiling to look at her. “Today was the first time, I’m not sure how to put this… the table felt as complete as it ever has.”

Emma walked over to the bed and crawled in, despite the fact that she was still wearing her jeans and sweater. She just wanted to be close to him, so she settled into his side and rested her head on his chest.

“Not that it will ever be full… but between you coming into my life, and Henry, and the house and the kids, and the dog and spending time in therapy, the past isn’t as pressing anymore.” Emma looked up at him. His eyes clear and blue, the way they were before he would cry.

“I have a family of my own now. I’m home with my own children every night, I sleep in bed with the woman I love, you and Henry have accepted and welcomed me, I have a home that we built together, not just a house.”

“You have a full table.”

“Aye, that I do.”

As far as the kids were concerned, other than Henry who knew of the whole investigation, the rest of them just assumed Grandma and Grandpa Jones had passed away before they were born. Plenty of kids grew up without grandparents, so it wasn’t something they would elaborate on until they were much, much older.

“There’s something I want to give you, Emma…” Killian said, reaching into the drawer of his bedside table. For a second Emma’s heart sped up to an insane pace, wondering if maybe there was a ring in that drawer… but instead he pulled out what appeared to be a necklace. “This is a pocket watch, not very useful today but it was the last thing my mother gave me before she died.”

Emma looked at the intricacy of it, the silver face engraved with his mother’s initials. And for once the house was quiet enough so she could hear the faint tick.

“She told me told keep it and give it to someone special someday.” He placed it in her hand, taking her fingers and wrapping them around it. “For a long time I never thought I would find that person, but then I met you.”

“Killian… you don’t have to…”

“Ah but I want to. You and the family and the life you have given me… you’re my world, Emma. I’m a better person because of you. This belongs to you, just as my heart does.”

Emma felt tears forming behind her eyes, the sentiment enough to make her completely crumble. Instead she surged forward and kissed him. All of the passion and love she felt for him being poured in. They got lost in one another for the rest of the night, making love in their bed in their home simply because it was a Sunday night and they could.

It wasn’t until Emma woke up the next morning, warm and safe wrapped in Killian’s arms, she came to the realization that had he offered her a ring she would have without hesitation said yes.

Six Years Later: December, 2023

Emma woke early to a quiet house… too quiet. After all, Christmas morning in this house was historically a day when her kids awoke at 5 am to open gifts. So to have slept past 7:30 was suspicious. What was even more suspicious was that when Emma rolled over in the bed, she found that it was empty. Immediately her eyes shot open, to find that Killian wasn’t on his half of the bed. He was gone.

Panic.

Absolute panic.

The stress level she felt on a day to day basis hunting down criminals, running through dark alleys, handcuffing men twice her size. It was nothing compared to the nerves flooding her system at the realization that Killian and her children were nowhere in sight. Not even the dog was there.

“Killian?” Emma called out as she slid out of bed.

No answer.

“Henry?” she called again, as she moved out of the bedroom to the hallway. “Anna? Leila?”

When Emma hit the top of the staircase that’s when she finally heard signs of life, and the breath returned to her lungs. The spiral stairs that led into their foyer wrapped around a massive 15 foot Christmas tree. All lit along with the garland that lined the railing. Emma had spent days decorating the house for Christmas, it was her favorite time of year. Even when it was just she and Henry for years in their little cottage she still made sure the house was a holiday explosion.

“Shh… she’s coming!” was what Emma heard from below. Likely Leila, who was three years old now, judging from the voice.

There was more shuffling, scurrying, movement as Emma rounded the bend of the staircase. Her slippers met the marble floor and her eyes widened at the sight of her kids. All three of them: Henry home from his sophomore year in college for winter break, Anna wearing a pink and purple plaid nightgown with her dark hair running wild, and Leila, the tiniest one, wearing Disney princess pajamas with two mismatched socks.

“Merry Christmas, mommy,” said her youngest child, whose face looked far less innocent in the glow of the tree. But as Emma peered around it didn’t look like any of them had opened their gifts yet, save for Princess whose head was buried in the tissue paper of a gift bag.

“Where’s your father?” Emma asked, looking to Anna, the most obedient one and therefore most likely to clue her mother in.

“I’m right here, love,” a smooth voice said from behind her. Emma turned to face him, his eyes glowing from the twinkly lights that filled their home. He was still in his pajamas, they all were.

“Go on, daddy, give her your gift…” Anna urged.

“Emma, we’ve had quite the time together these past six years…” he took her hands in his, stepping closer to her and Emma’s heart sped up to roughly 5000 beats per second. “We haven’t exactly done things in the traditional order, but I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.”

Still holding her hands, he bent to get down on one knee.

“I have been head over heels in love with you from the second I saw you in Storybrooke all those years ago. You’ve made my life a dream, and now I can’t imagine a time when you weren’t in it. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Emma felt her hands shaking, her heart beating out of her chest. In her wildest dreams she had never pictured herself getting married, and especially not to someone as incredible as Killian. So much had happened since they began their love story; crime fighting, a trial, building a home, kids, carpools, playdates, family dinners, career moves, it had all happened in the six years they had been together that it had never really even come up to get married.

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Killian,” Emma said with tears in her eyes, she pulled him to his feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. They kissed, a loving and warm kiss safe for the eyes of the company in the room.

After a few seconds Killian pulled away, his eyes darting to where the kids stood, “do you three want to give your mom her gifts now?”

Without so much as a breath Emma felt them all crowd around her. First came Henry, who in his hand had a small velvet box.

“Thanks, kid.” She smiled and embraced her son, pressing a kiss to his head and ruffling his hair even though he was 19 years old. In Henry’s hand was the engagement ring he had helped Killian pick out. The diamond was pear shaped, simple and elegant, the band rose gold. On either side of the diamond sat two small jewels. One green, an emerald. One blue, a sapphire.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma gasped as the ring slipped onto her left hand. It was a perfect fit.

“Well I had a little help…” Killian admitted.

“Daddy is it our turn?” said Anna from the floor.

“It certainly is.” He lifted both of his daughters into his arms, one on either side, so they were all at eye level. “Go on…”

“We got you rings too,” said Anna, handing over two small wrapped packages she had clearly done herself.

“Thank you, honey,” Emma said taking them and unwrapping to find two plastic rings. One was silver, with a purple stone, clearly from Anna and the other was a pink plastic ring Emma recognized from the girls’ dress up closet. Probably from Leila. “They’re beautiful!”

Emma slipped both on her fingers and Anna beamed. Leila seemed relatively distracted by the presents… still wrapped… from Santa… under the tree.

“I think I’ve opened enough gifts for one day, why don’t you guys open some?” Emma suggested, and the light that filled her kids faces… even grown up Henry was incomparable, and she wanted every Christmas ever to be this exciting for them.

Together they all sat around the tree. Henry, Anna, and Leila all tearing through gifts, Princess running around shredding the excess wrapping paper. Emma and Killian sitting on the chaise lounge together, curled up and sipping cinnamon flavored coffee.

“My mom will be so excited,” Emma admired the ring on her finger. It was gorgeous, and something she never knew she had wanted until Killian came along.

“Ah yes, she’s already called five times this morning to see if I asked yet,” Killian whispered from behind into her ear.

“You told her?”

“Of course, love. She’s been asking me for years when I was going to propose.”

“How in the world did you get the girls to keep quiet about it?”

“I only told them this morning before you woke up. Henry’s known for months though, he can keep a secret.”

“It doesn’t have to be anymore… we can tell everyone tonight at the party.” Emma turned in his arms, reaching up to run her hand along his cheek.

“Sounds perfect,” He bent down and whispered into her ear, his facial hair brushing over her cheek. “Future Mrs. Jones.”

The Christmas party Killian’s parents used to throw in the family’s estate years ago was one of the only traditions he was adamant about maintaining. So every year on Christmas night, Killian and Emma would host all of their friends and family at their home to get everyone together on the holiday.

The attire was always formal, another insistence of Killian who complained that ‘no one dressed up anymore’. Normally Emma, who hated wearing dresses, would give him a hard time about it. But not this time. Tonight she felt like she was walking on air as she glided through the party in fully swing with her fiance on her arm and a swirly red dress that fit her perfectly.

Killian seemed to like it. She had caught him staring at her probably fifteen times since she had gotten dressed. Even now standing in the kitchen, Emma felt him peering at her. Her skin grew warm when she glanced at him, leaned against the cabinets across the room. His slim fit black suit hugging him perfectly, his hair slicked back, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. But as there were about twenty caterers in the kitchen prepping for dinner Emma tried to contain herself.

“Emma, love, would you come here a second?” Killian said, ever the gentleman as he held open the door that led to the laundry room off of the kitchen. No one else in the room even looked up.

“Sure,” she said, her eyebrow going up to indicate she knew he was up to no good. Emma followed him into the laundry room and as soon as the door closed he was on her, pressing her back against it. She leaned into him, as his lips attacked her neck. Her leg curling around him instinctively.

“Careful… careful… not the neck. No marks.” Even though it was her favorite spot, and she loved when he marked her, she knew she couldn’t enter the laundry room with no hickies and come out with a handful of them.

“How much time do we have?” he asked breathing between movements of his mouth. Bending his head to suck on the tops of her breasts that poked out of her dress.

“Not enough… we have to be quick… someone might see,” Emma moaned as his mouth grew more demanding and his hand climbed under her skirt. Feeling the tops of her lace thigh highs and matching panties.

“Damn them. I don’t care…” he growled possessively as his fingers moved to part her slick, wet center. “You’re absolutely soaked for me.”

“Only for you, always,” Emma gasped as he inserted a finger, then another. Her other leg wrapped around him. The filthiest things always feeling so right with him. Her hands grabbed onto the lapels of his suit jacket, tearing the thing off of his body.

They didn’t have much time, dinner would be served soon and obviously the hosts had to be present for that.

“I need you in me. Now.” Her voice had a demanding tone to it. Which was rare for her during sex, it was the one part of her life where she enjoyed being dominated. But she for sure wasn’t leaving the confines of the laundry room without an orgasm at the mercy of Killian Jones. Especially if she had another several hours of small talk and mingling before she could be alone with him again.

With shaky hands she helped him undo his belt, and in one swift movement he had surged forward into her. The shock of his large member fully sheathed inside of her rendering her body frozen for a second.

“Fuck…” he growled. His hands moving to cup her ass and pull her forward around him. Emma’s arms eagerly tugged him to her. He smelled incredible, his perfectly manicured hair from earlier now a wreck from her hands. He was still inside of her, hard and ready as he began to brutally pump in and out of her until she was at her peak.

Sweat formed on both of their foreheads, Killian reached out with the most delicate brush of his hand to her hair, as if he hadn’t just been pounding into her like a wild animal.

“Fall for me, my love, I want to watch you.”

Those words and one final thrust did it. She crashed, her shaking legs doing their best to hold onto him. He held tight to her, relieving her of most of the work.

“You’re amazing, Emma,” he cooed in her ear after they had both finished. Killian pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks, throat, and collar bones as she caught her breath. When his hands moved up her toro he seemed to notice the ribbing of what she wore beneath her dress. “What in the…”

“It’s a corset,” she whispered slowly into his ear. She felt a shiver run through him. She had to get him back somehow for bringing her in here. Even if the revenge wasn’t necessarily a punishment so much as a pleasure. “Tell me, Mr. Jones, do you like lace?”

A question she had asked him years ago when their relationship had first started. One that she knew the answer to.

“I do,” he replied, breath catching as she took one of his hands and dragged it up her leg, under her dress, over the garter belt, to where the bottom of the lace corset began. She had bought the outfit weeks ago, excited to show him but waiting for the opportunity.

“Good.” She bit the lobe of his ear, and licked just beneath it. “Your gift is wrapped in it.”

He growled, and his erection pressed into her leg. God she wanted him again already, but there were a couple hundred people in their home right now.

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait.” She tilted her head, toying with the tie on his neck. Her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“It will be an excruciating form of torture but always worth it for you, my darling.”

She bit her lip, and noticed him watch her. His eyes hooded with the lingering desire that burned between them. His hair stood on end from her fingers and his lips had formed into some sort of pout. And when she couldn’t resist a second longer she pulled him by his tie to kiss her. One last time before they had to exit the laundry room and pretend to be on their best behavior. At least for a little while.

“When should we do it, most everyone’s here I think?” Killian whispered in her ear. They had circulated the party, eaten dinner and had just concluded a particularly long conversation with Belle who had been released from prison the year prior on parole. Emma had invited both Milah and Neal, but the two had decided to spend her first Christmas out of prison in London.

“Just about. Where are the kids?” Emma asked, scanning the massive crowd of friends and family for them.

“Love, if you want to wait for them we can but I’m afraid they’ve built up alliances with the other children here to be the first in line to sit on Santa’s lap… and Henry seems to have found a way to swindle the waiters into giving him champagne.”

Emma had hired a man to sit in the den, hand out small gifts she had wrapped up herself, and take requests for the following Christmas. She had also arranged a gift drive with the local women’s shelter. All of the guests at their party were required to bring gifts, which filled Killian’s office. And each year after the party, Emma, Killian and the kids would deliver the gifts and a full dinner.

“We’ve got quite the strategists haven’t we?” Emma joked. Anna and Leila were most certainly at the head of whatever uprising was occuring.

“Well if nothing else we know Leila has already shed her shoes…” Killian stopped at the foot of the spiral staircase where two little patent leather Mary Janes sat in a pile. Emma shook her head, remembering she used to do the same thing. She still did the same thing. Like mother like daughter.

Taking the shoes from Killian, and setting them on the front hall table she followed him halfway up the stairs. When she turned around, leaning into her fiance’s embrace and staring out into the crowd at all of the people she loved. She could see Henry and his friends in a corner, most likely trying to find a way to sneak champagne. She could see her mother and father, talking to Ruby’s grandmother near an appetizer table. She could see Liam and Laura, mingling with other people from the town. She could see Ruby and her wife, Dorothy, whom she had met all those years ago at The Rabbit Hole of all places. She could see Elsa and all of the wonderful people she worked with daily. And while she couldn’t see Anna or Leila, she could most certainly hear them running through the upstairs hallway with all of the other children in attendance despite the fact that Emma had said not to make a mess of the upstairs.

“Good evening everyone, I hope you’re all having a lovely time. As you know all of your donations tonight will be going to the Havenwood Women’s Shelter, a charity my brother Liam and I started in our mother’s name years ago.”

The room erupted in applause. When Liam and Killian had finally gotten their inheritance after the trial was settled, the money was used to build a community to provide refuge for people in difficult domestic situations. A safe place, unmarked on the map, to help restart their lives.

“Every year this collection grows a bit larger and it’s by my estimation that we will need several large trucks to transport all of the food and gifts tonight.”

The first year they had just kept it small, and driven everything over in a van.

“So before the dessert is served I would like to once again thank you all for continuing to support the work of the shelter, they do incredible things for a lot of people and it wouldn’t be possible without this night.”

Again another eruption of applause, a few whistles, but then it went quiet again and Emma knew what was coming next.

“In addition to that I would also like to take this time, when we have all of our friends and family gathered in one space, to announce that this morning I asked Emma to marry me,” He faced Emma now, bringing her hand up to his mouth and brushing his lips across the knuckles. Her heart beat so wildly that all she wanted to do was just be alone with him in a bed for like 4 days straight. He kept his eyes on her though as he announced, “And she said yes.”

Emma leaned in to kiss him, not able to wait another second, as the crowd exploded in cheers and applause. There were a few screams of ‘well it’s about time!’ or ‘finally!’. It sounded like there were 20,000 people in the room instead of 200. Either way it felt like a dream. A complete and utter dream. Especially after their lips pulled apart and their foreheads rested on one another’s.

“I love you so much, Emma.”

“I love you, Killian.”

Thirty Years Later: July, 2048

Emma had been Mrs. Killian Jones for twenty five years and she still remembered the day they got married like it was yesterday.

She remembered the white lace dress she wore, form fitting to her body like a glove and fanning into a full skirt at her knee. She remembered the thousands of white roses that had transformed their backyard into a wonderland. She remembered the look on Killian’s face as she walked down the aisle. The expression of love, respect, and adoration he had given her when she stood in front of him.

Now, over two decades later, Emma looked at herself in the mirror, surveying the smile lines and forehead wrinkles she had. Today was the 25th anniversary of their wedding. And also the day she and Killian would be renewing their vows.

On the dressing table in her closet sat a clutter of makeup, bobby pins, brushes, and a wedding photo of she and Killian from their wedding twenty five years ago. In it they sat on their front porch, leaned against a white post and looking off into the distance. Kilian’s arm held Emma close and the softness to both of their faces as they basked in marital bliss was the reason why she kept this photo framed on her dressing table.

“You need a little more baby’s breath, mom,” Anna said, still fiddling with Emma’s hair, pins between her teeth. Her oldest daughter was particular, a perfectionist, like her father. Looked just like him too. The sharp, elegant features, long eyelashes, dark hair. But she was also highly creative, so anything hands on came easily to Anna. It was what also made her an incredible asset to Killian’s consulting firm. And it was why she was currently in charge of hair and makeup. “Leila can you hand me more?”

“I’m still not sure what baby’s breath is…” said Leila, who was a different story. She was more analytical, like her mother in almost every way, she wasn’t focused on perfection but instead was fascinated by the flawed. That’s what made her such a good detective. “Is it the pink stuff?”

“No… it’s the little white ones. Over by the bouquet.”

“If you put too many more in her hair she’s going to get attacked by bugs,” Leila said, handing the stems to her sister. For years when the two were young they got along well, then for teenagers they disagreed incessantly. But when Anna moved away to London for college, they started to get along again.

“She is not, they look elegant.”

Anna had loosely curled her mother’s hair, the long blonde strands now streaked with hints of gray. Some said it wasn’t appropriate for a woman approaching 64 years old to have hair down her back but that was what Emma liked. Some of the strands were pulled back off of her face by weavings of braids and flowers, a dusting of makeup on her face, a simple off white sundress that reached the floor. Around her neck was the pocket watch from his mother that Killian had given her, hitting the light and casting a shine on the surface of the table. She felt just as she did that day all of those years ago.

“Mom, you look so beautiful,” said her youngest daughter. She was the spitting image of Emma at 27. Long blonde hair, heart shaped face, a low tolerance for bull shit. The only difference being the eye color, her daughter’s blue eyes clearly came from Killian.

“So do you, both of you,” Emma stood taking one hand from each of her daughters. They both also wore off white sundresses, theirs coming to about their knees. Anna’s hair was pinned up in a complicated braid while Leila left hers down and curly. Emma’s heart warmed. Her kids were her greatest accomplishment. Henry, Anna, Leila. They were what she was most proud of. “I think it’s about time we head out.”

Emma peered out the closet window into the backyard. The renewing of their vows would be a smaller gathering than their original wedding. Just close family and friends. Fifty guests this time instead of several hundred. Among them was Anna’s fiance Adam, whom she had met in college and been with ever since.

“Knock, knock.” A tap at the door warned them someone was poking their head in. “Mind if I talk to the bride?”

“It’s bad luck for the groom to see before the wedding, dad,” Leila joked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Not if the bride and groom have already been together for thirty years,” Killian stepped into the room, removing his hands from over his eyes. He wore a navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt beneath. Emma could see his chest hair peeking out of the collar. There was more gray than black in his hair now, but if anything it only made him more handsome. “You all look stunning.”

“Thanks dad,” said Anna, moving toward her father for a hug. Shortly followed by Leila. It was probably best they had stopped at two kids. If Killian had one more girl he would be bankrupt right now. Surprising to no one he had a difficult time saying no to his daughters, it had been up to Emma to make sure the girls stayed normal and not spoiled to an insane degree.

“Your brother’s waiting in the kitchen, we’ll be down in a minute,” he said kissing the tops of their heads, as he had done when they were little.

Once the girls were out of the room, Killian closed the door, eyes locking on Emma. Though they both had a few more wrinkles now, at their cores they were the same people. Which meant that after all of this time they were still sickeningly attracted to one another, to a fault that sometimes induced gagging on the behalf of their children. So the look he was giving her right now, thirty years after they had started this thing, still made her heart flutter.

He stepped closer to her, the dress shoes hitting the hardwood floor in even beats. Emma felt her face flush as he reached up to touch her face. His thumb tracing her bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, old man.”

“Emma, I’m hardly three years older than you.”

“Yeah but your hair’s a lot grayer than mine,” she teased, leaning in to kiss her husband.

“I thought you liked the gray.” He broke the kiss with a smirk.

“I do,” Emma grabbed at it. Even though he had clearly spent time smoothing it over, taming it, she ran her fingers through the back at the nape of his neck. “It makes you look very sophisticated. Like a true gentleman.”

“Ah, love, I’m always a gentleman.”

“Tell that to my underwear you ripped off of me with your teeth last night…” she whispered in his ear.

“I don’t recall any displeasure on your part.” He pulled back to eye her with that damned smolder of his. The man was mid sixties and still devastatingly beautiful.

Beside that though, in the years Emma had spent with him, he had been the most loving and wonderful husband. In her line of work it would have been easy to lose faith in marriage and family. She spent a lot of her days tracking down cheating spouses, abusive partners, murderous husbands, seeing the negative. But then after a long day she would come home to Killian, and they would sit on the porch to watch the sunset or curl up and watch a movie or go for a walk on the beach. He would make it all fade away.

Even right now, in their master suite closet as he nibbled on her neck and ear, whispering naughty things into her head she realized not once had she ever doubted him.

“Save it for the honeymoon, buddy.”

“As far as I’m concerned the honeymoon as already started, Mrs. Jones.”

“And it will continue, but there are fifty some people in our backyard waiting for us to renew our vows…” She tried not to get distracted by his mouth, really tried. “So we have to do that first.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Say it again,” he said. Eyes serious, their deep blue.

“I do,” she whispered. Pressing a kiss to his mouth before tearing away to go outside and do the same thing in front of their closest friends and family.

The ceremony was beautiful. It had all come together so well, unlike their original wedding day where it had rained, the caterer had brought the wrong food, the generator didn’t work, Emma’s dress ripped on a tree branch, Leila was three years old and had thrown a temper tantrum while tossing flowers down the aisle, Henry had a sinus infection and went to bed immediately after the ceremony. But today was different.

The sun was shining, the air was warm. Emma’s parents were well into their 80s, old and gray, but David still walked her down the aisle. A tad slower, but no less happy.

“I never thought I’d have to do this again,” her father said to her before they started their walk.

“Neither did I,” Emma whispered. The idea to renew their vows had come one night several months ago when Anna was in a panic about being engaged. She had showed up at Emma and Killian’s house, frantic about the divorce rate and how no one stayed married. What if she and Adam ended up hating each other?

Killian, always willing to go the extra mile to please his little girl, told her that not all marriages ended that way. And so the plan to have a vow renewal ceremony, to show that people could be together for 30, 40, 50 years and be happy. In addition to that Liam and Killian had gotten drunk one night and became ordained ministers on the internet so Liam wanted an opportunity to utilize that.

When Emma reached the end of the isle and faced Killian, she felt no different than when this had happened all of those years ago. Emma looked around and found her kids sitting in the front row. Henry now in his forties, with a wife and two kids of his own. Boys. Emma’s first grandchildren. They lived in a house in Storybrooke, Henry had become a teacher like his grandmother. Neal, who had eventually married, lived with them now along with his wife. And Henry had built an apartment in the attic for his father. Then came Anna, with perfect posture and a sweet smile who was next to her fiance Adam. Adam was a handsome young man who was an engineer, and looked at Anna the same way Killian looked at Emma. Just from the way they were around one another, she knew the pair would have a long, happy life together.

Then there was Leila, who sat next to her grandmother, holding Mary Margaret’s hand. Emma’s youngest was more like her than either of the other two. Never keeping a boyfriend long, building her life to avoid commitment. Working a job as a detective at Elsa’s company with her mother, that didn’t lend itself to much of a personal life. However, as of two months ago a new detective had come aboard. A young man with dark hair, tattoos, and deep chocolate brown eyes. Who was the only one in the office who could get a rise out of Leila, the two bickered constantly. But Emma knew what that meant for her daughter. She would fight it, no doubt, but eventually she would end up with that man.

Emma turned back to face her husband, the man who had helped her create all of this. The big blue house of their dreams by the beach, the blended family, the memories. Killian’s eyes boring into her and all of a sudden it felt like they were the only two here.

“Killian, if you would like to start,” Liam eventually said, easing them into the vows they had written.

“Emma Nolan-Jones, the day you came into my life I thought that I was returning to Storybrooke so that I could quickly leave and start my future somewhere else. As it turned out, I’ve never left because my future was right here the whole time. You helped me through one of the darkest periods of my life, and for that I will always be grateful. You’ve been my best friend when I needed one, a partner in all aspects, a phenomenal mother, and wife. I’ve fallen more in love with you each second of time we’ve spent together and I can’t wait to be married to you for another 25 years.”

His words almost mirrored the ones he had declared years ago. Substituting in a few new things.

“Killian Jones to say that you got under my skin when I encountered you 30 plus years ago, would be an understatement. You entered my life, my world, and turned out to be one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Until you I never saw myself with someone forever, I wasn’t a believer in soul mates or true love. But you scaled the walls I built around my heart and filled that space with love. Supportive, romantic, fairytale level love. You’re the love of my life, and everything I said in this spot 25 years ago still applies.”

They both smiled at each other, a rolling clip of their lives since their first wedding playing in Emma’s head.

When Killian had asked Henry to be his best man, and every time before and after that he had been an incredible step-father to her son.

Their honeymoon to the Bahamas, they had come back after one night because they didn’t want to be away from the kids for a full week.

When Lifetime had made some puff piece movie about their relationship during the investigation of his parents’ murder, and laughed while they watched the whole thing together.

Every anniversary dinner they had spent at The Golden Swan, reliving their first date and creating a new memory for each time.

When Emma and Killian sat down to tell the girls what had happened to his parents, to their grandparents, and for the first time he was able to explain it himself. Beginning to end. It was also the first time they had seen their father cry.

Anna leaving for school in London, and Killian immediately buying an airline ticket to visit her the following week.

When Emma actually did end up leaving a stakeout to get to her daughters’ dance recital in time to see them go on stage.

When Leila broke her wrist during gym class of her freshman year of high school and Killian had dropped everything to take her to the hospital, getting there before the ambulance did.

Each of the high school and college graduations Emma and Killian sat through, snapping pictures, cheering, silently hoping the kids would decide to move home after college (none of them did).

The night that they lost Princess, just after all of the kids had moved away. And together Killian and Emma hid out in their house for an entire weekend before facing the world again. Together.

When, at one time, they had roughly six rescue dogs living with them.

Killian and Emma’s trips around the world together, traveling from place to place and falling in love over and over in each one.

Saturday mornings spent together on their front porch, reading, talking, taking their time. No rush to go anywhere. Those were Emma’s favorite, something she had envisioned so early on in their relationship that had actually come true.

Through all of it; good times, bad times, health scares, trips, dates, tears, smiles, laughter, careers, they had weathered every storm. They had been at each other’s sides. Together they had built a wonderful life that they got to live each day.

“I, once again, pronounce you husband and wife,” Liam said, drawing Emma out of her flashbacks. “You may now kiss the bride.”

The first time, Emma had been so nervous after the whole day had gone wrong that their kiss was hurried, not worthy of the kind of love they shared. This one was different. Killian leaned in as did she, his arms pulling her into him. She breathed in his scent, the one that distinctly belonged to him.

“I love you, Killian,” she said.

“And I, you, Emma,” he cooed.

“To another 30 years,” Emma said back just before their lips finally met. A smooth, passionate kiss that Emma felt to her toes. When they pulled apart, his hand cupped her cheek. Eyes light with love, she smiled up at him and he looked at her like she hung the moon.

Just before he kissed her again he whispered softly in her ear, “To the rest of our lives and beyond.”

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: 20 YEAR RETROSPECTIVE: The best of the rest of 1999

(Background image: twitter.com)

In an annual series, Every Movie Has a Lesson is going to look back twenty years to revisit, relearn, and reexamine a year of cinema history to share favorites, lists, and experiences from the films of that year.

As I was saying one column earlier when I laid out my absolute Top 20 from 1999, I was a 20-year-old undergrad Elementary Education major at Saint Joseph’s College twenty years ago. I was a country kid absorbing cable television for the first time, working at a local video store, writing movie reviews for the college newspaper. I was devouring movies new and old and the rural boundaries of Rensselaer, Indiana or my activity time as the football equipment manager didn’t stop me. On football road trips, I was more or less “staff” where I wasn’t bed-checked like the players. I used to go out after hours, pre-Uber and without a cell phone, and scout ahead the closest movie theater to the team hotel in order to find ways to see movies on opening Friday nights. Man, that was living.

As the historians will tell you, 1999 was a damn fine year. There are many films from that year that count as favorites and greats in several different ways. Some have gotten better with age and some have worsened, even dropping at as former favorites. Here are my little breakdowns of the “rest of 1999.” Enjoy!

Personal Favorites

(Image: justwatch.com)

Message in a Bottle, Entrapment, Deep Blue Sea, The 13th Warrior, The Mummy, Double Jeopardy, Life, Star War: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, The Best Man, The Bone Collector, Bicentennial Man

My 1998 retrospective last year will show you that I am an absolute softy for a romantic genre. My first taste of anything Nicholas Sparks came in movie form and it was the Kevin Costner-starring Message in a Bottle. This might have been my #2 favorite movie of 1999 in the college newspaper behind The Green Mile and I swallow a minute amount of shame. I still love this one. Kostner is a lifetime favorite of mine and his pairing with Paul Newman set against melodrama with rich production values (that Caleb Deschanel cinematography and Gabriel Yared score still get me) was gold for me.

Along the same lines, 2014’s The Best Man Holiday made me re-fall-in-love with The Best Man, a favorite that has only gotten better. Sappy Robin Williams has a limit, but Bicentennial Man can still arouse bigger sci-fi thoughts I appreciate. I’ll never grow tired of the best big-screen WTF moment of that year with Deep Blue Sea and its Samuel L. Jackson swerve.

The 1990s were the peak of the “mid-budget programmer,” studio-backed star vehicles with easy budgets, proven talent, and often genre content risks. Many of those became your steady diet of basic cable entertainment years later before reality TV took over. I’ll gladly put on the likes of Entrapment, Deep Blue Sea, Double Jeopardy, Life, Bicentennial Man, and The Bone Collector over many of today’s straight-to-Netflix films of the same budget level. The old stuff is so much better. The 90s also did blockbusters pretty damn well for its time too where I have no problem still enjoying Star Wars: Episode !- The Phantom Menace (just turn on Darth Maul and those John Williams choir voices) and The Mummy. Story came before effects still and it shows.

Guilty Pleasures

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Varsity Blues, Any Given Sunday, American Pie, She’s All That, Simply Irresistible, Cruel Intentions, 10 Things I Hate About You, Austin Power: The Spy Who Shagged Me, The World is Not Enough, Lake Placid, Galaxy Quest. The Boondock Saints

Speaking of those mid-budget programmers, the next class down was the lost art of the “high school movie.” The 1980s has John Hughes and the 1990s had the R-rated raunch phase that pushed further what the 80s started. Made for virtually pennies with mostly unknown talent or TV stars, these movies raked at the box office with the youth of the day, myself included. Honestly, they don’t make these kinds of movie anymore. Hell, they couldn’t get made today with the same landscape and lenses. Six years ago, I wrote an editorial here on Every Movie Has a Lesson on that phenomenon and it feels even more true in 2019. The raunchy teens grew into the “man-child” movies of the 2000s and 9/11 made everyone grow up into a wiser political culture since.

With that in mind, it’s probably wrong and more than a little misogynistic to enjoy the debauchery of American Pie, Varsity Blues, and even the intentional camp of Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me in 2019. Alas, I could and I do. They’re time capsules of eye-rolling fun at this point. I just can’t show these movies to my students or own children. They count as guilty pleasures, right next to James Bond films and cheesy creature features.

Not all in this section are contraband. One can argue there isn’t a 1999 movie that has aged better, surprisingly, than Galaxy Quest, which grows with esteem and fandom the more other things retread and reboot. The football fans still rightfully worship the swagger of Any Given Sunday. Pygmalion and Shakespeare students can still be proud of She’s All That and 10 Things I Hate About You (which is many folks’ introduction to the late Heath Ledger, including mine). The buried treasure I recommend the most is Sarah Michelle Geller’s Simply Irresistible, an airy and easy romance that also couldn’t be made today with the same panache. I gave that one some anniversary love this year writing for 25YL. Seek it out for a good time.

Underrated Gems

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Payback, True Crime, EDtv, A Walk on the Moon, The General’s Daughter, Summer of Sam, The Wood

Here are a few to add to Bringing Out the Dead and Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai which made my Top 20 in the last post. These titles are a step down from personal favorites, but movies that I find more solid than flimsy compared to the rest of the offerings from 1999. Most are more of those mid-budget programmers like Payback and The General’s Daughter, but don’t sleep on director Spike Lee’s under-seen Summer of Sam or Viggo Mortensen’s swooning Woodstock romance A Walk on the Moon. Plenty cheesy for sure, but EDtv counts as slightly ahead of its time even after trying to follow The Truman Show from 1998.

Re-Visitations Needed

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Magnolia, Eyes Wide Shut, Being John Malkovich, 8mm, Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, Pushing Tin, Dick, Sleepy Hollow, Ride With the Devil, Girl Interrupted

With full admission, the 20-year-old version of me did not have his teeth completely cut or his eyes fully focused as a fit critic who could see past the entertainment and into the art. There are many movies on fancier “Best of 1999” lists that were simply lost on me back in their day. I recognize the impact and greatness of Magnolia, Eyes Wide Shut, and Being John Malkovich, for example, but they will always be distant. Some of them I’ve tried again. Some need another chance or two. For the others, I want to see how a few top directors’ (Guy Ritchie, Ang Lee, Tim Burton) earlier works look now against their current stuff.

Blind Spots

(Image: The Independent)

The Straight Story, Ravenous, All About My Mother, The Thirteen Floor, Flawless

These are the movies looking to make the queues and wish lists on platforms and streaming services so richly available to us in 2019.

Overrated

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The Sixth Sense, The Blair Witch Project, Analyze This, Never Been Kissed, Big Daddy, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, Mystery Men, Dogma

Alright, let me get my next umbrella to cover the crap coming to fall. I’m going to come right out and call M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense overrated. It’s the biggest 1999 movie that has fallen out of favor for me personally. I blame the director’s degrading work since this first hit. Smart as it is, it loses a little each viewing and only exposes his twist-dependent lack of creativity. I know Mystery Men has earned a level of cult status, but I find it to be a busy mess still. The repeated crappy comedy phase since 1999 for Robert De Niro has not helped Analyze This.

After that, it’s about personal taste. I’m never been a South Park lover, TV or otherwise. Kevin Smith’s work has not aged well for me and Dogma, as bold as it was, feels like preening more than deep satire. I’m not a horror guy and couldn’t care less about the 1999’s equivalent of click bait with The Blair Witch Project. Thanks for the motion sickness, though. I’ve never been a Drew Barrymore fan, and I think Big Daddy is where Adam Sandler started to lose his edge and sink into the weak sauce territory that, other than a few moments like Uncut Gems this year, he’s never recovered from.

Still Bad

(Image: forbes.com)

Wild Wild West, Baby Geniuses, My Favorite Martian, Virus, Wing Commander, Forces of Nature, The Mod Squad, Runaway Bride, The Out-of-Towners, Bowfinger, Mickey Blue Eyes, The Bachelor, Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo, The Haunting

Yikes, was Wild Wild West a trainwreck! But then, we also got Wing Commander. Double yikes!

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