#live the idea of John having really thick long and curly hair that just grows rlly super fasy

[polyhexianbirb]

Redoing this digitally tomorrow after I make cookies! Also finally stopping reading the spoilers and listening to episode 20!! Wish me luck 🥰

[aadmelioraa]

Take Two

A Happiest Season Abby x Riley fic (2.4k, T)

It had been one year since Abby had left. One year since they’d called it quits. One year since their engagement was over.

And now it was Christmas time again, only this time Abby was more alone than ever.

She’d been on a few dates since they’d broken up, but no one had stuck around. Probably more her fault than theirs. It had been good to get back out there, but it still hurt to remember how things with Harper had ended.

It was a pretty big shock at the time, but looking back it had been a long time coming. Abby and Harper were on different paths and it just wouldn't have worked, no matter how much they loved each other.

“It’s not you,” Harper had insisted. “It’s me, and I’m so sorry.”

That was one of the last things Harper said to her.

They’d been talking wedding plans that morning and by evening Abby was packing her bags.

Harper had been so desperate to make her happy since they got engaged, but her constantly bending over backward wasn’t what Abby needed, and it was stressing Harper out. Neither of them was their best self together, not anymore. Rather than bringing them closer, in the end, that Christmas with the Caldwells had exposed too many rifts in the relationship to salvage.

Tagging @mego42 @endlesslychildish @arcane--soul @skittles321

Read the rest below the cut or on ao3

“I want you to be happy without trying so hard to satisfy the idea of me in your head. You’re such an amazing person—“ Abby had started sobbing here, “—but I can't give you what you need either.”

She’d moved out that night. Harper hadn’t accepted the breakup at first despite sort of initiating it. The conversation had lasted for hours, but eventually, she acknowledged the inevitable and left Abby alone for a few hours to pack. John, thankfully just a text away, had helped her drive everything over to his place.

It had been the second-worst night of Abby’s life.

She’d moved to Philadelphia two months later. She’d grown up there, technically, but without her parents, it didn’t really feel like coming home. New neighborhood, new apartment, new job. If that wasn’t proof she could get over it, what was? But when the holiday season came around again a lot of memories, once happy, now painful, resurfaced.

Waking up alone on Christmas Eve that year, in a word, sucked.

Abby was awake at 6:30 am for some reason. She checked her phone. She’d missed two non-emergency texts from John last night after she’d taken melatonin and passed out. He was definitely still sleeping; she’d text him back later.

She made a pot of coffee and stood in the kitchen in her pajamas wondering what she was going to do to keep herself occupied all day. John, who was living with his boyfriend in New York now, had invited her to stay the night and spend Christmas with them, but Abby wasn't sure if she was feeling up to it. She kinda wanted to sit the holiday out completely this year. She opened her phone and jumped aimlessly between the same three apps, then finally forced herself to take a shower.

At noon she decided to get dressed and go for a walk. That ought to keep her distracted enough. She put on jeans, thick socks, and her warmest sweater under her coat and started wandering.

There was nothing quite like Philly at Christmas. Still brash, loud, and occasionally vulgar but now decked to the nines with tinsel. She was glad to have new haunts to discover along with revisiting old haunts.

The snow from the previous day had turned to slush by the time the sun was at its peak, but that didn’t stop the kids in her neighborhood from spilling out into the streets to play football and tag under the grey sky. She waved at her upstairs neighbors and made a mental note to try and get to know them a little better in the new year.

It was a nice enough day. Maybe she’d head to Fairmount Park. Wherever she ended up there were sure to be plenty of frantic people coming to and fro, finishing last-minute Christmas shopping.

A wave of mixed emotions washed over her as she passed by a jeweler. Harper had given back the ring, of course. It was with John for safekeeping. Abby couldn’t return it, but it felt really weird to have it at her new place. Fresh start and all. Maybe someday she’d be ready to sell it. For now, she didn’t want to think about it.

She continued on at a brisk pace, stopping at a street cart for a lunch of falafel which she ate standing over a trash can, then continuing on.

It was after four o’clock by the time she realized how far she’d walked. Her hands had grown pretty chapped, she should probably go inside for a minute. There was a bar up ahead that looked open, and she could definitely use a drink.

It was fairly empty when she entered which made her instantly relax. She sidled up the bar and took a seat, rubbing her hands to warm them.

“Hey.” There was one bartender working, a curly-haired woman wearing a bandana headband, fitted flannel, and impeccable winged eyeliner like some kind of femme Luke Danes. “What can I get for you?”

“Vodka tonic?”

“Not feeling the Christmas spirit today, huh?” the bartender asked, grabbing the well vodka and rimming a glass with a wedge of lemon.

“Not really.”

“Yeah me neither. Anyway, name’s Gem,” the woman said, setting the cocktail down with a gentle tap. “Yell if you need anything.”

She smiled and walked to the far corner of the bar, a towel draped over her shoulder. A tall redhead and a petite girl with shoulder lengths locs raised their glasses at her.

Even if Abby wasn’t feeling it today, she’d picked a good spot.

She’d just started to feel the effects of the booze when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, I thought that was you.”

Startled, Abby nearly dropped her drink.

Riley, Harper’s Riley, slid onto the stool next to her.

“Hey!” Abby said, “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Riley laughed.

“Yeah, I mean—great, great to see you.” Abby couldn’t help from grinning. She probably looked like an idiot but she didn’t care.

“You look good,” Riley said, subtly sweeping her eyes up and down in an appreciative manner.

“Thanks, thanks.” Abby was glad she’d foregone the beanie with the hole in it. “You look good too.”

She really did. Her hair was a little shorter now, though it still framed her face perfectly. Otherwise, she looked exactly the same as when they’d met two years ago. She was wearing a black mock neck sweater and a pair of perfectly tailored wool pants. Her boots had a slight heel, not too high to be practical in an East Coast winter. The hem of her sweater pulled up a little as Riley leaned over the bar, exposing just a sliver of skin. Abby tried not to stare too obviously while she ordered a drink.

“I moved to Philly last month, to answer your question,” Riley said. “Got a fellowship at Kensington, I start in a week.”

“Oh, cool. Congrats, that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Riley took a sip, glancing over at Abby in a way that made her face grow slightly warm. “What have you been up to?”

“Finished the doctorate and got a job as a curator at the PMA. It’s going well. I mean, relatively.”

“Well, look at you!” Riley raised her glass. “Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Abby echoed, laughing, as she knocked her glass against Riley’s.

“Glad to hear that.” Riley took another sip of her drink and paused, mouth pulling to one side awkwardly for just a second.

Abby knew the question that was coming.

“So,” Riley was looking straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar, “how’s Harper?”

Abby grimaced.

Riley’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit…”

“It’s ok! It’s ok,” Abby could feel herself overcorrecting. “It’s been about a year. But yeah, we’re not together anymore.”

“I’m really really sorry, Abby.”

“It’s fine, really,” Abby shrugged. “I mean, if anyone knows how I feel, it’s you.”

Riley exhaled and leaned over the bar, her elbow just barely touching Abby’s. “Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

“So what are you doing in a random bar on Christmas Eve anyway?” Abby asked, ready to change the subject.

“I live up the street, actually. I’m heading to Pittsburgh to see family tomorrow, but that’s going to feel like work, so today I just wanted to relax.”

“Totally,” Abby said, watching as a party of college aged kids spilled in from the street and headed to the high top tables towards the back of the bar. “I’m just taking it easy today, too.”

“Big plans tomorrow?”

“Might see John. I think you met him…when we met.”

“Yeah, I remember John. How’s he doing?”

“He’s really good. Thinks I need to get out more, but otherwise he’s very happy.”

Riley laughed. “I’ve been out exactly three times—wait, no, this makes it four—since I moved here in November so clearly I have no idea what that’s about.”

“You liking Philly so far?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s weird as fuck, but it’s got some really great people. The doctors I work with are whatever, but this kind of place has a good vibe.”

She smiled at Gem, who was rolling her eyes as she made Long Island Iced Teas for the group at the high tops.

“You two know each other?” Abby asked, internally cringing at how un-cool about it she sounded.

“I’ve been here three of the four times I’ve been out, so you could say that,” Riley said. “Nice people usually.”

Gem dropped off the tray of Long Islands and brought Abby and Riley another round.

“They tried to order mojitos,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fucking kids,” Abby said. Riley laughed. That felt good.

Another large group came in, middle-aged couples this time. It had grown dark outside, it must be after five by now.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the conversations happening around them. Old friends were reuniting to the right and left of them, the chatter that filled the air was starting to make Abby feel a little claustrophobic. She shifted towards the edge of her seat, tapping one foot nervously against the floor.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Riley asked, raising her hand to catch Gem’s attention. “It’s getting a little crowded.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Abby said, relieved. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom.”

She threw a slightly crumpled pile of bills—mostly fives—on the bar and made her way to the back.

By some good luck, the bathroom was free with no line. The space was cramped and not overly clean, and the small black and white tiles that covered the lower half of the walls created a frantic pattern that did nothing to help Abby’s nerves. She exhaled a deep breath, fixed on her own gaze staring back at her from the mirror.

You’re fine. You’re just hanging out with a girl. A friend, even. Stop being so fucking nervous.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at her own pep talk, then made her way back to the bar.

Riley was waiting with her hat on, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her dark green coat. Her face broke into a smile when she saw Abby returning.

“Anywhere in particular you want to go?” Abby asked.

“Not really,” Riley said casually. “Lead the way.”

“You got it,” Abby said, and Riley followed her outside.

The air was brisk, and snow had just started to fall as they left. There were Christmas lights everywhere, garlands wrapped around lampposts, a tree decked to the nines in nearly every window.

“Philly really gets in the holiday season, huh?” Riley asked dryly, then pointed up at a stuffed orange mascot that hung from a wreath on someone’s porch. “What the hell is that thing?”

“You really are new here,” Abby laughed. “I don’t know if you’re ready for me to explain Gritty tonight but I promise he's worth the wait.”

They continued up Broad Street, gradually making their way away from the noisy crowds. It had started to snow, which helped muffle the sounds of passerby and create a more mellow but still festive atmosphere.

“So, I’m glad I ran into you,” Abby confessed, breaking the silence that was lingering between them.

Riley’s shoulder bumped against hers as she sidestepped a puddle. “I am too. I have to ask though, is it because we’re both members of the Harper broken hearts club, or something else?”

“No, I’ve been trying not to think too much about that,” Abby said.

“Sorry to bring it up again.”

“I mean, it’s kind of unavoidable. That’s not what I meant, sorry. I’m glad because I really liked you when we met, and I kind of regret not realizing that at the time.”

Riley glanced over at her, genuine surprise etched on her face. “I liked you too, Abby. A lot.”

Abby smiled into her scarf and shook her fingers through her hair the way she always did when she was nervous. “Really?”

“Yeah, past tense though,” Riley added.

“Asshole,” Abby laughed, and Riley’s mouth twitched in reply.

They had paused on a street corner. The snow was falling around them in big flakes, Riley’s hair glittering in spots where it had landed and begun to melt.

Riley cocked her head, lips slightly parted, and stepped a little closer. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light of a Christmas tree peeking out of a nearby window.

“You good?” she asked.

Abby hesitated, chewing her lower lip.

“I can head home, if you’re not feel—“

Abby didn’t let Riley finish. Surging forward on her toes, she kissed her.

Rile tasted like the old fashioned she’d been drinking, smoky and slightly sweet. She kissed Abby back, running a hand through the hair behind her ear, and Abby could feel her smiling as their noses bumped together. When she pulled back Abby caught her breath and realized she was grinning too.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for a really long time,” Riley breathed.

Abby laced her fingers through hers and they kept walking. She wasn't feeling alone amidst all the holiday revelry any longer.

“Do you want to grab dinner sometime, maybe?” Abby asked tentatively.

Riley squeezed her hand. “How about now?”

Abby grinned. “Now is great.”

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 10/11

Here’s another M rated chapter, and this time for a more enjoyable reason :) In addition to sexy times, there are a lot of revelations in this chapter. I can’t believe we are almost to the end! You all have been so supportive of this story, especially those of you who were fans of the original. Thank you for trusting me and sticking with this new version!

Thank you once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for hosting the Captain Swan Rewrite a Thon. Also massive thanks to my betas @shippingtheswann and @optimisticgirl. I also owe a lot to all of my fellow writers in the discord chats for your conversations about creating my own version of Neverland and the other realms.

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: About 5k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Chapter Ten: No Lovelier Sight

Killian stands behind the wheel, the biting air here above the clouds cutting across his cheeks. Above him, the pegasus sail snaps in the breeze as they make their way to Neverland. Below him, Emma stands looking out at the blue sky and wispy clouds, her hair flying around her like an enchantress. Milah’s old skirts billow around her as well, the bottom hem only hitting the top of her boots. After all, their former owner was but seventeen when she died, and Emma is a woman of twenty-three.

He had sat upon the edge of his cot earlier after retrieving Milah’s things from her old trunk, Emma next to him, and told her more about the girl they had once belonged to as well as what she had meant to him. He doesn’t plan on hiding anything from Emma, especially not when she walked away from the only realm that has ever been her home.

Yet Emma had barely reacted to his story, simply staring straight ahead, her occasional nods the only sign that she was listening at all. She hasn’t spoken much at all since he told her about Henry.

“Starkey,” Killian calls, “can you take over?”

“Of course sir,” his first mate answers, handing the sextant over to Curly.

With the ship in capable hands, Killian moves to the lower deck and slowly approaches Emma. She turns to him, managing a trembling smile as she pushes her hair out of her eyes.

“The air is thin and cold at this altitude,” Killian says, “are you sure you don’t want my coat?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t feel it,” she tells him softly, “I don’t feel anything.”

He isn’t sure what comfort she needs from him, but he opens his arms for her. Emma comes willingly, pressing her face to his collarbone and grasping him tightly about the waist. She shudders, and he wraps his arms around her.

“You’ve had a lot to process in a very short amount of time,” he tells her soothingly as he rubs her back gently. “First your attack, and then the news about your son . . . “

“I just don’t understand,” Emma mumbles against his chest. “He was a newborn baby. A woman was adopting him. A woman with a nice home in a nice little town.”

“I don’t know, love,” Killian sighs, wishing he could help her more. “Tink said that giving him up wasn’t easy for John Darling. He had him for two years before he brought him to Neverland. I think he got a bit attached.”

“But he didn’t love him,” Emma says bitterly, stepping out of Killian’s embrace and swiping angrily at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “Not enough, anyway.”

Killian can only nod, for he fully agrees. There’s really nothing more he can say. Emma reaches for his hand, and he takes it, lacing their fingers together. She pulls him near as she turns back to look at the clouds as they roll by. She pulls his arms around her waist and leans her back against his chest. Her hair smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Her hand slides down his left arm to grasp his hook, and he can hardly breathe past the lump in his throat.

“He’s five years old now, Killian. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to grow up like me.”

“There’s one difference between your childhood and his, though. His mother is on her way to rescue him.”

Emma turns in his embrace, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if he hates me?”

Killian catches the tear with the pad of his thumb, then caresses the dimple in her chin. “I don’t see how anyone can hate you, my love. And children are infinitely forgiving. Think back to when you were five, Emma.”

She gives him a tremulous smile even as her eyes flood with more tears. He lets his forehead drop to hers, though he won’t initiate a kiss. That will be on her timetable, not his.

“My love,” she whispers, “I like the sound of that.”

She turns her head into his shoulder and wraps her arms around his neck as he holds her tighter.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want for you.”

“What I want is my son. To love him and have him love me back. Is that selfish?”

Killian buries his fingers in her hair. “Not at all. I believe that’s called a mother’s heart.”

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

“It’s beautiful,” Emma breathes as soon as the Jolly Roger settles upon the waves after her magical flight. Killian comes to stand at Emma’s side, taking in the sight of Neverland on the horizon with fresh eyes. Dead Man’s Peak is no longer a hulk of jagged rock, but a verdant mountain. Skull Rock has mostly crumbled into the sea, leaving behind a shimmering coral reef. The ribbon of Rainbow Falls can even be seen cascading down into the valley.

“It wasn’t always,” Killian sighs, “but you’re right, it’s gorgeous now.”

Emma grins as she leans farther over the railing of the ship, and Killian’s heart is warmed to see it upon her face. She awoke this morning in a cold sweat, thrashing against an unseen foe. When she finally calmed in the circle of his arms, she explained the nightmare. She was back in that crumbling house, being attacked by those men, only her lad was there too. She was reliving her trauma, that Killian knew all too well, but he also guessed that her fears about meeting her son were also wrapped up in her nightmares.

“Mermaids!” she exclaims, pointing.

Killian leans over with her, and sure enough, a school of mermaids are leaping through the water alongside the ship. Frankly, he feels they’re showing off with their over-the-top acrobatics.

“They’re so colorful,” Emma observes.

“Aye,” Killian says, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulder, “they’re happy to have their lagoon back. Soon the island will be teeming with the mystical creatures that used to live here so long ago.”

Emma shakes her head. “I still can’t believe Peter Pan was evil in real life.” Then she frowns. “And I’m a little pissed that I don’t get to kill him myself for what he did to my son.”

Killian holds back a chuckle, for he knows her anger is real. It makes his blood boil as well. Yet he loves this bold and brilliant woman, and admires her avenging spirit probably more than he should. He brushes a kiss to her temple.

“I would bring him back if I could, just so I could see you unleash your wrath on him. The gods know he deserves it.”

Emma wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest. “Thank you for saving Henry.”

“You’ve said that far too many times already, Swan.”

“Well, you’ll just have to hear me say it again.”

Hook and his crew sail the Jolly Roger into Pirate’s Cove as they always have, but even his men are struck silent at how the island has changed. Bright flowers bloom, and the songs of tropical birds fill the air. The remnants of Rainbow Falls trickles over the rocks of the bluffs ahead in a soothing rhythm.

Killian leaves his men with the ship and guides Emma through the thick trees, following the river that cuts through the island. Tink and Tiger Lily told him that no more dreamshade grows here. Every time a pixie dust tree blooms with new life, every dreamshade plant in its vicinity shrivels up and dies. Killian is glad he no longer has to fear the evil plant.

Emma is quiet as they walk along the path to the home of the fairies. He senses her nerves, and gives her hand a comforting squeeze. The smile she gives him is forced, but she squeezes back.

Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell no longer have reason to hide their domicile, so the cave is now open to the sunshine, and smoke rises cheerily from the chimney.

“This looks cozy,” Emma says, biting her lip.

“Aye, though the smoke there is just for show. Tink has this idea that every home needs a fire going, even when it’s bloody 99 degrees outside.”

Emma manages a nervous laugh and follows him down the short passageway to the main part of the house. Killian taps his hook in the open doorway to alert those inside to their presence.

Tiger Lily, unsurprisingly, isn’t home. Tink is at the sink doing dishes, but gasps and drops a bowl into the sudsy water when she sees her guests. Her hands fly to her mouth as she dashes across the room.

“You’re . . . you’re Henry’s mother!”

Emma gives Killian a surprised look, and he shakes his head in confusion.

“How in the world do you know that, Tink?”

“Oh Hook, really? I’m a fairy, I know these things.”

“She’s been impossible since she got her wings back,” Killian tells Emma.

Said wings flutter in indignation as Tink glares at him. “And you, Hook, have no manners. You haven’t even introduced me to our guest.”

“I didn’t have a chance the way you’ve been blubbering on.”

“I’m Emma,” Swan interrupts, giving Killian a pointed look, “and yes, I’m Henry’s mother.” She glances around the room, worrying once again at her bottom lip. “Where is he?”

“He’s napping,” Tink says, “but we could tiptoe in there if you like.”

“Should I?” Emma asks nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to scare him.”

Tink waves her hand. “He sleeps like a rock, believe me. Such a pleasant, sweet child, really.”

Emma’s cheeks pink and her hands twist nervously as she follows Tink down the short hallway. The fairy opens the door slowly to reveal a darkened room with twinkling lights strung from the ceiling. In one corner is a twin sleigh bed, and snuggled under the soft blankets is a little boy with chestnut hair. Emma’s trembling hand flies to her lips as she tiptoes closer. His cheeks are plump, his ears stick out from his head in an adorable way, and Emma can’t help noticing that he has Neal’s nose. She glances behind her and sees that Killian and Tink have slipped away to give her privacy.

Emma sinks to her knees beside the bed, her hand hovering over the child’s head. A half sob chokes in her throat as she gently strokes her little boy’s soft hair. He shifts in his sleep, clutching the teddy bear at his chest a bit tighter, and Emma quickly pulls her hand back. He rolls over, flinging one arm out, and that’s when Emma sees it: the buttercup birthmark that matches hers. The one she hasn’t seen since the day he was born. There’s no mistaking it, this is her son.

She rises from the floor and tiptoes back out of the room and down the hall. When she sees Killian, he gives her a concerned look, and she flies to him. He lets out a puff of breath when she collides with his chest, but he instinctively holds her tight.

“He’s beautiful,” she chokes out.

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

“John Darling adopted Henry when he was three years old. Apparently, he had terrible colic as an infant and severe night terrors after that, so he had been difficult for children’s services to place.”

Tink’s words seem to have little effect on Emma. Killian watches her with concern. The cup of tea in her hands is surely cold by now, and Emma hasn’t lifted it to her lips once since Tink gave it to her. She stares into the flames of the enchanted fire and idly pushes Wendy’s old rocking chair back and forth with her foot. Tink catches Killian’s gaze in concern, but he gives her a barely perceptible shake of his head. If Emma wants to engage, she can, but he won’t force her.

Tink clears her throat and leans towards Emma. “I believe Henry’s difficulties - the colic and the night terrors - has to do with him being a child of two realms.”

That catches Emma’s attention, and her gaze snaps quickly to Tink. “Two realms?”

Tink opens her mouth, but before she can explain, a small voice pipes up from the hallway, and Henry shuffles in. His face is flushed and sweaty from sleep, his hair is sticking up crazily, and he drags his teddy bear behind him by one leg. He freezes when he sees Emma and Killian. Tink notices and rushes to scoop the boy up on her lap.

“Henry, you remember Killian, right?” She brushes at his hair as Henry nods shyly. “And this . . . “

Tink edges towards Emma slowly, and Emma sets down her cup of tea with shaking hands. She edges onto her knees so she is eye level with Henry.

“ . . . this,” Tink continues, “is your mother, Henry. She’s come for you.”

“Hi, Henry,” Emma whispers, smiling despite her choked voice.

The boy blinks as he takes Emma in, then he eases off Tink’s lap and comes closer to the mother he hasn’t seen since the day of his birth. Killian can tell Emma is overwhelmed and that she longs to touch her son. He also knows she won’t until the child is ready.

Henry pulls his teddy bear closer and rests his chin between the toy’s ears. “Do you want to see my other toys?” he asks Emma softly.

Emma’s smile is wide and beaming. “Yes, I would like that.”

Henry reaches out and takes Emma’s hand. Once they’re out of sight, Killian drops his face to his hands, unable to help the tears that leak out of the corners of his eyes.

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

“I can scarcely believe how much it’s changed,” Killian muses to Tinkerbell as he looks around him, “we were only gone a few days.”

He’s lounging on a picnic blanket, Tink sitting cross-legged next to him. Emma has taken Henry down to the edge of the water for a swim. The blanket is scattered with the remains of their lunch.

“It truly is beautiful,” Tink says with a sigh.

Killian tosses an apple core into the woods behind him, then lays back, flinging his arm across his eyes and resting his hook on his stomach. Tink gives a sardonic half laugh, haugh snort.

“Don’t get too comfortable, pirate, there are still a few lost boys out there.”

Killian rises up on his elbows and arches a brow at the fairy. “You think they’d cause trouble?”

Tink shrugs, squinting out at the water. “Felix was loyal to Pan almost to the point of obsession. They’ve melted into the deepest part of the jungle and are quiet for now, but . . . “

“Well, I’m not borrowing trouble,” Killian grumbles. His eyes find Emma and Henry, and his voice grows thick with emotion. “I’d rather enjoy a quiet moment while I have it.”

The sun shines on the water of Mermaid Lagoon, making it sparkle like diamonds. The songs of the mermaids float on the air, and it’s just as beautiful as Tink had always said. Henry is knee deep in the water, laughing every time one of the mermaids flicks her tail at him. They’ve learned that the creatures can be rather mischievous, but one named Ariel has taken a particular liking to Henry. Ariel’s their princess, actually, and her fondness for the boy means they all remain on their best behavior with him.

Killian laughs at Henry’s antics. Each time he lunges for a mermaid tail, said mermaid darts away, and the five year old ends up splashing face first into the water. Yet every time, he resurfaces with a sputtering giggle. Killian’s gaze shifts to Emma. She and Tink are the same size, so the fairy has loaned her some clothes. Emma is currently wearing a one-shouldered dress of ocean green that hugs her figure. The skirt normally hits just below her calves, but Emma has it hitched up to her knees. She sits on a rock next to Henry, her legs in the water. Henry splashes her, and she splashes back. Then Emma opens her arms wide, and Henry launches himself into her embrace. Emma presses him close, not caring that he’s getting her completely wet.

“These two weeks have been good for both of them,” Tink comments.

“Aye,” Killian agrees, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman he loves. Emma rises from the rock, cradling Henry like a baby, and walks up the beach towards them. Killian can see that Henry is getting sleepy by the way his arms have gone slack in his mother’s arms. Sure enough, when Emma deposits him on the picnic blanket, the lad’s eyelids are drooping. Emma wraps him up in a towel, and Henry curls up in a ball on the blanket, hugging his teddy bear close. Emma catches Killian’s gaze and smiles as she brushes Henry’s wet hair out of his face. Soon, the boy’s breaths even out, and he’s fast asleep.

Emma frowns. “Do you think it’s okay for him to sleep out here? He’s wet.”

“Don’t fret, my love,” Killian tells her, “the sun is warm, and you have him wrapped up snugly.”

Emma nods, but still bites her lip in concern. She’s only been a mother for two weeks, after all. What does she know? Killian probably knows more than she does after all his years of rescuing lost boys. Mason was Henry’s age when he joined the crew, so Killian had practically been a teen father.

“Swan,” Killian says gently, taking her hand and rubbing her knuckles gently, “you’re wonderful with him. A natural.”

She lets out a long sigh and gives him a wobbly smile. How he manages to read her like that is another thing she’s having to get used to. She watches her son sleep, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. Once he allowed her to touch him, she couldn't seem to get enough: hugs, rubbing noses, brushing his hair off his forehead, cheek kisses. Henry loves the affection too, often leaping onto her lap and cupping her face with his chubby little hands. One of Henry’s arms is flung out in sleep, a habit of his that Emma finds adorable. His birthmark catches her eye, as it often does.

“Tink,” she says softly, “these two weeks have been great. But don’t you think it’s time you explained to me what the hell this all means?”

Emma doesn’t miss the glance Tink tosses Killian’s way, yet the furrow upon Killian’s brow likely matches hers. He’s already told her about Pan searching for the heart of the truest believer and about the significance of Henry’s birthmark. What neither of them can understand is how she fits into all of this.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tink hedges.

“None of that, you bloody stubborn fairy,” Killian admonishes in a teasing voice. “You said that Henry would be a child of two realms, but from what Emma and I can gather, he’s a child of only one. A land without magic.”

Tink sighs, then looks at Emma questioningly. “Tell me about his father again.”

Emma shrugs. “He was just a boy. An ordinary runaway.”

“A right jackass is what he was.”

“Killian!”

“Well he was!” Killian protests, and Emma can’t help but smile at his indignation. They’ve had many long nights filling in all the details of their time apart, and Killian is definitely not a fan of Neal.

Tink says nothing, her gaze distant, and Emma can practically see gears turning in her head. Killian looks nervous too, for some reason. Emma glances back and forth between them.

“What are the two of you not telling me?”

“A child of two realms,” Killian says, his gaze falling on Henry, “and . . . “

“A child of royalty,” Tink fills in.

Emma blinks and gasps, “You can’t be saying . . . I mean, you don’t really think . . . but I’m no different than Neal! A nobody, nothing, I -”

“You were never nothing,” Killian interrupts her firmly.

Her gaze softens at the intensity in his voice, but then she shakes her head, the implications of it all overwhelming.

“You’re from a realm of magic, Emma,” Tink says, “it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I was abandoned,” Emma argues.

“Think about it, darling,” Killian says softly, “you were found wrapped in a blanket that had your name stitched into it. Does that sound like careless parents to you?”

Emma rubs at her temple.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Tink says, “but the prophecy about the truest believer was very clear. You , Emma Swan, are not only from a magical realm, you’re also -”

“A princess,” Killian finishes for the fairy. Emma’s head snaps up at the sadness in his voice. His jaw clenches as he rises to his feet. “Which is why this idyllic little holiday must come to an end. My ship and my crew are at your disposal, your highness. I swear to you, we will find your family and your kingdom.”

Before she can process what he’s saying or the sudden formality in his voice, he’s turning away and striding quickly back through the jungle. Emma looks at Tink, her eyes blinking in confusion.

“What the hell is up with him?”

Tink sighs. “Captain Hook has quite the problem with self-loathing, I’m afraid.”

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

Killian is slowly coming up from the depths of a deep sleep, fighting the persistent whisper of his name. Then soft lips brush across his, and he doesn’t want to fight it. His eyes blink open, and he squints in the dark, trying to see. A cool hand, a whisp of soft hair, and those lips again on the shell of his ear.

“Follow me, Killian.”

He thinks he’s dreaming at first, but when his arms reach for Emma’s side of the bed, and he finds it empty, the last cobwebs of sleep flee his brain. He sits up, heart pounding at first until he sees Emma in the doorway, smiling at him. She tilts her head in a gesture that says come on, and seems to glide out into the hallway. He knows it’s the illusion of her long, white satin nightgown, but it makes her look ethereal all the same.

Once he’s up and doing her bidding, she picks up her skirts and runs on her bare feet down the hall, through the parlor, and out of the cave. He swears he hears her giggle once they’re out in the moonlight, but he’s beginning to wonder again if this is a dream.

She stops at the edge of Mermaid Lagoon, and whirls to face him. He skids to a stop at the picture she makes, the light of the full moon pouring over her figure and illuminating her hair. That damn nightgown leaves little to the imagination, honestly, especially in this lighting. She smirks at him, as if she’s read his mind. Then she’s slipping the straps of the nightgown from her shoulders, letting the satin fall soundlessly around her feet. He’s completely shell-shocked now, blinking and practically gasping for air as he takes in her naked form, flawless and strong in the moonlight. They haven’t been intimate since her attack, and the sight before him causes an instant physical reaction. He suddenly realizes that he rushed after Emma without a shirt, without his brace, without his hook.

Without a weapon. He glances nervously at the jungle behind them, but Emma laughs.

“Is this a dream? A trick?”

She shakes her head and gives him a soft smile. “Killian. Seriously? I just felt we needed some time alone.”

That last word - alone - falls from her lips with weighted meaning. Then before he can respond or take another step, she turns and slips into the waters of the lagoon. She goes under soundlessly, then comes back up, only her head out of the water.

“Aren’t you coming, pirate? Or do you not know how to swim?”

It’s Killian’s turn now to smirk as he quickly discards his sleeping pants. “Oh believe me, love, I’m good in the water.”

He dives in, cutting across the lagoon with easy strokes. He breaks the surface right in front of her, and Emma immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her naked body to his. He shouldn’t succumb to this temptation, not when he knows now who she really is and where she comes from. Yet his arms go around her automatically, and his forehead drops to hers.

“Emma,” he groans, “why are you torturing me?”

“Why are you torturing me?” she counters.

“I’m sorry?”

Emma’s fingers find his wet hair as she presses herself ever closer. “It’s been over two weeks, Killian. I miss you.”

“I didn’t want to push you.”

She smiles, nuzzling her nose against his, “I know, and God, I love you for that, but I’m ready.”

“But since then we’ve . . . well, now we know -”

“Stop it,” she commands, pressing a finger to his lips. Lips that curl up into a smile before pressing a kiss to the pad of her finger. “What was that for?”

“You sounded so regal just then.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn princess.”

Killian frowns. “Yes you are, and we should be reuniting you with your parents, your kingdo-”

Emma cuts him off with a fierce kiss, her tongue assaulting his, telling him far more with her actions than she ever could with words. He shouldn’t kiss her back, but their wet skin is pressed together, her fingers are digging into his scalp, and fire is coursing through his veins. Emma wraps her legs around his waist, and he’s completely incapable of rational thought. He slides his hand and stump down to hoist her up, grabbing her flesh in the process and eliciting a groan from deep in her throat. He shifts her so they are lined up perfectly, and she moans as he enters her. It’s quick, and slightly awkward in the water, but it’s been so long that neither of them mind. Emma’s legs tremble around him, and she drops her head to his shoulder as they both come down.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Killian tells her breathlessly.

“I did.”

He kisses her then, tenderly and with wonder. The jungle isn’t quiet; the water laps at the shore, crickets chirp, and leaves rustle. It feels like they can both finally breathe. He never wants it to end.

They stay in the water for a long time, never leaving one another’s embrace. Neither wants to break the spell of the night with words, so they speak with kisses instead. When they first try to leave the water, they make it only as far as the beach. He presses Emma into the sand with his weight, claiming her lips once again. Yet she’s the one who takes him, switching their positions and pinning his arms above his head. The moonlight is spilling over her again as she moves above him, her head thrown back, her breasts glorious. They come at the same time, and then Emma collapses against him, her hair everywhere. He gathers it in his hand as he presses a kiss to her shoulder.

The first light of dawn is just tinting the horizon when they finally get dressed. Killian tries not to look Emma in the eyes, worried still that this was all some sort of hazy dream, or worse, a goodbye.

He’s just slid his pants up to his waist when Emma comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her cheek to his back.

“This isn’t me saying goodbye, if that’s what you're thinking.”

His breath catches in shock. He’s not the only one who is perceptive. She’s smirking at him when he turns around, and she reaches up to cup his face in her hands.

“I love you, Killian Jones.”

“I love you, too.”

She searches his eyes. “I feel like my whole life, until now, I was just searching for something.”

He threads his fingers through her hair. “Aye love, I feel the same. Perhaps I have always been trying to find my way back to you.”

She gives him a tremulous smile, and he exults at what he sees in her eyes. Her next words, however, steal his breath.

“I don’t want to look for my parents.”

Killian frowns. “Emma, I’m sure they’ve been waiting for you all this time. Hoping, maybe even searching.”

She shakes her head. “I’m tired of living in the past. I’m ready to look forward - with you and with my son.” She presses a kiss to his lips and then drops her hands from his cheeks. Instead, she clasps both his hand and his stump and presses them to her chest.

Killian can scarcely breathe. “Swan, do you mean that you would . . . that is to say . . . “

Emma laughs as a single tear slips down her cheek. “Don’t make me ask you, pirate.”

He grins broadly as he presses his forehead to hers. “Marry me? Let me always, always be by your side? Let me be a father to Henry?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Killian kisses her again as the sun breaks forth across Neverland.

Tagging: @snowbellewells​  @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @let-it-raines​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @xhookswenchx​ @courtorderedcake​ @branlovestowrite​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @carpedzem​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @jennjenn615​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @snidgetsafan​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @nikkiemms​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​

[rodgersandhypnostein]

Gypsys, Tramps and Thieves Part 1 - Mister John Acton

Thursday, 8th of May, 1817.

Pemberton, Kent.

Another week, another village to perform and be gawked at. If there’s one thing I know to be true after 20 years in this life, it’s there are two types of attention: good attention and bad attention, and all me and my family have ever gotten in our lives is bad attention. It was bad enough to come from an Irish family born in England, where we’re treated like second-class citizens. It’s funny how even the poorest, baddest people feel as if they’re superior just because they were born English, and are even treated better by others! As if being born Irish wasn’t enough of a bad situation to be in, me and my family are travellers! While I’m proud of my heritage, and I suppose my lifestyle as well, I know that it’s not an ideal combination to have. So all my life, I’ve only ever been seen as the poor, uneducated Irish gypsy, to be laughed at by the kids and looked down on by the adults. Sometimes I think to myself how nice it would be to just live a normal life, in one place I can call my home, respected by my peers, where I don’t have to worry abou-

‘Bradán, will you get your head out of that book and get out here. Your brothers and I have been busting our arses to set up for the next show and you’ve been sat in here, doing fuck all’, my father, Seamus. He and I never really seemed to get on - he says that I think too much of myself because I learned to read, and I’ve never been good enough in his eyes.

Begrudgingly, I got up with as little visible annoyance as I could muster, with an obedient ‘yes father’. Now you know what I do for a living, me and my family run a travelling show. We can do anything! We can read your palms, contact your loved ones beyond, and can even control your very own mind. Yeah, we basically go from village to village scamming people for their money. We each have our own roles to play, my mother’s our ‘psychic’ she can tell your future and speak to the dead - for a steep price. My sister is the typical ‘gypsy beauty’, meant to draw in horny single men and entice them with her dancing. My brothers are the ‘strongmen’, they can lift anything, break anything and seduce any woman they want. My father preaches from the bible, and sells various concoctions to cure any ailment. And as for me, I’m the stage hypnotist, I get the pleasure of hypnotising people to act stupidly, a small moment of relief from my day.

Unsurprisingly, our reputation always seems to get to each village and town before we do. We always have someone telling us that we’re crooks and hethons, doomed for eternal damnation. But desire and curiosity always win out in the end, so we never seem to go without at least a decent amount of money. Horny men will always want to see the half-dressed girl shaking and gyrating on stage, and the older variety of said men will always waste their money if it means that they can have a chance of growing their hair back, before listening to the preacher, to atone for their night of sin.

As I was helping my brothers set up the stage for the show, two men, seemingly the village’s most eligible, and dare I say attractive, bachelors were having a walk together, and were heading right towards us. Of course they never approached us directly, they would never risk damaging their status by being seen with us. But I could hear them talking amongst themselves as they walked past.

‘Lord! It seems those menaces have decided to plague our village with their dastardly tricks’ One of the three, a shorter man with a decent build, but who had a nice and round bum.

‘John, don’t be so loud, they may hear us. These aren’t the kind of people we want to provoke’ another man said, in a distressed whisper. He was also fairly attractive, with short, straight blond hair, somewhat shorter than the first man, with a less muscular build to him.

‘Mark, don’t worry. They can’t understand a word we say, they don’t speak English. They can only speak in that barbaric Irish language. They never had that hideous tongue bashed out of them in school, because they never went to school. You have nothing to fear’, said one of them, who seemed to be the leader of the group. He had dark, curly hair with a beautiful bone structure and build. He obviously was every woman’s first choice for a husband in the village. And with that, they fell out of hearing distance. Twats.

Nothing else really happened that day, other than a few of the local women coming to stare at my brothers’ muscles, with them reciprocating by putting on a little for the women. But I couldn’t get what those two had been saying about me and my family. They were talking about us as if we were wild animals. The nerve of them to act as if we couldn’t even speak English, how insulting could they get! And they were meant to be the gentlemen of the village! But there was nothing I could do except daydream about what I could do to them.

Saturday, 10th of May 1817

Pemberton, Kent

Well, today’s the beginning of our week-long freakshow. The show hadn’t even been on for an hour before we got our first naysayer. It was one of the men who had been insulting us during their walk. As luck would have it, our little John fellow was the local priest in this parish, and had taken offence to our heathen practices. 

Normally we would ignore this type of people and continue with the show. And that was what I was planning to do, until a truly ‘dastardly trick’ popped into my head.

I walked over to the gentleman, putting my plan into action. ‘Excuse me, Mister?’

‘Acton, Mister John Acton, the priest of this parish. And as priest of this parish, I can’t stand by and allow my flock to be tempted by your unholy deeds’. He replied, rather aggressively, but that was to be expected.

‘Of course, Mister Acton. I can perfectly understand why you would be inclined to think that way. But that’s not necessarily what we do around here. In fact, I use my hypnotism to bring people’s inner soul and spirit out, so they can be brought closer to God. We’ve always been of the belief that we can never truly know the wisdom of our creator, but with an open heart we can begin to understand it. I can give you a demonstration if you’d like’ Absolute rubbish. All of it. But I needed him to believe it had something to do with God for him to agree.

‘All right. I’ll try it if it can help me understand God’s power and wisdom, but not here, I can’t let the parishioners see me agreeing to this.’ He gave in. Perfect. The fly enters the spider’s web, unaware of what’s in store for him.

‘Of course not. We’ll do it in private, besides, only God should know of your devotion to him.’

We began walking to the family carriage, and couldn’t help but get semi-hard at the idea of enslaving the first of the many attractive men in this village’.

‘Alright, Mister Acton, if you would sit yourself down there. Very good. So to begin I’ll just ask you to keep close attention to his pendant, as I slowly swing it from side to side, not breaking your gaze from it. Very good’. 

Now it begins, and I want to bring this man slowly to his downfall, as a bit of revenge for the insulting words he said yesterday. This is something I’m taking great pleasure in.

‘Now, as you concentrate more and more on the swinging of the pendant, your mind will be left more and more open for me to communicate with, and soon enough, God’s wisdom will be within sight’. This continued for a while, until I could clearly see that he was beginning to go under slightly.

‘Alright, I can see that your mind is opening more and more to my words, so I shall begin opening it. I will begin to count down from 10, and with each count, you will become more and more relaxed, and at 0, you’ll fall into a deep trance’.

‘10, getting more comfortable in your seat’

‘9, your body feeling almost weightless’

‘8, your breathing is getting deeper and deeper’

‘7, you’re beginning to sigh with relaxation at each breath’

‘6, your mind is beginning to lose control of your body’

‘5, you can’t help but increasingly hard from the relaxation’

‘4, you can’t help but rub your bum across the chair, for stimulation’

‘3, you’re slowly getting addicted to this relaxation and pleasure’

‘2, you’ll do anything to feel this relaxation and pleasure’

‘1, you’ll serve me in any way I command, to continue feeling this pleasure’

‘0, now sleep!’

And with that, the priest’s short, thick frame slumped over slightly in the chair, with a hard cock and arse on display, with a small, dreamy smile on his face.

‘When I snap my fingers, you’ll awaken and do anything I ask. I will also be able to bring you back to this state whenever I utter the words ‘butt boy’. Do you understand?’. Now that he was firmly under my control, I was going to have some fun with this man.

‘Yes’ he replied in a sleepy voice.

‘Yes Master, you need to say’ My cock instantly sprung to life with that command, realising the commanding potential I have.

‘Yes Master’, he replied in a pleasurable voice, no doubt because he obeyed my command.

‘Very good, slave. Now the first thing I want you to do is strip. God never intended for us humans to wear clothes, and thus to prove your faith to him, you must show him your rejection of such an unnatural practice’. Well, that and because I wanted to see that juicy arse in all its glory.

‘Yes Master’. With that, my newest slave began to strip down to his bare body. He then sat back down into his chair, but not before I got a glimpse of his perfect bum and decently-sized cock, pity it will never be used however.

‘Now, John. As you may be aware, the penis is the source of all human life. It is thus the closest to God we will ever come. Therefore, just as God should be worshipped and adored, so should the human penis. Luckily for you, I’m willing to let you do that on mine. You don’t have to fear anyone finding, it’ll be our little secret.’

‘Yes, penis must be worshipped’ He repeated, sliding down onto the floor. He then proceeded to pull my dick out of my trousers before lovingly gazing at it.

‘In fact, it’s been said that one of the best ways of showing your adoration of the male penis is to use your mouth. So go ahead, start licking it.’ Unsurprisingly, he obeyed. His licks began small, only using the tip of tongue for short licks. However, as he continued, and began to enjoy it more, he started using the whole surface of his tongue, licking from the tip to base, up and down.

‘Very good, you’re making it very happy indeed. Another way to show how much you love the male penis is to wrap your whole mouth around, and like how you licked, go up and down. I can promise you this will make the penis very appreciated.’ And with that, I began to get comfortable in my chair as the once zealous priest began blowing me.

Even though he was new at this, the young priest showed a lot of promise in giving head. I have to admit, my cock has never leaked this much from a first timer’s blowjob. I could certainly get used to this. Although, after a while my mind began to wander to his thick arse, and I suddenly felt the urge to fuck something, and with that mind, I gave my next order.

‘Stop slave, I have one more thing to share with you. My penis is feeling so good because of your worship, and it has decided to give you a gift. Now, the penis is the source of life, and it has been known to give life and purpose to a select few boys who choose to dedicate their lives to its service. I’m perfectly willing to bestow this gift onto you, should you choose to dedicate your life to me. Do you accept?’

Now was the make or break moment. It’s one thing to get a boy to give me a hummer under hypnosis, but another thing entirely for him to surrender his life to worship it. Even though he is firmly under my control, I’m not even sure if he’ll accept.

‘I do, Master.’ 

Sighing in satisfaction and victory, I began to strip my clothes, showing my new servant all he has to look forward to. I ordered him to crawl over to the bed, taking the opportunity to watch his arse moving as he crawled.

Now is the part I’ve been waiting for, ever since I saw his big bum yesterday afternoon. After days of lusting after the young priest, I’m finally going to have him all to myself.

Although my dick was fully lubed with my slaves spit, and would be perfectly adequate to slide between those cheeks, I couldn’t resist tasting him. I ravenously began eating his arse. His hole tasted divine, I could have spent the whole night licking it, getting more and more addicted to the taste. But I had to stop myself, so I could enjoy the feeling of his hole wrapped around my dick.

If I thought the taste of his hole was divine, it was nothing in comparison to the feeling around my dick. It was a tad too tight, but that problem will soon be dealt with. As soon as I could fit my entire dick up there, I went into a horny craze. Soon, all that went through the both of our minds was fucking. I didn’t care if anyone could see or hear, I just needed to fuck this boy’s brains out. 

This went on for what felt like hours, until finally, I came. My cum felt so nice and warm in his arsehole, and I could tell he enjoyed the sensation, and would soon be wanting more, which I’ll gladly give. I knew right then and there that this power over men is far too addictive for me to give up, and I made a resolution to myself that before the month was through, all the men in this village, both single and married, would feel the pleasure of my cock in their arse.

[angry-slytherin]

Heaven Help Me(Ch 10)

Jo rings the doorbell to Meredith Grey’s house, holding a cheesecake firmly in her hands to stop them from shaking.

The door swings open, and it’s Maggie.

“Oh hey, Doctor Wilson! Come in, come in. I didn’t know you’d be here. I thought this was supposed to be a family dinner...oh sorry, I just- you know never mind, just come in,” Maggie smiles.

Jo smiles back, albeit awkwardly, and Maggie finally moves so Jo can enter the house. Maggie swiftly takes the cake Jo is holding, and shuffles off the to the kitchen.

Jo stands awkwardly for a moment in the foyer; unsure of who to talk to and where to go. Then, by a force of grace, Link passes by her, and does a double take.

“Jo? What are you doing here?” He arches an eyebrow. Jo shifts uncomfortably.

“Oh uh Meredith was reminding Alex about this fun little get together, and I was there, so...I’m here. You know, being social. I don’t get to go to many family dinners you know. Actually I don’t think I’ve ever been to one.”

Link smiles, “Just go in there; no one bites. Amelia is in there, surrounded by lots of children you can ‘socialize’ with. And your friend Karev is there too,” he winks.

Jo watches as Link goes up the stairs. She finally turns into the living room, bracing herself to be bombarded by feelings of displacement. But she sees Amelia and Alex right away, and she realizes she has friends here.

God, she thinks, I have to stop sounding like a high schooler at the homecoming dance.

Jo walks over to Alex, who is currently holding a small blonde girl in his arms. Jo can’t help but think about how good he looks doing it; it’s only natural. He’s a good-looking guy with a child.

She greets his circle; him, Cormac Hayes, and a tall teenage boy who appears to be the former’s son.

“Doctor Wilson, nice to see you,” the Irishman says through a thick accent. Jo smiles.

“Oh it’s Josephine. Jo.”

“You should probably just call him Mer’s irish dude like the rest of us,” Alex cracks. Hayes and his son laugh heartily at this, and Jo squints at him amusedly.

“Cormac,” Hayes reaches out his hand and Jo shakes it, “and this is my son, Liam.”

The curly-haired boy reaches out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Jo smiles, “You too, Liam.” Then the girl in Alex’s arms stirs and asks to be let down. Alex shrugs, bringing her over to the kitchen table.

“Excuse me,” Jo asks the other doctor and his son, following Alex to the kids’ table.

“Are you following me?” He asks her.

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only other person here without a family connection to someone else here. We’re the outcasts.”

Alex shrugs, “Me, Mer and Izzie went through residency together. We’ve been family for a long time. Now Izzie’s gone, and George and Cristina are gone, but I’ve still got Mer.”

Jo looks down, “Oh so I’m the only one without family connections. Yay.” This earns her a glare, and then an eye roll from Alex.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not like you; it’s weird and creepy.” Jo makes a face.

“Thanks,” she deadpans. Alex just grins, hooking his arm around her shoulder.

“I’ll be your family connection.” Jo smiles, and feels herself way too willing to lean into his shoulder. Because she realizes for the first time, she loves him. She’s not quite sure in what way, but she loves Alex Karev.

How’s that for a family connection?

***

At dinner, two folding tables have been set up in the living room, and Jo sits in between Maggie and Link.

“Can you please pass the salad?” Maggie asks her, and Jo grabs the bowl, handing it to her.

The table is silent for a moment.

“This all tastes great, sweetheart,” Link grabs Amelia’s hand over the table and squeezes it.

“It’s wonderful,” Hayes smiles.

“Thank you,” Amelia smiles, picking up her fork. Jo goes back to her steak, but she feels a pair of eyes on her. She looks up.

“So Jo, where did you move here from?” Meredith asks her, and Jo thinks it’s meant to be threatening, but she’s become comfortable enough with the rest of the party, that it doesn’t bother her.

“Uh Maryland. I did my residency at John Hopkins,” Jo drops her own fork, picking up her glass to take an awkward sip.

“I thought I heard you were married,” Maggie interjects, “if you don’t mind me asking, are you?” Jo meets Alex’s eyes across the table.

“No,” she falters, “I uh- I was married. A very long time ago. I’m not sure where you...I’m not.” Jo swallows, and then takes another hasty sip, hoping the alcohol will burn her throat.

“Is he gone?” Meredith asks, and Jo barely comprehends the question because of the boldness in the statement. Jo’s pulse races and she tries to hide her quickening breath.

“Yes, uh- he uh- he died,” she stops to catch her breath, “Hit and run on his morning jog.”

Meredith looks at her in disbelief. Jo can’t fully understand why she’s being interrogated so personally. Who are these people, and why can’t they ask her about what she grew up or something?

Only it occurs to her that she grew up in thirteeen different houses, and her car, and her dorm rooms.

So she feels herself tipping over the edge, but she freezes. She just has to answer right; like she’s applying to be a part of this family.

“I’m very sorry,” Maggie grabs her hand, and Jo wants to strangle her, and Hayes; who is giving her a pitiful look. She thinks she hears more ‘sorry’s but her hearing has gone funny.

It’s unnerving, because no one should feel bad he’s dead. He deserves to rot. Link gives Jo a worried look, but she can’t bring herself to look up at him.

“Maybe that’s eno-“ Alex begins, but Meredith persists.

“Is that why you drove Izzie Stevens away? Because you needed someone else with damage to be with? You slept with another woman’s husband.”

Jo finally looks back up at Meredith, disbelief written all over her face. Did she really think that Jo and Alex had been together while Izzie and him were together? And Alex hasn’t told anyone why Izzie left?

She can’t stop the tears that fall, but she can put her foot down on Meredith’s harassment of her.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone, especially not someone who’s married. Maybe you should ask your dear friend Alex why his wife left, and not immediately blame me, what...because I’m new to town, and let him sleep on my floor?”

Jo scoots her chair back, and heads for the porch. It’s raining because it’s always raining in this god damn city, so Jo just stands there and let’s herself be soaked.

She hears the door open behind her, and she assumes it’s Link or Amelia, but Hayes is the one who stands next to her.

“Meredith can be brash. She doesn’t mean harm, but she’s very protective of the people she loves. And Alex hadn’t told her the whole story. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be mad at her, but know that she likes you, Jo. She just loves Alex more.”

Jo looks at him, “I know. I’m more mad at Alex than her. He let her believe- let all of you believe that I- I’m not a home wrecker. I’ve never slept with Alex, and I didn’t drive Izzie away. I was just being a friend.” Hayes nods.

Jo begins again, “You and Meredith, you’re...together?” He nods again.

“Thank you,” Jo sighs. Hayes goes back inside the house, and she hears the door shut. Jo feels the presence of another person behind her and this time she knows who it is.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t tell Meredith. I had no idea that’s what she thought, and I sure as hell didn’t know she invited you here to shame you.”

Jo wraps her arms around herself.

“My husband- he died, and it was the best day of my life,” she swallows, “I wanted that son of a bitch gone so bad. He wasn’t a good person, or a good husband. He hurt me in ways no amount of therapy ever healed.” She gets no response.

“I ran away from him, at the beginning of the summer in between my first and second years of med school. Two weeks later, I got a call that he had been hit by a car.

I saw his body all mangled; both his hips had been displaced, and he had a cervical spine fracture. He would’ve been paralyzed,” Jo stops for a moment to brace herself.

“He was braindead. So I pulled the plug, I signed the damn papers, and I let him die wholly, right then and there. And I thought that I deserved it. Like I deserved him hitting me. But I came to know that I didn’t.

I didn’t deserve to be made into nothing by him. You want to know what else I know I don’t deserve? To be called a whore and a home wrecker by your friends. To sit at a dinner table where everyone is questioning me or staring at me like I’m some sort of exotic bird.”

Alex finally stands next to Jo, and looks down at her. He doesn’t say anything, but he grabs her hand. She’s crying, and she can’t stop.

“I love you. You hear me? You let me sleep on your floor, and you bring me donuts in the middle of the night. I love you for that.”

“I know,” she mumbles. “It’s not enough though, Alex. You need to be honest with people. You need to do some growing up.

Because we’ve all been through bad crap, we’ve all thought we’d never see the light of day again. I love you too, but you have to grow up. Accept that Izzie left, and handle it.

Don’t sweep it under the rug like it was nothing; because that will ruin you, and every relationship you care about. Stop pretending it never happened, or that it didn’t happen the way it did.”

Alex pulls her by her hand inside the door.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Jo looks back up at him, “I know that too.”

[2am-euphoria]

Butterflies Out of Reach: 1.

- “Boogeymen don’t come after kids like you, not when they see that their parents are cops. The bad guys are scared of the good guys.” Her mind strangled itself each time she remembered this. What a “new mom” thing to say. What an “oblivious cop” thing to say. What a “new cop mom who needed a reality kick to the jaw” thing to say. She’d spend the rest of her life wishing could take that back. -

CW: Child abduction, grief and loss, some language 

Click “Keep Reading” to access the story.

-49 Hours Gone- 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. She recounts the 5 worst nights of her life, but already knows that tonight, running alone in the forest, is the worst. She never realized that wet mud makes a sound similar to that of a suction cup until she heard the noises it made against her shoes as she ran. Never realized how even in the dead of night, and with only a Dollar Store flashlight to guide her, she could still see so many bugs flying around her face. Never realized how the sounds-or lack thereof-in the clearing made the hair on the nape of her neck stand up more than the John Carpenter movies her brother forced her to watch when they were kids. Dani was a proud New York City girl. She listened to the musings of others who claimed they “didn’t want to live and die on the same corner of the earth they grew up on” with one ear, and let it drift out the other. The history, culture, and personalities changed with each neighborhood she found herself in. That, to her, felt like she was moving to a different corner of the earth each time she turned a street corner. But her pride didn’t mean she’d never left NYC- she’d been to Long Island once or twice, and to the Adirondacks a handful of times with her mother and siblings. Supposedly had been to Connecticut and Vermont too, though she knew this only because her grandmother recalled those trips, ones that Dani didn’t remember. ___ One of her favorite stories to tell her coworkers (and Malcolm) was the last time she went up into the mountains with her family. Four year old Dani was so worried at the thought of a bear sneaking up on their campsite that she screamed and cried all night. Well, almost all night, that is, until her mother finally packed them all up at 2am and drove back to the city. They made it home sometime after 7am, scaring their father, who’d stayed behind and didn’t expect them home for another day. Dani’s older brother proudly explained “Mama took us home early because Dani was so afraid of bears that she screamed really, really loud, so we almost got eaten by one. So we left. Can I watch TV with breakfast?” ___ The fear of the unknown drove Dani out of the forest as a child. And now, decades later, it was a similar fear that made her simultaneously terrified and emboldened to keep going. This time she not only feared the unknown of the forest, but also feared the unknown of what might be happening to her daughter out here as well. 7 hours ago, they received a call at the station from a New Hampshire police officer, who told them about a trucker who spotted a young girl with drenched curly hair along the side of Route 112, in an area known as the Kancamagnus highway. She was standing next to a boy with blonde hair, who looked older and unrelated to her, and both stood next to an adult who was grabbing something out of a trunk of a car. The trucker who called in was also a hunter, and claimed that he decided to call the police because these children stood frozen in fear with their eyes on the adult, like “a deer staring in the direction of a gun.” Gil had immediately tried to dismiss the trucker’s claims, stating that he couldn’t have gathered that kind of information even if he was going 20 mph and purposely looking at these children instead of the road. But after hearing of the way the trucker described these two young children looking at an adult in fear, as if they were this person’s prey, her stomach sank into her gut and she knew. She excused herself to the bathroom while Malcolm, Gil and JT debated the trucker’s reliability, and snuck out the back door of the station. She came home to her and Malcolm’s apartment, packed a bag that was more suitable for an overnight at a motel than a camping trip, and set her sights-and her GPS-on New Hampshire. And now here she was, running through a clearing deep in the woods surrounding the highway, her adrenaline sustaining her after that cup of convenience store coffee had finally worn off. Chasing two sets of footprints along the tire marks on the ground, one of which belonged to a child small enough to be her daughter’s, the other belonging to what her anxious thoughts believed to be that of the young boy the trucker had seen. No sets of adult footprints. Good, Dani thought, good thinking. Run far away from that bastard. Someone’ll get them later. Her flashlight’s beams showed her that she was almost halfway through the clearing, and after that she’d need to enter the woods. Her heart hitched at this realization, and she felt a twinge of that childhood fear of the forest resurface, so she tried to bury it under thoughts of her daughter being out there. If Dani was scared, she had no doubt that her four-year-old would be frightened too. And unlike four-year-old Dani, scared out in the woods during a camping trip, her little girl couldn’t immediately seek comfort in her mother. She cussed under her breath at the sinking mud beneath her feet, and tried to run faster. Moments later, though, Dani cussed at herself for running quicker, because the footprints disappeared. Initially she wondered if she’d begun stepping in them, becoming careless in her attempt to speed up. Ten steps backward and ten steps forward, however, discredited that idea. The footprints dropped from two sets to one-those of what was likely the older child-about 6 steps behind (Dani had counted and re-counted repeatedly), and then took a sharp turn off the tire track path and into the tall grass. Her flashlight, its glow dancing from the shaking of her hand, showed another path where the grass had been trampled, leading up a small hill and into the thickness of the dark woods. The beams of the flashlight shook even harder. Dani grabbed her trembling hand, realizing she had instinctively done what Malcolm did whenever his psychogenic tremor plagued him. Her breaths, shallow from the effort of running, turned into wheezes as she started to hyperventilate. Her whole body shook as she folded in on herself like a lawn chair, nearly crouching against the earth. Her daughter was missing. She was out in the forest, ALONE, and she hadn’t told Malcolm. Her daughter was missing. Her phone battery was nearly dead from trying to use the GPS while wandering off the road into the forest (“bad idea, idiot,” she thinks to herself). Her daughter was missing. Her daughter was missing.  “A-Alea,” Dani wheezed. Just saying her name out loud was enough to pull her from confusion into a certain panic. “Alea!” ____________ As the patrol car glided along the curves of Route 112, Malcolm thinks of Maura Murray. The 21-year-old UMass Amherst nursing student wrote to her professors that she was taking time off from school due to the death of a family member, packed up half her belongings into her worn-down car, and headed north to a destination unknown. Later that same night she would get into a car accident, and after declining help from a bus driver who had noticed her situation, she disappeared into the woods, never to be seen or heard from again. He closes his eyes, and remembers how he had discussed her case with Dani years ago. ___ One of their favorite down-time activities involved looking up old cold and controversial cases and sharing their perspectives on what happened: her coming from the perspective of a cop, his from that of a profiler. Malcolm believed that she had somehow been murdered, her body hidden initially beneath the February snow and eventually by time. Dani, who was typically the realist during these conversations, echoed a theory proposed by an author who covered the case: Murray willingly left with someone else, perhaps to start a new life after a run-in with the law during her junior year. “She was a runner in college, right?” Dani had called to him from her usual spot on the couch. “Sometimes people run for sport, and sometimes they run from their pasts.” “True,” he had mumbled in response. Dani laughed about how she was thinking with his imagination and symbolism for once, while he’d sided on the idea of it being an open-and-shut case. “Well…moving on,” Malcolm huffed from the kitchen; out of sight Dani giggled, knowing she’d stumped him at his own game. “What about Casey Anthony?” “Malcolm,” Dani barked back, her voice stern. He saw his wife’s head perk up from the couch, her eyes glaring daggers in his direction. “Gross. That’s in poor taste, considering everything we have now.” She’d been using this tone since she became pregnant 3 months earlier. Normally there was a hint of teasing in her voice when she chastised him, but not so much anymore. Part of him wondered if it was hormones making her more quick to anger; part of him wondered if she’d picked up on the tone his mother used with him when she was stern and was testing it out, either for their soon-to-be daughter or him (or both). He left his spot at the island and treaded over to her, somewhat cautious in his steps. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He leaned over the back of the couch to where she lay sprawled out under a blanket, her hands on her growing stomach. “Sure you are,” Dani muttered, leaning up to kiss him. She reached back and pulled one of his hands off the couch to rest it on top of the knit quilt and the life they’d created just underneath it. Malcolm smiled against her lips, and she did the same. -“Bright-“ His blue eyes snapped back open, icecaps staring back at hazel. “I mean it!” he said, pulling away and glancing towards the kitchen. Her grilled cheese was nearly finished, judging by the sizzling it made on the stovetop. 

-“Hey, Bright-“ Dani rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh. ___ “Bright, have you checked your phone yet? Come on. I thought you didn’t sleep.” JT shoved Malcolm’s arm in annoyance. Malcolm returned from his reverie, noticing JT and Gil staring at him in concern; from the rearview mirror, he could also see the New Hampshire cop who was  driving giving him a weary look as well. “Um, no….No, nothing. As in nothing, she’s sent me nothing. Look,” he stammered, and flashed his lock screen, devoid of notifications, at the officers around him. JT sinks back against his seat with a huff. Gil sighs. The cop flicks his eyes back onto the road. “You’re certainly right though, kid, she’s gotta be out here.” Gil had pulled down the passenger rearview mirror to make eye contact with him. His eyes were full of concern. When Malcolm and the others noticed Dani was no longer at the station earlier that afternoon, Malcolm had raced home to search for her. She was nowhere to be found, but judging by the state of her belongings strewn about the room, Malcolm could tell she had a hunch, and no one was going to stop her from following through on it. He had phoned Gil to tell the senior detective to call the New Hampshire state police immediately, and prepare for a long drive. They were now driving along Route 112, hoping that they’d spot her car parked along a breakdown lane. Malcolm felt that deep down, Dani would know well enough to leave clues as to where she was, and wouldn’t completely conceal her location. Yet he had no idea what he or the team would do if they never found her car. He didn’t want to think about it. Suddenly, his phone vibrated against the sweaty palms of his clasped hands. He unlocked it. I knew you wouldn’t leave me hanging, he thought when he saw who it was from. “She just shared her location with me; I know where she is!” ____ Four miles up the road from where they were when Malcolm got a text, Dani’s car was pulled over alongside a breakdown lane. One of the New Hampshire cops balked when he noticed the car was unlocked, thinking she may have been taken; Malcolm reassured him that it was a sign. His wife, despite seeming completely organized in comparison to him, had a bad habit of leaving their car doors unlocked. Malcolm, ever the tease, started keeping tallies of every time she’d do it within a month. In the spirit of playing games with him, Dani told him that she’d learned her lesson, but that from then on she’d only leave their car doors unlocked to send him a message: “I’m aware that I’m not supposed to be doing something, but I’m doing it anyway.” Malcolm tossed one of the New Hampshire state troopers two items, each in their own plastic bag:  a satin hair tie Dani used often, and a pair of Alea’s socks. “Let’s find them.” Within minutes the dogs were straining against their leashes, yearning to course down the ravine that lead into the forest. Edrisa met up with the rest of the team from an accompanying patrol car, with a bag full of equipment making all sorts of clanging noises as she hastily joked over to meet them. She flashed them all an anxious smile. She had a pair of non-latex gloves on. Malcolm swallowed hard at the sight of them. She put gloves on when investigating a crime scene, with the idea that she needed more than a tissue covering her hand to lift up evidence. She wore gloves when she thought she’d be handling bodies. Author’s Notes: -I want to clarify that I’m writing/editing this after having a crappy week and going out for dinner/drinks with a grad school friend BECAUSE of said crappy week so I’m typing and editing with hard cider eroding my brain. My apologies. I will happily edit this if need be. -I looked up the approximate travel times for a random mountain in the Adirondacks to the Bronx, as well as the travel times between NYC and the Kancamagnus, but I’m not a New Yorker and have no idea what I’m doing so DON’T COME FOR ME -Thanks for letting me get a little side-tracked about Maura Murray. She was attending the college I’m now an alumni of, and her case has haunted me ever since I heard about it. Apparently her car is still out there somewhere along the highway, never having been towed home. I hope that her and her family can someday find peace after all these years. -Hopefully will have chapter 2 up soon! Thanks to all of you who read this!

[bowieandqueen11]

Hi if it's not to much to ask may i have a Queen ship please?My name is Ally . I'm tall and kind of insecure about it. I have long brown hair thats wavy/curly my eyes are blue. I love to read I can spend days in bed just doing that. I love to swim. I'm extremely shy and awkward at first but once you get to know me I love to make people laugh and never shut up with my stupid jokes. I absolutely adore my cats and disney movies. I'm currently studying to be a teacher so I love kids! Thank you!!

Hey Ally love sorry this took so long but ship writing is starting up again!

I ship you with: Freddie Mercury!

Freddie had been standing out in the little Japanese Garden of Garden Lodge, all the doors and gates open so the bustle of the busy London street could pass him in the background and surround him with joy and life as he wanders around the tall flowers that kiss towards the sky, his fingertips gingerly reaching up to dance over the rustling cherry blossom leaves. He smiles to himself, turning around towards the cracking green door as he feels Delilah’s tail brush against his bare leg like a mountain of feathers, his eyes growing wide as he sees a tall figure pass by, their sparkling blue eyes that shine likethe soft azure surface of the southern sea making his unprepared heart begin to thump against his mustard shirt. Without fully comprehending what he was doing, and nearly tripping over the meowing frame of Oscar in the process, he has run out into the street, following the bouncy curly hair that flows down your back like summer waves rolling in with the blowing breeze as you float like petals down the street, his hand collapsing onto your shoulder making you jump a mile and turn around in shock, only to see the blubbering, bright red face of Freddie Mercury completely speechless.

He would love to spend lazy afternoons in bed with you. He would patter in from the living room, his fingers still dancing over his legs with the memory of the ivory piano keys as he closes his eyes in bliss, breathing in heavily as the summer rays fall through the twisting oaken leaves outside and fall like starlight onto his flushed face. He’ll sneak into your room whilst your distracted, leaping onto the bed and pulling you into his arms as you squeal, pulling up mountains of marshmallow lumpy blankets before finally settling down and placing his head on your shoulder, his doe eyes gazing up at you and kissing your shoulder tenderly to tell you he wants to hear your voice.  

Even though he’s not a great swimmer, he will take any excuse to spend more time with you, especially with his hectic schedule. He would smile gingerly at you, bopping in the water like a frantic chicken with his elbows to wrap his legs around your waist. Panicking slightly as his chest bumps hard against yours, your hands reach down to tug his thighs further against your abdomen, making sure he stays afloat, your fingers coming to rest familiarly against his skin. He laughs, wrapping his thick arms around your neck, one coming to rest against the thick of your back. His forehead falls clumsily against your own, your noses bashing, but it only makes you two burst out into a fit of giggles that gets you strange looks from the old lay in swimming lane number one.

He would be so enamoured with your shy and awkward demeanour, finding it so adorable whenever he drags you into the studio with a wild smile on his face, his heart thumping and his hair a mess, flaying in all directions as you stand slightly behind your side. However, once Brian comes over to introduce himself, Roger bouncing down happily from the drum riser to join him, you start to relax when they both start to talk over each other, saying things like ‘it’s so good to finally meet the famous y/n’, ‘Freddie never stops talking about you’, ‘it got so bad once that Roger had to throw a drumstick at his head to get him to sing-’ Oi, that was John’s idea!’ As the night rolls on, Freddie would shoot side glances at you, a loving toothy grin lighting up his face as he sees you and John laughing together on the sofa, hands on each others shoulders to keep yourselves from falling, and he thanks anything he can think of for sending him his own perfect little angel.

Cats!! He would know you were the one for him when you first entered his house, and saw how expertly you acted with Romeo! He would often try and surprise you when you came home from then on, waiting for ages to hear the lock click and your footsteps patter against the cream carpet, sitting on the sofa, rubbing his hands together and tapping his feet excitedly against the cushions. Your eyes would widen in delight when you step in searching for him, only to see a wobbling but, bless him he had really tried, blanket fort resting against the sofa, full of cushions and pillows and a rainbow of blankets, with The Little Mermaid ready to play in the DVD player as he stares up at you like a lost puppy, reaching his arms out and making grabby motions at you.

[junker-town]

6 tips I wish I knew before cutting my hair during the Covid-19 pandemic

Cutting your own hair is hard. Here’s what not to do.

With hair salons and barbershops closing around the United States to slow the spread of Covid-19, it’s not a reach to say this strange new reality will force many of us to take personal grooming into our own hands.

This led me to the decision to learn how to cut my own hair, and I’ll give the tl;dr up top: it didn’t go well. My haircut sucks out loud — and of course it does, seeing as how I have no idea how to cut hair.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Meet my hair

My hair is thick and curly and requires a haircut every three weeks. The kind of hair that feels like a Brillo pad if you run your hand through it. It doesn’t always look like it needs cutting on the outside, but trust me, as a person who has to wear it every day, it does.

The supplies I had on hand for this venture were limited at best. I wielded a hair brush, a hand mirror and a small buzzer I normally use on the facial hair I pretend to have. My goal was to cut the sides short, leave the top long and fade the difference like my barber usually does.

Here’s where I went wrong.

1. I cut my hair too short

I wanted to cut my hair as short as possible because it grows quickly and I didn’t want to keep having to buzz it. This was a grave mistake.

I went with my buzzer’s 1mm blade option, and within two seconds I knew I was gonna be Going Through It online for a bit. I basically have stubble on the sides of my noggin; it’s so short you can even see the weird lines I’ve got on my head.

It’s bad. It’s uneven. And there is no fix.

My roommate tried to help me blend the difference between the top of my head and the sides but it was hopeless. “You look like you’re wearing a toupee,” she said, recording it all for her Snapchat. “Matt, it looks like you’re wearing a hat.”

Tip: Whatever buzzer number you think you should use, go higher. The lower the number, the more hair gets cut.

2. You need to let someone else help with the back of your head

I tried to buzz my way through the pain by doing the same unspeakable damage to the back of my head as I did to the sides and it was a disaster. Turns out it’s really difficult to hold a hand mirror with one hand and cut your hair with the other, so I sorta just did it blind.

Again, I discourage this.

My answer to this was to run the buzzer back and forth until I was left a head of uneven stubble.

My roommate offered to help, but I wanted to do this myself and live with my mistakes. I was adamant about this.

Until she showed me what the back of my head looked like.

I handed her the buzzer, but at that point it was too late.

Tip: Let your roommate/spouse/whomever help you with the back of your head. If you don’t have someone quarantining with you, I’m so sorry. But you’ll be ok. It’s just hair.

3. Let the hair on the top of your head stay long

This is probably the only part of my haircut I didn’t screw up.

Tip: Be extremely gentle with the top of your head.

4. Watch out for your ear

I didn’t think this would be a problem until I hit the 10-minute mark of my journey and swiped the inside of my ear with the buzzer. “We’ve got a bleeder,” I said to myself, having already buzzed my head to oblivion with nothing left to lose.

i need to tweet this so i can put it in my blog so here is what happened when i cut my ear pic.twitter.com/DI4IoWm1S9

— Matt Ellentuck (@mellentuck) March 20, 2020

I was lucky. The ear-blood only persisted for a few minutes.

Tip: WATCH YOUR EARS

5. Don’t wear a sweater while cutting your own hair

This feels self-explanatory.

Tip: You’ll get roasted online if you do this.

Why wouldn’t you take your shirt off?!

— Clay Sauertieg (@ByCSauertieg) March 20, 2020

I think you’re gonna have a hard time cleaning that sweater.

— Robert Ham (@roberthamwriter) March 20, 2020

Why on earth did you keep the sweater on

— John Heinze (@adlubescence) March 20, 2020

Poor decision to do it while wearing a sweater.

— Greg Skipper (@gskip) March 20, 2020

6. Have fun

Your haircut is gonna suck ass. There’s just no way around it. I’ve given you my tips, you can watch every Chad and Brett show you how easy it is to cut their hair on YouTube. As long as you know you aren’t Chad or Brett. You’re probably like me, and that’s ok.

We live in scary times. Everything is frustrating, but cutting your hair shouldn’t be. Just do what you want. Only the people you live with have to see it. Zoom calls can be done without video. Hats can be worn. Just do it.

Tip: Buzz it off, homie. ‘Rona cuts. It’s the newest quarantine sport.

Please tweet all haircut pictures you wish to be included in this story to @mellentuck on Twitter.

[whereiputtheotherstuff]

Requested by Anon: Sherlock x reader where she is pregnant with his baby & he loves her so dearly but one day she is seriously seriously injured in a case and it's kind of sherlock's fault indirectly and she loses the child tragically. Sherlock is v guilty and protective and sorry

(gif not mine but writing is)

Expecting

Walking into the living room you span around in your cream coloured dress and you felt beautiful. "Come here you." said Sherlock as he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards him to sit on his lap. He began to kiss you as he placed a hand on your tummy. Your bump wasn't showing yet but you had a first scan. There was a healthy baby that you hope would be as intelligent as its father. You gazed into Sherlock light eyes as you brushed his dark curls from his face. "What did I do to deserve something as perfect as you two." he sighed with happiness. "Saved thousands if not millions of lives by being a smart arse?" you answer playfully as you leave a light kiss on his nose. He smirked.

"Mycroft keeps texting me asking how I am. I think he is excited about becoming an uncle." you giggle as you look around. Your eyes stare at the vacant bedroom. "I was thinking of perhaps making John's old room into a nursery but only if you're OK with the idea. He's really settling into his new place with Mary." you say stepping off of his lap. Sherlock stared down the hallway at the now empty room, a grunt of contemplation left his lips. You understood that there was a lot of memories tied to the rooms in 221B Baker Street but at some point he will have to make changes so new memories can be made. One thing must be paramount, you must not rush him with his decisions.

Grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen you turn back to see Sherlock on his laptop. Walking up behind him you gaze over his shoulder at the computer screen. On the screen was a photograph of a man that was the latest big criminal that needed to be stopped. He had red curly hair and wore a long dark coat. It all started when he replicated some of Sherlock's early cases. It's like he wants to copy and get Sherlock's attention for some reason. Kind of like a fan boy gone wrong. "I wonder what he is going to do next. The dedication and details that he puts into his crimes really are fascinating." Sherlock said as his eyes sparkled with curiosity. Worriedly you put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder as you spoke. "You're leading him on too much Sherlock. Surely you can see that each murder is getting more elaborate with more victims." "I know. He's just so interesting." he sighs. "The guy is a maniac." you interject. "Besides how many days has it been since the last murder?" The criminal now had a clear murder pattern. "Five. Today could be my lucky day." replied Sherlock. Sometimes you worried about Sherlock. Murder and detective work can seem like a game to him. It's like he forgets that people's lives are at stake. "Please Sherlock. You know who he is just arrest him. Don't toy with him or let him toy with you any longer." you say with concern but your warning appeared to go on deaf ears.

Sherlock opened a new tab on his laptop and began frantically refreshing his 'Science of Deduction' website because that is how he has communicated with the suspect previously. "I'm just going to pop out to the shop, maybe buy something for lunch. The doctor says that exercise is good for the baby." you sigh walking past Sherlock. He suddenly turned around and grabbed your hand. He placed it against his lips, kissing it whilst his eyes stared into yours. "Don't be too long... This will be the last time I tease him. I promise." he said apologetically. "I'll be back soon you psychopath." you giggled at him as you began to walk down the stairs. "High functioning sociopath." Sherlock called back.

Sherlock had unknowingly been waiting for at least an hour. A 'ding' noise came from his laptop notifying him of a new message on his site which read. 'Why don't we finally meet? I have been waiting for so long to meet you. Shall we say the old factory?" Finally what Sherlock had been waiting for. As he went to grab his black jacket something struck him. It had been too easy. Before the criminal had laid out puzzles for him to solve but this time he arranges to meet face to face? Confused, he reaches for his mobile and dialled a familiar face, one of the few he could truly trust. "John? I know that you are probably busy but I need your assistance. It's the copycat killer. He's suggested a meet up but I don't think that all is as it seems."

"I'll be a while Mrs Hudson" Sherlock called as he hailed a cab. The taxi picked up John on the way. The pair discussed how John should remain hidden somewhere in the factory but be ready to strike if things get out of hand.

The factory was disheveled. The walls thick with dust and most of the windows were shattered or boarded up. As John looked for another entrance, Sherlock quietly walked in. He vaguely recalled that this factory was significant in one of his very first cases. Was it a body found here or a major clue that helped solve the case? Sherlock walks into a big room surrounded by small offices.

"I thought you would be coming so I brought you a gift or was it that you brought me a gift?" said a gravelly voice in the distance. Out stepped a red haired man wearing a purple shirt, black jacket, trousers and shoes. Exactly the same outfit as Sherlock had on. Sherlock's eyes widened as he could hear somebody quietly crying from the stranger's direction.

The man was clutching onto your arm, dragging you close to him. "Sherlock" you whimpered. Tears ran down your face and you trembled with fear. "Isn't she beautiful." said the criminal as he gently stroked your cheek. You could see Sherlocks fists clench in anger. Using the hand on your cheek he slowly moved your head to face him. Suddenly he slapped you across the face and Sherlock darted forward. "Ah Mr Holmes, you've now shown me your hand. Wouldn't want to do anything reckless now would we?" said the criminal and Sherlock froze.

"Just let her go. You have me now. I'm the one you want." said Sherlock who kept a steady sounding voice, though it was taking a lot of effort. "True" said the criminal as his eyes looked away from Sherlock and back to you. "To show there's no hard feelings, how about a hug beautiful?" He holds an arm out and wraps it behind you. One arm remained down by his side as the other pulled you forward, crushing your body into his. You let out a blood curdling scream as a huge sharp pain cuts into you. Smirking, he slowly removes a large knife from your stomach.

"No!" Sherlock shouts with more anger and anguish than you ever knew he had. As the criminal was distracted, John crept up behind him and tackled him to the ground. Witnessing what had just taken place, the doctor did not hold back with the punches. After knocking the criminal out he phoned the emergency services.

Your legs became weak and Sherlock leapt forward to catch you before your body hit the floor. Looking down you could see your dress being stained by a growing patch of red. "Keep your eyes fixed on me." Sherlock said as he took your hand in his. Tears rolled down his face.

"Sherlock... No matter what happens know this... I love you... You... Idiot." you whispered shakily. John was applying pressure to the wound and you cried out in pain. "John you're hurting her!" Sherlock shouted angrily. He knew that John knew what he was doing. He knew that John was a doctor. But seeing you in pain like this was too much for Sherlock to bare.

"Sherlock... He's trying to help." you whispered. Your eyes closing as you felt very sleepy. "(Y/N) stay with me. Please stay with me. You have to stay with me." Sherlock begged as he squeezed your hand, forcing your eyes open. Despite this you could not fight it any longer. Your eyes closed. The last sound you heard was Sherlock crying in despair.

Your eyes slowly open. You were laying in a white hospital bed. Looking down you see Sherlock clutching your hand in his own, his head on the bed. The duvet felt damp where his face was on top of it. "Hey you." you manage to say even though your voice was quiet. Sherlock looked up. His eyes were red and watery from crying. "(Y/N)!" Sherlock exclaimed whilst he tenderly kissed your hand. A smile crept onto your face. You looked around the room. There was a smashed vase and a set of drawers that had been ripped apart. The curtains in the room had also been partially pulled down. Then it dawned on you. A sinking feeling began to wash over you.

You tried to sit up whilst you whimpered in pain. "Don't move too much. You've lost a lot of blood." Sherlock said as he carefully helped you to sit up. Your eyes filled with tears as you stared into his. "And we both know that I have also lost something far more precious." you said crying. Sherlock slowly nodded his head as he began to cry. He moved up towards you and kissed your forehead before hugging you. You pressed you face into his chest, muffling your sobs.

One week later

221B was full of colour as bunches of flowers of sympathy from friends and family filled the room. The biggest bouquet by far was from Mycroft. You sat in John's chair reading a book as Sherlock read the newspaper, but he was really staring at you. You sighed placing the book down and rubbing your stomach. It was still sore. "I'm just going to pop out to the shop, maybe buy something for lunch. The doctor says that exercise is good for my recovery." you say wincing slightly as you stood up. "Great idea, I'll tag along. Fancy chips?" Sherlock added as he grabbed his jacket. "Sherlock. I'm only going to shop on the corner. I can go by myself." you smile. "No." he growled. "You're not safe out there any more. Last time you went out. You... We lost our..." his voice was breaking. "It was my fault I should have listened to you. I should have quit while I was ahead."

You walked up and hugged him."The only person at fault was that maniac. Think about it. Going out by myself isn't all bad. We would have never met if I didn't bend the rules and go out on my own." you smile as Sherlock's mouth also curled up into a smile. You reached forward and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Despite there still being pain in his eyes, the smile stayed on his face. "Chips?" he asked as you both walked down the stairs and out of 221B. "It's a date. You psychopath." you reply, staring into his eyes. "High functioning sociopath." he protests before gently pressing his lips on yours.