#like we could all tell she kept it very emotionally sparse for a reason

[used-2b-mad-love]

do older fans have vault songs that are in their top favorites of the albums that have been re-recorded thus far? because I think I’ve seen newer fans include vault songs when listing their favorite songs on those four re-recorded albums and I wonder if there’s something there about older fans having lived with the albums for so many years and not really having a place for vault songs in their top 3 or 5 for those albums—even if there are vault songs they’re really enjoy and love

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Read the latest mafia ask and I got some questions too about that hope you dont mind Don't you think that if he tian will be in a relationship with mo in the future someone will try to hurt mo to get to the He family? because of his relationship with he tian.I hope he tian will not get involved with his familys job.He hates that side and what they do as we seen(but he still used his brothers man on she li)and the only reason I see him working for them or with them is to protect mo or his friends

Good evening, dear anon-san!

This is going to be a rather long answer, so  youbetter get comfy...

“Don't you think that if he tian will be in a relationship with mo in the future someone will try to hurt mo to get to the He family? because of his relationship with he tian.“

I very much think that is a realistic possibility. Mo Guan Shan’s connection to He Tian can get him mixed up in dangerous people, for sure. So far, it’s mostly worked the other way around: HT’s connections and the influence of his family name have ended up saving MGS. But it’s most definitely a delicate balance, and I doubt it’s escaped HT either.

The interesting thing about “connection” is that it comes down to “distance”. And I think physical and emotional distance is an essential part of how Tianshan works both now and in the future. From the beginning, when we were just getting to know HT, it was obvious how isolated he was (130):

The person he was in front of his schoolmates was very different from when he was by himself. The distance and isolation were at least partly self-imposed. HT was very careful about letting others get close to himself both physically and emotionally.

The first time he allowed his solitary to be breached was when MGS came over to make him beef stew (ch. 144): 

HT’s face being hidden in that panel has always been an interesting detail to me. What was going on in his head at the moment? Up until that, I doubt no one besides He Cheng (and maybe Qiu) had much visited HT. Certainly, no one at school knew where or how he was living. The other students didn’t really know HT, and he actively posed as a different person in front of them. He was cheerful, cool and friendly. Living in an expensive and yet sparsely furnished apartment by himself certainly wouldn’t have fitted the image they had of HT. I doubt they would have understood the person HT became in that apartment, either. It was a place where he could drop his mask and be honest about his darkness. I think it’s something special that MGS was the first one to see all that even though he probably wasn’t aware of what he was granted to see.

If you compare that panel to when the rest of the gang came over, the atmosphere is quite different (ch. 186):

But I digress.

As Tianshan has kept developing so has the distance been narrowing between HT and MGS. Despite isolating himself and being guarded, HT was also someone who sought comfort and reassurance in physical contact (ch. 225, 260, 291, 295):

Being physically close is very much associated with feeling safe and secure in HT’s case. It’s as if he’s given himself permission to be needy in that sense. And it’s different from clinging to MGS at every turn by hooking an arm around his shoulders and dragging him along. It’s more private and vulnerable than that.

At the moment, HT seems to think that keeping MGS as close as possible is also the best way to keep him safe (ch 244, 265, 296):

As far as HT sees it, threats and enemies are lurking around every corner. She Li is uncomfortably close without HT being able to do much about it. The fact that MGS won’t back down from fights also requires HT to keep a close eye on him. But as long as HT is around, nothing bad can happen to MGS. And even if something happens, HT is right there to protect him. He’s become a blotch of darkness looming right behind MGS where all his enemies can see him.

HT’s protectiveness also has a strong possessive streak which only enhances the importance of distance. The earrings are a good example of that (ch. 282):

The earrings are a tangible proof of their connection. MGS is under HT’s protection. He belongs to HT, and no one is allowed to touch what is his. Especially people like SL who used to hold power over MGS. By wearing the earrings HT gave, SL’s reign is overwritten.

Now, if you compare that distance - or lack of - to how they seem to be connected in the future, the difference is quite obvious (ch. 224, 271, 313):

Based on the little hints the Christmas specials have granted us, the nature of their distance has shifted. They aren’t physically nearly as connected due to HT being in another country. And it seems like when they can see each other the next time is always somewhat uncertain. HT is also putting a new kind of distance between them by not telling MGS when he’s coming to see him (and probably when he’s going to take off again).

Is this distance as safe as what they had in middle school? If HT has gotten involved in his family’s businesses, does he think it’s safer to stay at an earshot from his family and potential enemies? Rather than sticking close to MGS? If he knows what’s going on instead of being in the dark, he can be proactive? 

It’s also possible HT thinks it’s the safest if he keeps MGS separated from his assumed line of work. But the safety that way of thinking grants is of course on the flimsy side. HT showing up like that is a living, breathing connection between them. Is HT perhaps treating MGS as a safe haven of sorts? I doubt his visits to MGS have remained a secret completely, but perhaps he’s trying to keep MGS hidden from his family? At least hoping they don’t know too much about him? The little storage room and narrow bed are for HT to get away from it all, even for a moment. But will HT be able to have his cake and eat it, too?

As an interesting side note, I think there’s a potential parallel between how HT visits MGS in the future and how HC kept the dog alive and goes to see it (ch. 252):

I think MGS in the future will represent similar things to HT as the dog does to HC. Someone, something, or a place where they can let their guard down and show softness, even vulnerability. They have both saved and nurtured something and by being around that something, they can feel better about themselves than in their everyday life. It reminds them that they still have humanity left in them.

“He hates that side and what they do as we seen(but he still used his brothers man on she li)“

That conflict between how HT despises his family and yet utilizes its strength when it suits him surely is interesting and something I’ve always wondered. It almost looks like even he himself is torn despite his seemingly strong resolve. Regardless of everything, they’re still his family. His interactions with his father and brother raise the question of how difficult and painful HT actually finds it trying to separate himself from them. And what compromises he’s willing to make to avoid it.

When HT went to see his father, it seemed like he was still holding at least some hope that they could reach some kind of understanding (ch. 251):

What was he going to ask his father? Did the mind games Mr. He was yet again playing with him (by not showing up), convince HT that getting the answers wouldn’t be necessary? He knew what he wanted to do and what his father happened to think it about didn’t matter.

And yet even if HT dismisses his father, it doesn’t seem like Mr. He took his threats at all seriously (ch. 251):

Mr. He probably realizes HT is conflicted. But rather than trying to force him (which I’m sure he’s tried already), he’s changed tactics. He’s allowed HT to seemingly have his way which is meant to show HT how impossible his goals are. He can set out to save the world all he wants, but the truth is he doesn’t have the resources by himself. And it seems Mr. He has managed to prove his point at least once already. I don’t see why that couldn’t also be the reason why HT is in another country in the future.

The interesting problem about that would be for how many people HT is buying safety by presumably working with his family. What about all the other people suffering at the hands of his father and the likes?

Even a stronger hold than that is probably HT’s complex love-hate relationship with HC (ch. 168, 229, 252, 260, 266):

On the surface, HT is bratty towards HC and HC lets him take out his feelings on himself. But deep down, I think the idea of cutting ties with his brother is much more painful and impossible than HT would admit out loud. HC might have become the kind of person HT hates the most, but I don’t think HT has lost hope in him despite saying so. He probably desperately wants HC to follow him, and it’s that hope that keeps him still hanging on. He doesn’t want to jump off the boat by himself. And in return, HC is probably one of the very few people who hold actual power over HT.

What I’m trying to say is HT is perhaps more hangup on his family than one would think. That’s why he’s kicking and screaming so much. Because losing hope is difficult and it hurts.

In the meantime, he seems to have settled with using his family’s strength for good. I think this panel sums it up pretty well (ch. 267):

HT being backed up by his brother’s strength to fight evils that aren’t his family. It’s probably his relationship with HC that allows this kind of leeway. I doubt Mr. He would have granted HT such favors without demanding something in return. HC, on the other hand, has always understood his brother’s struggle despite not feeling like he can support him directly. So, even if HC can’t allow HT to have his way, he can at least help keep his friends safe. From threats that aren’t the two families, that is.

“the only reason I see him working for them or with them is to protect mo or his friends”

In short, I would say the same. He’s already kind of doing that, though. HT has had to make concessions because as strong as he might be, there are powers against which even he can’t win. At least, not yet. And I kind of like that. The fact the HT isn’t invincible and can’t do whatever he wants makes it more realistic. There are still rules (albeit evil and meant to hurt other people) to which even he has to submit.

But of course, we know that isn’t going to stop HT, merely slow him down a little. Just because he can’t stop HC trying to take JY and keeping tabs on him and his friends, he sure as hell is going to be the stubborn thorn in their flesh (ch. 168, 287):

Your questions, dear anon-san, were weirdly fitting because I have (yet again) been thinking about the future dynamic of Tianshan. I’m planning a Tianshan AU which revolves around the themes of committing bad things, punishing ourselves for our sins, being forgiven and getting absolution only to rinse and repeat the same cycle again. Who judges our sins fairly; ourselves or someone else? Who decides when we have atoned enough? I think some of those questions and themes also fit the canon version of Tianshan and whatever bits and pieces we know about their future. Especially, if HT will be more connected to his family when he’s older and yet be in a relationship with MGS.

Thank you for your questions, dear anon-san!

[overdrivels]

Omg, emotionally stunted Hanzo and hesitant hand-holding! Like, after all he's put himself through, his emotions are barely coming back online and his inner monologue is just "hands?!?!" and considerable flailing when in this case Chef grabs his hand "so we don't get separated!"

Hggggggghhhhh I wrote something like this some time ago and I constantly rethink it, hoping that one day I’ll be able to actually include it in the actual story. BUT WAIT. LET ME DO YOU ONE BETTER.

Please have another revisit from a different point of view.

The air, crisp with the snap of an impending winter, chills your lungs as you breath it in. It feels liberating.

The market is as busy as you remember it. Medication and a lengthy preparation time kept you sleeping past the normal time you’d be up and about, searching for the juiciest, freshest, and tastiest of produce. But at 0830, most of them were already snatched up by other more savvy people and chefs who have likely returned back to their kitchens to celebrate their prizes. Now only the more casual crowd remained, a steadily surging crowd.

Agent Hanzo stands right at your elbow, being one of the few agents who were awake when you were plotting to leave and caught you in the act of trying to disconnect yourself from the supplies that are theoretically keeping you healthy. (You’re fine. You can stand and walk with minimal trouble, so a few hours outside shouldn’t be an issue.)

“It is not safe by yourself. I shall accompany you,” he declared like it was a given.

You just didn’t have the energy to fight him. After a few failed attempts to even stand up from your bed, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to have him around in case your body decided to betray you. Athena, bless her, was blissfully complacent in letting you both go once you promised you would take it easy and forced Hanzo to take responsibility for protecting you (and that you’d both return by lunchtime; she threatened to send other agents after you both and you shudder to think of the commotion that would cause).

So far, Hanzo’s been attentive and pleasant company with an occasionally sharp comment that is more witty than barbed and a helpful hanp.

“Is there anything you’d like for lunch or dinner today?”

“Are you so unwell that you are now taking requests?” he asks incredulously, glancing at you briefly with a raised eyebrow before sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

“Very funny, Agent Hanzo. I’m serious.” You pick up a radish and look it over. You can make radish curry with this. Agent Symmetra would probably like that–something closer to home–or maybe radish salad, or garlic roasted radish with feta cheese, or maybe even grate it into a yogurt sauce. “Since you decided to accompany me, it’s the least I could do.” You didn’t have much else you could give to him or do for him anyway.

He scoffs, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth shows it’s not as condescending or mean as it sounds. “Anything you can make without dropping.”

“That was once! And you dropped way more things than I did.”

“The magnitude is greater,” Hanzo says flippantly, lifting the heavy bags he held so easily back into view. “Whatever you plan on making with this will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Somehow, you couldn’t help flush a little, unsure if it is meant to be genuine or teasing.

“If you don’t decide soon, I’ll make pepper soup.”

Hanzo just laughs, a light and actually jovial laugh that makes you flush a little brighter. It’s a stupid threat especially against an Overwatch agent, but it’s all you have. But even so, he didn’t have to make fun of you.

“I’m really going to do it, Agent Hanzo.”

He looks at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes that you’ve seen far too many times from other ill-fated agents who think the kitchens are a game. The look makes you burn just beneath your skin.

“Aren’t you supposed to reward me for my services?”

“And I will,” you say with a firm determination. “I promise.”

He has nothing to say to that, but the look on his face speaks for him: we shall see.

For the remainder of your shopping trip, Hanzo remains a quiet but intimidating presence behind you as you continued to pick out your produce. Hanzo still says nothing even after moving through several other booths where you take your time to buy and bargain for large and colorful peppers. He wordlessly takes your bags as you get them, refusing to return them to you even after you kick up a small fuss that quickly exhausts you.

A heavy weight in the middle of your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you clench your teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tries to crawl its way out of your throat.

At your ear, Hanzo mutters, “Come.” Without even waiting for an answer, he begins to steer you away. 

“Is someone following us?”

He doesn’t answer, weaving his way in and out of the crowd with you held close to his side. Absentmindedly, you realize he’s quite warm amidst the autumn air. As sharp and callous as Hanzo is, he sure is comfortable. It’s presumptuous, but maybe you could ask him if you could take a nap against him when he has the time. Maybe for half an hour or so. Just once.  

You’re startled out of your thoughts with a quick jostle. “Chef, hurry.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Stay beside me.”

“Do you see something?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

You can see him scanning the area as though seeking a route. The number of people have thinned considerably, leaving you both exposed. Hanzo keeps you by the walls of what buildings are around, but those are quickly becoming sparse, too. There’s a constant flex in his jaw and it’s clear to see he’s a little agitated.

“Oh!”

You reach for one of his hands–it’s also very warm and very large–and begin to pull with what strength you had even as he tries to snatch it back. You both need to stay together and this is the best way to ensure it even though you’re very sure he can keep up against your injured self.

“Wh—”

“This way.”

You know Gibraltar better. You know its secrets and its truths and exactly how to lose people here. Hanzo, perhaps knowing this, follows obediently after you–he has no choice, you have his hand.

The bags are definitely slowing you both down and a small ache begins to settle around your stomach and sides–the pain medication must be reaching its end, but you push forward through small alleyways that barely fit the both of you until you both made it into the Siege Tunnels where you both took turn after turn into the winding dimness.

“We…we should be safe here,” you huff.

He nods and says nothing, both of you listening, backs pressed against the chilly stone walls, listening for anything beside the echoes of the whispering wind or cries of the many macaques that call these tunnels their stomping ground.

The darkness makes it hard to see anything, but it only makes everything else just so much more apparent especially the proximity between yourself and your bodyguard for a day. You notice you still have his hand in a death grip but you refrain from saying anything: there’s no telling if the danger has passed yet and you didn’t want to risk making any more noise (and he hasn’t tried to pull away again after the first time). It’s embarrassing and downright childish, but you had to admit you felt just a little safer just having him beside you as a solid and warm presence.

You’ve worked alone for so long, it was nice to be in such close proximity with someone who is not looking to you for orders or putting the pressure of work on you. How many years has it been since you were free of expectations? When was the last time you stopped vying for the approval of others?

It must have been a long, long time. All of your actions had you wrung out and stressed, looking over your shoulder at every whisper and imagined gaze. Were the UN after you? Was the Head Chef there? Were your staff watching your every move and judging you? You didn’t ever feel certain even as you rose higher and higher in the world–it felt like each step toward what most people would consider to be an ‘accomplishment’, you became one step closer to uncertainty, trapped by silver walls and isolated from everyone else around you.

This impromptu trip was a good idea even if it made your muscles hurt. Agent Hanzo didn’t judge you, didn’t try to give unnecessary praise or respect, or treat you any lesser. He’s good company with a discerning eye and even better jabs. Maybe next time you decide to sneak out, you’ll tell him first.

Somehow, you realize you’ve closed your eyes as you were thinking. The cool stone at your back and the warmth at your side is intoxicatingly comforting, the shoulder beneath your head is a little hard—  

“Oh! I’m so sor—” You bite your words back, forgetting momentarily you both were on the run, a chill running up and down your skin because what if–.

“It’s fine. I believe we are clear.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. We can take this tunnel straight back to the Watchpoint. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think it’ll be faster than going back outside.”

You push yourself off the wall with a grunt of effort. After running around so much and taking a break, your muscles refused to cooperate. Hanzo gives you a strong pull with the hand you have gripped tight.  

Again, you flush with the realization. The danger has passed, there’s no reason to keep holding hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t really–I can let go, if you’d like? This must be stopping you from doing your job.”

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark. After a moment’s pause, he gives your hand an experimental squeeze and says, “No. We’ll stay like this. So you cannot get lost in the dark.”

There’s a hint of a wicked smirk in his voice that’s somewhat playful and again, a warmth blooms just underneath your skin; a mix of embarrassment and indignity.

“I can find my way around with my eyes closed!”

“Shall we try? I will not warn you of walls, just so you are aware.” Regardless, he walks with you, close to your side.

“I don’t want Athena to send a team after us, so next time!”

“Next time.” The way he says those words sounds like he’s testing them in his mouth. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you swear you can hear his smile. “Next time.”

[emeraldtawny]

Edgar x OC (Eleanor): Masquerade (Pt. 3/5)

...these chapters are getting longer and longer each time. I have no self-control hoorraaaaaaayyyyyyyyy~!

I....may have been a liiiiiiiittle bit angsty with this chapter. Not a lot...just enough to hopefully tear your heart out like I did mine while writing this :^) The next chapter will likely be the last, but who even knows what will happen so we’ll just wait and see......ANGST TIME! >:3

These two people who were brought together on a whim and under very unnatural circumstances were quick to find answers to the questions they had of each other. At first, it was simply business - finding information on their target keeps them safe while also discovering the other’s weaknesses - but over time, both Edgar and Eleanor realised just how similar they were. Fabricated discussions in sparse moments of free time eventually shifted into genuine conversations with set meeting dates and times.

The two would talk about everything and nothing, probing each other to discover the type of person they were. Over time, they learned of the other’s quirks and mannerisms, their likes and dislikes - things that should’ve been pointless information was stored away in their thoughts and memories. Why? Because they wished to remember it personally.

Eleanor learned quickly to distinguish Edgar’s crafted smiles from his genuine ones, when he was stressed or otherwise emotionally compromised and, eventually, Edgar divulged to her in more detail about his work with the Bright Family and his uncle. Suddenly, pieces that had no place fit together perfectly and the anomaly that is Edgar Bright made more sense to her, almost frighteningly so.

Of course, this exchange was not one-sided. Edgar picked up quickly on Eleanor’s self-driven and occasionally stubborn personality, yet he couldn’t help but laugh when her meeker, more reserved side emerged on weary days. He noticed the way she poked her tongue out slightly between her lips whenever she was deep in thought, and he laughed like a fool when he would tease her and she would retaliate by calling him every name under the sun. And, as was only fair, she spoke of her past and revealed her secrets, a conversation Edgar could not forget even if he tried.

[ “As you guessed, I am from that Lancaster family. My entire bloodline is basically comprised of compulsive gamblers and master con artists. From birth, I was trained mercilessly and shaped into another set of hands to swindle and deceive people into handing over their money.”

“That explains your impeccable poker face. However, that doesn’t explain how you knew of my business.”

“Being a con artist means you need a stable and reliable information source. How else do you know who to target and steal from? While our main operations were in Black Territory, we had connections in the Red Territory as well...where we found out about a man called Claudius Bright and what he was the ringleader behind.”

“And you found out about me through that.”

“Exactly. After I got away from my family, I had nothing. Still kept contact with the information dealers and happened to hear about a certain party you were targeting and...well, you know the rest.”

“Indeed. One query with your story: the Black Army found the Lancaster family’s operation and shut it down, imprisoning everyone involved. How were you spared?”

“Simple. I was the one who ratted them out.” ]

She didn’t tell him everything, neither did he tell her everything. However, a mutual understanding was achieved between the two; that they were more alike in their upbringings and the way they view themselves than either could have ever guessed.

…

Edgar sits silently in the faux leather armchair that he has made his own in Eleanor’s quaint little house in the Central Quarter. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, its ticking rhythmic.

1:46pm.

(How odd. She’s never late.)

While not one for worrying needlessly, he couldn’t help but feel an emotion bubbling inside him that he thought was long since dead. Fear.

(Something must have happened. She wouldn’t draw out a prank to this extent...she wouldn’t even try to prank me to begin with.)

Edgar’s lips press together, his eyebrows drawing taught as he contemplates leaving to search for her. The thought is immediately halted by the abrupt crashing of the door as it’s unceremoniously thrown open. Eleanor flies into the room and shuts the door in the blink of an eye. She leans against the door, her breathing laboured but gradually calming. Edgar blinks, his face illustrating his genuine shock at how dishevelled and frantic Eleanor appears to be, two words hardly fitting to describe her.

Eleanor’s eyelids open and she tenses upon noticing Edgar, her pupils shrinking similar to a prey’s when face to face with a predator.

“What are you doing here?”

Choosing to ignore the thread of venom in her question, Edgar responds, “The same reason as many times before. To meet with you.”

She huffs a sigh and pushes herself off the door, discarding and throwing her jacket to Edgar before walking to the small kitchen. He barely flinches catching it, keeping his sea green eyes on her form as she moves on steady legs. But Edgar knows better. He can see the almost non-existent twitching of her fingertips as she grabs a mug off the bench to fill with tea.

Edgar stands and walks to the bench to stand next from her, keeping his analytic gaze on her face. He knows he’s pressuring her, that she’ll catch on and give him hell for it. But at this point in time, he will take her complaints as long as he can be certain that she’ll be all right.

(Since when did I start being aware of your happiness?)

After what felt like hours, Eleanor finally lifts her gaze to Edgar. The red veins pop against the whites of her eyes, her purple eyes more dazzling and distressed in contrast. He frowns, his hand moving not from his own accord to brush his thumb under her eyes, tracing the faint dark circles outlining her face.

“What happened?”

The sound of her hand smacking his away seems to echo in Edgar’s mind, the physical pain almost non-existent to the weight gradually settling on his heart. She turns to walk away, but Edgar grabs her wrist and holds on tight, correctly anticipating her attempt at wriggling free.

“Eleanor.”

He can feel the muscles in her wrist move as she clenches her fist tight. Her shoulders bunch up around her neck before letting them fall with a long, exhausted sigh.

“They’re out.”

Whatever he was expecting her to say, that was not it.

(“They’re”? Meaning...no, surely not her family.)

“What? But I thought you said that they would be locked away for years, possibly decades. How could they be out?”

“How the hell would I know?! Don’t ask such stupid questions!”

Edgar recoils at the bite in her acidic words, his grip loosening enough for Eleanor to rip her hand free. She turns to face him, her eyes burning with a myriad of emotions: anger, confusion, panic.

“What matters now is that they’re out and they’re coming to get me! I’m not safe here and I need to find somewhere where I will be! Which is next to impossible since they used to run this entire fucking town!”

Her words spill from her a mile a minute, Edgar’s expression falling at her slowly unravelling calm demeanour.

“It’s okay, Eleanor. I can give you refuge in the Red Army for the time being and we can find a more permanent residence with time. Getting desperate isn’t going to help in any way.”

She knows he’s right, but her better judgement is outcompeted for control by her storming emotions. The agony and pure ferocity in her eyes make Edgar tense.

“Of course you can say that,” she says darkly, her teeth clenching in barely repressed rage, “You have no idea what I’m going through! You’re still stuck under the thumb of your family! You’re safe! Mine are out of prison and probably already have a plan to murder me! Don’t you fucking dare try to say things are okay because they’re far from it!”

Edgar’s eyes darken at Eleanor’s words, the barrier he erects as his uncle’s cold-blooded killing puppet surrounding him fully, “Stop. Don’t speak like you’re worse off than me.”

She laughs, the sound empty and mirthless accompanying her plastic smile, “Forgive me, but I think I have a reason to be fucking petrified right now. Nowhere is safe, I can’t trust anyone and the only one I can trust is someone who’s as fucked up as I am! Sorry for feeling entitled to a fucking mental breakdown over you!!”

As swift as the wind, Edgar closes the gap between them, grabbing Eleanor’s wrists in a death grip. She stumbles back, regaining her balance to bring her knee up to connect with his stomach. Edgar side-steps before she can make contact and he pulls her with him, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs fighting for control. Edgar’s leaner, more agile body pins Eleanor’s below him, his legs straddling her waist and her wrists still tight in his grip pressed hard to the floor on either side of her head. She glares daggers at him from close range, his face impassive yet the determined fire in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What the hell is this going to accomplish, huh?! Nothing you do is going to help me! I’m going to be murdered in cold blood by the family I betrayed!” She screams at him, her voice hoarse with torture. Her attempts at breaking free of his shackles lessen in strength each time, her voice following suit as her previously impassioned shouts now become nothing more than meek whimpers, “...I deserve this. I knew this was going to happen eventually. What does it matter, right? No one will care if a broken, impure monster gets her karma.”

Eleanor bites her lower lip, the strain in her face to hold back her tears and onto her dignity tearing down Edgar’s emotionless barrier. He blinks down at her, watching mesmerised as a single tear spills from the corner of her eye and trails smoothly down her cheek.

“I...I deserve this. God, I really deserve this. I’ll die as corrupt as I lived.”

“Stop--”

“Why? So you can remind me that you’re as fucked as me? At least you’re not in danger--”

“Eleanor, stop!”

She winces as Edgar’s grip tightens on her wrists. He stares into her eyes, the unadulterated pain and dread swirling in her usually calm and clear lavender eyes unsettling Edgar in a way he’s never felt before. He leans over her, their noses hovering a hair’s width away from each other, his breath ghosting over her skin as he murmurs to her.

“You’re here, you’re alive. We can get through this. No, we have to get through this, because there is no way in Hell I’m letting you go.”

(What am I saying?)

Edgar’s thoughts congeal into an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach, unsure of why he feels so strongly about this woman’s presence in his life. Eleanor stares trance-like at the man above her, barely registering the words that fall from her lips.

“I...want to live. If not for myself, then for you. You...I don’t know why, but I need you.”

(What am I saying?)

She squeezes her eyes shut, another rogue tear spilling free to roll from her face to the floor. With a sigh under his breath, Edgar loosens his hold on her and moves off of her before pulling her gently upright. His hands slide to her waist to pull her into an embrace, his cold hands tingling through his gloves at the warmth of her body. Eleanor rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as her hands move to clutch weakly at the collar of his shirt.

Who knows how long they stayed like that, both sinners seeking the phantom warmth of the other. Eleanor is the first to move, leaning back to meet Edgar’s eyes. While puffy and red, Edgar relaxes at the clear focus in her eyes that he so fondly recognises.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and I didn’t mean to attack you.”

Edgar chuckles softly, his relief palpable as he wipes a gloved finger under her eye to catch a remnant tear on her eyelash, “I know.”

A comfortable silence passes before she speaks again, her confidence faltering, “Do you really think you can help me? The last thing I want is for you to get caught up in my business.”

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Like I said, I’m not letting you go.”

After so much turmoil and agony, finally, Eleanor smiles. And despite the obvious strain in the action, Edgar couldn’t be more relieved.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How people like us still manage to find solace even when we both know we don’t deserve it.”

He smiles, his hand moving to stroke her glossy hair, “I think us being impure is precisely why we can find solace in one another.”

“Hm,” Eleanor hums her agreement, “Finding comfort in the darkness of another, huh? How fitting.”

They both laugh together, the sound neither jovial nor melancholic. They remain that way, both keeping each other close as they let the other’s impurity transfer to them - the shared darkness between them a shared burden, a lifeline to both Edgar and Eleanor to stop them being consumed and eaten alive by the impurity tainting their hearts.  

[im-fairly-whitty]

Whatever It Takes: Coco Villain Au

[Part 1: Trapped] [Part 2: Broken] [Part 3: Determined] 

Part 4: Suspicion 

“Socorro just called, she says her flight landed safely.”

Enrique looked up from where he’d been pretending to read a book in the living room. He absently rubbed at his chest as his wife walked in, pocketing her phone.

“She says she’s meeting up with the rest of her band at their hotel once she gets her drum equipment off-loaded.” Luisa said, coming up behind his chair and stroking his shoulders. She rubbed the side of his neck as he sighed and tipped his head. “Are you feeling sore again?”

“Sí, I don’t know why,” Enrique said, grimacing. He closed his eyes and leaning into Louisa’s touch as she worked at the knots in his shoulders. He coughed, rubbing his eyes as an unexpected wave of nausea washed over him. “I don’t think I slept badly on it. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Enrique straightened in his chair in an effort to dispel the tight pain in his chest, trying to take a deep breath even as his chest seemed to constrict. It couldn’t be allergies, he’s never had allergies that caused shortness of breath like this.

“It’s all the traveling stress from the Miguel Foundation speaking you’ve been doing this month.” Luisa said, her voice sounding worried from behind him. “You really should see a doctor, mi vida, you’re only fifty-one, you shouldn’t be having these kinds of pains.”

“No, no, I’m perfectly healthy.” Enrique said, forcing himself to stand. “I don’t need to waste time on a doctor. I just need to lie down for a bit, I’ll be fine.”

He swayed as he got to his feet, then stumbled back as his vision momentarily blacked out.

“Queque, what’s wrong, are you all right?” Luisa said. He felt her grab him from behind, supporting him as he tried to stay upright.

“I’m-”

Enrique gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. He doubled over, dropping painfully to his knees. He clutched at his chest as the blinding pain blacked out his vision again and he collapsed onto his side.

“Enrique!” He distantly heard Luisa scream.

The pain in his chest took over every bit of him, growing and sweeping across his body, eating away at his mind until there was nothing left.

Nothing left but darkness.

***

Waking up was slow, so slow.

For a long time Enrique was dimly aware of sounds around him, but without his brain caring to listen. It could have been minutes or years before he drifted to true awareness, before his brain registered his existence again, clicking his sense of self back into place.

He was Enrique Rivera. He was in bed. He had just woken up.

Enrique took a deep breath, his mind feeling sluggish as he turned onto his side and let his eyes slowly drift open, squinting tiredy against the light in the room. He must have slept in if that much sun was coming through the windows.

He grimaced as he propped himself up on his elbow, his whole chest ached terribly for some reason. Maybe he really should see a doctor sometime, like Luisa kept saying he should.

Speaking of Luisa...where...?

He stared at the empty space in the bed beside him, seeing many things that seemed wrong, but having to wait for his brain to tell him why as it processed at a maddenly slow rate.

Not only was Luisa not there, but this was a twin-sized bed. He had never seen it before. He looked up and blinked hard as he took in the foreign room around him, all pastel yellows and greens, sparsely decorated in hospital style.

“Mijo, you’re awake.”

Enrique’s mind was picking up speed now, taking things in faster as he turned to look towards the familiar voice, not believing what he was hearing. He hadn’t heard that voice in over fifteen years.

“M-Mamá Coco?” He asked weakly his words sticking in his throat and a cold feeling flushing over him.

“Welcome home Quique, it’s so good to see you again.” Mamá Coco said, leaning forward in her wicker chair and gently taking his hand. “We didn’t think you would be coming so soon, but it’s good to see you.”

“I, you’re...” Enrique’s head spun and the awful pain in his chest flared, sending him collapsing back onto his pillow with a strangled whimper.

He stared at his abuelita as she calmly watched him. Her hair was done up in her usual two long braids and her sweater shawl was just like the one she’d always worn in her last years.

But her face. Her hands. She...

He caught sight of his own hand as he looked down to where she was still gently holding it, and jolted.

Bone.

Gleaming, white, dry, and very, very,

“Dead.” Enrique said, his breathing rough and weak as he closed his eyes tightly against the staggering realization. “I’m dead, I died.”

He remembered now. The chest pain, his collapse, Luisa’s scream.

Luisa.

“I have to go back.” Enrique said, pushing himself upright and trying to throw off the covers, “I have to get to Luisa, I have to-”

“Enrique, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Mamá Coco chided, catching his shoulder as he swayed dangerously halfway off the bed, forcing him to sit as a dizzying rush swept through his head at his sudden movement. “You just died mi hijo, you’ve only been recovering for a few hours, you’ll need to rest a bit more than that before you go charging off.”

“I can’t, I can’t be dead,” Enrique gasped, grimacing against the pain in his chest, his, his...

He looked down and felt another wave of nausea. His ribcage?  

He put a hand to his forehead and cringed at the awful sensation of bone scraping bone, an unpleasant shiver running down his spine.

His spine?

He grit his teeth and forced himself not to look again to see his own spine. Too much, it was too much all at once. He was going to lose it if he did too much all at once.

Luisa had been right, she was always right, why hadn’t he listened? A heart attack? That was so, so preventable.

“Is there any way to go back?’ He asked, forcing himself not to scream, to try and make his voice sound as normal as possible. “I need to go home, Luisa is going to be devastated, I can’t leave her like this. Could this be a near-death experience? Can I get back somehow?”

“It hurts to be separated from those we love,” Mamá Coco said patiently. “but I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with the rest of us. Don’t worry, Luisa will come eventually, everyone always does.”

Enrique shook his head, grimacing. No, no, no, no. Luisa had to stay alive, she had to stay for Socorro, for their three grandchildren. She needed to stay away from death for as long as possible, she didn't deserve this too.

But how could he survive without her?

What was left of Enrique’s body ached, and what was left of his heart hurt even more badly. Enrique didn’t know if the dead could cry, but his breathing was beginning to catch and gasp as if he were about to try his hardest. He hadn’t felt this emotionally gutted since-

He gasped, standing up fast enough to make Mamá Coco frown, but he didn’t care about the dizziness this time.

“Miguel?” He said urgently, the decades old question spilling out of him. “Is he here? Is he dead? Did he really die?”

“Sí.” Mamá Coco said quietly, watching him closely.

Sí.

Miguel was dead.

They’d all known it, after twenty years without even a hint they’d all known deep down that he must be dead, but finally hearing it felt was a heaviest bittersweet pain he’d ever experienced.

“How old?” Enrique asked hoarsely, needed and dreading the answer.

Not a single birthday had gone unoted over the last twenty years, Miguel was thirty-three years old. Should have been thirty-three years old.

“Enrique,” Mamá Coco sighed, reaching down to pick up a photo album off the floor. “You’re going to see a lot of unsettling and different things today. I need you to promise that you will do your best to adjust and accept that many things are different in the land of the dead. Can you promise me that?”

“When did Miguel die?”

“Enrique.”

“Sí, lo siento Mamá Coco, I promise. But please, my son, Miguel, can I see him? What really happened to him?”  

Mamá Coco lifted the heavy photo album onto the bed and flipped open the cover. “You’ll meet everyone tonight, including Miguel. We live together at your Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda’s mansion, I’ll be taking you there as soon as you’re feeling able to walk. The arrival agents say you should be ready to leave this afternoon.”

Enrique tried to bite his lip to stifle his frustration, only to shudder at finding no lip to bite. It was fine, he could play be her rules, he could wait just a minute longer.

“The family is all coming together to celebrate your arrival and you’ll need to know who everyone is, so pay attention. You know about Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda of course.” Mamá Coco said, pointing to the first photo in the album.

It was a large and familiar sepia photograph he’d seen in family albums a million times growing up. Mamá Coco was a little girl on Mamá Imelda’s knee as she stared down the camera, and Papá Héctor smiling gently as he held his old performing guitar to the side. It was a picture from the years before Papá Héctor had become famous.

“That was them in life, and this is them now.” Mamá Coco said, her bony finger tracing to the opposite page. “They care for the family.”

She tapped a newer looking photo of two impeccably dressed skeletons, posing for the camera with an ease that came from a lifetime of fame and papárazzi. Mamá Imelda looked just as determined but more confident, and Papá Héctor’s smile was a little sharper, probably from constant use, but just as warm as ever.

“Your Papá Héctor has been caring for Miguel ever since he died, they are both very close.” Mamá Coco looked up at him. “Quique, when children die young they’re often adopted by a surrogate family member here until their real parents arrive. Sometimes it’s a simple hand-off, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that. Miguel has been very close with Papá for a very very long time, you need to be aware that your arrival is going to be a sensitive issue. I need you to be patient over the next few weeks as things are figured out and keep a cool head, alright?”

“He’s a child?” Enrique asked hoarsely, his brain seizing on only that detail, “He died when he was young?”

“Miguel disappeared because a curse transported him here.” Mamá Coco said gently, “He didn’t make it back in the narrow window he had before he died. Miguel died the same night he disappeared twenty years ago.”

The same night.

Enrique had known, suspected, feared deep down all along that the truth was something like this, but that hadn’t stopped him from idly imagining what Miguel must look like as the years passed. Miguel hitting his growth spurt, his voice deepening, growing facial hair, his shoulders broadening. Looking just like him perhaps, or maybe even like Luisa’s father.  

But he’d been wrong. Miguel had never changed from the picture they put on his memorial all those years ago.

“I need to see him.” Enrique said, fatigue beginning to creep into his mind, “Please, I need to see my boy.”

“You’ll see him tonight.” Mamá Coco promised as she turned the page and pointed to the next picture. “This is little Miguelito now.”

Enrique pulled the album towards him, looking at the picture.

“Oh Miguel.” Enrique said, not waiting for permission as he slipped the photo out of its sleeve so he could look closer. “Miguel what happened to you.”

Papá Héctor looking as confident as ever, but now with an arm lovingly wrapped around a small child skeleton shyly leaning against his jacket as he looked at the camera. Their facial markings were so similar, and the boy had a small navy blue mark just above his mouth where Miguel’s mole had been in life.

Miguel had never been shy like that in life, but maybe the picture had been taken shortly after his death, when he was still recovering. At least it looked like Papá Héctor had taken good care of him. At least Miguel had been able to rely on loving family when Enrique couldn’t be there for him. Enrique would have to thank Papá Héctor for looking after his boy.

“Miguel is much different than you remember him Quique, he’s been through a lot, he’s much quieter now.” Mamá Coco said. She turned the page again. “These are my siblings, you’re great-Tias and Tíos, pay attention for a moment.”

Enrique tried, he really did try to focus as Mamá Coco toured him through the rest of the family. He made it through her siblings; Mateo (the director of the Rivera Foundation, someone he’d known in life), Leti (Mateo’s twin that had died young of cancer), and Héctor Junior (a stiff businessman Enrique had known of but never met).

And the youngest of the siblings, someone named Rodrigo, someone whose picture Mamá Coco sighed tiredly over, shaking her head. “Your Tio Rodrigo is...very spirited. He died when he was twenty-six and doesn’t get along with most of the family. You won’t see much of him in the afterlife I’m afraid. If you do, just let him be. He can be a trouble maker, just ignore him and you’ll be fine.”

After Rodrigo came endless pages of primos, Mamá Coco turning page after page after page, all the skeletal faces and half familiar names blurring together. The dull ache in Enrique’s chest seemed to be fading, but that may have just been his imagination, he had to fight to keep his eyes open against the tiredness that was pulling at him.

He kept looking at the picture in his hand, at Miguel, wondering what their reunion later that night would be like. If only Luisa were here with them.

Well, no. If only he and Miguel could somehow go back to Luisa, to Socorro. If only their family could be brought back together in one place, without death.

“Normally we would ride home in a private car,” Mamá Coco said, finally reaching the end of the photo album and closing it. “But as soon as you’re feeling up to it I thought I’d take you on the sky trolley and show you a bit of the city while we travel. Rest a little while longer, we’ll leave out in a couple hours to get you ready to meet everyone, alright mijo?”

“And then I’ll see Miguel.” Enrique said, grateful to be allowed to lay back down on his pillow, already feeling himself slipping away as he still held Miguel’s photo.

“Remember Quique, things are going to be different.” Mamá Coco said.

For some reason she looked mildly concerned as Enrique closed his eyes, but he was already asleep before he could wonder why.

***

“Well anyway, it was so good to finally meet you, welcome home.” Leti said, giving Enrique a hug.

Enrique smiled as he returned to hug, forcing himself not to cringe at the unsettling clacking of bones under their clothing. Hugging his teenage great-tia had been only the latest in what had already been a long evening of handshakes, shoulder slaps, spirited stories, and of course skeletal hugs.

He hadn’t realized just how much family he had, let alone how well known the Riveras would be in the Land of the Dead. On the sky trolley ride over Mamá Coco had pointed out “Plaza Rivera,” among other landmarks dedicated to Héctor and his posterity. And that was after explaining that he’d woken up in the “Rivera wing” of the hospital.

Arriving at the massive Rivera mansion had nearly been overwhelming, it easily outshown even the large estates the Riveras has in the land of the living, which was saying something. It had been surprisingly pleasant to meet everyone waiting inside, connecting with dozens of enthusiastic family members, most of whom somehow seemed to be very familiar with his life even if he usually knew little of them.

At first it had been easy to stay busy meeting and talking with family, but now that Enrique had made the rounds of dozens of people that he had forgotten names of already everyone else seemed content to catch up with each other, leaving him drifting now that Tia Leti walked off to join another group.

Enrique glanced around the ballroom yet again, looking for any sign of Miguel. When Mamá Coco had turned him loose to mix and mingle she’d warned him Papá Héctor and Miguel were at a pre-scheduled charity event and would be coming late.

“Enrique,” someone (a...second-cousin?) said, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing across the crowd. “Papá Héctor’s here.”

An electric jolt shot through Enrique and he craned his neck to see over the crowd, zeroing in on the brim of a white and gold sombrero on the other side of the room. He didn’t even think to say thank you before he started pushing and weaving his way towards his target. Enrique ran as quickly as he could, causing others to jump out of his way.

Miguel was here. Here in the same room. Here where Enrique could finally, finally reach him. He would be able to scoop him up into a hug and make twenty years of apologies and hear his little boy talk and chatter again, just like he’d been longing to hear for decades.

Enrique was panting when he reached the other side of the ballroom, bursting through the crowd to the small clearing where a man in a fine white and gold charro suit was holding the hand of a boy in a matching outfit as he talked pleasantly with others.

“Miguel!” Enrique cried.

The boy turned to look at him and Enrique’s absent heart ached to recognize his son, despite how different he looked in death.

But instead of running to him, Miguel’s eyes got wide and he whimpered, leaning up against the man he was with and holding more tightly onto his hand.

“Miguel, what is it? What’s wrong?” Papá Héctor asked, looking down at the boy, then looked up and spotted Enrique. Realization flitted across his face and he smiled, extended an arm in welcome. “Enrique, welcome home, it’s good to see you. I suppose it’s time for you to meet Miguel.”

Enrique stepped closer, but there was now a growing ill feeling in his ribcage that had nothing to do with his recent heart attack. Something was very wrong.

Héctor put a hand on Miguel’s head and the boy turned toward him, silently keeping his glazed eyes on Enrique as he clung to Héctor’s jacket, like a scared toddler might do. The boy didn’t make a sound, watching Enrique without actually looking him in the eye.

“Miguel...” Enrique choked, dropping to one knee, looked at the skeletal shell that was left of what had once been his son. “Miguel, what, what happened? Mijo, what happened to you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid he’s been through quite a lot.” Héctor said, but Enrique didn’t take his eyes off Miguel, who stared back, still not meeting his gaze, somehow managing to look blank and terrified at the same time.

“He’s been like this ever since he arrived,” Héctor said sadly, gently stroking Miguel’s hair as the boy clung to him. “we don’t know exactly what it was that the curse did to him. I assure you he’s been to the best doctors and therapists that money can buy over the last twenty years, we’ve done our very best to take good care of him. As long as he’s with me we’re alright, aren’t we, Chamaco? But being around a lot of new people can be a little scary.”

“I am his father.” Quique said, the words coming out unexpectedly hot with the heat of the tears he couldn’t cry. “I am not new, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Quique,” Héctor said, looking down at him with an expression that inexplicably made Enrique want to hit something, “I know this must be hard for you, but I need you to understand. Miguel has been with us for twenty years now.”

Longer than you ever took care of him.

The unspoken words rang in Enrique’s head as he looked up from Miguel. The look on Héctor’s face confirmed that it was exactly what he was trying to communicate.

Miguel is mine now, and you need to take a big step back. Héctor seemed to be saying.

So this is what Mamá Coco had been trying to warn him about.

“Miguel,” Enrique said gently, looking back at the catatonic child. “Miguel, it’s me, it’s Papá, it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you, Mamá and I have missed you so much.”

No response. No words. None of the fire he remembered in his son. Not the quick smile, the bright eyes, the loving teasing or the musical laugh, the bright joy or the calm warmth.

As a skeleton he didn't even look like his Miguel, only the red-brown eyes and the small navy beauty mark above his lip were at all similar to the boy Enrique had missed and wept and prayed over for decades now. To the pictures he’d carried for years. To the son he had never, never stopped hoping he would somehow see again.

This was not Miguel.

This was a nightmare.

“What is wrong with my son?” said Enrique, getting to his feet and staring Héctor down. “What have you done to him?”

“Miguel is a fragile child who has been through more than he deserves.” Héctor said quietly, wrapping his arm around Miguel in a protective way that made Enrique want to scream. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow when we’ve all had some rest.”

“Miguel, it’s me, look at me.” Enrique said, taking a step forward, “I know you remember me, mijo.”

“I don’t think he’s in the mood-”

“Stop talking for him.” Enrique snapped, feeling desperation rising in him. “And why are we having this conversation out in the open? It’s obviously too much for him, I need a room where I can be alone with him for a while.”

This was wrong, this was all so wrong. In all the hundreds, the thousands of ways he’d imagined seeing Miguel again over the years, not even his most awful imaginings had come close to this.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Héctor said, his voice as warm as ever, but now with a hard edge creeping into his tone. “I think this is as far as we go tonight. I’m glad that you’ve joined us Enrique, welcome home. Miguel’s had a long day and I think it’s time he get some rest, perhaps we can continue this conversation when I return.”

Enrique watched helplessly as Héctor turned and led Miguel away from him.

Héctor was holding Miguel’s hand as if he were leading along a five year-old, a deeply unsettling sight that clashed terribly with the memories Enrique had of his son, a boy who’d been charging off on his own since he could walk. He’d never had to pull him along like that.

“Miguel.”  Enrique called, the word slipping out before he even realized it.

And Miguel looked over his shoulder, back at Enrique, just for a moment, before being silently tugged along again.

“Miguel...” Enrique said quietly, the aching in his chest getting worse as his son disappeared into the crowd.

Should he run to catch up with them? Should he, he didn't know, talk to Mamá Coco about getting Miguel back? At that moment he wanted nothing more than to grab his son right and take him far away from Héctor, to get a chance to talk to his boy alone, find out what was really going on.

But...Héctor had said Miguel was fragile, which Enrique had to beleive after what he’d seen. Maybe forcing Miguel to see him really was making things worse.

And as much as it tore Enrique apart, it was true that Héctor had been caring for Miguel longer than he ever had in life...and Enrique didn’t know the first thing about curses or their effects...and it really had been such a very long time since he and Miguel had seen each other.

Maybe...maybe things really had changed.

Enrique rubbed his forehead, flinching his hand away at the still-unfamiliar feeling of bone-on-bone. He didn’t know how his own body worked anymore, but it certainly felt like he was choking up, like he was going to cry.

He needed Luisa. She would know what to do, she would know how to handle this nightmare, she would know how to wake up Miguel, would know what was wrong with him.

Enrique stared up at the high ceiling above him, gritting his teeth and willing himself to get a grip. He hadn’t even been dead a whole day, whether he liked it or not, things were indeed different on this side, just like Mamá Coco said.

He should be grateful Miguel had been taken care of. He shouldn’t be feeling furious jealousy raging inside him. He shouldn’t be jumping to wild conclusions against how must have been treating his boy in order to reduce him to the hollow shell he was now. He shouldn’t be wishing there was some way he could get Miguel away from Héctor, at least for a day or two.

He shouldn’t.

But he was.

Something crashed into him from behind and Enrique yelped as some kind of liquid sloshed over him.

"Lo siento, güey, didn't see you there." A voice chuckled lazily.

Enrique looked up from his soaked shirt to see a man holding two now half-full glasses of wine. The skeleton’s smile looked as disposable as his apology had sounded, and his bloodshot heavy-lidded eyes didn’t help.

He was young, or rather, he must have died young, because Enrique recognized his small beaded braid from the photo album Mamá Coco had shown him earlier.

“Tio Rodrigo?” he asked.

“In the flesh.” Rodrigo grinned, his words just a little slurred on the ends.

Enrique stared at him, momentarily taken aback. In the flesh? Did he really-

“Your faaaaace!” Rodrigo crowed, managing to spill even more of his drinks on the ground as he laughed uproariously. “You freshies are hilarious, I swear, you guys always take forever to loosen up.”

“I see it’s possible to get drunk in the land of the dead?” Enrique said flatly, his agitation turning to annoyance as he looked down at his ruined shirt again.

“Ayyyy, sin hígado, sin problema, sí?” Rodrigo said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Gotta do something to survive around all these stiffs.”

He paused, but Enrique didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his second death joke.

“Anyway, welcome to the family or whatever.” Rodrigo said, his lazy smile thinning as he shrugged and took a sip of what was left in one of his glasses, “This is probably the last time you’ll ever talk to me, so here’s my magical Tio wisdom for you: be careful where you stick your hand, everything around this place bites.” He shoved his second glass in Enrique’s hand. “And here, you’ll need this before you meet Papi, unless of course you’re already one of his bootlickers. Anyway, have fun wandering this zoo for the rest of your afterlife.”

Rodrigo made a kind of sloppy salute and walked off, leaving Enrique with a practically empty glass, and staring in mild shock.

He had never heard a Rivera, dead or alive, talk about the family like that. Especially not about Papá Héctor.

Rodrigo had sounded downright disgusted.

Enrique needed to know more.

“Hey! Tio Rodrigo, wait!” Enrique called, making his way through the crowd of chatting family member that he didn’t recognize.

He noticed he was attracting stares and dropped his voice, forcing himself to walk after Rodrigo instead of running. Mamá Coco had hinted that Rodrigo was the black sheep of the family, it might seem strange for the new arrival to be paying him so much attention.

Enrique carefully made his way to the edge of the crowd and spotted a massive, winged cat alebrije curled up by a roaring fireplace in the far corner. Lounging against her softly glowing side was Rodrigo, legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands behind his head as leaned against the huge cat like she was a sofa.

“Tio Rodrigo?” Enrique said as he approached, eyeing the huge multi-colored beast a little nervously. If it was allowed indoors it had to be safe, right?  

“Qué?” Rodrigo cracked open a bloodshot eye, squinting at him. “What, already want to come tell me off? You’re faster than most, I’ll give you that.”

“You said that “everything bites,” you made it sound like Papá Héctor might bite too.” Enrique said, sitting down on the floor across from Rodrigo. “I need you to tell me what’s going on around here.”

Rodrigo stared at him, both eyes open now. But then his lazy expression grew cold. “Get lost. I’m minding my own business, go mind yours. And tell Teto Junior to come face himself if he wants me harassed instead of sending freshies to do it for him.”

“I...no. No one sent me. I need answers.” Enrique said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m Miguel’s father, the little boy that Papá Héctor won't let go of? He disappeared, well, died, twenty years ago and I don’t even recognize him anymore. I think something terrible’s happened to him, if you know anything about it please tell me, something is wrong and you’re the only one I’ve heard say anything negative about this family.”

Rodrigo stared hard at Enrique, slowly tipping his head back, as if his thought process was slowly loading. Which it undoubtedly was, judging by how much alcohol it seemed that he probably drank on a regular basis.

“You’re el espectro’s real Papá?” Rodrigo asked.

“What do you mean, “real” Papá?” Enrique asked irritably, “Of course I am.”

Rodrigo let out a low whistle, looking at Héctor with something that approached pity.

“Hey, uh, you might want to... You don’t actually have to live here.” Rodrigo said, looking out at the crowd beyond them, adjusting to sit up a little straighter. “Like, they’ll make it sound like you have to, but you can leave. Get a flat like me, strike out on your own, alright?”

“I’m not talking about housing, I’m talking about Miguel.” Enrique said sharply. Why was he even talking to the family drunk if he couldn’t even hold a coherent conversation?

Rodrigo looked him in the eye, his dazed focus crystallized suddenly into something raw and hard, reminding Enrique unsettlingly of the look he’d gotten from Héctor only minutes before.

“Look Quique, I’m going to be straight with you.” He said, “You don’t have a son anymore. That nino’s gone, he’s been gone for years. He wasn’t even that bad when he first arrived, but whatever’s wrong with him, it’s permanent now. I’ve never seen him more than five inches away from my father, the kid calls him Papá. He belongs to my father and Papá does not like it when people take his things from him. Move on before you get hurt, if you stick around he’ll grind you down too.”

“Papá Héctor said the curse is what changed Miguel,” Enrique said, forcing himself to push past the pain of hearing Miguel called another man Papá. “Héctor said he’s been to therapists, but if he has then I don’t understand why Miguel is in such bad condition. I need to talk to Miguel, to feel out what the problem is myself. Maybe they’ve had him too long to see clearly what I could see with new eyes, but he wont even let me near Miguel.”

“Look, you’re talking to the wrong person, he won’t let me near the kid either.” Rodrigo rolled his eyes, looking away as he absently threading his fingers through the alebrije cat’s fur. “I’m too much of a bad influence, they don’t want their old youngest child to rub off on their new one. I don’t know what his deal is, all I know is that you’re not going to be on their good side if you try to get near him without a signed permission slip. El espectro is Papá’s lucky charm, pretty sure they’ll both die the second death if they’re ever separated at this point.”

Mamá Coco had made it sound like Miguel was attached to his caretakers, not that he’d been completely re-written by a set of adoptive parents.

If only Enrique could just get Miguel alone, if he could just talk to him for a while. Maybe Héctor really had taken him to doctors, maybe he really had been trying his best, but evidently whatever he was doing was only making things worse.

And Enrique was Miguel’s father, not Héctor. Enrique could help Miguel recover, he knew who Miguel really was, he’d been the one to actually raise the boy, Héctor has only seen him trapped in this stagnant state.

Which wasn’t even remotely the same thing as being his parent. Héctor didn’t have any special one of claim over Miguel, he was just used to no one challenging him.

Maybe it was time for that to change.

“Look, lo siento Queque, really,” Rodrigo said, stiffly getting to his feet and stretching. “but the only way to survive this family is to get away from them. Trust me, I know. There’s some open flats near my place at Plaza Rivera, get your family stipend and get yourself set up there. Take my advice and leave this all behind, move on before you get hurt.”

Rodrigo turned and dug his fingers into the alebrije jaguar’s fur, dragging his hands back and forth across her huge neck. The massive animal opened her blazing yellow eyes and stretched luxuriously, extending her legs and wings, making Enrique shiver at the amount of tense energy coursing through her gigantic frame. This was a creature that looked like it could even kill the dead if it wanted to.

“Pepitaaaa, heeeey pretty kitty,” Rodrigo crooned, scratching behind a feline ear the size of his skull. “want to give me a lift back to my place, beautiful girl? Caprice stayed home tonight, I need to get back before she starts wondering about me.”

Pepita’s thundering purr rolled as she got to her feet and drooped a wing to the floor, allowing Rodrigo to clamber up onto her back.

“Look Quique, you seem like a good kid.” Rodrigo called as Pepita padded to the huge open window nearby, “I’ll tell you what, since you’ve got a bone to pick with my father I’ll give you a once-in-an-afterlife offer, you can come crash at my place for a night if you ever decide to escape. Plaza Rivera, teal building, ground level. Give it up with el espectro now, Papi’s not going to let you anywhere near him.”

“But how do I-?”

Enrique startled as Pepita dropped out of the window, taking a waving Rodrigo down the skyscraper height drop with her.

A moment later he saw them rise in the distance, already flying far, far away on glowing wings.

Enrique watched them disappear into the distant skyline, still holding tightly to the glass Rodrigo had handed him, feeling suddenly as if he had been abandoned somewhere dangerous.

“Was that tonto giving you trouble?”

Enrique jumped, looking over to see that a skeleton in a sharp business suit with a glowing squirrel perched on his shoulder had joined him and was glaring out the window. Héctor Junior, the second youngest child in the family.

“I don’t know why Coco and Leti insist on him attending our gatherings,” Héctor Junior said, his voice as cold as a terminal diagnosis. “all he does is bother the people who actually care about the family.”

“He wasn’t bothering me.” Enrique said automatically, but then froze as Héctor Junior’s stiff gaze turned to him.

“Then what were you two doing?” Héctor Junior asked, his squirrel alebrije chattering as it stared Enrique down with its beady fuchsia eyes.

Enrique tried to bite his non-existent lip for the second time that day as he thought fast. Perhaps disclosing his sympathies with the family pariah wasn’t the smartest thing he could do right now.

Especially not with the mad plan beginning to form in the back of his head.

“Well, actually he was bothering me,” Enrique said, pulling at the hem of his wine-stained shirt with an angry sigh. “But he flew off when I tried to talk to him about it.”

Héctor Junior snorted unkindly, taking a sip of champagne from the fluted glass he carried. “Yes, he does that. Ruy is forever flying away from his responsibilities.”

“Well I’m glad he’s gone,” Enrique said, cringing internally even as he laid it on thick. “he was saying awful things about the family.”

“You’ll find that afterlife without the family mistake is much preferable.” Héctor Junior said, looking at him approvingly. He extended his hand. “Héctor the Second, now that we’ve officially met. You can call me Tio Héctor.”

“It’s good to finally meet you in person.” Enrique said, shaking his hand and resisting the urge to wipe his own handbones on his pant leg afterward. “You’ve left quite a legacy in the family with the Rivera Zapatos Corporation.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.” Héctor Junior said smugly, “Teaming up to work with Tio Felipe y Oscar was certainly one of my most brilliant moment in life. You know, it was when-”

“I just remembered,” Enrique said quickly, cutting off what he already could tell was going to be a very long story. “Papá Héctor asked me to meet him at Miguel’s room and I’ve completely forgotten the directions he gave me. This place is so big, do you know how to get to Miguel’s room from here?”

“It’s on the second floor.” Héctor Junior said, swiftly recovering from his obvious disappointment at being interrupted. “If you go down that hallway and up the grand staircase it should lead you to an atrium. Past that is the second hallway, I think his room is one of those doors, I do know it’s right next to my parent’s room. Pobre nino, I hear he still gets nightmares about his death, Papá keeps him close by so he can help.”

Enrique desperately wanted to curl up and die again at that last part (Nightmares for twenty years? Now he knew something was wrong.) but he kept his business smile on, grateful that years of dealing with overbearing press and slimy business partners had prepared him for situations like this. He had to be strong if he was going to help his son, he had to keep it together if his insane plan was going to work.

“Muchas gracias, Tio Héctor.” Enrique said, nodding, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a new shirt before my meeting.”

“That does seem appropriate.” Héctor said with a smirk, “Welcome to the family Enrique, I hope you settle in well.”

“Gracias.” Enrique nodded, then turned and made his way deep into the crowd as quickly as he could. Away from that man.

Enrique dodged between well-wishing family members, politely smiling off their advances, excusing himself over and over. So many skeletal faces, some he vaguely recognized, many he didn’t, but now he couldn't help feeling like he really was in a zoo, just like Rodrigo has suggested.

Something was very wrong, even if no one else seemed to realize it. Enrique needed to get his son and get him out, just for a little while, a day or two, long enough to actually connect again with Miguel without a crowd looking on.

Enrique ducked down the hallway that Héctor Junior had pointed out, his forced smile dropping as soon as he was out of sight.

There was a very good chance he was overreacting. Maybe he should wait, give it a couple days to let himself adjust before charging into a situation that he knew he didn’t fully understand.

Luisa would probably tell him to be patient.

But Luisa wouldn’t want him to leave their son a moment longer than he had to, not in this state.

Enrique sent up a quick prayer, crossing himself as he headed towards what had to be the grand staircase Héctor Junior had mentioned. If Papá Héctor had just put Miguel to bed then that meant Miguel would be alone once Héctor went back down to the party. That gave Enrique a brief window of time to get to Miguel before Héctor noticed he was missing from the crowd.

Enrique had no idea what would happen if he were caught, but if worst came to worst, Miguel was still his son. How much trouble could he really be in legally?

Enrique shook his head as he quietly climbed the stairs, keeping his hands close to himself after hearing the clacking sound they made against the stone railing.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, all he knew was that he had to get to Miguel. For the first time in decades his son was within his reach, for the first time years he knew where he was.

Enrique grit his teeth and picked up his pace. Nothing was going to keep him away from Miguel, not now.

He was going to do whatever it took to get his son back.

Read Chapter 5

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

Well now you’ve all gone and done it and goaded me into writing an actual story with all your brilliant asks. Hope you’re all quite pleased with yourselves.

- Wit

[allthephils]

Repose

Chapter 8

I will likely post the next chapter very soon! Thanks for reading!

Word count: 3068 Rating M (language, sleeping beauty au)

Read on ao3

The sun was low in the sky when Phil finally left Dan’s side. He gave Adrian a hug goodbye and a promise to see him tomorrow. This time, when Phil got in the car, he was surprised to see Dennis at the wheel. “Oh. Hi. I thought you were working the door.”

Dennis eyed Phil in the rear view mirror. “Working the door? I’m not a bouncer, mate.”

“I know that Dennis, that’s not what I meant. Just, I trust you with his life, that’s all.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I left someone I trust at my post.”

It was strange talking to Dennis again. He knew more about Phil and Dan than anyone. He was witness to their love story and to their undoing. He looked the other way on more than one occasion so that Dan could just be an 18 year old man, so that he could fall in love. Gratitude brought tears to Phil’s eyes, taking him completely by surprise. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had left him raw and sensitive.

“Dennis, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to thank you. For letting me in yesterday. It really means the world to me and it looks like it might really make a difference to Dan too.”

Dennis stayed focused on the road. “Well, it’s not like you gave me much of a choice, Phil.”

“Yeah, sorry about all that. But I know full well that you could have tackled me to the ground or had me arrested, or like, thrown in the dungeon or something.”

It’s a miracle the glass didn’t shatter for the look Dennis gave Phil in the mirror. They were quiet until they neared Phil’s apartment.

“8am tomorrow.” Dennis said authoritatively.

Phil winced. “Um, actually Dennis. I don’t really do 8am. I need to be rested and emotionally prepared when I see Dan so let’s say noon. Ok?”

Dennis got out and opened Phil’s door. “Noon then.”

Phil stood in front of Dennis and looked at his tired face. He’d aged since Phil first met him, more than 5 years worth and it occurred to Phil that this must be really hard for Dennis too.

“Dennis, this is so scary, for all of us. If you ever need anyone to talk to… I mean, are you doing ok?”

Dennis patted Phil hard on the shoulder, it seemed like a pretty important gesture though Phil wasn’t quite sure what it meant. He didn’t say another word, just got in the car and drove away.

Phil plopped onto the sofa exhausted and pulled his phone out. He turned it on, he couldn’t remember the last time his phone had been all the way off. This is how it would be now, disconnected. He didn’t know how many days he’d be spending just hanging out with Dan but he’d already resigned himself to this new life for the foreseeable future. Everyday he’d be with Dan and every night, he’d come back here and try to keep his life running. If he filmed something tonight, he could edit tomorrow night. Get it out of the way so he could forget about it for a few days. He opened Twitter, hoping for inspiration but that’s not what he found. His feed brimmed with speculation about why the royals had stopped letting people in to try and wake Dan. Most believed the protests had been successful, but there were other theories too. Maybe they had found her, the woman Dan would marry, maybe he’d gotten better, maybe he’d gotten worse, and in one small corner of Twitter, maybe #Phaniel was the reason. The video of Phil defending his right to see Dan was everywhere. #Phaniel was still trending. Reluctantly, Phil clicked on one of many video links.

You could clearly hear him use the word homophobia, just before he threatened to sick his fans on the castle. Shit. You could also hear Dennis call Phil by name and say you know I can’t let you in. It was pretty obvious Phil wasn’t a stranger to Dan. And now, thousands of tweets asking Phil what had happened had been ignored all day. It was only one day but that was enough to produce Phaniel videos cutting together footage of Dan and Phil against music about star-crossed lovers, destiny, and dreaming. Photoshopped images of the two of them sent Phil’s heart reeling. They were too close to home, too true. He wished his fans were just a little less savvy. He felt nauseous. The only thing he hated more than being tangled up in politics was having his personal life exposed. Panic began to set in and Phil had to make a conscious effort to steady his breath. His heart beat loud in his ears. Could he ignore this? Deny it? He could say he was on the Isle of Man, he usually turned his phone off when he went there. That wouldn’t satisfy his fans though and he knew that. They wanted an explanation for the video, they weren’t going to fall for a lie. His phone felt like a grenade in his hand and he had no idea how to put the pin back. It vibrated and he jumped, his nerves completely shot after two days of emotional exhaustion.

Louise: How are you holding up?

Louise, thank god.

Phil: Not great. What are you doing right now?

Louise: Headed home to put Darcy to bed but Liam can do that. You want some company?

Phil: God yes.

Louise: 20 minutes

Louise didn’t hand out hugs to just anyone. She hated being touched for the most part but Phil had always been the exception. She let herself into the apartment, of course she had a key, and walked toward Phil with open arms. He stood and let his best friend hold him tight.

“Seeing you three days in a row is quite a treat, Philip,” Louise cooed, “I just wish the circumstances were a bit lighter.”

The doorbell buzzed. “I ordered us pizza. I’ll get it.” Louise ran downstairs.

Phil went to the kitchen for all the necessary things and came back to Louise opening the box.

“That smells amazing. Louise, you truly are the best best friend.” He kissed her cheek and grabbed a slice, feeling his anxiety start to dissipate.

Knowing he didn’t have to explain what was going on was incredibly comforting. Louise had certainly kept up on the drama all day. She’d likely been asked her share of invasive questions about Phil and she had definitely deflected every one of them.

“Louise, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.”

“I know, love.” She watched Phil’s face soften but there was still so much there. “Phil, yesterday you said that you thought you might have loved Dan...”

“Yeah, Louise, that’s a pile of crap. I loved him. I wanted to marry him, I think Dan is the love of my life.” His voice cracked just a bit and he took a bite to swallow it down before it could turn into something more.

“Ok, well this all makes more sense now. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I signed an non-disclosure agreement. You already knew he'd asked me out so I just kept the details sparse I guess. Plus, you were my favorite drinking buddy then but we weren’t like we are now. We weren’t us.”

Louise frowned. “Phil, I’m so sorry. Who did you talk to? Like when you broke up. Why did you break up? Oh my god, I have so many questions.”

“I didn't talk to anyone. I couldn’t. It was awful, Lou. I’ve never felt pain like that. I just faked it, you know? And eventually I moved on.”

“Oh Philly. I hate that. I hate knowing you went through that on your own.” Louise had teared up a bit, always the empathetic one, she wiped away the one tear that escaped. “Do you feel ready to tell me about you and Dan?”

Phil was so tired, to the bone, but he’d never told anyone these stories and he needed this right now. He needed the catharsis and the understanding and the love. Louise was the only person he’d let see him like this, so open and vulnerable. Well, Louise and Dan. He told her the beginning and the end. The middle was beautiful and mundane and they didn't have time for that story right now. They laughed a lot and Phil opened a bottle of wine and they cried too. Louise volunteered to tweet in Phil’s place for a few days. Non-committal, cryptic tweets while he was at the castle with his phone confiscated. They both knew it wasn’t a solution but maybe it would hold off the mob for a few days so Phil could have some peace and figure out what to do.

Phil had kissed the most beautiful boy last night and that boy had kissed him back. All was right in the world. The day started with a sweet good morning text from Dan. That started Phil’s heart fluttering and it hadn’t stopped yet. He called his mum after that because that’s what Phil does when he’s feeling really great. He talked way too fast and laughed too easily. She asked how much coffee he’d had to drink. She asked what he wasn’t telling her and if there was a girl.

“I’m just having a good day, mum. And no, there isn’t a girl. Can’t a guy just be happy to talk to his mum?”

“Not this happy.” She had said.

He went outside because the sun was shining and it seemed appropriate for the romantic comedy montage he felt like he was living in. He had no shame about the extra spring in his step and the permanent smile plastered on his face. At the bakery, Phil giggled and blushed his way through ordering coffee and scones. Leo just grinned and said he was glad it went well. He sat outside, a rare thing for him. He wouldn’t even have minded if a follower came by. The table next to him was empty but someone had left the paper behind. Phil reached over to pick it up, warming at the memory of his first discovery of grown up Dan, looking out at him from the pages of a tabloid just like this one. He paged through, past stories of actors cheating with nannies and pop stars in rehab. This paper was seriously garbage. Just as he was about to toss it aside, the words Royal Love Story pg 9 caught Phil’s eye. Half of page 9 was taken up by a photo of Dan, clearly taken without his knowledge, in the garden at Windsor castle. Dan stood about a foot from Iris Spencer, his hand on her waist. He leaned in close to her ear. She wore a wide smile, amused by whatever Dan must be saying. God, Dan looked good. He wore slim slacks and slip on shoes with a little ankle showing. His button down shirt hugged his chest and accentuated his trim arms. Iris looked like she’d coordinated her outfit with his, she looked like garden party Barbie, totally at home in her natural environment.

Phil’s stomach lurched a bit. He knew he had no right to be jealous when he and Dan had only been on two dates. He was jealous though, mostly of the way Iris could just walk in and out of Dan’s life with so much ease, no NDAs, no bodyguards. He was, of course, also jealous of the way Dan’s hand was on her waist and the fact they were sharing something in that moment, something just for them. Rationally, he knew that the photo was out of context, that tabloids lie. That didn’t dull the sting of the words Is this the future queen? at the top of the page. It didn’t make him feel any better about the stark contrast between him and the rest of Dan’s life. Dan would be crazy to choose Phil over what he had in that photo. Maybe he’s just slumming, getting his gay side a little attention before going back to his rich girlfriend. The girl his family loved, the girl from the right kind of family. She has a penthouse and throws catered parties with stylish friends. Phil has pizza and Ribena by candlelight. Dan’s going to be king one day. He won’t be 18 year old Dan; beautiful, passionate, nerdy Dan for long. It’s bigger than them. One day, he would have a queen.

One kiss and Phil had imagined a future with Dan. But it was an amazing kiss, a beautiful kiss. And Dan had been vulnerable and sweet and open. You can’t fake that, right? A kiss like that has got to mean something. Phil wished he could call his mum back and tell her everything, get some advice, but he really couldn’t. He tried to imagine what she might say. She’d say that Dan was lucky to have met Phil and that the royal family don’t have anything on the Lesters. She’d say that if Phil was worried about that photo, he should just ask Dan about it. She’d say that Phil’s heart was very seldom wrong and he should follow it. And she’d be right, she always was, even when she was just a voice in Phil’s head.

So he followed his slightly bruised, mildly frightened, very excited heart. He picked up his phone and texted Dan.

Phil: Can I ask you something?

Phil was surprised when Dan responded right away, he figured he’d be busy working on some admirable project.

Dan: I’m an open book

Phil: How long were you with Iris Spencer?

Dan: With? I wasn't. Our parents conspired to get us together but we are just friends. I’m not interested in her

Dan: I am interested in you though

Phil felt some small measure of relief but he also had a masochistic desire to know more.

Phil: But you dated?

Dan: No, not really. My family invited her to things, functions. We do spend time together, we have all the same friends. Where is this coming from Phil?

Phil: So you never slept together?

Phil regretted it the minute he hit send. That was truly none of his business, he was being petty and jealous and immature.

Phil: Shit. Don’t answer that Dan. I’m sorry. I saw a photo in a tabloid and I spiraled

Dan: Ah. Ok. That explains a lot. We did hook up a couple times as drunk teenagers. It was exactly how those things are and it has no bearing on any thing that is happening now.

Phil: What is happening now?

Dan: Me and you are happening now

The ache in Phil chest shifted. The jealousy had turned to longing and Phil wished Dan was here so he could wrap his arms around him and chase away any remaining doubt.

Phil: Me and you

Dan: Dan and Phil

Phil: Phil and Dan

Phil: Phan

Dan: Phan! :-)

Phil: I ship it

Dan: You remember PJ?

Phil: Yes

Dan: He’s having a party tomorrow night. There will be less snogging and more video games than the last party I took you too. PJ is a big nerd. Come with me?

Phil: Yes

Dan: Yay! His house is on the beach. You are going to love it. It’s in Brighton. Is that ok?

Phil: Is it ok?

Phil: I’m not sure. Let’s review. You want me to accompany a gorgeous prince to a beach house in Brighton to play video games and eat gluten free artisan pickles?

Dan: I can’t guarantee the pickles.

Phil: Ug. What good are you if you can’t guarantee artisan pickles?

Dan: I’ll think of some way to make it up to you ;)

Phil: *fans self*

Dan: Pick you up at 5?

Phil: Ok. Come earlier if you want. I miss you.

Dan: I miss you too. See you tomorrow. Xoxo

Dan didn’t come to the door, instead he texted Phil to come down. When he climbed in, there was a basket in the center seat, a picnic basket. Dan leaned over and gave Phil a hello kiss. It was so casual, like they’d known each other for ages and this was just the way they greeted each other. Phil’s heart flipped in his chest. “What’s this?” He gestured to the basket.

Dan smiled that wide affectionate smile that Phil was starting to grow familiar with.

“Well, we’ve got at least two hours in this car and I thought it might be nice to have a picnic.”

He opened the basket and pulled out 2 checkered napkins, handing one to Phil. There were tiny sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper and tied with string. Dan pointed at each one and explained what was inside, scrunching his nose in disbelief when Phil said he didn’t like cheese. They ate and laughed about Phil’s picky taste in food and how pizza was the exception to every rule. Dan handed Phil a glass and pulled out a tiny bottle of champagne. There were strawberries and pears drizzled with dark chocolate for dessert.

“Is this legal? The champagne? In the car?” Phil asked.

“Strictly speaking? No. But I think we’re good.” Dan moved the basket over his lap so he was sitting next to Phil.

“Buckle your seat belt, Dan.” Phil gave Dan a quick peck on the cheek, eyes darting toward the front seat to see if Dennis was looking.

“Ok, mum.” Dan put a strawberry to Phil’s lips. “Don’t worry, Dennis won’t peek. He promised.”

Phil bit into the berry, letting the flavors spread over his tongue, imagining how it would taste to kiss Dan after this. “You are so romantic. I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me. How are you only 18?”

“I had to do something to thank you for the other night. Plus, I might have a chef at home who helped me put this together.” Dan popped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth.

They drank champagne and fed each other fruit, sharing sweet chaste kisses between bites. It was absurdly cliche and absolutely perfect. Phil thought, this is it, this is what it’s like to date a prince.

[swanderful1]

A Cold Awakening: Ch 17/?

Notes: So so sorry for the repost, it's the same chapter I just had to fix it so the whole post wasn't occupying all of everyones feeds. I unfortunately, am not very tumblr savvy so that mistake is on me. If the majority of the work still isn't under the cut  please, please let me know! Thanks!

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.

 Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT

Rating: M!!!!!!!

Word Count: ~7000

The whole work is on AO3 and ffnet

Enjoy! Read, comment, reach out! I love to hear from people!

Emma left the conference room with Killian, a place where she had been gentle and caring. Her voice soft with concern for the man who she had come to know so well and feel for so deeply. After he had left, and now that she was walking into another room to deal with Gold, her mood had changed considerably.

The man in question sat at a table opposite Graham. The metal chairs and table the only furniture in the room, the sparse look of its cinderblock framework not leaving anything to interpretation. If you were in this room, on the opposite end of questions, you were in trouble. It was a place Emma had spent many a time in here grilling adolescents for vandalism, getting confessions for shoplifting, nothing of this caliber though. And if she said she wasn’t a bit nervous she would be lying. But any nerves she had about the situation were completely overtaken by the amount of anger she had toward Robert Gold right now.

“Alright,” Emma said as she sat down in the seat next to Graham, who had already been questioning Gold for an hour to no avail, and hopefully he could prevent her from ringing this guy’s neck. She took a few deep breaths before opening her mouth again, “so I won’t sugarcoat this… it doesn’t look good for you right now.”

Gold didn’t say anything back, just leaning back in the chair crossing his arms over his chest. A smug look on his face. But beyond that Emma could tell he was nervous. She saw the way his bottom lip twitched in the absence of him speaking. The restricted body language, the small beads of sweat that formed on his forehead after being in the windowless room.

“From what I’ve heard you haven’t been very talkative this morning, Mr. Gold.” Emma started off. David had filled her in in the hall.

“Why should I be? I was ripped from my home this morning, held in this room, about a murder that happened twenty years ago.”

“For good reason.” She was fuming. The sheer arrogance of Gold in this scenario. He knew he was caught, that much was clear in his behavior. The deflection was solely for his ego. “The murder weapon was found in your shop, there’s physical evidence you carried on an illicit affair with one of the murder victims and harbored aggressive resentment for the other murder victim, namely her husband. Her goddamn ring was in your shop. Shall I continue?”

He leaned forward, pressing his forearms to the metal surface. “Do you really want to do this? Have Neal lose another parent?”

His gold tooth hit the fluorescent light and beamed as he ended on the word parent. Emma thought steam may come out of her ears. How dare he try to guilt her out of doing her job. How dare he bring Neal into this anymore than he already was. It was low. And it was nasty.

“We’ve got a double murder, that happened twenty years ago, and all of the arrows are pointing toward you,” she said, meeting his eyes with hers. Anger boiling beneath the surface of her skin.

“And what exactly are those arrows, deputy? Because from my view it seems like you have questions that still need answered.” The words on his lips sounded vicious even in their simplicity. There wasn’t a part of Emma that trusted him.

“I do need more answers, and you’re going to give them to me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if you want your son to ever speak to you again, you’ll do the right thing and cooperate.” She didn’t want to do it. Emma didn’t want to bring Neal into it. He was too good for this, but there was so much that tied Emma to this case she knew she would have to go low to get what she wanted.

If Gold was angered by the comment he made no show of it, but there was no way what Emma had said didn’t land. It got to him, whether he wanted to show it or not. Because at the end of the day, he knew she was right. There was a high likelihood Neal would cease all contact with his father when he found this out. Almost certainly. Eventually Neal would probably talk to his father again but Emma had fought with her ex enough to know how he handled conflict in his life. And this scenario was… completely unprecedented. He motioned his hand, as if to give her permission to speak, as if she didn’t already have it.

“Now that we understand each other…” Emma pulled her notebook and pen out, ready to jot things down despite the fact that the whole interaction was being recorded on camera. She was old school in that way. “When did you meet Moira Jones?”

“We met long before either of us were married…” His hand reached up and ran beneath his chin, probably a nervous tick. “She was… rather eye-catching. I was working at a coffee shop.”

His eyes looked beyond Emma now, focused on something behind her. If she didn’t know any better she would say he was getting emotional?

“She came in every day and ordered the same thing, had this lovely accent.” A smile. “I didn’t think she knew who I was… and then one day she saw me in the park, not in my uniform, and we got to talking.”

“When did it go south?” Graham asked, easing Gold into the story. He was clearly able to tell it. And he wasn’t lying Emma made sure of that. The words coming out of his mouth were nothing but the truth.

“When she met her husband.”

“But you two still carried on?” Emma jotted little things down as she listened to him talk.

“Brennan was… everything her parents wanted her to marry. And she didn’t want to disappoint them. So she made me a deal.”

“What was that?”

“She would marry him, but we would still be together in secret.” He looked back to Emma. “I said no… initially.”

Emma lifted her pen to her mouth, going over the timeline in her head that she had from Archie, the man who had also been a therapist for Moira Jones. How he had told Emma that Moira and her lover had taken time from each other. That he thought Moira’s affair picked up 5 years before she was murdered. But Emma knew it had been longer.

“How long did the two of you stop?” Emma eyed him, careful to make note of exactly how long things had stopped… and if he would dare lie about it.

“About a year before her first child was born…”

He told the love story Emma had long been trying to piece together. Giving her what she had needed all along. How he had posed as a “doctor” so he could see her in her home. The town of Storybrooke too small and gossipy to risk seeing each other in a public place. He had moved here from an even smaller town, following Moira’s lead. He was backed into a corner, knew there wasn’t a way for him to work his way out of this one. All they would need was his fingerprints on the knife and the blood test to show it belonged to either Jones. That which would arrive later that week and had already been sent away. Emma tried not to get too emotional, thinking of having to see Neal later. Gold would probably be in the holding cell at the station until the knife came back.

“The night of the murder, how was it that you ended up at the Jones house?” Emma urged, the last pieces of the story needing to fit together.

“She had planned to leave Brennan… that fall. My wife had long left me, I had my son. But I thought I could make it work…” his voice shook as he spoke, the normally confident, arrogant man gone. To reveal a version of Robert Gold she had never seen before. “And then the night before she was going to leave him she backed out. I guess Brennan had caught her packing and…. Well he got rough with her. ”

The room silent, the emotion so thick. Emma could picture the Jones family in the stately home now in such disrepair. Going off on each other, Brennan terrifying Moira. The idea of it all being kept behind such closed doors making the stakes much higher.

“It had happened before, she would promise to leave. Then she would take it back, telling me it wasn’t the right time. Not the right place.” He paused, hands shaking more now than ever. “And then he started to hit her. She was terrified of him. So I went there that night with the intention of standing up to him, and taking her away.

“But when it came time to leave she wouldn’t. Brennan had known for years, everything that went on. He only cared when it had the potential of being public. He did it all, pulled all of her strings. Took her out of his will, threatened to take the boys, anything to keep her there. He paralyzed her emotionally and despite everything, those boys were above all else.”

He took a long pause, scratching his nose, sucking in a deep breath. But Emma and Graham didn’t push him. They didn’t have to.

“She wouldn’t go. She never would. That night…. I… I never intended to hurt her. She was everything me. But after I had stabbed Brennan, she still defended him. As if he would magically come back.”

Another sharp intake of breath. A thick layer of tears. A look that could only be described as a mix of shame and regret.

“She would have never run away with me. Nor would she have ever forgiven me….” His head fell to his hands. Reliving every second of that night as he told it. “I was angry, hurt, irrational. Before I could stop myself I did to her what I had done to her husband. Then I ran. I took the knife, I left them there. I never spoke of it again.”

Emma had never expected him to be so… emotional. He was a cold man. A manipulative man. Even before all of this she hadn’t trusted him, he was slithery. And as she heard him tell his side of things, the only side of things they would ever have, she realized why Moira had stayed with her husband but kept Gold in her life. She felt trapped between two men who terrified her. Emma felt terrible. Her heart aching for the woman who had been in so much pain, so much turmoil for so long. Emma had gotten her confession, the admission of guilt from the murderer himself. In spite of all that she felt no relief. Perhaps it was the impending conversation she would have with Neal. Perhaps it was all of the pain Killian had been through because of the man in front of her.

Graham looked over at Emma, realizing she was about to break. He nodded, standing from the table to put the cuffs on Gold to arrest him. Allowing Emma to breathe. She stood and watched it happen, the silver links tying his wrists together. Graham ushering Gold out of the room. It felt like the whole world had gone silent, and there was only a ringing in Emma’s ears. Watching in slow motion as the answer to her work left her alone in the room.

Two days later, Emma was back in the office. Working with Ruby on trying to figure out who had been sending the clues. Neal and Henry had come home Sunday night. A tired, teary eyed Emma pulled Neal aside as he was dropping Henry off at her house. They sat on her porch over iced tea as she told him what all had happened.

“I just… I can’t believe it…” Neal overcome with emotion, leaned forward in the rocking chair to rest his head in his hands. “The bastard…”

“Did you have any idea he was having an affair?” Emma asked after a long while of them sitting on the porch. Neal’s reaction going from angry to sad to silent. She let him do what he needed. Hating that she was the one who told him. His heart breaking at the disappointment in one of his parents yet again.

“Honestly, I thought maybe, but then my mom left and he was okay for a while. And then I got older and didn’t really pay too much attention to him…” Neal’s eyes were tear stained, the same eyes he had passed along to their son.

“You know you always have our family, Neal, you don’t have to go through this alone.” She reached out and rubbed some of the tension out of his shoulder.

“I know…” He offered the only smile he could at the moment, “I guess we’ll have to let Henry know.”

They both looked in through the porch window that led into the living room. Where Henry sat watching tv. Completely unaware of the conversation happening between his parents.

“I can do it, if you just need some time,” Emma said.

“No. It’s okay, I can, we can do it together.”

They went into the house and broke the news to their son. Sparing him the illicit details. He didn’t need to know everything, just the basics. He was upset, rightfully so. He and Neal spent the night on the couch, just keeping each other company. Emma wasn’t far, she made one of the few things she could - popcorn. All of them just needed to feel like they had a family right now.

And now, the hunt was on for the person behind the clues. The ease of mind that came from locking up Gold was short lived when they had other people to apprehend. Emma had her suspicions but nothing concrete. She thought back to Sunday. When she had asked Belle about the murder weapon, and the woman had so willingly led her right to it. Then Emma thought of her initial suspicions. How the person had known exactly how to avoid being caught, how there was rarely a slip up in months worth of clues. How Emma had thought that it could have been an inside job. It made sense. But there was nothing of interest at Gold and Belle’s house. Nor the shop. It was another dead end. Though it didn’t keep Emma from digging.

Belle would make sense, perhaps she found something or knew something of Gold’s affair but like Moira was scared to come to the police with it. She could have reasoned out the scheme and planned it knowing all of the tricks of the trade. All week Emma and Ruby worked on this theory, worked to find something, anything that would give her reason to suspect Belle. But if the brunette had been the one behind the clues she wasn’t stupid. Knowing the end game goal of the thing to be the arrest of her husband, she wouldn’t have left anything incriminating behind. It would require a large amount of hunting, and the barest clue would give them what they needed. Assuming Emma’s answer was even correct, but no one else had come up with another solution. So for the time being it was what they were rolling with.

Friday night, Emma came home from the most emotionally, mentally, physically exhausting week of work she had ever experienced. She had the house to herself. Henry with his father, still reeling themselves from everything that had happened. Emma did her best to comfort her ex and her son in the wake of what had gone on but there was only so much she could do. So after four nights in a row of spending hours with the boys, she took the night to be alone.

The house quiet with emptiness she took in the vast space. While she loved having people in the house, and the little sounds that came from that, the silence was nice. The wood floors clean from a week of no feet, the kitchen free of dirty dishes, everything neatly tucked into its place. Emma breathed in the smell of home. Closing her eyes to block her mind out from the week that had led to this quiet. For a few moments she just stood.

Once her mind had been effectively calmed, she proceeded to go upstairs and soak herself in the goddamn tub for probably close to an hour. She had brought a book along with her, as if her mind could even handle the mere task at this stage of the day. Emma ended up mostly just laying her head on the lip of the clawfoot tub and allowing the stress to fall off her body like the droplets of water gliding down her skin. And for the first time, really ever, she wished she wasn’t alone in the bath tub.

Sunday. Nearly 5 days ago. Had been the last she had seen of Killian. She had tried calling him, he had tried calling her. A few texts were shared but they just weren’t on the same wavelength this week. It wasn’t great, after the past few weeks when they had spent so much of their time together. So many nights wrapped in each other, to go without that, even for a few days was hard. As much as she didn’t want to admit it she missed him. But at the same time Emma knew he needed time, and he knew she had a lot of work to do. So perhaps they were more in tune with one another than she thought.

Perhaps she could go over to his place again, surprise him, release some more of the tension pent up in her body from the week. Emma thought of the night before they arrested Gold. When she had shown up at Killian’s hotel and stayed there with him, his words just as clear now in her head, “I want to make love to you”. It had made her shiver with desire down to the fibers of her bones. And it wasn’t just the promise of physical contact with him, it was something more. She wasn’t stupid, stubborn definitely, but she knew what it felt like to fall for someone. It had happened so few times in her life that it was unfamiliar but still not unwelcome.

But when she climbed out of the tub to get dressed to head over to see Killian, she doubted herself. The last move had been hers. She had shown up there. She had initiated it. There was a selfish part of her that wanted him to do the same for her. After all, the case was drawing to a close, perhaps he had only been interested in her because she was a convenient fuck. Thinking beyond the case, or at the very least talking about it out loud, had never been something they had addressed. Maybe that was because he didn’t want anything further. He had a career, a life, in a whole other country. How could she possibly fit into that?

After toweling off and climbing into leggings and a t-shirt she felt better. Clean. Relaxed even, her muscles loose from the warm water of the bath. When she entered her bedroom it was entirely dark, the evening sun was setting leaving a scarce amount of light. Emma flicked on lights as she padded her way through the house, headed for the kitchen to make herself something to eat.

The house was still quiet, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front hall was the only noise around her. She thought of turning on some music but decided it would be better without it. Using her limited cooking skills Emma took out the supplies for the one meal she could actually make well…. Macaroni and cheese. Someday maybe she could benefit from watching her son prepare food. Henry was quite talented, she could learn a thing or two. But for now this would have to do. Her stomach was turning in on itself, for many reasons, but one was probably lack of food since lunch. She poured herself a glass of the only wine she had in the house at the moment. A sweet riesling she kept in the back of her fridge. There was no part of her that wanted to leave the house again tonight, so it would have to do.

Emma took a sip of her wine before setting it on the counter and filling a pot with water for dinner. She was about to light the stove when there was a very distinct knock on the front door. She leaned away from her task to try and see who was at the front door but it was nearly impossible in the dark so she conceded to walk down the hallway and see for herself.

Opening the door, knowing who was on the other side, she felt her heart grow lighter. Her mind quiet now that the man occupying her thoughts was now standing in front of her. Killian. She tried her best to mask the relief she felt, that he was here at her house. Because as much as she tried to remain casual about their whole dynamic, there was more beneath the surface of it. And while the thought of having an actual conversation with him about what happens next terrified her, it also excited her.

“Hi,” she said, not knowing anything better to greet him with. As the nature of his visit wasn’t exactly made clear to her. It was earlier than they usually saw each other. Not midnight, not 1 am. It was like…. 8 o’clock

“Hi, love.” The use of the familiar term making her a bit more relaxed. She was still wired though, there was something about seeing him at her house that invigorating. “Might I come in?”

His questions was almost sheepish, as his eyebrow went up though there was the promise of something more. And she hoped he wasn’t just dropping by.

“Of course, come in,” she said maybe a little too quickly, opening the door to let him in. He breezed past her, the fibers of his shirt brushing hers, the skin of his bare forearm dusting hers. She felt her nipples grow hard with the contact. She almost regretted not wearing a bra underneath her thin t-shirt. Almost.

“So I, uh…” he started, standing a few feet before her. His hand nervously reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “I’m um…”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around this week,” Emma blurted out. She wasn’t sure if he was headed toward an apology but she felt like she needed to say it.

A light smile played on his face, his beard was thicker today, like he hadn’t shaved all week. She liked it, decidedly, and wondered what it would feel like to have his face on hers. His beard tickling her skin.

“I was about to say the same thing to you,” he said, eyes meeting hers. She couldn’t help but return the smile. “Liam and I… we took some time this week. Went off the grid for a bit.”

“Oh yeah?” Emma eased toward him, past him, and began walking into the kitchen. “Where did you guys go?”

He followed behind her into the kitchen, like this was the most familiar place in the world. It was nice that the effortless flow of their movement together wasn’t just sexual. It was in real life too. And now they were in her kitchen where she tried to resume cooking her dinner. “We went to our aunt’s lakehouse. An hour or so away. We needed some time to process.”

“How’s Liam doing with all of this?”

“He’s as okay as he can be, it’s not an easy pill to swallow.” Emma watched as he spoke, the tightening of the vein in his neck. “The man, we knew him, Emma. He was in our house.”

“I can’t imagine.” It felt like her eyes were beginning to tear up, again, as she watched him cross his arms and lean against the counter.

“Liam has a family of his own now though, and it’s growing. So that’s helped him a lot.”

“It’s growing? Is his wife…?”

“Yes, Laura’s pregnant again.” As sad as he had looked walking in here, the light behind his eyes at the mention of being an uncle a second time over was undeniable. “They’re planning to move back here now.”

Emma tilted her head to get a better look at Killian’s face. Was this the time to ask what he planned to do? As selfish as it was, a large part of her wanted to know. He looked like he had more to say, like he maybe wanted to articulate it himself. But he didn’t, he hesitated.

“I’m sure it’s helped him to have you around. The two of you have been through so much, only you know what he’s been through and vice versa… it’s nice that you have him.” Emma hopped up on the island, her favorite place to sit in her kitchen. While he talked to her, the gentle tone of his voice sounding the slightest bit broken.

“He isn’t the only one that I have.”

Emma felt herself blush. The slight red creeping up her skin as his eyes bore into her. The sentence was deliberate. He wasn’t talking about anyone else. And his expression backed that up.

“I’ve had you.” Killian pushed off the counter, stepping toward her. Occupying the space between where her legs dangled from the island. Close enough she could feel his breath on her face. A tingle went through her body. The look on his face suggestive that he wanted to be even closer. His proximity caused the worry she had felt about them before to slip away. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Whatever she was feeling, he felt it too.

She followed his lead, knowing how quickly the two of them could turn from casual conversation to all-consuming want. Emma looked up at him and very clearly said, “You’ve never had me on this counter.”

“Aye, love. That I have not.” He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. Now dry from her earlier bath and probably wild with curls. Even the simplest touch, the lingering feeling of where his thumb had brushed her cheek, made desire boil within her. He looked at her like he may kiss her, and she wanted him to. God did she want him to. But instead he backed away. A smugness on his face that suggested he was far from done with her.

“What are you drinking, darling?” he said as he picked up the wine bottle that was sitting not far from her. Scanning the label. A playful look on his face, clearly pleased with how easily he could toy with her. And the same went for him. More than a few times he had been on the receiving end of her teasing. A form of foreplay they had come to love. “Riesling?”

“Yeah…” where was he going with this. “Would you like a glass?”

He looked up from the label, back to her, his angular features up to something. “Might I have just a taste first?”

“Sure,” she said cautiously, eyebrow going up as she handed him the glass of wine in her hand. He took it the wineglass, slowly, resuming his spot between her legs. His jeans grazing her legs. It took all of her willpower not to just wrap her legs around him and pull him all the way into her. But she was stubborn. And if she had any trust in this man she knew he wouldn’t disappoint her.

“What’s interesting about Riesling is how versatile it is.” He swirled the wine around in the glass, leaning his nose down to smell its aromas. “It’s sharp… but also sweet.” He set the glass down beside her.

She watched his every move, in anticipation for the next one. His hands went to either side of her waist, causing the warmth in her body to concentrate at her core. She bit back a gasp as his eyes didn’t leave hers, watching her closely as his hands tugged on the hem of her shirt.

“Its taste strong enough to stand up to more powerful flavors…” His tongue danced along his lower lip. His hands pulling her shirt over her head. There wasn’t a single ounce of her that would have resisted. Urging him with her eyes to continue, she was half bare before him. “Soft enough to go well with desserts…”

His head bent to press a passionate, but all too quick kiss to her lips. Killian kissed his way from her lips to the line of her jaw.

“Killian…” she groaned, the feel of his lips too much for her.

His only response being to continue kissing her as he pressed her back into the counter. Now laid out before him she was entirely vulnerable to his touch. The cool marble on her back. Killian pulled back, grabbing the glass of wine again, raising it above her waist.

“The only delicacy I can think of, unique enough to fit all of those qualities is you, darling,” he said, his voice velvet smooth with innuendo. Emma looked up at him, watching as he tipped the glass she could feel every shred of her succumbing to his toying. Heat in her center. She felt the light stream of wine meeting her skin.

Killian’s hands laid on her thighs pushing them open further so he could bend to lick a trail where he had just poured the wine. The feel of his tongue causing Emma to close her eyes in pleasure. He lapped up the liquid, from the top of her pants up to her breasts. He swirled her left nipple in his mouth while twisting the other to erection. His hips pressed into hers and she could feel every inch of his glorious length. Emma’s body became tense with aching need for him to ease the friction at her center.

“You taste divine, Emma,” he muttered before taking her pert bud between his teeth. “Damned minx, not wearing anything beneath your shirt.”

“Ah, Killian, I need…” she gasped. Her body shooting to meet him inch for inch. Her legs wrapping around his waist to pull his hardened cock toward her.

“What, my love, what do you need?”

“Please… you.” If anything his use of the word my serving as an amplifier to all that she felt for him. Her back arched off of the counter as his mouth moved from her breasts to the waistband of her leggings. Pressing a chaste kiss to her mound beneath the fabric of the leggings before ripping them off in one quick movement. Soon after her panties were torn from her, now leaving her entirely naked.

His eyes roved over her, appreciating the view. Confidence shot through her as he looked at her. Eyes hooded with want and passion and animalistic need. Then immediately he was on his knees, throwing her legs over his shoulders. His head pressed between them. The second she felt the scruff on his face hit her skin she needed more. He kissed up the sides of her thighs, making his way to where she needed him most. He licked a long line down her core. He whole body beginning to shake. Her hands went to the edge of the counter for support as she pulled his head closer to her with her thighs. Needing him to not be gentle.

That was the last slow movement he made because his mouth turned relentless. Tonguing at her clit. Fucking her with his tongue. It swirled around her clit, rough on her swollen center. Her back arched further. Pressing her bare mound further into his mouth. She heard him make an “mmm” sound the wetter she became.

“So impatient, Emma,” he spoke between swipes of his tongue. Everything he did was arousing to her. She could barely breath, feeling his mouth unforgiving on her sensitive flesh. The more she writhed in pleasure the more it urged him on. He cared so much for her needs, wants, desires, it was rare for someone to be that way. “But also so ready for me.”

Suddenly his mouth pulled from her, just as she was about to crest the peak. White hot anger shooting through her as she watched his face, chin coated with her arousal. He licked his lips. Smirking at how frustrated she probably appeared.

But before she could scream at him like she wanted to, he was undoing his pants, and freeing his cock from its confined space. Then he was on her, tugging her up and to the edge of the counter. Killian’s arms around her, aligning himself with her center. He kissed along her shoulder, neck, jaw, then her lips. Smoothly kissing her breathless as he sheathed himself inside of her.

“I couldn’t make it another second without being inside of you,” he whispered, their faces so close as she wrapped her legs tight around him to pull his cock completely into her. “I missed you, Emma.”

“I missed you too,” she cried. And she had. Not just this, though the sex was blow the doors off good, she missed all of him. He thrust into her, his gaze never leaving hers as he brought her to her peak. Fucking her with abandon but also looking at her like she was the only human being on this earth. His interesting blue eyes were stormy and filled with desire. She climaxed, her whole body fighting to keep him inside of her as he followed her over the edge.

Her body felt boneless, Killian taking her in his arms. She held her arms around his neck to keep her upright. The pleasure still so intense she could hardly believe it had felt so good. He wasn’t much better off, with his heavy breath in her ear. Her fingers toyed with the hair on the back of his neck, soothing both he and her as they collected themselves.

“I’m gonna need to get a new kitchen…” Emma joked after a few minutes of measured breathing.

“Why’s that, love?” he asked with a smile, sliding his arms to wrap around her lower waist so he could see her face.

“Because I’m never going to be able to look at this island the same again.” She giggled. The inappropriate nature of this encounter, the choice to fuck in the kitchen. It was exhilarating.

“Ah yes, well I’ll never be able to have a glass of that wine again without comparing to how it tasted with you.” His eyebrow went up. “I really did miss you this week, Emma.”

“I know.” She ran her hands down the front of him. Wishing he wasn’t wearing a shirt overtop of his chest. “I never thought that I… that we… I missed you too, Killian.”

He seemed to blush a bit at her admitting, again, that she felt as he did. Rarely was he bashful but right now it flickered. And then just as quickly as it came, it was gone, his confidence back as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Perhaps we could continue this in a place where you don’t prepare your food.”

He finished it off with a nip of her ear. Igniting her desire quickly once again. She had all but forgotten about the mac and cheese she had been trying to make, the pot sitting next to the stove. For right now the only appetite she had was for Killian. And as he whisked her into his arms with little effort, she allowed herself to be carried away by him.

It wasn’t long before they reached her bedroom and began engaging again. Falling into the bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to be there together. Hot kisses, tangled fingers, smooth movements. Reaching their release at the same time, crying out for one another in ecstasy. As waves of pleasure ran through their sated bodies.

In the aftermath of their passion they lay together. Killian’s arms securing Emma to his side. She ran her fingers along his skin, just needing to touch him in some way. Every once in awhile he would press a soft kiss to her head or her hand to reassure her he was in no hurry to leave.

But in the quiet of the house, it was very distinct when Emma’s stomach began to growl. A result of her lack of food since lunch. Her face reddened in embarrassment at the sound, as Killian had clearly heard it.

“A bit hungry, love?” he asked between laughs.

“Just a little… I was kind of in the middle of making something when you showed up.”

“Darling if you were hungry you could have just said something we didn’t have to-”

“Oh yes we did.” Emma sat up, looking in his eyes. “We both needed that.”

“Do you have anything here to eat?” he asked, brushing his fingers along her cheek. Almost making her forget how hungry she was. Almost.

“Not really… I have macaroni and cheese..” judging by the look on Killian’s face he wasn’t too thrilled with sharing a child’s size box of easy mac. “Maybe we can just order take out.”

“Sounds good to me.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips before Emma reached for her phone.

They had decided to order Chinese food. As it was one of the only food places still open for delivery at this hour nearby. Everything shut down so early in Storybrooke even on a Friday night. Killian and Emma stayed naked and basking in their fluff bubble as long as they could, before dressing when the food would arrive in a few moments.

“I must say you look especially gorgeous in one of my shirts,” Killian said from the bed. Emma had slipped into the thing, loving the natural smell of him that stayed with the fabric. As she looked at him posted up in her bed she thought to herself that this was something she had already gotten so used to, how could she ever go back to not being involved with him? It wasn’t that they were official, in fairness they hadn’t even gone on a date. It was in that moment, wearing his shirt, waiting for takeout with him, watching him lounge in her bed that she knew they would have to have a serious conversation about what came next for them. As much as the stubborn part of Emma wanted to just let him go back to London and not express anything she felt at the risk of sounding desperate, the part of her that had fallen for him was much stronger. So at some point she would have to ask him if he saw any kind of future with her. Because she was starting to with him.

“I don’t have any cash, do you?” she asked, looking through her wallet.

“I have some. Front pants pocket, love.”

“Thanks,” Emma said as she reached down to grab his jeans. She fumbled around in Killian’s wallet finally finding the cash, but as she pulled it out of the sleeve something else fell and hit the floor by her feet.

Looking down it appeared to just be a small, white, crumbled piece of paper, but as Emma picked it up and flattened out the worn paper she realized it was more than a piece of paper. In her hands was a photobooth picture of two people laughing in one, kissing in another, sticking their tongues out. Killian was one of the people, a lightness to him that wasn’t in him anymore. But the other person, a woman, wild brown hair, deep chocolate eyes.

“Killian…” Emma started, her voice shaking, hands unstable as well. “Who is this woman?”

“What?” he sat up, looking toward Emma to see what she was referring to. Genuine concern. His face fell when he saw what she was holding. “Emma, I swear I didn’t know that was in there….”

Her blood raced, a mix of anger, confusion, sadness, “who is she to you? Answer me.”

“That’s my ex-girlfriend… Grace… I thought I had taken that out of there… I’m so sorry Emma.” He stood from the bed, his face wrought with worry.

Emma couldn’t even say anything else, her emotions getting the better of her. She didn’t want to hurt him. God that was the last thing she wanted. She began to shake even more, her whole body in shock from finding it. Before she could react any other way she ran to her bathroom, closing the door, locking it behind her.

She slid down the solid door to the floor. Trying her best to take deep breathes as adrenaline took over. She didn’t know what to do. But what she did know was she couldn’t figure it out while looking at Killian, thinking of him the way she did.

“Emma!” She heard Killian knocking on the door, pleading with her to talk. “Emma please, I swear I didn’t know that was in there! I don’t… she doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, Emma. It’s you that I love!”

Emma lifted her head. Tears brimming in her eyes as the confession poured from him through the door. She could tell he meant it. Which made everything that much harder.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Emma. You must know that. There’s no one else. There never could be.” Though his voice through the door was muffled she heard him loud and clear. Feeling her heart physically break as she looked at the picture in her hand.

The woman in the picture, the woman who Killian had known as Grace, was actually someone else entirely.

The woman in the picture was Neal’s mother. And her name wasn’t Grace it was Milah.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 825

XO

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“We have that extra grainy whole grain bread you like, with all the seeds. Would you like a piece with some Nutella, or almond butter? Honey, maybe?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“A coffee, then? Cortado?”

“No thank you.”

“What can I give you? You look so unhappy right now.”

“Just let me be unhappy for a minute. I don’t have to be happy 24/7.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Back away slowly, and as quiet as possible, André narrated in his head as he moved away from the desk in the home office, and the testy girl sitting behind it. Christina’s mom called. Few things could turn his wife into a dangerous and defensive creature to be wary of more quickly than her mother. Mrs. Martin had a list of topics to talk about. First among them was her desire to receive some of the money from chartering out Lilly XO. Aidan was receiving regular checks for his “cut”. Tim’s office handled that. He was supposed to give however much of that he wanted to their mother. Christina wasn’t involved, and didn’t even know how much the payments were. Evidently Aidan was getting less money of late because she’d blacked out a lot of weeks on the calendar on which the sailboat would otherwise be available for charter. She wanted the 184’ Perini Navi vessel available for herself, and didn’t know exactly when and where she was going to want it, so she just gave a list of dates on which she would definitely be at a landlocked horse show to the charter company so that they could rent Lilly XO for those weeks. She was a popular boat. They were getting large deposits months ahead of time for bookings, and those deposits were disbursed to Aidan and Christina. The rider didn’t notice the money drying up because it didn’t affect her.

That Mrs. Martin was interested in money didn’t surprise her. What surprised her was that her mom followed the money complaint with a request for a visit. She wanted to come see Lukas. Obviously that conversation went badly. Christina couldn’t believe her mother thought it was okay or decent to phone her up after months and months and months of nothing but sparse emails, and request some time with her grandson whom she’d otherwise never made an effort to get to know. Lukas wasn’t even aware that he had two grandmothers. The talk went on for an hour, and André drifted in and out of the room throughout. He knew what they were talking about but he thought most of what his wife was getting belligerent and upset about was really something else. He thought they were talking about one thing but arguing about another, and it was just as well. Christina’s relationship with his mother-in-law was a lost cause as far as he was concerned. He wanted it to be better. It just seemed impossible, and frankly, he felt, Mrs. Martin didn’t deserve better. Christina was brimming with hurt, betrayal, confusion, disappointment, and a sense of inadequacy. The player had come to accept that a healthy and interactive relationship with her mother wasn’t worth having to work through all of those things, because he didn’t think her mother was a worthwhile person. André didn’t believe anymore that her life would be enriched by a better relationship with her. He didn���t think she had anything positive to add to their lives. He didn’t want to have to see her wear that pissed off and wounded-deep-down face however many more times it would take to hash out everything between the two Martin woman so that they could begin to rebuild their relationship, if that were even a possibility.

The two Schürrle men played in the backyard while Christina worked through the emotions painting those things on her face. Spencer played with the boys and Lucky kept her company in the office. He was more helpful to her than André would have been just then. The Toy Fox Terrier was silent, soft, and sweet. He snoozed in her lap and looked adorable each time he yawned or wriggled closer to her stomach to get more comfortable. Petting the dog and watching him enjoy her doting and a totally carefree existence was very calming. Her partner hoped she was calming down, and figured she was using the time alone to go over everything she said and every position she took on what her mom said to make sure she definitely felt justified. He knew that no matter how much Mrs. Martin hurt her, Christina never truly wanted to hurt her back, or even disappoint her. He loved that about her, and often forgot that his girl was not as spiteful and fond of revenge as she made herself out to be. She was incapable of seeking retribution when the person who hurt her was someone she loved and when the hurt came from feeling like she’d let that person down. He forgot that. He forgot it when he assumed she was holding a grudge about having to move, and whenever he attributed some act of vengeance against him to her. The BVB man hoped she would conclude that she was fair and appropriate in whatever they fought about, and that she’d feel better once that was established. They were going on a date later. If she needed to spend the date decompressing and telling him what happened on the phone and how she felt about it, that would be okay. It would just be better if Christina was over it by then and looking for a fun time.

They were going to a restaurant and bar specializing in clean food and really chilled out music. She’d read about it somewhere and asked him if he’d go with her even though he wouldn’t like the tunes. By “chilled out music” she meant the emotive and instrumental-heavy stuff that she was into, and a whole lot of “foreign people we’ve never heard of but it all sounds so good”. The playlist on the place’s website had material by Malaysian and Middle Eastern artists, remixes of popular songs by little known DJ’s, and a bunch of remixed French music. There was also what was, in André’s opinion, a strange volume of photos of very good looking girls in heavily filtered, styled, and slightly hipster-ish snaps, all doing envious things like traveling, basking in sun at the beach, posing with their girlfriends, or lounging with their boyfriends. He warned his very good looking girl that he thought it looked like some kind of “lesbian hangout”. She assured him it wasn’t, but wouldn’t tell him exactly where she read about it. The other thing about the restaurant that concerned him, particularly after the phone call from her mom, was that all that moody music could easily trap Christina somewhere low and lonely. She liked music that did that to her. She enjoyed emotionally powerful instrumentals because she liked having her feelings tugged hard and far.

The injured Bee didn’t want to see his girl down again. She’d been home for two entire weeks with him and everything was great. He asked her not to go to Mallorca for Juan’s birthday. There were three reasons in the case he presented. First among them was that he just didn’t want her to go away. He wanted her to pick him instead. Secondly, the tabloids in the UK made a big deal out of Christina and Juan leaving the restaurant opening together. The party was still winding down when they made their departure, and there were still photographers around. There were pictures of them walking to the player’s car together, very close, and of them getting into the Aston Martin. Whoever actually wrote the nonsense “article” that accompanied the pictures speculated about where the ex-Chelsea-WAG would lay her head that night since it was public knowledge that her equestrian estate was empty. He or she prompted readers to think about why the two friends were leaving “early”- why Juan didn’t stay until closing, or at least closer to it. All the others picked up the story too, and it spread to the German counterparts. Christina and Juan were just as unhappy about it as André. The BVB player’s third appeal for his wife to skip the birthday was more about Monday than Sunday. He wanted her to go to Munich with him to see the doctor about his ankle, and to get hers checked out at the same time.

The rider found in his favor. She didn’t go to Spain. Juan’s birthday wasn’t ruined. His family went, and so did a couple of friends. Everybody’s Monday was ruined when Müll told André not to expect to play again until after the season was over. He had advice and treatment to offer but none that would get him fit again in time. They set their sights on the summer tournament instead, but even that was iffy. Christina tried to put a positive spin on things by highlighting his increased availability for vacation, and said he could go to some shows with her. It still sucked. André was still miserable about it, and frustrated, and bored. He wanted to play, or even just be able to train with his teammates. His injury made his workdays lonely and unfulfilling. It was nice, however, that his girl sounded excited about having more time together, and that she wanted him to go to her competitions.

Another reason not to go away was that Melanie finally had the baby. His aunt and uncle stopped on their way home from Munich to meet him. The Schürrle family platinum blonde genes beat out the Coletti family’s dramatic black, so the little boy looked a little like Lukas. Mom and baby were both healthy and happy, the grandparents on both sides were thrilled, and the new father was humbled.

Dortmund couldn’t get the win to keep them third in the table at the weekend, but a draw was good enough to guarantee them fourth at worst, which meant Champions League football was secured again. It was difficult for André to sit in the stands and watch his team dominate the game but fail to find a breakthrough against a team who hadn’t beat them at home in years. Christina went with him, and that made it less terrible than it could have been. He was really glad to have her at his side for the good and the bad all week. He hadn’t realized how alone he felt in significant moments for a while until he experienced having a partner there to literally hold his hand while he got bad news, while he met his nephew, while he watched his team suffer, and while he worked hard to keep his happy face on. Another thing he rediscovered during their week of uninterrupted togetherness was how inspiring it could be to watch the number-2-ranked rider in the world work on her craft.

He watched her from the gazebo outside. He watched from the bleachers in the indoor, from the comfortable seats upstairs behind the glass, and from the faux brick wall in the middle. He even watched at a distance from the kitchen windows. The venue and the distance made no difference. It was magical to see her figure Cartagena out from the basics of what he was all about to how to make him do what she wanted, the way she wanted. The barn collectively decided that the little gray’s nickname would be “Vegas”, because each ride was a gamble. Christina said he reminded her of Dirk when he was green. Some days he came out ready to work, and some days he was so disinterested that it was hard to get anything out of him. André really liked watching her make progress on the puzzle. It was all very different from watching her work with the other horses, most of whom required only maintenance rides. She was different too. The work seemed to really matter to her. Having problems to solve that she actually felt equipped to do something about was almost new. Her personal problems were so difficult and murky that she always felt like a tiny person at the bottom of a stepladder with steps that were way too far apart for her to manage. That was demoralizing. She could look at Vegas’ issues and shortcomings and feel confident that not only did she know what was necessary to fix them, but also that she could do it. She even sounded a little excited when she told André about the progress she made, or about something she was able to make happen between Kyle and the Dutch horse. The footballer believed everything was starting to feel “right” again. His wife was behaving like the person he thought she was and needed her to be, and having her back meant that even though things weren’t going so well for him, he didn’t have to feel anxious all the time, or on edge. There were other great things in his life besides football, and he could focus on those and enjoy them even more than usual while he was sidelined. When Christina trudged outside to find him, he hoped it wasn’t all about to fall apart because Mrs. Martin got involved out of nowhere.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi. Hi, Munchkin. What are you making?” She bent down to kiss her son’s head. He was sitting in the grass with a frying pan, a plastic army tank, his scooter, a toy cell phone, and Dave the pony.

“Eggs,” he told her. He was always making eggs in his frying pan, because the rest of his toy food was fruit, or a whole head of broccoli.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Not eggs.”

“How about chicken fingers and fries?”

“Okay. Mommy, does Spencer like eggs?”

“No.” Please don’t try to feed your plastic eggs to the dogs, Christina winced. She also reminded Lukas that he needed to lift the frying pan and let the eggs slip out. There was an extreme panic attack one day when she watched him reach into the pan and pick up the faux food. Obviously it wasn’t hot and there was no burn risk, but his mom was afraid he would learn that it’s okay to take food out of pans with one’s fingers and that he would burn himself one day. He got a pair of tongs to play with after that, and a lesson on how to use his toy spatula, which he called “the flipper”. “What game are you playing?” she asked André after taking a seat on his hip. He was lying on his side and elbow in the grass to supervise the imaginary frying operation.

“I’m playing Look At Pictures Of New R8’s On The Internet Because I Kind Of Want One.” He patted her behind and then went back to scrolling on the iPad in his other hand.

“Um, don’t we already have one?” She turned to the left to look in the general direction of the garage.

“I want a new one. Are you really making chicken fingers and fries?” That would be a remarkably un-Chris-like dinner, the footballer thought absently.

“Grilled chicken fingers; leftover sweet potato wedges. Are you that bored already with not playing that you need a new toy?” his wife asked sympathetically. André bought cars to make himself feel better the way she ate pizza and cheeseburgers.

“Yes.” His answer was short and he made no attempt to evade the implied accusation.

“Do you want to get rid of a car, or are we going to have 6?”

“I don’t want to get rid of any of mine. Do you want to get rid of any of yours?”

“No.”

“Six it is. Do you think there’s room to park some in the barn garage? I don’t mind the trucks being out, but we’re out of room inside for the cars.”

“I don’t think you want them anywhere near the tractors, babe,” Christina chuckled. “Kyle is doing all the dragging and mowing and stuff because Tom isn’t really a farm maintenance kinda guy. I wouldn’t trust Kyle to drive a tractor near my car.”

“Okay. Do you want to maybe look at cars with me tomorrow afternoon?”

“Maybe.” There was a tired sigh after the response to André’s question, but he was sure it had nothing to do with Audi sports cars. He supported her back so that he could roll onto his without letting her fall. Instead she ended up sitting on his stomach, where he could look at her more directly without twisting his neck.

“How are you, Prinzessin? Are you finished with your unhappy minute?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting to have that...interaction, today.” Her answer was kind of flat and unconvincing.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to go out if you don’t feel like it.” He rubbed her lower back and blocked the sun from his eyes with his other arm. It was hard to see exactly what her face was willing to tell him about her mood.

“No, I want to. I’ve had this craving for a drink all day, even before my mom,” she told him with an eye roll. “And I’d rather have it out, somewhere social. I hate drinking at home.”

“What kind of drink?”

“XO vodka and Sprite with lime. I haven’t had it since that thing we went to with Marco. It’s his thing, really.”

“I know. Hey,“ André said as if about to make a proposal. He even stopped to hold his lips between his teeth for a second while he decided if he really wanted to propose anything. “If you want a social night out, why don’t we invite Marco? I can tell him not to bring Zoe,” he clarified with a knowing smile the second he saw Christina’s countenance flatten. They’d been talking more. He’d finally gotten her to open up about things like why she wasn’t enthusiastic about invites to socialize with his teammates’ girls, including Marco’s. “Or did you want to just be social with me?”

“You can invite Marco but only if you promise it won’t just be you two talking about Borussia things.”

“I promise. We’ll discuss Prinzessin things too. How about you get Mausi dinner started and then you go get ready? I’ll help him eat until Espen gets here.” He thought she might want to get herself pretty’d up if she were out for some cocktail-lubricated schmoozing. She liked to dress for not just the mood she was currently experiencing but also, sometimes, the one she hoped to achieve. André figured she might have a more fun, regenerative evening out if she dressed for a fun evening out, and if her friend was there to entertain her. Marco could make her laugh, tended to side with her on many issues, would gang up on André with her, could poke fun at her without upsetting her, and could steer conversations into weird, wonderful, or interesting places. His teammate really wanted to make sure Christina forgot the call with her mom, and he didn’t want her to get bored going out with just him and Lukas. They’d gone out for a few family dinners, and had adult-only dates, afternoon outings, and even two exploratory breakfast adventures in the neighboring towns. They were home together the rest of the time. He had opportunities to socialize with his friends and teammates at Brackel at lunchtime and such every day even though he couldn’t train with them. She had her barn people to talk to. Other than that, she didn’t get to see anyone, or do much. The footballer wanted to make sure she got out enough and had enough different activities to prevent homesickness. He didn’t want her to have any extra excuses to go back to London for a visit, or to run off to Juan’s beach house. There was just one week left until her next horse show, so it would be a significant thing if they made it through a whole 3.5-week bloc together with just her one-night defection at the beginning and no major fights. As his own injury situation grew more bleak, Juan’s improved. The Spanish player was back in his team at the weekend and doing fine, so those tentative ideas about him going to shows with her and spending time on the boat or at the beach were looking unlikely. André didn’t want anything to encourage his girl to make up for it by just heading to London.

“Mkay, but I hope you don’t think I’m getting super fancy.” She shrugged and eyed him dubiously, feeling like there was something strange and conspiratorial afoot. He was being too accommodating and thoughtful.

“No, not at all. You said it’s a casual place, yeah?”

“Yeah. Are you going to get pretty too?” Christina leaned over to finger-comb the front of his hair back.

“Of course. Can’t let Marco be the prettiest one there.”

“Hey!”

“Heyyyy. Go make chicken fingers.”