#she had JUST convinced her mom to let her work towards an inn that accepts humans AND monsters

[my-current-obsession]

I am taking note of every single villager who honestly suggests that Micah's half-monster status might have given his chosen bride cold feet and led to her running away and they are ALL dropping several positions in my internal character ranking.

[elizabeethan]

Walk With Me (I Think We’ll Find A Way)- Chapter 7/8

Killian Jones travels across realms to find Emma and Henry in New York after receiving an anonymous message about a new curse. When he finally tracks her down, he makes a bold move and greets her at her front door, but before he can even attempt to convince her to come back to Storybrooke with him, he’s met with a surprise that will change his life.

Season 3B AU

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Read on Ao3

It’s here friends :) One chapter to go!!

The most beautiful header on the planet was made by @xhookswenchx, in case you were wondering

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“Because I commanded you not to.”

The words tore a hole through Emma’s chest. Her foolish son somehow found his way to the woods and was standing off to the side with the Dark One’s dagger, holding it in front of himself and facing it towards Gold.

“Henry,” Neal starts, and she wants to scream at him to run, get out of here! but she can’t. Her brain has stopped working and her lips won't move. She feels Killian squeezing her arm but she can’t turn away from her child putting himself between her and the fucking Dark One.

“Get out of here, Henry,” Gold says.

“We’re not going anywhere, Rumple.”

Belle materializes behind Henry and Emma wants to explode. Where the hell is Corrine, if the two of them are here?!

“Belle, what are you doing?”

“You know why I’m here, Rumple. I’m not letting you steal this town’s memories just because you think it would bring me back to you.”

“No, no. That's not what I'm doing. I’m doing this for my son.”

She shakes her head and steps in front of Henry, who’s still wielding the dagger threateningly. He refuses to turn around towards Emma, which means she’s unable to reach out and grab for him. She’s worried that if she moves from this spot, Neal just might kill her.

“I left you, in the Enchanted Forest. I didn’t remember doing it, but I did it. And now you're here, doing the exact thing that I left you for doing!”

“Belle,” Neal tries, but she shoots him a threatening look.

“What you’re doing is selfish and dangerous. Neal, Emma’s clearly made her choice, and you need to accept that. If you truly love her like you say you do, you’d accept that.”

“I’m doing this for her; for us!”

“You’re endangering your son and her daughter. That’s not love, Neal. I should’ve seen a long time ago that wanting to control and manipulate someone isn’t the same as loving someone.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Belle!” Gold tries.

“I can’t believe I was wrong about you all this time, Rumple. Your heart really is rotten, isn’t it?” He doesn't have a chance to answer. “Henry, the dagger, if you please,” she says, taking it from him as Emma breathes a sigh of relief. “Rumple, I want you to transport Neal to a cell in the sheriff’s station, and then you’re going to take us to the town line. We need to be alone for what comes next.”

They disappear in a cloud of red smoke. Emma’s hesitant to believe that this is all over, but the three of them are gone and Henry is standing safe and dagger-less a few feet away from her. “Henry,” she says, hating the worry laced through her tone.

“Mom,” he calls with a smile as he runs for her, throwing himself into her waiting arms.

“What the hell were you thinking?! You could’ve been seriously hurt! Where’s your sister?”

“With grandma—”

“Henry,” Regina interrupts. Emma sighs, wanting nothing more than to continue to hug her son but accepting the fact that her life isn’t that simple. He turns towards her voice and his face is alight once again.

“Mom!” he calls, running towards her for an emotional reunion.

Rather than watch the two of them together, she turns towards Killian and smiles. He looks down to her and takes her hand in his, squeezing gently.

“Well, Swan, I do believe—”

“We’ve gotta go,” David calls as he tucks his phone into his back pocket. “Robin, can you make sure Neal is where he’s supposed to be? Emma, you’ve gotta come with me. Mary Margaret just went to the hospital and had to bring Corrine with her.”

“The baby?” she asks, pulling Killian along with her toward her father’s truck.

“He or she is on their way.”

~~~~

Henry rides to the hospital with Regina in Gold’s car. Emma’s honestly a bit surprised that Regina is even bothering coming to the hospital, until she pulls up to the doors, drops Henry off, and pulls away again. Typical.

“Your mom didn’t want to come in?” Emma asks him, and he shrugs.

“Something about family bonding or whatever. It’s okay.”

They walk into the lobby and see Corrine sitting happily with Ruby, Tink on the other side of the coffee table and rolling a small ball towards her as she squeals with laughter. She hears Ruby gasp who’s that? before Corrine whips around and starts running towards her parents and brother as fast as her fat little legs can carry her.

“Hello, my love,” Killian says as he scoops her up, making a grunt as if his body is protesting. What a dad.

“Hi,” she says once she’s up. “Ball.” She holds up the small green ball in Killian’s face, making him back away with a laugh.

“You’re playing ball with Ruby? And…” he turns, cocking his head, “Tink.”

“Hi, Hook.”

“Curse is broken,” Ruby says by way of explanation. “Turns out you two weren’t the only ones getting it on after Neverland.”

“Ah,” he says with a blush, and Emma’s smiling until she hears Henry speak up.

“What does that mean?”

Ruby shoots them all a wolfish grin.

Prince Oliver Leopold is born mere hours after they arrived at the hospital; a healthy, happy boy who somewhat resembles his niece and nephew but has his mother’s bright green eyes.

Emma holds her baby brother and swoons at his plump lips and swollen eyes and rosy cheeks and before she knows it, she has baby fever, dammit. It’s worse when Killian takes the baby from her at David’s insistence and starts cooing. Captain Hook is cooing at a newborn.

Corrine won’t stop saying baby. It’s so adorable. She wants to hold her new uncle (Emma won’t ever get used to that), but refuses any help and would definitely forget to support his head, so a tantrum ensues, naturally. Killian hands the baby back to his mother and takes Corrine out to the hall, because apparently he’s already become an expert parent and handles tantrums flawlessly.

When she leaves the room a few minutes later to check on things, she finds them in the waiting room, Corrine on Killian’s lap with her thumb shoved in her mouth while he holds his phone in front of her. Emma rolls her eyes.

“We should probably try something aside from handing her a phone whenever she freaks out,” she reasons to him with a smile.

“Probably, but this always works so well. Plus, it’s rather catchy.”

When she gets closer, she sees that he’s playing a One Direction music video. Corrine is so fully engrossed that she’s barely dancing, just staring into the screen and bopping her free fist up and down slightly. “You're whipped,” she says to him with a snort as he smiles softly.

“Not since I was a lad.” Shit, she thinks, her face dropping. Poor choice of words.

“I’m sorry,” she says hesitantly. “I didn’t think before I said that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, love,” he says with the same smile.

“Yuh you, yuh you momma,” Corrine says with a cheeky grin shot Emma’s way.

“I love you, too,” she returns.

“Yuh you, duddy.”

He leans down to her and kisses her cheek tenderly, chuckling lightly. “I love you, too, darling.”

She tries to say darling but it doesn’t come out quite right as she struggles with her Ls. It’s cute either way, and she’s still the smartest baby around.

“I think this one is overdue for a nap. Care to tag along?” she asks as Corrine reaches up for her and she scoops her up. They’ve barely eaten or slept today, so she’s surprised Corrine is even still functioning.

“Sure.” Killian stands, locking his phone and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans like a real twenty first century man.

~~~~

Henry asks to go to the sheriff’s station on their way back to Granny’s. Emma isn’t sure what he’s going to say to his father, but she assumes he’s about to get an earful from a rightfully angry thirteen-year-old.

Henry gained his memories back, but his old, cursed ones remained. This means that, while he finally remembers who he really is, he also remembers the story Emma gave him about his father. The reason he was abandoned is clear in his head, along with the betrayal that comes with almost having his memories wiped again and his sister removed from his life at the hands of the same man.

Safe to say, Henry is pissed.

Killian offers to go into the station with him and he accepts, as long as Killian promises not to listen in. Emma’s heart is racing the entire time they’re gone, but Corrine’s soft snores and gentle kicks to the seat in front of her keep her mind somewhat at ease for the ten minutes that they’re inside.

When they emerge from the building, she notes that they're both looking down as they walk to the car with somber looks on their faces. She wants to ask what they talked about, but she knows Henry would rather not talk about it, so when they get into the car, she drives towards the inn silently.

Henry decides to take a nap as well, so Emma puts Corrine in her crib and shoots him a gentle smile before grabbing the monitor and leaving the room to cross the hall towards Killian’s door.

“Hi,” he says as she enters, glancing up from the book he was reading on his bed.

“Hey.”

“Alright?” she shrugs, contemplatively standing before him before crossing the room and taking a seat on the other side of the bed. He closes his book and crosses his ankles before shifting so that he can face her.

“Weird day.”

“I’ll say,” he chuckles. “Would you like to lie down, Swan?”

She shrugs again. “I would, but I'm scared to go to sleep. We still haven’t seen Belle, so we don't know what happened to Gold.”

“Aye,” he agrees with a sigh. “But I think I trust her to make the right decision in that regard.”

“She’s taken him back countless times before, though.”

“It’s a complicated relationship, love. She said something about having left him when they were in the Enchanted Forest, and she’s obviously still angry.”

“Yeah.” She sighs deeply, sinking a bit further into the mattress as he places his arm on a pillow behind her back.

“Lie down, love. You're exhausted; I’ll stay up and make sure nothing goes awry.”

She sticks her lips out in a pout of contemplation, but the heat of his arm behind her neck is tempting along with the memory of his body shaped around hers during the night. “You’ll stay here the entire time? Unless Corrine wakes up?”

“Promise.” She nods at him, scooting herself down so that she’s lying with her head on his chest and her arm slung across his waist. She takes a moment before she hitches her ankle up and over his own, breathing heavily as she feels her body begin to relax. “Swan?” he says softly.

“Hmm?”

“Can you tell me what Baelfire did to you? What were your parents talking about?”

She tenses in his arms, squeezing her fist around his shirt until her knuckles are white. “He, uh, he left me. He betrayed me. Before we were together, he stole some watches and hid them, and then I went to go get them because he had wanted posters floating around. He went to fence the watches and when I met him afterwards, the police picked me up. He had given me a watch as a gift, and that was all the evidence they needed. Turns out he was the one who called the cops.”

“Bloody hell.” His hand runs along her spine with a comforting pressure as she relives one of her worst moments.

“Turns out August told him I was destined to be the Savior and he had to leave me, but the decision to call the cops was all him. So I went to jail for eleven months and that’s where I had Henry.”

“I’m sorry, Swan. That’s awful.” His voice is soft as it rumbles through the soft afternoon light in the room

“I’ve had a lot of time to get past it,” she shrugs

He nods against her hair and she revels in the gentle squeeze he gives her, the compression against her chest soothing her nerves.

“Swan,” he says again, and she lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“What does whipped mean, in that context?”

She wants to groan, still disgusted with herself for even saying it, but she answers anyway. “It means she has you wrapped around her tiny little finger. I’m pretty sure she could convince you to do anything for her without so much as blinking.”

He laughs. “You’re probably right.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and she thinks she might fall asleep, but something stops her and makes her speak.

“She loves you so much,” she says after a few moments.

“Aye, I love her as well.”

“She needs you in her life, you know.”

He intakes a breath and she thinks she may feel the ghost of his lips pressing into her hair. “I need her, too,” he says softly.

She nods her head against his chest and takes in the scent of leather and sea and rum. He may have traded in his leather slacks for jeans, but he still smells the same, and she’s relieved. “That’s why… that’s why we’re staying here.”

She feels his body freeze as his arm tightens around her and his breath hitches in his throat. “Aye?”

“Mhmm. After everything, I just… I want to be close to my family. I almost lost them again today, even though a part of me still doesn't believe that Neal would do that, but… still.”

“I have trouble believing it myself.”

“Yeah. But Corrine likes it here. Henry obviously does too, and as much as it pains me to say, his mother is here. And... you're here.”

He rolls them over so that she’s on her side and he’s facing her before he takes his hand and runs it along her cheek gently. “I would've gone with her. With you.”

“I would've let you. But I'd rather stay put.”

He hums out a soft laugh, one that says I can’t believe this is happening, then touches his index finger along her brow and down the side of her face before he reaches his hand behind her head and pulls the two of them together in a soft, warm kiss.

She kisses him back instantaneously, swiping her tongue out against his soft lips as a sigh escapes her mouth. She feels so relaxed in his arms, and the feeling of him gently massaging her lips with his own and his fingers stroking against her scalp with gentle pressure is lulling her back into the sense of calm that she’s been missing. She thinks she could get really turned on if she lets herself, but for now, the chaste, gentle kisses relax her into a state of bliss.

She pulls away from the unexpected kiss after a few moments and sighs through her nose, pressing their foreheads together and biting her bottom lip. “I’m glad you have your heart back,” she says after a moment. “It probably wouldn't have been very fun kissing a heartless Killian.”

“I think I still would have had fun kissing you even without a heart.”

She hums out a laugh. “Yeah, but this is much better. Are you okay? After the whole heart thing?”

“Aye, I’ve been through dire straits before, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Right,” she laughs before pressing her body close to his and snuggling her head into his chest. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He clears his throat. “Neal must've knocked me out. Or it was the Crocodile, I'm not sure. But I woke up in the cabin surrounded by potions and spells and other nefarious things and knew something was wrong.”

“That’s where they were making the memory potion.”

“Aye,” he confirms. “Neal told me his plan, then he sent me back to the loft for dinner without my heart so that he could control me. He wanted to see me suffer and lose everything I hold dear. I believe the Dark One must've enchanted his hand somehow and that’s how he was able to control me.”

“What a bastard. I can't wrap my head about it.” He hums softly in agreement. “What was it like? Not having it, I mean.”

He’s still and quiet as he takes in a breath, then answers, “it’s like I was dead. I was so numb and empty, I couldn’t feel anything but pain and fear. But when you put it back, love, I’ve never felt better.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Picturing the way he must have felt causes Emma near-physical pain “That sounds awful.”

He changes the subject away from his suffering easily. “May I ask you something else?” she nods against him. “When did you know? That it wasn’t me?”

She shrugs, the painful memories of last night flooding back into her mind. “Before you even got there I knew something was wrong. Henry said you left him alone at Gold’s and I knew you wouldn’t do that. And during dinner, Corrine refused to even look at you because she’s a smart baby and she even knew something wasn’t right. But it was really clear after dinner when you said you were leaving.” She nearly chokes on the words as they leave her lips.

“You have to know how hard I tried to not say it.”

She nods, thinking back to the tears in his eyes and the tight grip he had on her wrist. “I do know, I saw it. You were fighting him.”

“Aye, I was,” he whispers.

“You were doing it for your family.”

His grip on her tightens still and he presses another kiss to the crown of her head before he says, “that I was, love.”

~~~~

Despite no longer living in a magical forest over which he reigns as king, Emma’s father chooses to have a small ceremony to celebrate the birth of his son. As strange as it is to be 30 years older than her brother, and for his niece and nephew to be older than him, Emma happily attends the small gathering hosted at Granny’s once everyone has finally woken up from their naps. Their sleep schedules are going to be completely messed up for the rest of the week, but that’s something she’ll just have to deal with.

When Corrine, Henry, Killian, and Emma finally find their way down to the diner, the party is in full swing. Emma doesn’t miss Killian playfully swiping a donut from Ruby’s tray, giving a little piece to Corrine and finishing the rest himself. She could scold him for feeding her sweets before dinner, but seeing them together and seeing her back to her normal playful self with him makes her heart swell.

She catches Belle at the counter and hops into a stool beside her. “Thanks for your help today.”

“Oh, of course.”

“What, uh,” she starts again, contemplating whether or not it’s logical to start this conversation. “What happened to Gold?”

She purses her lips and looks down. “I sent him over the town line. He won't be back.”

“I’m sorry.” No matter how much she can’t stand Gold, she couldn’t imagine being in Belle’s position; loving someone so evil and having to make such a hard choice.

“Don’t be. I did leave him, you know, in the Enchanted Forest. He started working with Neal and… I was just unhappy with the changes I was seeing with him. He was starting to show his true self. So I left, and he seemed to just snap. I knew they were going to do something drastic when I found out that Neal spoke with your parents, so that’s when I stole the memory potion and sent that message to Killian.”

Emma draws her brows close together as she spins in the stool to face Belle. “Wait, you sent the message?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know?”

Emma shakes her head; the information is making more and more sense the more she learns. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you. You probably saved everyone in Storybrooke. You definitely saved my family.”

She smiles up at Emma. “It was the right thing to do,” she says, before she becomes distracted by whomever has just entered the diner. When Emma turns, she sees Robin’s friend Will waving at her and making his way towards them. She excuses herself when he kisses Belle’s temple softly and wiggles his eyebrows at Emma.

When she gets to the booth that Henry’s sitting at, she takes a seat enthusiastically and bumps his shoulder with his, making a comment about his new uncle to which he barely responds.

“I’m sorry, kid. I know this sucks,” she says after a moment of pointless small talk.

“Yeah.”

“You spent two years thinking your life was one thing and now it’s something completely different.”

He nods. He’s silent for a few moments and she sits with him, knowing that he may need time to ponder through his thoughts. “Why did he do it?” he finally asks.

She sighs and puts an arm around him. “I don't really know, Henry. Your dad… something happened to him and he just couldn’t handle not having his family with him.”

“We weren’t ever a family, though, not really. I mean, sure, we hung out, but it wasn’t anything like what you and I have, or even what me and Regina have.” She nods. “It was only a few months that I knew him. And he left you in jail.”

“I know. I’m sorry that you had to see your dad like that.” He shrugs. “You know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, right?”

With a nod, he says, “I know. That’s not what I'm worried about.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nods. “What made you come to the woods? What happened with you and Belle that made you do that?”

He shrugs again. “I don't know, really. We were messing around at Granny’s and I was talking about how mad I was, and that I wanted to just take the dagger and give both of them a piece of my mind. Then Belle said ‘if only we had the dagger,’ and I told her we did have it. And she said we had to go and put an end to this. You guys probably should have just brought it with you.”

Emma nods in response, laughing lightly at his logic. She was expecting some type of grand revelation between the two of them, but the reality was much more simply: Belle knew that Neal and Gold were up to no good, and she decided that she had the power to put a stop to it. “You’re right, we should have. Luckily, we had you to save our butts.”

“My dad…” he starts, ignoring her lightheartedness. “I just can't believe he would do something like this.”

She makes a bold move and says, “is that what you told him? When you went to the sheriff’s station?”

Henry chuckles sadly and rolls his eyes. “You mean Killian didn’t tell you?”

She bumps his shoulder again and responds, “I don’t think he would even if I begged. He respects you too much.”

He nods back at her, still looking down at his glass of water and plate of cake. “I guess I told him that. I told him I was done with him. I said he could’ve had a chance but he ruined it by doing this.” Emma nods softly. As much as it hurts to hear her son say these things about his father, a part of her must admit that she’s relieved to hear that he’s made this decision. She isn’t exactly psyched at the concept of giving Neal visitation rights after this. “I told him he’s a selfish dick for trying to keep my mom away from the guy she loves.”

She freezes at that, and not because her kid is using the unsavory language that he probably learned from her. Henry has always been a smart, perceptive kid, but has he always been this perceptive? To the point where he knows she loves Killian before she does? “Henry...” she tries to speak but can’t.

“It’s okay mom. Maybe two years ago I would’ve wanted you to be with my dad, but… I don’t know. Hook has only been here for a few weeks and he’s been more of a dad to me than Neal ever has.”

~~~~

Corrine is put to bed by her father several hours later after a tantrum over not being able to put her hand in a bowl of hot soup. She wanted to grab the floating crackers as Tink dropped them into the dish, and each time Killian stopped her hand she screamed no at him. At one point, it started to get out of hand and Emma called, “Corrine Alice Swan, you get your hand away from that bowl, right now,” as if the child could understand full sentences. She understood the tone, though, and boy, did she respond with a vengeance.

Killian took her upstairs to her crib once she started screaming so loudly that Emma’s sure the entire town heard. Now that she can’t hear the blood curdling screech anymore, she’s about 98% certain that Killian is in the bedroom playing a One Direction music video, but that’s alright. The two of them dancing along together is quite possibly the cutest thing she’s ever seen, so she thinks she’ll let it slide as she ascends the stairs and opens the door slowly.

What she’s met with is not a pair of One Direction fans, but rather, a swaying Killian holding a tearful but relatively calm Corrine as he hums lowly in her ear and rubs up and down along her back. Emma swoons, again overtaken by the image of dad-Killian in all his glory.

He’s only known his daughter for about five weeks, but in that time they’ve become so close. Each day, Corrine learns more and more as she explores her world, and Killian is always trying to help her along by teaching her new words and phrases. He’s a natural with her, especially at this age, and the more of it Emma sees, the more she wants.

“It’s time for sleep, my darling. Mummy and daddy will be here when you wake,” he whispers softly into her hair, and when Emma looks again, she sees Corrine’s thumb hanging out of her mouth and her face squished into his shoulder. He turns around and catches Emma’s eye, blushing fiercely as he bends to place the baby in her crib. Once she’s settled, he rubs a finger along her sweet face to remove one final tear and backs away before making his way towards the door and following Emma out.

Emma doesn’t miss the promise he makes his sleeping child to be here when she wakes up; he’s still reeling from almost losing her, and it breaks her heart.

“She didn’t need the phone, huh?” she jokes as they make their way down the stairs.

He laughs lightly in response and says, “I believe she was too tired for that. It’ll be difficult to get her back on schedule, I’d say.”

When they get back into the diner, Killian disperses into the crowd and Emma sees Henry talking to Regina. She’s happy that he’s rebuilding his relationship with her, she really is, but she’s also having trouble getting past their history. Try as she might, she can’t unsee that small child waiting on her doorstep begging for help defeating his Evil Queen mother.

Regina stands from the booth when Emma makes herself visible and walks over to her, clearing her throat and brushing down her blouse before she speaks. “Emma, I was thinking it might be good for Henry to spend the night at my house tonight. He’s open to it, but said we had to check with you,” she says bitterly.

Emma raises her brows, glancing back at Henry, who gives her a smile. “He is?”

“Yes,” she responds sharply, as if Emma has offended her. “He has his own room, why should he stay here?”

Emma lets out an exasperated huff but nods her head. As much as her delivery absolutely sucked, Regina has a point. Perhaps she should start thinking of a permanent living arrangement herself. “Okay, if he wants to, then that’s fine.”

Regina looks chuffed as she says, “good,” with the soft hint of a smile before heading back to the booth to collect Henry.

With both kids gone or asleep, Emma suddenly finds herself free of her motherly duties for at least the next few hours, and so decides to follow Killian to the patio with two tumblrs of rum, neat.

“So, Gold’s gone,” she says once she’s sitting next to him, and he tips his glass to her in thanks.

“Aye, I ran into Belle earlier. Relieved?”

She nods, taking a sip from her glass. “Yeah. I’m still… I don’t know. I’m pissed.” He nods back at her. “He knew that we… were together on the ship, so he’s known this whole time. He knew it in the Enchanted Forest, and he knew it when he came back here. He could have just let it go and accepted that it was over between us, but he didn’t. And he messed up because of that.”

“Aye. It’s quite frustrating, isn’t it?” She nods in agreement and rolls her eyes as she stares into her glass. “Do you think he knew about Corrine all this time?”

“That she’s ours?” He nods. “No, I think he genuinely blocked the possibility that we have a kid out of his mind. I think when he found out from you and Henry at the pier, that’s what clicked his plan into place for him. He realized that he would’ve lost without this memory potion.”

“Makes sense,” he starts, sitting up in his seat slightly. “I mean, it doesn’t. But it does.”

“Yeah.” They clink their glasses together as they both finish the contents, feeling the warmth rushing through their veins as it combats the cool bite of the late-autumn air. “I have a question,” she states.

“Go on.”

“Can you tell me what Henry said to Neal?”

He purses his lips, glancing up at her and shaking his head. “I don't want to violate his trust, love, but I can tell you that he’s a very smart lad.” She nods. “And I can also tell you,” he starts again, slowly and hesitantly reaching his hand towards her’s, “that Bae is not exactly safe to be around, and I’d feel much more comfortable if you and Henry stayed far away from him.”

“Did he threaten Henry?” She feels her palms starting to sweat.

“Not Henry, love. The lad stepped away from the bars and Neal said some things about you that I’d rather not repeat. That I wish your son hadn’t heard. I stepped a bit too close— in anger, I’ll admit— and he lunged for me, as well.”

She nods her head again, looking down at the table grievously at the news. Before everything, before Neverland and before the curse, she thought she may have been able to have a good co-parenting relationship with Neal, or that they may have even been able to become friends again. But now, he’s gone and ruined everything because he thought he could have more than he even deserved.

“Thanks for going with him.”

“Of course I would, love.”

“And thanks for… for coming after us, in New York. If you hadn’t…”

He shakes his head to silence her and says, “It was the right thing to do.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few more moments before she says, “can I ask you something else?”

“What is it, darling?” She smiles at the fond nickname.

“How did you do it? How did you get to us?”

He looks down with a small, shy smile and says, “Well, the curse was coming, so I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I could to outrun it.”

“You outran a curse?” she asks with a doubtful smile.

“I’m a hell of a captain,” he returns in a flirty tone, to which she responds with a soft laugh. “Once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down. Transport between realms was possible again; all I needed was a magic bean.”

“Those are not easy to come by.”

He looks down again and takes a breath. “They are if you have something of value to… trade.” His words are clearly calculated as they leave his mouth.

She hums again and asks, “and what was that?”

He smiles, eyes still looking at the ground, until he looks up and raises his brows at her, smiling as if he wasn’t about to admit to her that he sold his heart and home to find her and save her family. “Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

She’s frozen. Her brows pinch together as they often do when he says something heartfelt and profound, although this time feels different. It feels like more. “You traded your ship for me?”

He doesn’t hesitate, answering her with a firm nod. “Aye.”

It happens so fast; she’s kissing him and his hand is lacing through her hair and hers through his. Her heart feels about ten times bigger than it should be at the feeling of his lips on hers after such an emotional confession, and she doesn't know if she’ll survive much more of his thoughtful words and selfless actions. When she finally pulls from him slightly, it’s as if he’s taking stock of what’s happening between them; as if he can’t quite believe that they’re here despite having been here before.

“I—” she starts, although she isn’t quite sure what she wants to say. She smiles as he does, the feel of his thumb running along her jaw and chin and his nose nuzzling lightly against her’s stirring the butterflies in her stomach and the heat much lower. “I want you,” she finally whispers. “All of you. Every part of you and everything that comes with it… I want it all, with you.”

It’s as close to a profession of love as she’s ever come before. She’s perhaps closer to telling him that she loves him now than when she actually said the words to Neal over a decade ago. She thinks she should be afraid— of his answer or of what may change between them, she isn’t sure— but she isn’t.

“I want everything with you, too, Emma. Always.” His use of her name rather than any number of nicknames he has to choose from, and the meaning of his statement, isn’t lost on her.

He kisses her again, like he can’t stay away from her any longer and absolutely needs to have her lips on his. While the last kiss was soft and slow, this one is more passionate and heated as he presses closer to her and laces his hand tighter into her hair. He pulls her gently towards him and she hears his chair scraping against the ground as he scoots forward. Once he’s got her where he wants her, he deepens the kiss, curling his tongue against her bottom lip until she opens up to him. It doesn't take much, the feel of him pressing close to her driving her mad with want.

She’s just about lost her mind when she starts to shift in her seat, planning to move forward and hoist herself up and onto his lap so that she can get closer to him and hopefully sate the heat erupting through her down to her core, until she hears someone behind him clear their throat.

Shit.

“I think it’s about time you and I have a little talk about your intentions with my daughter.” Emma squeezes her hands around the collar of his jacket as her eyes fly open. Thank god she hadn’t actually mounted him…

Killian clears his throat in an attempt to calm himself down before answering Emma’s father, although he still looks completely wrecked and refuses to turn around. “That’s a little old-fashioned even by my standards, and I still pay with doubloons.”

“Yeah, well, I’m leaving,” he says firmly, although she can hear a smile in his voice. “I was coming to give you a hug, but I’m not sure I want one anymore,” he jokes.

She laughs breathlessly as she stands up, moving to her father and giving him a tight hug. “How’s mom feeling?”

“Good, just tired. I’m happy that everyone threw this together, but I feel guilty being away from them, so I'm gonna go back to the hospital.”

“Give her a hug for me?”

“‘Course,” he says, kissing her cheek sweetly, then making a disgusted face and laughing.

Her breathing is still rapid and her heart is still racing as she sits back down next to Killian, so she takes in a big gulp of air and wishes she had more rum.

“Awkward,” she says with a small laugh.

He laughs. And he keeps laughing, and eventually he rests his head against his arm on the table and continues on laughing until no sound is coming out and he’s just a mess of shaking shoulders and teary eyes. At some point, she started laughing too, and anyone who exits Granny’s at this point would probably have the two of them committed.

“We can’t catch a break, love,” he remarks through more chuckles, and she laughs harder still.

Then she has a thought and acts on it so quickly that she can hardly even keep track of it. “Take me upstairs,” she says boldly, desiring not to be interrupted again when all she wants is to feel him on her.

He raises a dramatic brow and cocks his head at her in question, or perhaps seeking confirmation, and asks, “aye?”

She nods, biting her bottom lip in a way that she thinks may be more flirty than she intended before she leans in again and kisses him softly. “Take me upstairs,” she repeats against his mouth.

He stands so quickly that the table shakes and the glasses nearly fall over, and she laughs again. He holds out a hand to her, his smile bright and beaming, and when she takes it, she knows that things between them are shifting and that her life is changing.

She can’t wait.

~~~~

~~~~

Read Chapter 8

A/N: there’s one chapter left!! The next one is..... pure smut. Like, there’s a little plot in there but... it’s smut. So. Stay tuned if you’re into that?

[yinyangswings]

L&L Single Parent AU

So I was kind of inspired by @musicfeedsmysoul12 headcanon of the Love & Legends MC being a single mother. As I also like that AU I decided to give it a go. I tried to keep it as different as I could to @musicfeedsmysoul12‘s which is here.

It’s a bit long so I’m placing them in the Read Below

August Falke 

The kid is a shy and quiet five year old bio daughter of MC, and is incredibly mature for her age. The father was abusive towards both of them, and MC managed to leave. 

It was after a particularly bad beating where MC realized that if she didn’t leave, she probably wouldn’t live much longer and she would be damned if she was going to leave her daughter in the hands of that man.

She basically blackmails him with the threat of going to the police to get him to leave them both alone.

Sophie is protective of the girl and babysits when MC has to do multiple shifts for work.

August is still initially suspicious of MC, and still very angry and argumentative with her over it. He doesn’t have as hard of time letting go of the idea of MC being the Witch Queen, because of her daughter.

However she takes a lot longer to trust him because of the anger and suspicion.

When MC ran away after the whole ice crystal incident, all the little girl saw in her mind was Mommy running away from Daddy.

It takes her a lot longer to trust August after all this and she is pretty much glued to her mother’s side, and never really lets any of them out of her sight when alone with her mother. 

She was a shield for her mother back in Chicago, she’ll be her mother’s shield now.

She does her best to keep away from him for a little while in season 2, even after her mother reconciles with August, much to his confusion and concern.

August is aghast when MC explains the reasons for her daughter’s behavior around and general distrust of him.

The very idea of someone laying a hand on either MC or the little girl makes him sick. Even at his angriest he wouldn’t have dreamed of channeling his anger into hitting either of them. 

With her permission he tells the others, and she’s honestly surprised and relieved with the reactions. 

They all make sure both mother and daughter are alright and know they are willing to listen if they need to talk. 

The kid winds up making a connection (and reconciling) with August due to her love of horses. The two obsess over horses which amuses MC. She begins to come out of her shell because of this, though she is still generally shy.

In general she follows Solaire and Ryland around the castle when not following her mother. But she begins to open up to the others after a little while. Her favorite person to stay with is Saerys. He has no problem teasing the others that he’s the favorite. 

Reiner is a close second and it takes very little persuasion to convince him to teach her how to play the piano

August is extremely protective of MC and the girl, even more so after MC tells him of the abuse. Almost vicious, especially when he goes to Chicago and they run into the father. It’s really only because MC is there that stops August from beating the man into a pulp. 

She calls August ‘papa’ when they are visiting the Falke Inn during Season 3

He’s surprised to say the least and has some explaining to do with his mother.

MC tells him later that she can ask her daughter to not call him that if it makes him feel uncomfortable, but he reassures her it doesn’t. 

The little girl isn’t with August and MC when MC is sent back to Chicago. So she’s quite startled and scared when August is brought in injured, and her mother is nowhere to be found. 

She barely leaves August’s side and tries to be as helpful as she can. When her mother comes back, she is pretty much glued to her side. 

When the WQ’s curse begins to affect her, MC practically begs August to take care of her daughter, panicking at the idea of leaving her alone. August tells her that there was no way he would leave the girl alone and he would raise the girl if MC doesn’t survive.

He does also swear to MC he will do anything in his power to make sure she doesn’t die.

August’s parents find her adorable and Asta absolutely dotes on her. As far as she’s concerned, she’s the girl’s grandmother now and becomes that . Bayard takes a little bit longer to warm up to the girl, in part of her shyness around other men, but eventually he grows close with her. 

August’s sisters become incredibly protective of her. Especially Heloise.

August asks the little girl if he can marry MC first, because her comfort is just as important to him as MC. 

When he and MC talk about having other kids, August is quick to assure her that he sees the girl as his own daughter as well. 

Saerys 

The kid is the adopted 8 year old daughter of MC. MC had been dating her father when he was killed in an accident when she was 5. Her mother didn’t want custody of her because she had started a new family, so MC took her in. 

The kid at first doesn’t like Saerys, due to her bio mom choosing her new family over her and fearing that MC would abandon her too if she winds up getting a family with Saerys. 

Especially when Saerys runs away and MC runs after him to try and convince him to come back. MC tells her that she would have come back, but it takes a few days for her to forgive her. 

In season 3 while in Chicago, they run into bio mom who basically ignores her right in front of her new family at the coffee shop. 

It just breaks the kid and she just storms off, which leads to a frantic search from both MC and Saerys. It’s Saerys who finds her in a park. 

It does lead to a heart-to-heart conversation between the two, and Saerys promises that he wouldn’t ever make MC choose between either of them and that as far as he’s concerned, she’s his daughter. Her mother didn’t know what she was losing. 

It’s Season 4 where she starts calling both MC and Saerys Mom and Dad. Saerys is stunned, but MC just smiles. It’s a very happy day for them.

Saerys in turbo mode never attacks the girl, and is incredibly protective of her in that mode. 

They don’t tell her right away about what happened to MC with having half of Saerys’s soul. MC does tell her a few days after just so she doesn’t find out by other means. The girl understandably freaks out, though is more freaked out that MC died than the soul part. She likes Saerys more because of that.

The demon souls don’t know what to make of her. On the one hand a child. On the other hand it’s not her biological child. MC is not pleased by this. 

Saerys is protective of her and MC, like extremely protective of them. That little girl begins to learn self-defense from Saerys.

He begins to teach the girl the demon language. He has to try really hard to not laugh when she says curse words in demon language and try to scold her when MC figures it out.

Initially she’s scared of Saerys’s Demon God Mode, but she gets used to it. 

She’s initially nervous about meeting the other demons, because unlike MC, she doesn’t have any demon connection other than Saerys. After all, just like what the Demon Gods say, she’s not biologically MC’s. Saerys is quick to remind her of the promise made in Chicago. 

Altea Bellerose

The kid is the four year bio son of MC. He was conceived via in vitro. His other mom unfortunately died due to an illness, and he doesn’t really remember her because he was so young. All he remembers is Mama being sad for a little while after Mommy left. 

At first Altea is still suspicious, because anyone knows that Reiner has a soft spot for protecting children. WQ would totally use that against them. However as she watches them, and she can clearly see MC loves the boy. Something the WQ wouldn’t be able to act out

He is absolutely enthralled by Altea, like full on staring before growing completely excited over Altea’s magic. And begins to ask a lot of questions to MC’s embarrassment.

Altea finds it adorable.

The little boy winds up following Altea wherever she goes as much as possible, though MC tries to distract him as much as she can when Altea is researching in the library so she can read more than two words.

Altea gives the boy the nickname ‘Little Shadow’. It fits.

Altea begins to teach the boy how to speak French and he just loves it.

Being a princess thing was a shock for MC and a big worrying factor for her, because she wondered what that would mean for her and her son. She’s a ‘commoner’ and a single mother. She doubts Altea’s parents would be happy with her or her son.

She’s right.

Altea is protective over him, especially with her parents attitudes towards MC and the boy.

Altea’s parents take a little while to accept MC and the boy, but when they do they become rather attentive grandparents.

Lionel loves the idea of being an uncle

When Altea gains her wings, she and the boy go flying. It’s fun for the kid, but the other retainers and Reiner have to watch as MC nearly has an aneurysm watching the two of them fly around.

Reiner Wolfson

The kid is a seven month old bio daughter of MC. The father, while not physically abusive, was incredibly manipulative towards her but she put up with it. However, when she discovered he was cheating on her, she broke up with him. 

She found out a week later she was pregnant. When she told him just so he would know, he first denied the baby being his and accused her of being a cheater, before ultimately saying he wanted nothing to do with the baby.  

Reiner (and the other retainers) were just stunned by the infant. They all pretty much become protective from the start.

It’s easier for them to figure out that she isn’t WQ due to the fact that the girl is only a few months old and she’s been gone for several years. And Reiner’s spies would have discovered offspring of the WQ way before this. 

Admittedly when they first arrive, they are suspicious. The baby girl does not understand why people hate her mommy initially and just begins bawling when August begins to yell at MC. Cue panicked attempts to get her to calm down before MC manages to do so.

She enjoys teaching Reiner the song of her people on the piano...AKA bashing the piano keys with her tiny hands. MC apologizes multiple times but Reiner just laughs and laughs and says it’s understandable and he’s just happy that she seems to be enjoying herself.

She enjoys listening to Reiner play the piano though, and usually falls asleep listening to it.

When MC gives herself up to the generals, her only thought is that her daughter is safe with Reiner and the others, and she can live with that.

MC’s initially hesitant to get into a relationship due to her daughter’s father and that whole experience with him, though her heart warms whenever she watches Reiner with her daughter

This is even more evident when Reiner asks her to marry him. At first she’s really hesitant, but then sort of realizes that Reiner loves both her and her daughter and accepts

The baby senses something is wrong with her mother in Season 3, and gets fussy a lot easier when being held by her.

Reiner is super protective of her and of MC, especially when they get word that WQ intends to keep her alive and raise her.

Example of this is when Magnus makes a veiled threat in season 2 when the Generals attempt to get MC again that if they cannot have the mother, the daughter will do. Reiner fires an arrow at him so Magnus understands what he would have to deal with if he even attempts that.

Reiner is not a happy man when he finds out about the girl’s father, which is early on in Season 2. It surprises MC quite a bit, but also makes her heart skip a beat.

Ryland absolutely adores her. Almost rivals Reiner in the protective streak.

The baby is in that age range where everything goes into the mouth. It’s cute at first until she starts trying to put Reiner’s arrows into her mouth.

Then cue panic and trying to gingerly get her to release the arrows.

When MC and the baby meet Reiner in Chicago, the baby is so excited to see him, though he doesn’t recognize her. It leads to a lot of confusion on her part, and breaks MC’s heart.

Reiner thankfully takes it in stride (he just assumes the father looked similar to him).

Reiner formally adopts the girl after he and MC marry, making her his heir. They happen to run into the girl’s biological father after the papers are signed. Reiner has some choice words with him, but does thank the man for at least helping create his daughter.

She’s his daughter in his eyes, no matter who disagrees.

He and MC do talk about whether they want another child. They decide that if they do decide to have another child, they will treat and raise both of them with the same amount of love, but there isn’t a rush.

Iseul Idreis 

The kid is a three year old adopted son of MC. He’s a very quiet kid and just tends to stare at everything and everyone. 

Iseul didn’t want to be the one to watch the both of them. Because children=a lot more responsibility

Iseul initially doesn’t understand what the kid wants when he just stares...and stares...and stares some more at different things, but mainly him.

It’s...actually quite off-putting to start off with.

It takes him a little bit to realize he just stares because he wants to and doesn’t really have anyone his age to hang around. 

He gets used to him and eventually begins to understand what the boy wants when he stares at him. MC is there to help him out on that

It’s a slower burn relationship because of Iseul’s hesitance of being responsible for the kid and MC’s hesitance of him and the situation in general.

The two begin to bond through the kids' interest in archery. Like when he and MC watch Iseul training, it is the most interest MC has seen him take in an activity other than being read to.

Eventually Iseul develops a soft spot for the kid

Ishara absolutely adores him. Becomes grandma Ishara pretty quickly.

The rest of Iseul’s family follows suit and his siblings are so protective of him.

He is spoiled so much by Iseul’s family.

It is revealed that he was a test made by the WQ using Magnus and then discarded him, followed swiftly by making MC.

Both Iseul and MC decide to wait until he’s older before telling him this as it would confuse and scare him at this point.

He becomes a very gentle and quiet brother for Iris, who will go to him if she gets annoyed with their parents. He generally leaves her to her own devices, but is the occasional partner-in-crime

Iseul and Ishara fully plan on him drinking from the well as well.

The dragons at first actually scare him...and they learn that he would be the first one killed if a wild animal attacked because he just freezes when he gets startled. He gets used to them, but still.

Helena Klein 

The kid is a ten year boy that MC adopted. He is the son of a friend that died. His mother was murdered by his father, and he had no one else. He was unfortunately witness to this, and at the start is mute due to the trauma. 

Both MC and Sophie are protective of him, and whenever he has nightmares MC just holds him until he falls back asleep. 

When MC and him arrive, he’s understandably terrified, but is then really confused. MC makes an excuse as to why she arrived with a ten year old boy. She doesn’t tell anyone the truth for a little while, though she suspects Helena was figuring it out before she told her.

He begins to develop magical abilities, that they can only assume was because they were sent there. Helena begins to teach, though she is extremely hesitant due to how she learned and was taught by the WQ

Helena is protective of the boy and the boy is actually pretty protective of Helena, especially when he gets the Spark Notes version of the abuse she suffered from the WQ. Like he literally stands in front of Reiner and the retainers when they go to arrest her to protect her.

It’s really hard fro him to come to terms when she forgets everything in Chicago, but tries to help her as much as MC does.

He begins speaking in later seasons, only a little at first but eventually starts talking completely in Season 5

It is a very happy day for MC

He starts calling MC ‘Ma’ and Helena ‘Mom’ in Season 6

Helena begins crying uncontrollably when he calls her that the first time.

When Alain is killed, the boy worries about Helena’s mental state a great deal afterwards, and has flashbacks of when his mother was killed.

Alain Richter 

The kid is a one year old bio daughter of MC and the result of a one night stand. MC doesn’t remember much of that night other than she had consented, though it can be considered dubious consent at best (especially if you ask Sophie). She looks exactly like her mother.

She manages to convince the other Generals that she had made this child as an experiment, but does confide in Alain that the girl is biologically hers.

He’s understandably hurt and confused, but she confesses that she really doesn’t remember a whole lot that night.

This opens a completely different can of worms for Alain, who really, really, really wants to kill the man.

Alain winds up adoring this girl. Like he holds her for the first time and MC sees him relax in an instant and his guard goes down just as fast. 

The same can be said about the baby, who calms down rather quickly when given to Alain. 

Becomes overprotective Papa the moment he sees her.

When WQ learns of the child, she sees the toddler as her own and begins to make plans to take and raise her. 

This terrifies MC because of her memories of what WQ has done and she knows she could never let that happen. 

MC uses her love for Alain and her daughter to fend off Jinhai’s creatures when they escape.

When his heart is frozen, the girl seems to sense it, leading her to not like being held by him. MC knows he’s truly back when he picks her up, and she giggles, and then hugs him..

She begins crying out of relief which scares the shit out Alain, who fears she’s hurt.

She tells Alain if she doesn’t survive to take care of their daughter in her stead. He at first denies the request, but when she makes it practically an order, he complies, albeit reluctantly.

When they’re in Chicago, they run into the baby’s bio daddy. It does not go over well when the man insults MC in front of Alain, especially when the man mocks the toddler as well.

MC is pretty much convinced that anyone who tries to be in a relationship with their daughter when she’s older is going to have one hell of a fight on their hand.

[squidbatts]

to be charming and smart and disarming

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed, and Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

or: four lies calroy purposefully told (and one time he told the truth by accident)

((i once again return with an offering of this super niche au. warnings for fratricide, non graphic violence, poisoning, and calroy-typical manipulation. please enjoy!))

{ao3}

one.

Liam Wilhelmina is a slight boy, all of his mother's sweetness and none of his father's strength, and he flinches when Calroy asks him if he’s enjoying Castle Candy.

“It’s nice,” He says, then, quick like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble, “Not that I don’t miss my family! I love the Mountains, I love my mom, it’s just… my brothers…” He sighs and trails off. Calroy puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps his posture open, warm and supportive and very interested in what Liam might say about his brothers, if it’ll match the rumors of unrest that Calroy’s heard. Regretfully, Liam just turns his over-wide eyes up at Calroy and asks, “Do you have siblings?”

“I did, once. Seven big brothers,” Calroy offers, holding back a satisfied smirk when Liam perks up; few things are immediately bonding as being the youngest, and Calroy’s sure that he’s won Liam over. “But, you know, a lot of things changed during the War.”

(~~~)

Loose ends need to be cut, and there is no looser end for Calroy than his family. Not that there’s much to clean up: his father and second brother died of sickness when Calroy was still young, the War took four more of them, and his mother disappeared shortly before Calroy joined the War effort himself, when stories of Ceresia closing in began to drift to their town. He’s always imagined that she, widowed and miserable, went back to beg shelter with her Ceresian family, but Calroy doesn’t particularly care what happened to her as long as she stays away from him. Which, of course, leads him to his current issue.

“Aren’t you going to even pretend to be happy to see your favorite brother?” Delroy asks, grinning like he didn’t show up unannounced after three years of radio silence. Luckily, Calroy was able to keep him away from Amethar and convince him to go back to his inn rather than speak in the Castle, but it’s still a headache. They sit in a darkened corner of the inn’s tavern and Calroy tries to ignore the stickiness of his seat and the smell of wet fur and stale cola that permeates the room.

“What do you want.” Calroy says, voice flat. It’s not a question, because he knows what his brother wants, what anyone raised with the values of his mother would want from their newly royal sibling. He just wants to make Delroy say it out loud.

Delroy leans back and takes a long pull from his drink, eyes darting around Calroy’s clothes, lavish even when he’s actively dressing down. Delroy, on the other hand, looks much the same as he did when they were younger -- meticulously patched clothes in cheap fabrics, hair long and unruly, thick scar from a harvesting accident slicing the line of his jaw and immobilizing the left corner of his mouth.

“What do you think I want? My baby brother’s the Prince of Candia, aren’t I allowed to come calling for a little royal assistance?”

“And what do you mean by that?” Calroy asks instead of leaving, even though he hates the look in Delroy’s eyes; it’s all entitlement and surety, like he thinks this is acceptable and that Calroy owes him something just because he’s sixteen minutes older than Calroy.

“A title, ideally,” Delroy says. Mead sloshes out of his flagon when he slams it back on the table, looking at Calroy with twinkling eyes. “Or, you know, we are nearly identical. I bet if I cut my hair and got all dolled up like you, your loverboy wouldn’t even know the- urk.”

Calroy’s dagger is out and between Delroy’s ribs before Calroy even realizes he’s moving, and Calroy’s mouth falls open with shock at the same time that Delroy’s does. Delroy’s wide eyes start to go unfocused but he keeps them on Calroy’s as his mouth twitches back into that infuriating smile.

“Yeah, should’ve known that was a shade too far,” He says weakly, lips flecked with blood, “You always were the most like mom.”

Calroy’s face falls into a scowl at the comparison. He lifts a hand to cover Delroy’s mouth before twisting the blade and pulling it out. He feels his brother’s breath slow and eventually stop, and then he wipes his dagger on Delroy’s shirt, leans back, and picks up Delroy’s drink.

He can spare the time for a calming drink because from anywhere else in the room it will just look like Delroy’s passed out drunk. And, even if it didn’t, who’d accuse the Prince of Candia of murdering his kin?

--

two.

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed. Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

“Your uncle saved my life during the war,” Calroy says. He pushes Jet’s eager little head down onto her pillow and presses a kiss to her hairline, ignoring her complaints and doing the same to Ruby as he crosses the room. “Maybe, if you're both good little princesses who don’t try to sneak into the armory tonight, I’ll tell you the story tomorrow.”

(~~~)

There are many differences between selling weapons to Ceresia and leading Ceresian troops into Candian territory, but the main one for Calroy is that he signed up for one of those things, and most emphatically did not for the other. And yet, here he is, leading five soldiers towards the Candian camp. The soldiers are the worst kind, tall and broad-shouldered, looking down their noses at Calroy even though they need him, and they keep talking. They’re not particularly loud but in the dead of night and the middle of a war, any unnecessary noise is too much.

“We’re getting close, you should quiet down,” Calroy says, and the leader of the group snorts.

“No offense, sweetheart, but we know how to run an ambush.”

Then why did you make me lead you in here, Calroy doesn’t say. He just grips the dagger in his fist a little tighter, imagines the way it’d feel to remove the man’s tongue from his mouth, and reminds himself what the offered payout for this mission is. They get within twenty feet of the camp when Calroy hears the sound of sure, steady footsteps heading towards them. He tries to gesture for the soldiers to stop but they ignore him and walk directly into the path of Prince Amethar Rocks.

Fuck, Calroy thinks just as Prince Amethar says, “What the hell?”

It’s a lucky break for Prince Amethar, Calroy thinks as he tries to figure out an action plan -- wherever he had been coming from, his sword was already in hand, while Calroy’s companions were cocky enough to not even be on alert. It’s barely accurate to call it a fight with how thoroughly Prince Amethar destroys the Ceresians. When Prince Amethar is done and the bodies lay on the ground, he turns towards Calroy. Calroy stealthily drops his dagger and steps out of the shadows, endeavoring to look as harmless as possible.

“Hey, you’re one of ours, right?” Prince Amethar asks, lowering his sword like being on the same side has ever protected anyone.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Calroy says, hoping that the prince won’t follow foreign soldiers in my camp and Candian I’ve never met before to the correct conclusions.

Prince Amethar’s brow furrows and he looks Calroy up and down. He frowns. “You shouldn’t go out without your sword. You could’ve been in real trouble with those guys if I hadn’t come along!”

Calroy’s face slackens in disbelief, just for a second, before he fixes it into something appropriately appreciative. “You’re absolutely right, Your Highness, you’ve saved my life today.”

“Ha, guess I did,” Prince Amethar grins disarmingly. Calroy is caught off guard for the third time that night. “Anyway, enough of the ‘your highness’ stuff, alright? Just call me Amethar.”

“I- okay, Amethar,” Calroy says, enjoying the way the word rolls off his tongue, how Prince Amethar Rocks’ foolish trust tastes in his mouth. “But only if you’ll call me Calroy.”

--

three.

“My job is to guard the king.” Theobald Gumbar says even as he obediently follows Calroy, tone professional and steady like he spent hours in front of the mirror practicing it. It’s admirable, Calroy thinks, that Sir Theobald is still trying his stoic, stuck-up best to be respectful despite his obvious dislike of Calroy.

“Your job is to be Lord Commander of the Tartguard, which means that the protection of Castle Candy and everyone in Candia rests in your hands,” He pauses, lets that really sink in. Sir Theobald values nothing more than honor and responsibility, even when those duties require him to take orders from Calroy. “I applaud your dedication to the King but I assure you, Sir Theobald, that all that I do is for the preservation of House Rocks.”

(~~~)

Calroy prefers assassinations to ambushes, doesn’t like the mess or the dramatics of brute force attacks, which is why he only brings Sir Theobald along when he needs to seem dangerous; Calroy is more lethal on his own then his husband’s teddy bear of a favorite knight could ever be, but every minor lord in Calorum doesn’t need to know that. He has his own personal Tartguardsman, of course, but Sir Quincy doesn’t cut as imposing a figure as Theobald, and Calroy needs imposing when he visits House Whipperly.

Lady Valencia Whipperly is a fierce figure, with a swirl of white hair and the kind of posture that's bred into old Candian nobility, stubborn and proud and the only thing blocking the ratification of Calroy’s trade proposal with Fructera. To Lady Whipperly’s credit, the trade proposal isn’t great for Candia; the tariffs are too great for it’s few benefits but it will mean that at least three Fructeran nobles will owe Calroy a personal debt, and Calroy cares more about collecting favors than he does about Candian merchants, as does most of the Candian Court. Calroy doesn’t understand why Lady Whipperly won’t get with the program, but that’s why he’s come to visit Lady Whipperly’s less impressive, more easily swayed partner -- Ruthie Nougallo. She welcomes them with grace but Calroy can see her hands tremble as she politely curtseys to him.

“My apologizes, Your Highness, but my wife won’t be back for quite a few days,” Ruthie says as she leads Theobald and Calroy to her parlor. Calroy waves a hand dismissively and grins, just sharp enough to be scary.

“You misunderstand, I’ve come to speak to you,” Calroy says as he sits on one of the room’s couches. Ruthie’s legs begin to shake as well. “You see, I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?”

“Mhm. Sir Theobald, the door if you’d please?” The look Theobald sends Calroy could freeze lava cake, but he goes nonetheless, far enough away that he won’t be able to truly hear Calroy with the bonus of blocking the room’s only exit with his size. Ruthie settles down next to Calroy when he pats the couch but she's nervously shooting looks at Theobald the whole time. Calroy grins. “Now, I understand that you alone can sway that lovely wife of yours. She’s a bit stubborn, hm?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t be silly, dear, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Calroy says, patronizing enough that Ruthie flinches, “Let me tell you a secret: my husband is a bit stubborn too.”

Ruthie’s eyes widen but she smiles, just a bit. Hook. “Is he?”

“Yes. Sometimes, even if he knows that something will be good for us, he's refuses it just because he doesn’t want to change his original opinion. I’m sure you know how that is.”

“Oh, absolutely! Last month, a Fructeran noble sent us some wonderful looking wine but Valencia refused it because she thought it was a bribe,” Ruthie says, leaning in conspiratorially. Line.

“What a shame! You know, good wine is so difficult to get these days. It would be easier if I could get approval on a trade deal with Fructera, but,” Calroy sighs deeply, almost too dramatic for his tastes but Ruthie eats it right up. “Your Valencia isn’t a fan of it. It’s really a tragedy, just imagine all the delicacies we could get shipped in if we had a true trade deal with Fructera. Why, House Rocks could have wine and fruitcake at every session of Court!”

“Every session of court…” Ruthie licks her lips almost absentmindedly and her smile grows. Sinker. “I’ll talk to Valencia. I’m sure I can bring her around on this.”

Calroy claps once, lets his true sense of accomplishment show in his smile. “Wonderful! I just knew you would be reasonable, Ruthie.”

--

four.

“You almost had me that time,” Amethar says as he offers Calroy a hand up. The training yard is deserted except for the two of them, no one else wanting to brave the stifling heat of the midday sun for something as exhausting as sparring. Amethar, of course, flourishes in situations like this, unflustered and delighted even with sweat dripping down his sharp jaw. “Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”

Calroy uses wiping his sweat as an excuse to hide the annoyed twist of his brow. Trust his King to not leave well enough alone. “Oh, you know, here and there. Mostly the war.”

(~~~)

Calroy's days in Muffinfield Manor go like this: he wakes up, he runs through sword forms with Lord Cruller before dawn, he helps Lady Cruller plan events or take notes in meetings for the majority of the day, then eats a meager dinner alone in his room and goes to bed. When House Cruller put out a notice looking for a page, Calroy jumped at the opportunity: anything, truly anything, would be better than another season sweating through his clothes as he worked his family’s fields. And here, he has his own room, his own space, and the affection of the Crullers, who desperately needed an outlet for their parental instincts after their daughter and only heir ran away months ago.

It’s all worked out exceptionally well for Calroy, especially when it comes to his swordsmanship training.

“Your stance is too stiff,” Lord Cruller says, rapping his sword against Calroy’s locked knee. Calroy obediently bends, tries to recall and perfectly mimic the flowing movements that Lord Cruller has shown him, but the man’s sigh tells him that he’s failed. “I can hear you thinking, boy. You’re too stuck in your head. Don’t be too worried about the next move to get started on this one.”

“Sorry, Lord Cruller,” Calroy says, rote. Lord Cruller sighs again.

“You're too defensive. Someone with the brawn to back it up can stay still and let their opponent wear themselves out, but for a little thing like you? The best defense is a good offense. You have to move, kid,” Lord Cruller punctuates his words with a firm pat to the center of Calroy’s back, causing Calroy to stumble forward from the force. “Strike faster than they can strike you. In this world, it’s either eat or be eaten.”

“Yes, Lord Cruller, thank you, Lord Cruller,” Calroy dutifully replies, and he holds the advice close to his chest as he tips the poison his mother sent into Lord Cruller’s goblet that evening. Strike first, strike fast, and no one else can hurt you.

--

truth.

Far-flung countryman, I have received news of your upcoming nuptials. I know I have encouraged you to lean into his affection in the past, and even now I think of how easily all of this can be woven into our plans, but I can't help but wonder how quickly affairs of the heart can sour. Have you any worry that things could become messy for you?

Worry is the furthest thing from my mind, as I have apt reason to believe that he is firmly devoted to me. Yesterday morning, he called me the “guiding light of his life” simply because I recalled a name for him. It’s almost too easy at this point.

And what of you, friend? Have you become similarly attached to our dear Stone?

(~~~)

Calroy huffs a quiet laugh as he reads Senator Ciabatta’s most recent note in the halls of Castle Candy, delivered to him moments ago by a particularly harried and nervous-looking messenger. Calroy should technically be in his bedroom right now -- a lovely advisor’s suite near the guests’ wing, almost halfway across the castle -- but he welcomed today’s dawn from inside the King’s chambers and he can only imagine how many places the poor boy checked before deciding to risk insulting the King, the honor of the King’s intended, and possibly the entirety of the Court.

Not, Calroy muses as he returns to Amethar’s bedroom, that Calroy’s honor needs any protection; besides that fact that he’s no blushing maiden, Amethar invited Calroy back to his room for simple cuddling. Even when Calroy tried to initiate more, Amethar had simply turned heated kisses into slow and soft things that made Calroy’s stomach turn with their sweetness, yawned and took Calroy’s hand in his own when Calroy began to slide it down Amethar’s chest, wrapped his heavy arm around Calroy’s waist only to pull him close enough that Calroy could hear the steady beat of Amethar’s heart and feel the rumble of his every snore. Even now, a shiver runs down Calroy’s spine at the memory, mouth twisting with- well, with annoyance, mostly, and confusion. Who invites their intended to their rooms and then refuses to sleep with him? Amethar Rocks was truly, bafflingly ridiculous, even if his fondness for Calroy was extraordinarily useful. It’s with that in mind that he stops at Amethar’s desk to pen a quick response to Ciabatta.

My dear ally, have you not heard? I am the Stone’s dearest friend, and he is the love of my life. It’s all people can talk of these days. I thank you for your concern but I assure you, I will be fine, Calroy writes, underlining with a flourish. He hopes Ciabatta will get a laugh from the glimpse of how the Candian Court sees Calroy, as Calroy does every time he hears someone whispering about the romance of him and Amethar. He folds the letter for later just as Amethar groans from the bed.

“Cal?” He calls, voice sleep-rough and eyes only half-open. Calroy crosses the room in easy steps and settles himself on the edge of the bed, allowing Amethar to lay his head across Calroy’s lap. “Where’d you go?”

Calroy slants a hand over Amethar’s eyes to protect them from the weak sunlight spilling into the room and Amethar hums in appreciation. Something in Calroy’s chest tightens, like a gourdian knot that he can't begin to consider untying. “There was a letter to receive.”

“Court stuff?” Amethar asks, tone not quite whining but close enough that Calroy’s eye almost twitches. He hums noncommittally and pretends to listen as Amethar complains about how early in the morning he is expected to begin working.

A little lie, after all, never hurt anyone.

[fallen029]

Who wants a middle of the chapter spoiler for Operation Bosco? 

“Hey.”

He whispered this when the hour was even later and they’d washed off again, this time together, in a hurried way. Now, in bed for the final time, Haven draped herself over his lap as Locke sat up, glancing around the room and sighing, frequently, though the noises hardly even got the smallest of peeking from his girlfriend. She laid there, eyes shut, just breathing, in and out, steady. She was topless, fully unconcerned with this fact, and seemed content to drift off this way, for as long as he would allow her.

Locke found it difficult to move her.

Though he needed to stretch out himself, get full usage of the fact they were in an inn, with a nice, cozy bed and, well, maybe questionable sheets, but way better than their sleeping bags, the man found it difficult to make the motions. He knew Haven would give easily, as she no doubt wanted to get some usage out of a fluffy pillow, more than his bony, crossed legs, anyways, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take the action.

Sometimes he forgot. About how beautiful his girlfriend was.

She was the daughter of Mirajane Strauss, a name he’d grown with and mostly ignored, hearing it exchanged with everything ranging from the guild’s barmaid to, maybe, one of it’s greatest mages.

But once, he heard her name used in a different way. Mentioned in passing. About magazine spreads and modeling and...she’d just always been Haven and Marin’s mom. The Master’s wife. He thought she was pretty, maybe, when he was a little boy, but once he stopped being a little boy and heard of this past, it was difficult not to spend a night up in his parent’s attic when they were gone on a job, digging through old boxes to find the old stack of Sorcerer mags that he knew his mom had, because she never threw out any written work, and it…

Made him feel gross.

The next time he saw Mirajane.

And Haven called him out on it, the way he blushed when her mom served them juices, back then, as he was still a year or so away from openly getting away with slinging beers at the hall, the blonde even longer. She couldn’t understand (and he’d have never even ventured to explain) to her what he thought of for a good month, every tie he saw her mother.

That’s what Haven could be.

Now.

In current day.

Or could have been, maybe, as she’d aged past Mira’s prime modeling days.

Still, she’d always more or less rejected this legacy in favor for the one her father had carved. The one her mother, actually, had rejected for herself.

Haven had grown into being a woman the same way she went about being a child or teen; by putting all her focus into how talented of a mage she could become. Not how to properly dress to accentuate her body or accurately match shades to her complexion.

Sometimes, when Marin became only slightly interested in the most basic of beauty concepts (and Laxus relinquished some of his leash on his youngest) and Mirajane would ecstatically give her tips or even try out different makeup with her, there was a vague offer to Haven. To join them. Or even just her mother.

But that idea felt gross and wearing dresses or even a nice top felt restrictive and it was hard enough for her to even pull on something other than a sports bra and Mirajane gave up, eventually, while her Aunt Evergreen would only sigh sometimes, at her teenage nice, chiding her in snide ways over how very little interest she’d garner this way, from boys her age.

She wasn’t interested in boys though, then. Or after, Locke thought sometimes. Even now. Or maybe he just worried.

Her feelings towards other people, or at least the other relationships she let him know about, all seemed based purely on physical power. The men were stronger than her, better connected, and this bothered her in a way that she couldn’t quite explain that eventually bled into what Haven derived as sexual attraction.

Or at least that’s how Locke viewed it, when he broke it down, and it made sense, maybe.

Maybe.

This left a rather big hole though. A him sized hole. Because he knew Haven had long surpassed him in the offensive magic field and he had no hope of catching her. He had no interest in it. He might physically be able to overpower her, but her magic was the greatest equalizer. He had no match for it. Only cures.

So what did she want with him? Anyways?

She’d call him whiny if he questioned it.

Actually, she had, any time he tried to explain it to her, growing annoyed or thinking he was passing some sort of judgment over her, over her interests and though he saw where she was coming from, was able to recognize both their person insecurities were butting up against one another, he would have liked an answer.

Why him? Or them?

She said frequently that she could feel it, when she was with him, just this absolute need to be together, and Locke guessed he felt it too, maybe, but the way Haven talked about it…

He had to address internally, at times, just why he wanted to he with her too. It was, after all, part of the equation. Sometimes he felt unsure.

When he was a teen, it kind of felt like the natural turn in their relationship. He dated most all of the girls he knew, seriously and in that stupid teenager way, where it felt serious for all of a week and then unimportant the next.

Haven was his best friend and though he was young and dumb, he wasn’t young and dumb enough to not realize that if that next week turned and it all turned out for not, then he’d be losing that. But it felt worth the risk. She was a girl, who was interested in him, and pretty.

Those were most of his only qualifications.

But Haven came with the bonus of having known one another their entire lives, so there wasn’t as much guessing over the little things. They could go on jobs together, blow their jewels together, and while she was his first, in the important way, he’d gotten all the unimportant things out of the way before while she hadn’t, which finally gave him something of an upper hand over her.

He got to play the older, cooler boyfriend for awhile, instead of the friend she tried to instigate physical fights out of at every turn.

Thing about it any deeper back then would have been dumb.

At the first chance of things possibly getting more serious, Haven ran.

He liked to think that he had no part in this, but maybe…

Had they never dated, were they not together when her father finally excommunicated her (because Locke imagined this coming to pass eventually either way), he always kinda thought that, maybe, she’d have asked him to come with her.

Like you would a best friend.

But asking him to run away away with her, taking him with her, would have implied something much deeper. Something Haven couldn’t face then.

So she ran away.

He didn’t blame her for that anymore.

He scared her, maybe, in he bedroom that day, when he offered to move in together, that they could live together, really together, and they’d figure it out.

Together.

Together took a lot longer for Haven to come to terms with.

He convinced himself sometimes, that year and some odd months, when she wouldn't talk to him, before they just happened to cross paths in Crocus, that he never really liked her. That they never really fit.

How could they?

Locke liked nice girls.

Nice people, really.

All of his friends were good guys or women who didn’t spend the free days seemingly plotting how to annoy him once he arrived home. The people he dated, the women he was serious about, even after Crocus, were all smart and sweet and they’d never purposely say something to him, to hurt his feelings, to win, in a singular moment, at all costs.

Being interested in Haven was childish.

Their relationship was rooted in how they felt, as children, when she decided she had to be the best, at everything, a goal he stood in the way of, while he attempted to do as he’d been told, ordered almost, from a young age, too early to remember, to look out for her. Haven. Make sure she was okay and watch over her, because she’d get herself in trouble, Locke, if you don’t keep her from it.

The fighting and clawing they did some times, the yelling and screaming, the way she pushed him away first, always, before accepting his affection was part of childhood quirks that they couldn’t outgrow together, that they brought out in each other, that she didn’t have.

He imagined.

When she was with other people.

That he didn’t have.

He knew.

When he was with other people.

He could be with most any woman. Or at least he liked to think. He was reasonably attractive, fit, and was the newest S-Class wizard in Fairy Tail. If his intent was to find a woman who drove him mad, he could find one that would allow him to do it from the comfort of his own home, waiting around for him after S-Class jobs, where she’d take half his money and they could hate each other too. They could hate each other just as much as Haven hated him, any time he told her off or attempted to keep her from getting herself killed, and fuck just as passionately, maybe, driven by that hatred and sick attraction, but without the constant headaches and mental turmoil that came about from loving the only woman in the world that seemed equally as pleased with your pain as she did your pleasure.

Haven’s body was scarred. And broken, in some places, reminders of hard fought battles that he hadn’t been there to heal. She seemed to fluctuate between under fed and toned depending on her current financial status and, given that they were coming off living in Magnolia to now scarping by between jobs in Bosco, she was losing definition again. Her eyes were striking, but there was something in them that wasn’t present in her mother’s. Something almost sinister.

She wasn’t perfect.

For him, he knew that, but she also just wasn’t perfect, in general, and it was easy to think of her, at times, in the way she presented herself, unstyled and almost boyish, in certain ways.

Masculine, but only parts that were toxic and cruel.

These weren’t traits that he naturally found himself attracted to, but they worked on his girlfriend and it was just easy to forget.

Not that night though, as her breasts rose and fell as she was nearly asleep, before his words, only peeking an eye open then to stare up at him, a solid, “No,” ready on his lips, no doubt expecting him to be interested in something more that night.

But he wasn’t.

Not even as he raised a hand to gently trace over her breast, where her guild marking lied now. He knew the pattern well, the emblem ingrained in his brain, but it still tripped him up at times. Seeing it there. Instead of adoring her back, not exactly centered, but slightly lower, and he used to laugh when he was a kid.

Because it reminded him of the Exceeds.

The memory was overrode now, with distant memories of making out in his bed at his parents house, cuddling or just spending time together, in his room, when his finger would stroke at her back, tracing the fairy that laid there as Haven seemed to struggle between how she felt about this.

The color had changed. Somewhere along the way. It was red now, Locke knew, instead of black like it had been when she was trying to imitate her father, maybe, as a child. It meant more now, different things at least, and he liked to think about how well it matched his eyes, even though he knew this would never be Haven’s true reasoning.

Red was for Ravan, who’d sacrificed his own in losing her.

She never told him this, out loud, but Locke was very good, he knew she had to know, at figuring most things out.

“Mmm?” Haven moaned then, softly, her eyes only blinking open from his word, no matter how soft it was.

“I just…”

And he hadn’t wanted to. The whole point was that he didn’t want to. Move. Shift. Stop whatever moment they were having, or he was having, then, because she looked too beautiful there, with the moon just peaking around the curtain of a room they’d never seen again, in a place he hoped to avoid from here on out, and he didn’t think he just should just bring it to a close.

Just like that.

“You’re my best friend.” He was moving as he spoke, shifting, so he laid long ways on the bed as well, nuzzling heaving into Haven, beneath her previously outstretched arm, into her armpit, hiding maybe, from himself and the fact he’d let it pass, forced it to fade, caused the closure of the moment. “That’s all.”

“I’m your best friend,” she muttered tiredly, “and that’s all I am?”

“No.”

He took in a slow breath and she smelled so good then, so did he, they smelled good together, and he wanted to get her under the covers, where they could snuggle and drift off.

Together.

“Then,” Haven whispered and she shifted away at first, as always, only giving in when he moved with her, “that’s all you wanted to tell me? And we can finally really go to bed?”

“No.”

It wasn’t.

All he wanted to tell her.

It’s all he could get out, because the rest would sound bad, he thought, to speak aloud, even to the only person he could speak aloud anything.

She didn’t want to fight about Porter again, and he was fine with that, he understood why she felt that way.

But the thoughts that were bothering him now went a lot deeper than that.

To explain them though, to mention her family, her mother, their upbringing, what it all meant, why she loved him or even liked him and what she thought about herself, the way she was and looked and acted, as well as what he thought about it too, as well as himself and what she thought about him and it would only end in an argument.

That night.

Because he could never get it out to her in a way that wouldn’t sound like an attack or just an attempt to bring up old wounds for the sack of rubbing it in her face that he was there, the whole time, waiting for her to come to her senses, to come back to him, and she’d been the one in the wrong, who’d gone off and ran around with the wrong people and had gotten hurt, been killed, all because she wouldn't just listen to him.

All because she couldn't be together when him, when she’d only been a week away from seventeen.

“Then what?” Haven asked, a frown present in her voice as she insisted, “What other option is there?”

“Too many.”

“Locke-”

“You’re so beautiful, Haven,” he insisted then, as she sat up some, just to frown down at him, and the man only stared back up at her, into her so deep blue eyes, the exact opposite of his flat reds, with every ounce of honesty he had to him. “You always are. And I don’t tell you that enough. I love so much about you and I think sometimes I just get so caught up in all the madness that’s constantly in front of us that I forget-”

“Shut up!” And she was moving then, to the head of the bed, shoving at him in the process, even grabbing a pillow in the end, to hit him with. “You big idiot.”

Locke only moved to lay properly in the bed as well, insisting, “It’s true. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

“I’m still not going to blow you.” She snatched her pillow back one she’d kicked down the covers some, only to snuggle back under them. And, after a moment’s thought, she offered him simply, “Tonight.”

He allowed himself to smile, as he tugged the blankets up around himself as well, hiding out from the moonlight with her beneath them as he whispered, “I don’t wanna fight with you. Have. I never do.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Are too. Fighting’s part of it.”

“Part of what?”

“You know.” But she didn’t seem to, as she couldn’t quite explain it. “Locke.”

Falling onto his back, he shut his eyes and she stilled out, back to him, but beside him, close. So close.

“When it’s all over,” he muttered to the once more close to sleep woman, “and we can go back home, I’ll buy us a nice house. With my first few S-Class jobs. Bet. With a pool and one of those kitchens you can invite all your friends over to hang out in, you know? With, like, stools and space and… And an actual dining room. For when we want to have real, adult dinner parties. A pool. Room for our...our kids. Yeah?”

She was either asleep or good at faking it, either was likely. But both were enough for the man as he let out one last long, heavy sigh before deciding to join her.

[dndwithsuperbestfriends]

Session 8 “We make a lot of Naruto references”

So after a Fellowship phase where we all biggered our brains and also muscles, we all return to the University of Laketown where we discuss helping Erindur taking back an untakable mountain, but in the months we’ve been gone The Evil Hobbit of Laketown Munroe has gone into hiding because the evidence has now put him wanted in the eyes of the law after years of weaseling his way out of legal trouble. The people of Laketown are in an uproar asking for his arrest for now it’s up to the party to find him, especially since he still has one of the shards.

(Also, during the Fellowship phase we forgot to pay King Thranduil after using the path on Mirkwood. Larkspur doesn’t get in trouble but her king does the whole “I’m not mad I’m just disappointed” and she glares at Belladonna who is now one of the richest people in Middle Earth)

The scholars tell us that the local gang, the Barrelers might be willing to help us if we can convince them.

Frank talks about how he is going to kill Munroe and all of the twisted murderhobo methods, but Rocks steps up and says they should spare him and allow the legal system to deal with him. The gear-turning noises bit is Franks players face IRL being like “Is this hobbit being #$%#ing serious right now”. 

Rocks goes into a monologue about how years ago a former adventurer of Laketown had once gone to the nearby forest after reports of a baby goblin messing with small game traps, and when they cornered it she pulled her bow back, but she stopped and assessed the situation to see it wasn’t a baby goblin at all, it was just a feral child. Then Rocks mumbles something, but claims that sometimes the answer isn’t violence, it’s mercy. 

Belladonna is constantly saying “So was it you?” but they don’t answer. Although this hilarious exchange does follow;

Male Elf Scholar: That is very profound story, for a child.

Rocks: ...Sir, I’m 30.

Male Elf Scholar: But you’re-

Rocks: I’m a Halfling

Male Elf Scholar: But you’re wearing shoes

I IRL look over at the DM and he says until my character stops wearing shoes they will continue to be mistaken as a human child. (Challenge accepted)

Leswen is reminded to use the ‘Drug Rock’ (code name for the Seeing Stone) to maybe find him, but her player rolls bad again so she basically OD’s and attracts the attention of everyone. The Scholars berate us for keeping the stone a secret, because the item lets the Dark Lord Sauron see us. However, Frank takes it and does a rhyme to find Munroe, and his player IRL gets like a NAT 20 so he see’s exactly where Munroe is; he has an subterranean secret base under the harbor district.

The Seeing Stone is put into a case and covered, Belladonna asks for it back but the elves say that it belongs to the elves and also it’s evil. She threatens to steal it and the party tells her to calm down.

Also we all forgot Grypho was there the whole time.

Two legendary elves, Elladan and Elrohir burst into the University and state that the shard they had was stolen and they need help. They take Larkspur since she knows her way around Mirkwood. And now she has her own side quest going on. All three of them Naruto run to Mirkwood.

Rocks tries to ask any of the scholars if they are going to help them get Munroe since they are now minus an elf, but because I IRL used the term ‘college nerd’ which was counted as saying in-game so the Male Elf Scholar feels insulted.

Male Elf Scholar: Oh? You’re calling me a nerd?! Didn’t I see you holding a sign outside of an inn a few weeks ago? *leaves the room in a huff* (Rocks had to learn Trader Savvy during the Fellowship phase so they worked in their families inn as customer service basically.)

So the main party starts towards the Barrelers territory. They pass Rocks families inn, but one of their moms, Daralis, see’s them and Rocks tries to rush them past but Daralis greets them anyways. They say their in a hurry, and continue after Rocks, being a terrible liar, is shushed by Erindur after they almost let is slip they are looking for shards.

So they talk to the Barrellers but they will only take two people to see their leaders. Rocks, the only one with proficiency in traditions and can roll for advantage with charisma, decided to take Frank because he is human.

They are taken to a warehouse with basically a maze, Frank tries to mark their way with this chalk he brought. But one of the barreler grunts sees him doing this.

Grunt: *takes the chalk from Frank* You can have this back when you leave!

(We make a bunch of school teacher jokes at this)

We see the Big Boss of the Barrellers and he’s this huge dude, like 6′5 and throwing full barrels with his bare hands and also no shirt. He and Frank are seemingly very similar.

Rocks is like ‘Hey I’m a Halfling Herald and this is a Human Warrior, we’re after Munroe, you in?’ and the Big Boss is in. The problem is he wants to talk about how he feels like his gang is doing all the work so he wants a 70-30 split instead of 50-50 with the Barellers taking the lions share. 

Rocks gets a nat 20 from advantage, and since they can double the proficiency bonus of persuasion they end up with a 30, so they get the Big Boss to agree to 50-50, so his gang will cause a riot/distraction while we sneak in and get Munroe

Frank gives the guy a map leading to Munroes base, and also makes a monologue about how indiscriminate and destructive fire is. However, this triggers the big boss because Smaugs attack was a mere seven years ago. 

Rocks and Frank leave, but Frank hangs back a little because he’s planning something, no one knows what though.

Session ends for us but LARKSPUR IS HAVING AN ADVENTURE ALSO

In her sidequest they make it to Mirkwood and Naruto run through the trees but they find a group being attacked by orcs. They save the group, but Elladan falls through the leaves onto his ass and Larkspur calls up “Are you okay?” Normally a three-story fall would grievously disfigure a man if it didn’t outright kill him but because of  elven bullshit magic he’s totally fine, just stunned.

A bunch of bats show up and attack the trio so they have to kill all of them (the bats are Saurons remote control drones eyes and ears) One of the bats turns into an attractive woman / vampire.

They defeat the bats, Larkspur gets a shit ton of experiance and their session ends. Of of the BAMF elves decides to write her a poem.

[justanoutlawfic]

Coming Home: Chapt. 3

Summary: Emma is forced to stay in Storybrooke longer than expected and runs into some familiar faces...along with one she just can't recognize. 

Also on AO3/FF

Emma has only ever had three good father figures in her life. At least that she can remember. It’s more than a lot of foster kids might have had, she realizes, but in one way or another, they’ve let her down.

 There was the first dad she ever really had. The father that fostered her for three years. She can’t remember much about him except that he smiled a lot and they’d get bear claws every Saturday morning. At least towards the end of her stay with the Smiths, which was where she got her old last name. She changed it not long after she left the Nolans and found herself living on the street. An older boy told her a different way of looking at “The Ugly Duckling”. The duck became the swan, because she believed in herself. Emma supposed she could believe in herself too.

 There was Bill, when she was around 12 or 13, the years all start to blend together. He took her to a father/daughter dance at her middle school. He and Katie were going to take her on her very first vacation: a camping trip. Her foster brothers, their biological sons, were going to come along. Then Lily had to go and ruin all of that. The way Bill looked at her and said that she had put “his children” at risk. She realized he was never going to love her the same way he did Max and Zach. He hadn’t even fought for her when she ran away.

 The last was David. She had been with him less than the Smiths, but longer than Bill and Katie. For seven months, she had a home. David had promised her that he was going to be her forever father. After Jerry Smith, it was a promise she treasured. And then after David, it was a promise she never really believed again. She didn’t understand how he could go from playing with her, teaching her how to make cookies and checking for monsters in her closet…to just letting her slip away.

 Emma dealt with Henry at the beach. The kid was messed up, there was no doubt in her mind about that. He resented Regina and Emma felt for him, but she also knew that was his mom. They needed to work out whatever issues they had. Henry kept trying to insist his life sucked but Emma struggled with feeling for him. He had a mom that had called the police the minute he went missing. A mom that genuinely seemed to miss him. Regina and Henry were going through a rough patch, but they were going to be okay.

 It broke her heart to watch him forlornly walk into the house, but she knew just as she had 10 years ago, that it was for the best. Regina looked at her skeptically and Emma couldn’t blame her there. This was the second time her kid had run off in 24 hours and Emma had been the one to show up with him. She said her goodbyes and climbed into her bug, fully intending on heading out of Storybrooke and back to her life in Boston.

Until her bug stalled in the middle of Main Street. Which, like her former foster mother, hadn’t changed a bit.

 Billy, the mechanic, came fairly quick once Emma got the number from the waitress at the diner. His news, however, wasn’t as bright.

 “I’m a bit backed up,” he said. “I’m not going to be able to get to this for a while.”

Emma groaned. “You have got to be kidding me. I’m trying to get out of town. I’m not even from around here, what am I supposed to do now?”

Billy gestured behind him to the inn. “There’s a bed and breakfast? You could stay there.”

Emma shut her eyes, tipping her head backwards. She supposed she didn’t have much of a choice. “How backed up are you?” She asked.

“A week.”

“Of course. And you’re the only mechanic in town?”

“This is Storybrooke.”

“Right.”

 Emma turned around and headed towards the bed and breakfast. She hadn’t ever had a reason to stay there during her first go around in Storybrooke. She did happen to know the owners. If they remembered her, was going to be another question.

 Emma walked inside and up to the front desk. No one was around, at least not at first. Suddenly, she could hear arguing coming down the stairs. Yup, that was familiar. She remembered once asking Mary Margaret and David why Ruby fought so often with her grandmother, but they never had an answer.

 “I should have gotten out of this town when I had a chance!” Ruby yelled.

“I’m sorry my hip replacement ruined your travel plans,” Granny called back. She saw Emma and her entire demeanor changed. “A guest. My, we don’t get many of those.”

Emma arched an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No.” She scurried behind the desk. “It’s just you?”

“Yes. I’m looking to stay about a week.”

“Sounds perfect. Would you like a forest view or a square view? Normally there’s an upgrade for the square, but I can waive it.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile as Granny frantically busied herself behind the desk, looking for her ledger and a pen. It was clear she didn’t recognize her yet. “The square is fine.”

“You look familiar,” Ruby piped up. “But I haven’t seen you in a while.” She looked a bit closer. “You’re not…you’re not the kid that Mary Margaret and David fostered way back when, are you?”

Emma cringed at the mention of Mary Margaret and David. “I am.”

“Wow. I can’t believe it’s you.” Ruby looked her up and down. “You’re…you’re so grown up!”

“Yeah that’s what happens when you get forced out of town.” Emma turned away from Ruby and back to Granny who had the book open once again.

“What was your last name again, sweetie?”

“It’s changed, actually. Swan. Emma Swan.”

An unfamiliar accented voice spoke up from behind them. “Emma.” She turned her head and found a shorter man with shoulder length brown hair, dressed in a fancy suit. A cane was clutched in his hand. For the life of her, Emma could not place his face. “What a lovely name.”

“Thanks,” she replied, not knowing what else to say. Emma was one of the most popular baby names out there, not like it was something more unique. Yet, the man just kept smiling at her. It was starting to creep her out.

Granny reached out past her holding a wad of cash. “It’s all here,” she said firmly, though Emma could tell her usual demeaner was cracking.

“Yes, of course it is, dear.” He accepted the money and placed it into his jacket pocket. Then, he turned to face Emma. “Enjoy your stay…Emma.”

 He slowly walked out of the inn, making sure to look at each and every one of them as he did. The door shut behind him with a ring of the bell above it. Emma finally got the nerve to speak to Ruby again.

 “Who was that?”

“Mr. Gold.” Ruby shuddered a little, watching behind the curtain as he walked away. “He owns this place.”

“You mean the inn?”

“No,” Granny looked deeply afraid. “The town.”

 Emma tilted her head and more memories began to flood back. She vaguely remembered a Mr. Gold working with her former foster parents towards the end of her stay in Storybrooke. He was an attorney, they told her and would be helping them adopt her. That obviously hadn’t happened.

 She shook it off, not wanting to keep thinking about the past. “Can I get the key to my room, please?” She asked. “It’s been a long day.”

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

Emma woke up the following morning, slightly forgetting where she was. For a minute she expected to be back in her Boston apartment with the calligraphy painted front door. Instead, she had a lumpy mattress under back and a scratchy blanket over her body. She climbed out of bed and walked to the window, not caring that she was just in a white tank top and her underwear. On the streets below her, the town was aflutter with people heading to work and school. She cracked her neck, trying to get the pressure of the awful night from out of her.

 Before she could text her boss to let him know she’d be out of commission for the week, there was a knock at the door. Heading over, she opened it hesitantly to find Regina Mills on the other side holding a basket of apples. This town was too strange for her liking. Had it been that way when she was little?

 “Did you know that the honey crisp tree is one of the most vigorous apple trees?”

 Emma tilted her head. It was too early and she hadn’t had any coffee or cocoa to deal with this agricultural lesson.

 “It can survive temperatures as low as 40 below and keep growing,” Regina prattled on. She gave Emma a soft, yet firm smile. Emma suddenly realized she wasn’t here to give her gardening tips. No, this was a threat. “It can weather any storm. I’ve had one I’ve tended to since I was a little girl. And to this day, I have yet to taste anything more delicious than the fruit it offers.” She plucked an apple off the top and offered it to Emma, who slowly took it.

“Thanks,” she said, giving Regina a weird look.

Regina extended the basket to her. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy them on your drive home.”

“Actually, I’m going to stay awhile.” Regina blinked several times in under two seconds. “My car broke down and you only have one mechanic. He said it’s going to take a week.”

“Oh.” Regina loosened only slightly. “With all due respect, Miss Swan, I do think it’d be best if you stayed away from Henry during this time.”

“With all due respect, Madam Mayor, your son’s the one that sought me out. I have no intentions of further complicating your lives. I just want my bug fixed so I can leave and get back to my life.”

 Regina didn’t look so convinced, but she nodded nonetheless.

 “I do have him in therapy, you know.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “Henry. The situation is under control. I know what’s best for my son.”

Emma hadn’t planned on questioning Regina’s authority, but she could tell the woman was clearly afraid she was. “You’re his mom,” is all she said in response.

“Yes. I am.”

 Regina walked away, taking the rest of her apples with her. Emma sighed and took a bite of the one she left behind. At least she got a free breakfast.

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

Emma didn’t know what else to do with her morning, so after grabbing a cup of coffee from Granny’s she decided to take a walk.

 The town really was the same. None of the shops had been updated in the past 23 years. The people all looked the same for the most part too. It was like they all drank some version of spiked water or had great deals with plastic surgeons.

 Or Henry’s theory about them all being cursed by Regina is true.

 Emma rolled her eyes. There was something weird about the town, but magic wasn’t it. Fairytales, wishes on shooting stars, she stopped believing on all of that ages ago. Henry was still a kid, it was cute that he thought that his school teacher was Snow White. Maybe less cute that he viewed his mom as the Evil Queen but what pre-teen didn’t at times?

 As Emma rounded the corner to go off Main Street, she found herself walking to the house where she had spent most of her time in Storybrooke when she first lived there. The big blue house with the wraparound porch. There had once been a yellow and white bike, that David helped her learn to ride. Mary Margaret’s garden was long gone. Her old foster mom’s station wagon and David’s truck weren’t in the driveway, instead replaced by two Volvos. She had seen Mary Margaret’s car at the school, so was there a chance that they no longer lived there?

“I had a feeling I might find you here.”

 His voice was soothing, like warm water. She didn’t want to turn around and see his face. She tried to block out the memories, just as she had over the years. Yet, the most prominent one floated up. The two of them sitting in front of the TV, wearing matching jerseys and yelling at it at the top of their lungs. She had tried her best to learn everything about football and had probably failed. She mostly liked the snacks that David made before the games and the way she could curl up against his chest, most likely falling asleep. It had been the first way they could truly bond after she came to live with them.

 “What, you’re stalking me now?”

“We were afraid last night that you left, that we missed our chance. Then word got around town that you checked into the inn last night. We had some hope.”

“My car broke down, just waiting for it to be fixed.” She suddenly had a weird feeling. “Did you mess with it?”

“No, no. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t put you in danger. All of that, was just one big coincidence.”

 For some reason, Emma believed him. She slowly turned around, forcing herself to look at the man she had once called “Daddy”. Like everyone else in the stupid town, he looked exactly the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a bit of fuzz around the cheeks. It used to scratch her when he gave her a kiss, but she never complained. He even still dressed the same, just like Mary Margaret. David wore a blue flannel shirt and some jeans. His badge stuck out over the pocket of his pants, showing off that he still held the same career.

 David’s eyes glistened at the sight of her and she almost had to look away again. “Mary Margaret was right, you’re all grown up now. I don’t get how that’s possible.”

“It’s been 23 years.”

“I just…I didn’t think that much time had passed. In my mind, you’re still 5 years old and we’re going out for ice cream after school.”

Emma didn’t smile at the memory. “I told your wife what I’m going to tell you. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Mary Margaret and I aren’t together anymore.”

 That’s one thing that changed.

 She remembered looking through David and Mary Margaret’s photo albums, more specifically their wedding one. Mary Margaret always looked like a princess to her. She even wore a tiara. In those seven months she spent with them, David and Mary Margaret had probably been the healthiest relationship she had seen until Bill and Katie. They laughed together, they kissed and went on the occasional date night. The two were always saying “I love you”. To Emma at that age, it was like being fostered by a fairytale couple. The way they looked at each other as if they were the only two in the room. It made her feel safe somehow.

 Now it was like all of that was taken away, on top of their happy family.

 “Well that’s…too bad.” She wanted to ask why. She didn’t get how two people that in love didn’t work out, but she didn’t want to feel even more involved in their lives. “It still doesn’t change what I said.”

“Stay in Storybrooke, Emma.”

“I’m here for the week until my car gets fixed.”

“Stay longer than that.”

“Why do you even care?” Emma threw her hands in the air. “You two gave me away and then couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye or explain why to me.”

“It was a complicated situation. We wanted to but social services…”

“No, that’s bullshit. You two were just two more people in my life that let me down.”

David let out a disgruntled sigh. “If that were true, then why would we be here fighting for you Emma? Why would I be trying to get you to hear us out when you clearly hate us? For God’s sake, I was your father…”

“I don’t know! Maybe you have some weird guilt! Maybe you think it’ll get Mary Margaret to talk to you! What I do know is, you’re not my dad, David.” She fixed him with a look. “You made sure of that.”

“Emma, we lo….”

Emma stormed away, not letting him get another word out. She didn’t want to hear it.

 She didn’t want to hear that they loved her. Because what did it matter? They had just let her go in the end.

[hisgirlfriday22]

Untangle Me

Chapter Four- An Unconventional Thanksgiving

———————————

As October turned into November, Lachy and Molly continued to get to know each other and quite quickly became close friends. Rarely did a day go by that they didn’t at least text, if not spend an hour or two in a phone call. Molly found it so easy to talk to Lachy, as if she’d known him much longer than nearly two months. In such a short time, he’d become Molly’s best friend, someone she could talk to about anything and everything, and she could hardly imagine life without him.

Due to their busy work schedules, neither Lachy nor Molly knew when they’d get to see each other again, especially with the holidays coming up. At the end of November, the Wiggles tour in the States would be over and Lachy would be flying home to Australia. In fact, it was on Thanksgiving Day that Lachy was due to fly back to Brisbane. Molly couldn’t understand for the life of her why Anothony had decided to book flights on one of the busiest travel days of the year. Well, for the United States, at least. They were all bound to be stuck in the airport for hours.

Molly would spend Thanksgiving with her parents at the Seacliff Inn, as she did every year. Typically, there were a few guests spending the holiday there too, but this year not a single room had been booked, and for that, Molly was glad. This was the first Thanksgiving since her breakup with Asher, and the first one she’d be spending single in almost four years. It was both refreshing and depressing at the same time.

As was tradition, Molly went grocery shopping with her mother the night before Thanksgiving and then returned to spend the night at the inn so she’d already be there to help with the cooking. However, as this year it was only herself and her parents, it wouldn’t be nearly as elebarote of a celebration. Molly and her mother would still cook Thanksgiving dinner, but the plan was to sleep in and have a lazy morning watching the parade and maybe a Christmas movie or two before any cooking was to be done. But of course, nothing ever goes to plan.

Molly would have loved to sleep in, but at 6:30 on Thanksgiving morning she found herself completely wide awake. She blamed her inability to sleep on the fact that she was up before 6:00 a.m. on most mornings for work. Her body was just used to being awake at this time and it tended to happen on weekends as well. So, with a sigh Molly got out of bed and pulled on a pair of thick fuzzy socks before she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. If she was wide awake, she might as well make coffee.

Before she stepped out of her room, Molly made sure to grab her phone. She knew Lachy didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, or at least, he didn’t celebrate the same time she did, but she thought she’d message him a Happy Thanksgiving anyway. Besides, she knew that he was already at the airport waiting for his 8:30 a.m. flight.

“If it even leaves by then, that is…” She muttered to herself as she curled up on the love seat in her parent’s private living room, coffee in hand. Once she was settled she began to type out a text to Lachy.

“Good Morning And Happy Thanksgiving!”

While Molly waited for a reply, she sipped her coffee and scrolled through some of her social media apps, though she didn’t have to wait too long. Soon her phone began to buzz with not a text but a call from Lachy. She smiled a bit as she accepted the call. “Hello?”

“You’re certainly up early. What happened to sleeping in, hmm?” Lachy questioned. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, by the way.”

“Well, you know, it’s another side effect of being a teacher. I’m almost always up before the sun. It’s a curse, my days of sleeping in are few and far between.” She replied. “You’re already at the airport, I take it?”

“It’s all the coffee you drink, you can’t convince me otherwise. I swear you drink more coffee than any person I know, Molls. You’re addicted.” Lachy’s voice held a teasing tone despite the fact that he was absolutely right. “ And I am, yes. The others, however, are not. There’s talk of bad weather out west that will delay some flights or possibly cancel some, so Anthony suggested staying in the U.S. through the weekend rather than being cooped up in an airport for God knows how long..”

“Hey, don’t you ‘Luke Danes’ me Lachlan Gillespie! There are worse things in this world to be addicted to than coffee, you know.” Molly mused, smirking slightly, though her smirk faded as she heard him explain about the bad weather. “Why aren’t you with them?” Surely he wanted to be with his friends rather than spending hours in the airport.

There was a deep sigh on the other end before Lachy began to speak once more. “I’m just ready to be home in Brisbane, Molls. Don’t get me wrong, I love being here, but, I miss my family and my dog, and sleeping in my own bed ...” His voice trailed off.

In all of the many phone conversations Molly had had with Lachy over the last couple of months, she’d never heard him sound as tired as he did at that moment. She couldn’t blame Lachy for being tired and homesick, especially after he’d been on tour since early August with very little down time. Anyone would be exhausted after that.

“I’m sure you are, Lach. I couldn’t imagine being away from home for so long. Any news about delays for you flight?”

“Not yet, so I’m assuming no news is good news? I hope so, at least…” He replied, “My flight is due to leave at 8:30, so I’m guessing…” Molly heard Lachy’ pause for a moment before he sighed once again. “Well, scratch that, it’ll be leaving at 2:45 p.m. now. They just posted a delay on the screen.”

Molly glanced at the clock above the television on the wall and bit her lip. It was only around 7:15 a.m., so she knew he had quite a wait in store for him. “Well, so much for luck, huh? Where are you flying out from again? If you haven’t gone through security yet, maybe I could come and sit with you while you wait. I know it’s not the most fun thing to wait in an airport all alone.”

“I haven’t gone through security just yet, but I’ll be fine. It’s a holiday, Molly, you should be with your parents. And who knows..Maybe I’ll get lucky and the flight will leave earlier. Let’s just hope no Little Wiggles spot me... “

Molly opened her mouth to reply when she was interrupted by her mother. “Molly Beth? Who on God’s green earth are you talking to this early?”

Molly turned to look at her mother and shook her head, mouthing “I’ll tell you later.” To which her mother just shook her head and continued into the kitchen to presumably pour herself a cup of coffee.

“Speaking of parents, that sounds like your mum? You know, it is rude to call someone before 9:00 a.m. Molly Beth...” Lachy teased.

Molly rolled her eyes. “Excuse me, sir, you’re the one who called me!”

“Yes, but you texted me first, so the blame still falls on you.”

Molly shook her head. “Well, you were awake anyway. Had I known you weren’t at the airport, I’d have never texted you that early.”

Lachy chuckled a bit. “Are you sure about that? It isn’t the first time you’ve texted me at the crack of dawn, you know. Though to be fair, I do have a tendency to keep you awake with phone calls and texts way past your bedtime, don’t I?” Lachy chuckled once more as Molly hummed in agreement. “ I guess it’ll get worse once I‘m actually home. There’s a 14 hour time difference between South Carolina and Brisbane.”

Molly wrinkled her nose at this information. She still wasn’t excited about that. Once Lachy was back in Australia their conversations would be limited to Skype, and only when they were both awake and free from work. “We’ll figure something out.” She said softly.

“We will.” Lachy agreed before breathing another weary sigh. “I should let you go. It’s thanksgiving, you should be spending time with your parents. I should also go see if there’s anything I can do about getting my flight switched.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Let me know if anything changes.” Molly replied. She knew the chance of Lachy getting an earlier flight was rather slim, at least one with minimal connections. But she wouldn’t say that out loud, she figured he knew as well as she did.

“I will.” Lachy promised. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, Molly.”

“You too. Feel free to call or text whenever you’d like today. I know it can’t be fun sitting in that airport all day alone.”

“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You might just be my source of sanity in all of the boredom I’m sure to face.” Lachy chuckled. What he didn’t know was that his words brought a slight blush to Molly’s cheeks, though she’d deny it. “But I’ll definitely call you once I know when my flight leaves.”

“You’re sanity? Are you sure about that?” Molly shook her head despite the fact that Lachy couldn’t see it.

“Quite sure.” Was Lachy’s reply. “Now go talk to your mum! Bye Molly. “

“Okay, okay.” Molly laughed. “Bye Lach.” And with that she hit the “end” button before standing from the couch and heading into the kitchen where she found her mother already working on breakfast.

“It’s about time you got off the phone. Who were you talking to?” Sarah asked as she gestured toward a carton of eggs. “Care to crack those for me?”

Molly nodded and began to crack the eggs for her mother’s breakfast casserole. It only occurred to her right then that she hadn’t mentioned Lachy to her parents. Though, there really wasn’t a reason for her to have told them about him, was there? He was, after all, just a friend. “Oh no one, just a new friend.” She replied.

“What’s his name?” Sarah questioned with a raised brow.

Molly shook her head. “Mom...I never said it was a guy.”

“I know you Molly Beth, your cheeks were blushed when you came in here. Are you talking to Asher again? Oh I hope so, you were so well suited. “

Molly tensed a bit at the mentioning of Asher and she shook her head. “There’s not a snowball’s chance I’ll ever speak to

him again, Mom. I mean it. Asher and I are over and that’s all there is to it. “

Molly heard her mother sigh before she spoke again. “I wish you’d tell me what went wrong with him. Everything seemed so perfect between you. And the wedding was so close…”

“Mom, please. That’s enough. I don’t want to talk about him, okay? He’s very much a part of my past. And I’d prefer to leave him there.”

“Okay, fair enough. I’m sorry I brought him up.” Sarah said as she continued to fry sausage on the griddle. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Who’s your friend?”

Molly couldn’t stop herself from grinning even if she wanted to. “Well, his name is Lachy. And before you start, we’re just friends. I met him earlier last month At McGuire’s and we sorts just clicked?”

“McGuire’s? What were you doing there, you never go to McGuire’s…” Sarah sounded skeptical as she gave her only daughter a look.

Molly shrugged and reached for a whisk to begin beating the eggs. “Hannah and Sophie invited me to go with them and I agreed.” She chose to leave out the details of the drugged drink, it wasn’t necessary and would only worry her mother. “I bumped into him at the bar and we struck up a conversation. We exchanged numbers before we left and...yeah, we’ve been talking ever since and we’ve become really good friends.”

“You exchanged numbers? That’s really not like you. It took you forever to talk to…” Sarah paused, realizing she was about to bring up Asher again to her daughter. “Sorry Molly…”

Molly shrugged and shook her head. “It’s okay. Um, where do you want these?”

Sarah pointed to a glass casserole dish that already had a few other ingredients in it. “Pour them in there, top it with cheese, and slide it in the oven.”

Molly nodded and did as she was told before she set about making another cup of coffee. “He’s actually stuck at the airport today. That’s why I was on the phone with him so early. He’s flying home to Australia, but his flight has been delayed. He was supposed to leave at 8:30 but they’ve pushed it back to…”

“Australia?” Sarah’s voice held a skeptical tone once more. “Why was he in Folly Beach?”

Molly smirked a bit. “He was here with his band…”

“Band? Is that why you were at the pub in the first place?”

Molly shrugged. “Kinda?”

“Molly Beth!”

“What?” Molly questioned with an air of innocence in her voice. All the while, she was hiding a smirk from her mother. “There is nothing wrong with being in a band. They’re actually kind of good. They sing Irish and Scottish Folk music. They’re called the Unusual Commoner’s, I think..Come on, Mom, what is it?”

Sarah was silent for a moment as she moved to the task of slicing fresh fruit. “Nothing, it’s just...Meeting a guy in a bar, exchanging numbers with him, getting close to him despite the fact that he lives in halfway across the world. That’s not like you, Molly. I’m just concerned is all. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Molly bit her lip as she listened to her mother. “It’s different with Lachy...I can’t explain it. We’re only friends, Lord knows I’m not anywhere near ready for a relationship with anyone. But like I said, we clicked..I couldn’t leave that bar that night without giving him my number. And I’m so glad I did.” She smiled a bit as she moved to help Sarah with the fruit. “He’s become my best friend. I know, it sounds crazy, I’ve known him less than two months, but I can’t imagine not having him in my life. That’s crazy, right?”

Sarah glanced at her daughter from the corner of her eye and smirked slightly. “No, I wouldn’t say that’s crazy at all. I’d say you’re in lo..”

“Stop right there! I’m not in love with him, Mom.” Molly said firmly. “I’ll say this once again, we’re just friends. And that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“You said yourself you clicked with him, you can tell him anything? Sounds like love to me.”

“I’ve known him less than two months.” Molly sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes

“Love at first sight is a real thing, I don’t care what you say. “ Sarah chimed in.

Molly shook her head in almost disbelief. “This isn’t some Hallmark Christmas movie, mom. People don’t fall in love in two months.”

“They do if they’re soulmates...Do you mind grabbing the strawberries from the fridge?”

Molly, however, didn’t move to grab the strawberries as she was asked, but rather she stood and stared at her mother in shock. “You’re delusional! Soul mates? There’s no such thing…Lachy and I are not soulmates...we’re not in love, we’re just friends and that is all we’ll ever be.” She muttered. She finally moved from her spot to grab the berries her mother had requested.

Sarah continued to smirk as she took the box of strawberries from Molly’s hand. “Okay, whatever you say.” She said with a shrug.

“We’re not!” Molly said firmly. It was at that moment that her phone began to buzz, signalling an incoming call. She grabbed the phone from the counter to see that Lachy was calling her, just as she’d guessed.

“Speak of the devil…” Sarah mumbled as she send a mischievous grin toward Molly, who did her best to ignore it.

“Mom..” Molly rolled her eyes as she hit the accept button and held the phone to her ear. “Hello?” The smile that lit her face didn’t go unnoticed by her mother, even if Molly wasn’t aware of it herself. However, the smile faded into a frown as Lachy began to speak.

“Hey..I have a bit of bad news. It seems my flight has been cancelled due to the winter storm in Colorado. Not sure when I can get another flight out of here.” Lachy sighed. “It’ll be Monday at least, if I’m lucky.”

Molly bit her lip. “So, you’re stuck in the airport?” She questioned.

“Well, that’s one option. I thought about booking a hotel for a couple of days in Savannah until I can book another flight. Thankfully, all my clothes were packed in my carry on suitcase.. My work trunk has already been shipped back with the others…”

Molly frowned as she thought of Lachy spending the weekend alone in Savannah when he really wanted to be home. Especially not Thanksgiving weekend. Despite the fact that he didn’t celebrate, it still bothered her that he’d be alone. Especially when he was so close to Folly Beach “Don’t be silly Molly…” She thought. “You haven’t known him nearly long enough to even propose the idea of him coming here…” But damn her mouth and brain for not being on the same page. Before she could stop herself, she was asking him to do just that. “Why not come here?”

There was silence for a moment and Molly could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Finally, Lachy spoke up. “Molly, I couldn’t do that. It’s Thanksgiving, it’s a time for family. I couldn’t impose... “

“And friends. You shouldn’t be by yourself. My parents own an inn, and there’s no one staying here this week. I could come and pick you up from the airport…” She offered.

Molly could hear her mom clearing her throat behind her, no doubt trying to get her attention, but she ignored her as she waited for Lachy’s response. In all truth, she wanted to see him and she hoped he’d agree.

“Molly, are you sure about this? I really don’t want to interrupt your holiday.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t sure. You said you’re at the airport in Savannah, right? I’m only a couple of hours away. I could be there by…” she looked at the clock, seeing it was now about 8:00. “Probably around 10:30.”

There was a pause once more before Lachy finally spoke again. “Okay, That sounds really nice actually. Thank you.”

The two worked out a few details of where they’d meet and what color and make her car was before they said goodbye. As soon as Molly hung up, she turned to head upstairs to her old room, but she was stopped by her mother.

“I take it we’re having a guest after all, then?” Sarah questioned with a raised brow.

Molly was once again biting her lip, a habit she’d had since she was a child. An apologetic expression was on her face. “Mom, I…”

Sarah shook her head, holding her hand up, though a warm smile tugged at her lips. “You don’t have to explain yourself Molly. You go get ready and I’ll make sure a room is ready when you get back. You’d better hurry! You told him you’d be there by 10:30, and traffic is going to be a mess!”

Molly grinned. “Thank you!” She exclaimed as she bolted up the stairs to her room to get ready. The entire time her stomach fluttered with butterflies she couldn’t quite explain. She knew one thing, though. She couldn’t wait to see the man she’d grown so close to in the past two months. She only wondered if he was just as excited to see her...

[mysecretconfessionsx]

Crawl out through the fallout

Just a story to help process some stuff and maybe have a little fun with in the mean time. Warning: mentions of abuse and the like. It’s a rough draft so read at your own risk.

Sunlight peeked through the gray blanket of clouds, giving the gold and crimson tree lined road an almost ethereal quality. Driving up a steep hill I paused to take in the stark white house, glowing in the last beam of golden sun, standing against the bruised purple of an oncoming storm. Taking a deep breath I quietly shut the car door and marched up the wooden steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The smell of tea and lemon polish hit my nose as the tension drained away, bit by bit. A thin, tired looking young man sat behind giant oak desk, almost buried under a mountain of paperwork, looked up from the stacks long enough to give a friendly nod before returning to the impossible task before him.   "Come on in sweetie." Lucy, a grandmotherly woman beckoned me into a cozy side room and motioned for me to take the cushy chair by the window. "Tea?" I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. She just smiled and pushed a brightly colored mug towards me. "Start whenever you're ready my dear." She sipped her own tea and waited. "Thank you." I set aside my mug and took one more deep breath. "Colt and I got together at the end of high school and moved in almost right away. In hindsight it was a stupid decision, but I was running from the people who hurt me and my own medical issues and he offered some semblance of safety." I shook my head at my own foolishness but Lucy just nodded patiently. "The first year was fantastic until I found out Colt was in love with his best friend Rob. When people found out, we promised to never talk about it and moved in with his family. He fell into a depression for a couple of years and started giving me the silent treatment. It only got worse when he found out his best friend got married. His indulgence of certain substances got worse." My throat was raw and my hands trembled as I braced for the worst parts. More tea was poured and her weathered hand steadied mine. Nodding my thanks I gathered my courage. "I worked for both of us then. It was never enough though. No matter how much money I made or how much I cooked and cleaned, he started insulting me and screaming at me whenever he could. I cried in the bathroom a lot." Clenching my fists I finally admitted to the woman in front of me things I hadn't dared say to anyone else. "I could have been happy, I ran into an old friend, Ezran, a few years back and we started talking again. Honestly I was falling for him long before Colt came into the picture and seeing him again brought everything back tenfold. Colt found some of our letters and he threatened to kill himself if I didn't cut off contact with Ezran. I couldn't even say goodbye. After that Colt got even worse." Tears welled up in my eyes but I refused to let them fall."We can stop there for now if you wanted to my dear." Her voice was low and soothing, like she was talking to a wounded animal. I shook my head, wanting to get the weight off my chest. The last part was always the hardest and the words came rushing out as if saying them quickly would make the memories hurt less. A cold chill ran through my body that even the tea couldn't chase away, despite the relative warmth of late summer."January. It was January when he decided to lock me out of the house when I went out to smoke. It was sub zero that night. He also threw my cat against the wall and tried choking her. I don't  know if he wanted me dead or just to know that he wouldn't mind if I died but I hated him ever since. I've been planning my escape, slowly taking my things under the guise of cleaning." The words caught in my throat as I struggled to say what came next. My body ached and trembled at the strain on my system. "But He knew something was up even though I was sneaky. So one night when I came home he was extra nice. I should have run. He brought me to bed and convinced me one last time. I didn't really want to and I should have said no, but I thought that if I went along with it he'd be asleep long enough for me to get the last of my things. I pleaded for him to not finish in me. He did it with a satisfied smile anyway. God I want him dead. I cried in the shower for hours after that. I never wanted another person to touch me again." My clipped shakey sentences stopped when the shuddering of my repressed sobs overwhelmed me, small ugly hiccups escaped periodically from behind my hand. The sage old woman took off her shawl and draped it around my shoulders, careful not to touch me. A few ragged breaths later and I nodded gratefully. "Thank you for telling me. The weight of the world has been on your shoulders for far too long, little one." She set aside her tea and grabbed a folder from the bookshelf beside her. Sliding the paperwork across the table to me she explained, "If you would like it, I've arranged for you to live in a cottage under your grandmother's name, not far from your brother's house."My stomach knotted and adrenaline pumped through my system. "Yes." I breathed the word, almost afraid of the power it held. I signed all the necessary places as guilt crept up my spine and threatened to choke me further. "Hey Lucy," my voice was barely above a whisper but she nodded for me to continue. "Is it okay that I feel guilty and angry and confused? I didn't say anything sooner, I know I should have but I didn't want to say it out loud, it made it too real." Her eyes softened at the question. "Of course dear, it's a lot to process and a long road to recovery, no one expects you to have it all figured out right now." The clock on the wall behind me chimed the hour, a hideously cheerful reminder that my brief time of safety was over. Lucy sighed and tucked the paperwork back into the folder. "I'll take care of the rest of this and the house will be ready early next week." She stood and moved around to the table, arms out and waiting to see if I would accept the offer of a hug. I gingerly tucked myself into her short embrace, calming before returning to the storm. "Stay safe little one.""Of course," I worked up a brave smile and met her eyes. "I'll see you soon." Stepping out of the safety of Lucy's office I marched to my car. With every step backwards I dreamed of the steps forward I could take, elation and guilt warred inside me until the nausea won. Icy pin pricks stung my skin as the storm haltingly released it's wrath, turning the mild weather unwelcoming. Sliding behind the wheel I steeled myself for whatever I may face upon returning. I couldn't help admiring the proud old building shrinking in my rearview mirror, stark white as ever, untouched by the countless storms through the years. The winding road, while no longer cast in the ethereal glow of afternoon was still beautiful, though with the weather building and the weight of my thoughts it took on a sinister edge with every mile passed. My stomach knotted even tighter as I drove up to the road back to Colt's, slowing for a moment I contemplated taking the 'safer' option and stomped on the gas, flying past the turn and headed for the highway. I knew that I would pay for this stolen time but that was later and I needed room to breathe.  Rolling down the windows I let the rapidly cooling air hit my face as I sped along my usual escape route. About half an hour later I rolled into my family’s airport inn, covering all traces of my mental state and let my hair down before strolling through the well worn door. "Aunty is home!" The high pitched squeal my niece let out grated pleasantly on my ears as she came toddling over to me to be picked up. Stooping to scoop up the small girl and pepper her face with kisses as she giggled and tugged at my hair. My parents came up from the bar in the basement, lovingly nicknamed the booze bunker, with drinks already in hand. My mother took the squirming toddler from my arms and placed the drink in my hand."You staying or just need a drink?" My mom asked, eyebrow raised. I took a swig of whatever the drink of the night was and told her I was staying. My dad shrugged a lumbered back down to the bar, most likely to finish the round of cards he was playing with his mother. My mom was about to say something when the phone started ringing. My body tensed and cold sweat broke out as I waited to see who was calling. Plopping my niece on the floor my mom quickly picked up and answered brightly, "Hello! Peggy speaking!" Surprise and then determination crossed her face before she hung up. “That was the hospital, they’re a bit backed up and need extra hands so I’m off to work again!” The tension drained from my shoulders and I shook my head at my adrenaline junky mom, grabbing her medical bag from the cupboard while she put on her coat.“Try not to have too much fun mum!” I laughed as she ran out the door, a pastel whirlwind against the night. After yelling down to my dad and grandma that the hospital called I made my way to the roof, grabbing a blanket and my lantern I sat under the stars, wishing for a brighter future. Ever so slowly I let myself get lost in the stars above, not yet daring to feel but giving myself the room to breathe. I had gone numb by the time my brother’s beat up old truck pulled into the driveway, pulling me from my stupor. Deciding that I had enough for one night, I headed back inside to curl up on my childhood bed and fall asleep. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. The smell of home and flashes of a smile brighter than the sun. Soft lips on mine and a caress so adoring it was like feeling heat for the first time. Prying open an eye as reality crashed around me, leaving me feeling raw as I slowly realized it was the phone ringing that pulled me from dreamland. Glaring at the clock, that innocently ticked away the seconds to three am. Forcing myself to leave the warmth of the bed I groggily picked up the phone. “Hello?” My voice was rough and broken, not yet used to being awake. “Why didn’t you come home last night? I waited for you to get back and you know that I have to work in the morning. Are you mad at me? Is that why you want me to be tired at work? If I mess up and get fired you’ll have to get another job to support us.” My heart slammed in my chest so hard I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t awake enough to deal with Colt’s bullshit this early in the morning. “Sorry, the hospital called and they needed all hands on deck, I didn’t get the chance to call you.” The lie came easily to my lips as I looked for a way out of his wrath with minimal consequences. I knew the lie wasn’t good enough to satisfy him so I braced for his yelling. “You seriously couldn’t take two fucking minutes to call? How many times do I have to teach you this lesson?” Colt growled through the receiver. “I’m sorr-” Colt cut me off, not finished with his tirade. “Stop making excuses and just be better! I don’t care that it was busy! Just don’t be busy! How important can a general helper be anyway?!?” He continued getting louder and more aggressive with each passing second. I held the phone away from my ear, not wanting to hear the venom he spewed at me. “Did you listen to what I said? Repeat what I just said back to me!” I held back the frustrated growl and paraphrased what he said and why he was upset, apologizing as best I could, knowing that no matter what I said the outcome would still be the same. “See! You weren’t listening at all! You couldn’t say it word for word. I’m getting sick of teaching you this lesson, why can’t you just pay attention? You’re a terrible person. You should really fix that you know, or everyone is going to hate you.” I numbly apologized once again, just trying to get him to hang up without making him even angrier than he already was. He finally slammed the phone back into its cradle, ending the call as abruptly as it began. I just stood with the phone still in my hand, heart palpitations thudding through my whole body as the adrenaline wore off. Slumping against the wall I stared blankly ahead. My body was screaming by the time I heard my mother finally come home from the hospital, clicking across the kitchen floor. I heaved myself up from the floor, my body groaning and stinging in protest but the smell of tea and toast lured me from my misery. 

[tuellertrails]

Sunday, June 6 2021

This is an Adventure!

It’s been several weeks since my last blog post, and a lot has happened in that time! It’s exciting to see our progress and the miles that we have walked so far. At this point we are 652 miles into our journey, only 50 miles until we enter the Sierra Nevada Mountains and leave the desert behind. We’ve slowly built up our endurance and become stronger and stronger, able to complete over 20 miles per day on average over the past two weeks, minus a few days of extreme heat where our mileage was less. But no one wants to hear about that! As hikers, our conversations seem to revolve around how many miles we plan to go, what the weather is doing, the difficulty of the terrain, where the next water source is, and what kind of food we’re eating. To regular people, this must seem quite boring! To us, it’s as normal as talking about football around the water cooler with coworkers (or in Landon’s case, talking about Columnar Basalt for 10 minutes with other hikers around the pool).

Despite hiking longer days and doing higher miles, we always seem to be stiff and sore! Especially after waking up in the morning. A few weeks ago, we met another hiker couple who actually met hiking the Appalachian Trail a few years ago and ended up dating on trail and then got married earlier this year. Having done a thru hike before, they told us that this is normal! That we will still feel aches and pains throughout the trail, but we will do so having done more miles and harder terrain as we progress. I have found this to be true! It truly is very rare to wake up and feel excellent. Generally, every day feels rather tough to get moving, and we are very tired when we finally do stop hiking. Our physical and mental fortitude continues to be tested day after day, especially in this last 100 miles of hiking.

Leaving Tehachapi, we entered a heat wave in a rather barren and exposed section of trail. I think of all my time on the PCT thus far, this past week tested me the most. Hiking in 90 plus degree heat climbing up hot, sandy slopes with the blaring sun overhead was one of the hardest physical and mental things I have ever done. We pushed ourselves to either wake up incredibly early (around 4 AM) or hike in the dark in the coolness of the descending sun (until 10 and 11 pm). In the hottest part of the day, we would try to find some shade (not easily found sometimes) and take a rest for several hours. Not even the rest came easily though, as the shade proved to be little relief from the sun, and it was too uncomfortable to sleep much. Water sources were few and far between as well, about 20 miles away from each other (and only that close together due to the kindness of trail angels who maintain water caches for the hikers). We would sit at the water caches and drink several liters of electrolytes to “camel up” before heading out again, carrying 5-6 liters apiece (and sometimes still not having enough). The water weighs your pack down quite a lot, but we have discovered that we prefer to hiker with heavy packs than run out of water. This was another reason for our midday rests, we simply did not have enough water to hike in the extreme heat (nor did it prove to be very efficient). You tend to have to ration your water to a certain extent. Landon and I would set up our tent at night, and have conversations like “if we use 500 ml to make dinner, we can drink 500 ml of electrolytes and that will leave us 1 Liter apiece for the next 7 miles to the next water source. If we wake up at 4, we should be able to make it there with that amount of water before it gets too hot.” Logistics and planning are incredibly important out here. I cannot imagine how much more difficult it would have been to hike the PCT pre internet, pre Guthooks (the amazing app we use that has our maps, shows our water sources, etc). I’m so grateful for modern resources to help us plan our days safely out here!

To those of you like my good friend Tayler, who consistently tells me that I do a poor job convincing her that anyone should ever do this, let me talk a little bit about how incredible this experience is despite the hardships. First of all, the community on the PCT is wonderful. I joke that being on trail is a lot like being back in high school with your friends. You’re all sharing very similar experiences that bond you in a way that only other hikers can completely understand! My best example of this was earlier this week, when we set up a tarp at one of the water caches with our friend Jim. Jim is a lovely person, so friendly and fun to talk to. He is also the dirtiest hiker I have ever seen. He sleeps in the same clothes he hikes in and consistently has thick dirt absolutely caked to his legs. As such, I gave him the trail name Dirtcake, which he seems to have accepted (you can accept or reject a suggested trail name). As we lay under the tarp in our makeshift shade, the temperature being clocked in at 99 degrees by Landon’s fancy watch hanging from his trekking pole, we all laughed as we talked about how miserable and absurd this moment was! The wind was blowing fine grains of sand into us, which clung to our sweaty bodies. I looked down at Jim to see clumps of dirt not only clinging to his legs, but also to his chest hair and speckled across his face as he took a feverish nap. As we drank our hot Propel Watermelon water, we all laughed because this is our life right now, and there is no way around it, only through it, but at least we’re going through it together. At least in these less than ideal circumstances, we can talk and laugh and tell stories and experience life in a way that few people ever do. We can reminisce about having awakened to a beautiful morning in a pine forest just that morning, having filtered cool, clear mountain spring water, and that stark contrast that a few miles and 1500 feet of elevation descent can make. We can tell stories about the worst jobs we ever had and laugh about so and so’s crazy manager, or that one Karen customer that threw a fit that one time 10 minutes before the end of a shift (or about how Jim used to eat leftover food from customers at his high school food service job. He was truly meant for the hiker trash life!) It’s the contrast between these experiences that make little luxuries feel so much sweeter and more appreciated than I ever would have been able to know in my rather comfortable pre trail life.

Our 3 hours of tarp hell, suffered together at least.

Here are some things that I am immensely grateful for currently

- The hospitality of friends and strangers. We stayed for free with two friends in Tehachapi, Mitzy and Kristy, both of whom opened their homes to us to rest, shower, watch movies, soak in a hot tub, enjoy a meal, etc. We’ve also had complete strangers show us great kindness! Two wonderful women gave us a ride from Walker Pass into town yesterday, offering us charging cables for our phones, air conditioning, food in the car, and lovely conversation and company. Even the women running the motel we are currently staying in have been exceptional. They allowed us to do our laundry in their motel washer and dryer, fed us snacks poolside, gave us a discount and opened up an extra room (that is normally withheld) because all the rooms in town were booked. If you are ever in Kernville, CA, please check out Piazzas Pine Cone Inn, it’s an absolute oasis! And I would be remiss to not mention the trail angels who maintain the water caches in the desert. These people spend their own time and money (though we always donate if they have a donation box) to buy and transport water jugs back and forth to these remote dirt roads in the desert, just to help out PCT hikers that they don’t know and have never met. Isn’t that the kindest and most incredible act of service?

Being on trail with these other hikers, the most interesting and dynamic people, surrounded by the beauty of the natural world, is the best cure for cynicism and and upsetting news stories and angry political internet arguments. We’re all working toward a similar goal, supporting each other’s journeys, commiserating and laughing together, learning and growing and hurting and hiking. It’s so hard but it’s so wonderful. A couple of weeks ago, my mom made a comment to me that I couldn’t help but laugh at. She said “You know that you could take all of the money that you saved up for this hike, and just go spend a month or two on the beach in Aruba instead, right?” Ha! Yes Mom, I know. We could do that, and it would be much, much easier. A section hiker named Prospector gave us a button that says “This is an adventure.” And no one remembers vacations the same way that they remember adventures!

So as I sit writing this in the soft and very appreciated bed of our small town motel room, I can’t help but feel extremely happy. I know that in a few hours, I will leave the comfort and air conditioning and replace my heavy pack on my sore shoulders. I’ll put on my extremely worn out shoes that will surely leave my feet sore and give me some new blister or two in the coming days (unfortunately my new shoes never arrived due to a shipping mishap, and I’ve had to wear these about 200 miles past their ‘best use by’ date). I’ll sweat through my clothes and collapse from exhaustion and curse the day I ever decided to hike the PCT. But this is an adventure! You can’t ever lose sight of that. And we’re already 650 miles into this adventure! 25% of the way through! I’m so proud of that. Only 50 miles from the Sierra Nevada’s! Where we will enter a while new set of beauty and challenges, embracing it full on, grateful to leave the desert behind.

Here is my Mantra for the PCT, taken from one of my favorite books (recently read in my pre trail book club) The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd


"Then I would rise, my legs snarled with cramps, my stomach panged with hunger, blisters on my heels—oh, but the world was large and mysterious and I was far from home, journeying with my beloved."

Thanks for reading, see you up the trail!

- Joscelyn

P.S. - I finally got my trail name! I am now AC/DC, which actually has nothing to do with any love of the band or 80s music (though I can get down to Highway to Hell as much as the next person). I was named by another hiker named Southern Hospitality, who gave it to me after hearing me blow up my pad with a miniature air pump that I have carried for the entire trail. As an ultralight hiker, he found it absolutely ridiculous and incredibly funny that I have chosen to carry this. It takes 45 breaths to blow up my pad! I hate it. The air pump is the best luxury and absolutely worth the 3 ounces. Landon’s trail name is Outlast, which he received several hundred miles ago actually. We were sitting in a shelter at a wind farm outside of Palm Springs, waiting out the heat of the day with some other hikers. Someone mentioned that the shelter seemed like a hut that would be built in the Reality TV show Survivor, and Landon told them that he had watched all 40 seasons of Survivor over the course of the pandemic. We spent the next 15 minutes talking about Survivor strategy, with Landon giving his expert tips as a student of the show. Our friend Tidbits told him that he needed a Survivor trail name, and so he was given the name Outlast (Survivors motto is Outwit, Outplay, Outlast). It also seems fitting because you truly have to Outlast the difficulty to be a successful thru hiker!

[homemomzone-blog]

When is Enough When it Comes to Our Children - Birthdays and Holidays

Section One: Birthdays and Holidays

Let's be honest; our children have it great - You can discover essentially all that you need in the realm of youngsters nowadays, satisfying any fantasy they, or you, have ever had. Accepting you have the cash, you can purchase downsized variants of your garments, splendidly shaded techno-devices and even youngster estimated, rough terrain vehicles and BMX bicycles. There are the individuals who don't have the money, yet don't keep down with regards to their kids. They maximize the charge cards and don't stress over it until the New Year. Be that as it may, when employments are dubious, the main functional activity is to cause changes by they way we to spend. Out go the social snacks, the remove cappuccinos and the fitness coach. It is reasonable to stretch out these reductions to our youngsters and show them a little about monetary obligation, however it's not as effortlessly done as said. How individuals feel about themselves is regularly connected to how well they think they are doing at child rearing. Over and over again, and wrongly, that implies what they can give really to their youngsters.

Downturn, what downturn? - Surprisingly, considering all the fate and anguish we hear, there appear to be numerous families, with just one working guardian and two autos in the garage, who despite everything oversee yearly goes to Legoland, two occasions a year arranged around what "satisfies the kids" and the essential birthday slam with performer and architect cake. That is not me especially, however I overspend in different ways. I'm certain you can relate. How frequently have we made a beeline for the shops to deal look for something we really need and return home loaded down with packs of charming attire, the child's magazines with the poo toy taped to the title page, or an additional pair of Ugg boots for when their totally unfeasible white pair gets messy. The explanation given is normally something like "I realized she would cherish it. I was unable to leave it there." Listen to moms talking in the school play area and unmistakably individuals will in general task their own wants onto their kids. I'm presumably similarly as blameworthy of that as any other individual. At the point when we can't legitimize purchasing something for ourselves, we satisfy that rapacious enticement by purchasing for them rather than ourselves.

The Social Minefield of Birthday Parties - It's with a somewhat sicky-stomach feeling when I discover envelopes in my youngsters' school packs, out of which pop a normal of two birthday solicitations seven days. I have another usual way of doing things; urging my youngsters to go just to the gatherings of companions with whom they really play, and trusting that not every person on our own greeting rundown will really acknowledge. I have tried things out a couple of times with a firm yet benevolent "I'm grieved, she can't make it that day, however a debt of gratitude is in order for inquiring." Putting it into training is something else altogether, as I found one day while viewing my 5-year old child's face as his cohorts enthusiastically leave school for the gathering which we declined. He is actually too youthful to even consider understanding my economy-drove realism and take it on himself without lament. While examining the birthday circumstance at supper one night, we for all intents and purposes tumbled off our seats snickering when he declared "You know, Mum, I constantly like a decent gathering." No issue how cautious I must be, it's acceptable to be reminded that it's not about the cash. For a kid, it's tied in with feeling included, losing it in the rapture of festivity and having cake before supper. As a matter of fact, we grown-ups could utilize a tad bit of that sort of fun as well.

Endowments Galore - Let's do a few figures. On the off chance that you have two kids in grade school, in classes of 25 - 30 kids, in addition to a bunch of dear companions from birth, it makes for an immense take of birthday presents going into your home and a lot of cash leaving your wallet. I would prefer not to sound either stingy or selfish, however I never again look for one of a kind presents for every one of my kids' companions except if they are "ideal." with an end goal to adapt, we have topped the sum we can spend, while as yet attempting to discover something current and of value. Books, footballs, superhuman shirts and craftsmanship materials are a parent's fantasy and don't mope at the rear of the pantry.

For our own youngsters, exacting measures have likewise been set up. In the wake of viewing a companion's youngster calmly hurl aside every birthday present got to perceive what was in the following bundle, we got back and investigated what our own kids have and don't utilize. The affordable and natural sides of me are especially annoyed by plastic and battery worked squander. From that point forward, we have all endure no-toy two birthday celebrations for French and tennis exercises, a tree house and an outing to Paris. I wonder whether I am so recklessly determined twisted that my children won't be ruined by overabundance, that I really lean excessively far into Scrooge-dom. Children are so wise nowadays, getting on each pattern. I comprehend that Hollister is the new should have apparel brand and rainbow-shaded IPods are universal. However, I was totally ill-equipped to hear that small kids are requesting, and getting, Blackberries and IPhones for their birthday events.

Pass the Parcel - Have you heard the de-jumbling master's recommendation that on the off chance that you have anything in your storage room that you haven't worn in one year, you ought to dispose of it? On TV, they put the undesirable apparel in a dark container pack and that goes straight down to the foundation shop. Utilize a similar guideline with the children. In the event that youngsters get endowments they don't care for, consider offering them to another person who can get happiness out of owning them. A year ago my child got three indistinguishable Ben10 Omnitrixes in light of the fact that he hosted an outsider themed gathering. I guess I could have attempted to trade two of them at ToysRUs or put them on eBay, however in truth, I locate that a period swallowing bad dream. Simply pass the bundle. It's what each normal, frugal parent ought to do. Disclose to me that you have never reused a blessing to another person; you'll win my cocked eyebrow.

Looking around in obscurity for arrangements, we at times hit on a victor of a thought. We acquainted ourselves with the minister of a nearby church and went along with him and a portion of his assemblage on Christmas Eve wrap up boxes of nourishment and presents from Santa for appropriation to low salary families. We brought the kids with the goal that they could see how and why our own commitment would help other people. I'm satisfied to state that the more seasoned one "got it" and there were a great deal of significant inquiries; for half a month in any case. In any case, presently when I need to converse with her about sharing, she helps me to remember the time she played Secret Santa with her extra toys and games. I can't contend with that.

Note to Self: Don't anticipate grown-up thinking from youngsters. This helps me to remember a birthday greeting my little girl got from the supervisor of our inn while we were in Bermuda for an all-inclusive timeframe. Her multi year old asked that she get gifts to a medical clinic kids' ward in lieu of presents. Goodness! She was delicate to the idea of noble cause, no uncertainty, since she is in a wheelchair herself. It didn't establish a lot of connection with our then 3 ½ year old, however I wonder on the off chance that we could convince her to do likewise for her birthday one month from now. I could presumably pull off it in the event that I applied enough weight, as she is a touchy and caring youngster, however the signal would truly be a result of my grown-up esteem framework, not hers. My almost "twofold digits" little girl is still guiltlessly starry-peered toward about the puzzle of what she will get from her closest companions this year. I should not be disturbing that.

[ecotone99]

[RO] [NSFW] Pray for Two

I was upset over a girl this Christmas and sought to drain some bitter emotion in a manner that didn't involve excessive drinking and masturbation. I appreciate comments, tips, and reviews

Pray for Two

It’s custom that on Christmas, before my parents and I sit around our ornamented table to eat, we attend mass at the local Roman Catholic Parish. We spent the daybreak in a shouting match about my refusal to emerge from my *dziura and leave with them to church.

Polish word for “hole”. The narrator's father uses it to describe his son's room.

By the time I finished masturbating, it was twelve; afternoon mass had just commenced. I contemplated blowing it off completely, but figured it was the least I could do for my father as he never ceases to remind me that nothing would bring him more joy than my company at Sunday night mass.

I dressed in a plaid red flannel, light gray slacks, a light gray peacoat, and a pair of brown suede dress shoes. If I wasn’t so pressed on time, I’d have swapped the flannel for something more elegant, for with the addition of my beard, I looked like a lumberjack in the early stages of converting to a gentleman. However, once I shaded my eyes with a pair of dark amber Wayfarers and gazed at my reflection in a tinted car window, I felt like a thin white Rick Ross (the rapper). And so I started toward the end of my block taking long lofty steps. At the end, down by where the community piled their garbage twice a week, a small pup was dragging his nose on the ground. The pup was preceded by a small, fair-skinned girl with dainty features. Two flat antlers protruded from her cherry-red hair. The dog whipped her around and I observed a small red sphere extending from her nose. As I approached, I recognized her to be the young Jewess who moved into my neighborhood about four years ago. Upon her arrival, she was only fifteen, and although her blossoming beauty radiated to a dangerous degree, I always managed to keep myself in check while in her presence. We hit it off pretty fast—she was quick-witted and bookish. It was easy with her, you’d introduce a topic, a recent event for example, even just a headline that you read, and she already had a thought-out opinion of the matter. And even if you played devil’s advocate, as I often did, she’d cement through with bold conviction. Back then, I rejected her chutzpah. At the time, the only thing I was confident about was being unsure of everything. That was until she convinced me that confidence, even in the face of uncertainty, is the only way forward. Once I was convinced, I became both jealous of and feverishly attracted to her.

She turned eighteen at the start of one summer and literally parted her legs before me the minute the clock struck eleven forty-three pm, the time recorded on her birth certificate. We had gone out for dinner at The Olive Garden that evening—our parents knew that she and I would talk for long stretches of time outside and didn’t think much of it. My parents liked her; they remarked that she was always cordial whenever running into her outside in the neighborhood. My mother would blush whenever she came up during dinner-table conversation, “I heard the neighbor girl got accepted into Princeton,” she said one evening. “Yeah, she did. . . but I think she’s choosing The Rhode Island School of Design,” I replied. My father looked up after forking up some pickled cabbage, “Perhaps she’ll convince you to go back to school,” he snickered under his breath with grim sarcasm. At the time I was in the midst of a brief hiatus, taking a year or so to master the art of Chinese food delivery.

I once asked her how her parents felt about me as a serious prospect, and she replied, “Have you ever baked a dreidel?” I said nothing in response, understanding the message, but she proceeded to pinch my cheek saying, “Aw, fuck ‘em, you’re my favorite little gentile.” With me at six-two and her at five-four, I towered over her.

At The Olive Garden the night of her eighteen birthday, she took a breadstick and began to wiggle it horizontally as if trying to perform the rubber pencil illusion. She then turned her head and pressed the tip of the breadstick against her rouge lips. She kissed it lightly and turned to me, smiling coyly. Then, without waiting for my initial reaction, she shoved the stick into her mouth and ferociously chomped down on it before chucking it back into the basket while crumbs were still raining down onto the table. Afterward, she fell into a wild hysteria, laughing like a hyena, gripping her stomach with one hand and pointing at my frozen wide-eyed gaze with the other.

That night, I paid seventy dollars in exchange for three unbothered hours with her in a bedroom at a Days Inn down the street from the restaurant. She was ravenous from the get-go, and we nearly skinned each-other when removing clothes, but once bare, I slowed the tempo—her growing more feverish with every graze. It was tight when I inserted. I manipulated my stroking sequence taking feedback from her every micro expression. We commenced the Bang-Mitzvah with missionary and for at least five minutes she vocalized nothing but high-pitched mouse-like squeaks. Then she looked into my eyes, wrapped her hands around my neck, brought me down to a hair's width away from her face and said, “I’m glad it’s you. . . .”

As I approached her this Christmas morning, she smiled, the sun glinting off her face as if it were the surface of a lake.

“Hey, how you been? How’s school?” I said while bending down to pay my respects to her furry little brown blotched shih tzu.

“Oh, it’s fun. . . have my own space now. . . the freedom,” she replied, sneaking a wink in at that last part. This caught me off guard. Ever since I took her innocence, we hadn’t really been corresponding much. She left for school that summer, and Rhode Island was a ways away from Staten Island. And a week after that fateful night, I was let off from my food delivery position. The owner informed me that the restaurant's old driver was moving back into the area and that she had promised him a position if ever was the case. But after about a week, a ‘Driver Wanted’ sign hung in the window, and I began to doubt her story. I think she actually caught on to me. At the end of every shift, I was supposed to report my tip earnings and fork over a percentage . . . I always skimmed some off the top though, reporting less than I actually received. She must’ve been aware of realistic averages from past, honest drivers. After that bombshell, my funds quickly exasperated and as at least one of our parents was always home, I simply couldn’t afford to have sex with her.

“Must be nice,” I replied, petting the gleeful pup. “I found decent work, but I don’t want to pay rent and share a kitchen with some rando.”

“What’s the job?” she asked while I rose from the ground, “And I get you.”

“I’m a. . . like a teachers assistant. . . I work at a school.”

“Aw, I’m so happy for you.”

I didn’t reply to that. Her pitiful tone indicated that she knew, or at least assumed, that I was going through a rough patch. Instead, I switched the topic.

“So. . . what’s up with the Rudolph theme? And that’s a wig right?”

“Ah, yes. . . . See, I’m a rebel Jew—you should come in and see my house, I’ve dressed this collapsible Christmas tree that I keep tucked away in the attic, and ABC Family’s ‘25 Days of Christmas’ is blaring in the living room.”

“Your parents are cool with it?”

“Oh, hell to the naw—but every Christmas my dad spends all day at his office and my mom’s in the city consulting with a doctor.”

I put on a thoughtful expression and became quiet.

“Yup, this is just the way I am,” she continued, “but come over! Let me show you all the cute little ornaments I put up for the day.”

“I’m actually running late for mass,” I replied.

“Well, if you’re already going to be late, it doesn’t matter how late.”

“Bulletproof logic. . . . I guess I can step inside for a second. I’m interested in seeing how rogue you’ve actually gone.”

After the dog hosed down the fire hydrant, I followed her inside. All the while I thought of our first and only fuck, and how, if I had the money and she wasn’t in Rhode Island, I’d get my own place just be alone and comfortable with her.

Inside was an assortment of Christmas things, mostly little knick-knacks sort of strewn about. There was a nativity scene on the sill under the kitchen window and I wondered if the depiction of Jesus’ birth was the same by Jewish doctrine. Ironically, the Christmas tree was topped with a Star of David. I couldn’t discern if this was done out of mockery or a whole-hearted display of cultural amalgamation.

“So. . . what do you think?” she said as I was gazing at the star atop the tree.

“This mesh of cultures is causing my eyes to well up. . . it’s. . .” I drew in air through my nose and skimmed my finger across a lower eyelid, “it’s. . . beautiful.”

“Oh, you’re full of shit. . . but thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.”

Albeit her saying that I was “full of shit,” a soft rouge blossomed in the centers of her pale cheeks; I stepped towards her and softly clasped my hands around them. Her lips parted slightly, revealing the blinding whiteness of her front teeth. Frosty blue rings around her tiny pupils gleamed against the cold, winter sun streaming in through the windows. I inched my head forward as if it were precious cargo being moved by a crane. As our lips met, I dropped to the couch beside the tree. My body buzzed warmly as if I had just taken a swig of old scotch. I kept my eyes closed, straining in an effort to send her telepathic messages. I yearned for pressure, I’d have settled for a slab of stone over me. And then she went, toppling onto me as if caught by a fainting spell.

Much like the first time, we stripped each other frantically, but when going through the motions, I realized she had gained much experience. While on top, she rode me in various styles as if it were second nature. Before, I was the sole director, now it was a mutual effort—push and pull. This left me conflicted; from one side I was a bit saddened at the thought of some gung ho college boy, or plural, taking temporary reign over her body; and from the other—her promiscuousness, dressing up in racy little clothing just to attend some haphazard frat party, being the object of unshakable desire, willing and ready for the taking, made her all the more alluring! It was enough to drive me mad with desire. I was aroused as I had ever been. Her flesh was as pure as it was the summer before she left for school, and now it was supplemented by experience. I was so lost in my burning desire and her plush interior that I couldn’t fathom a reality that was devoid of it. Clinging onto what seemed like fantasy, I asked her:

“Are you on birth control?” My breath was heavy, my thirst for air insatiable.

“Yes. . . kind of,” her voice faltered; her breathing matched mine. “Kind of?”

“Just cum in me!” she howled, gripping the back of my neck, bringing my lips to hers as I came down. No further questions, her resolve was what would finally drive me to orgasm. I have only once ever came inside someone before, and severe paranoia had followed me like a rain cloud for weeks afterwards despite the girl’s assurance that her ex always finished inside without consequence.

My muscles numbed as bliss spread from the tip of my penis through the rest of my body. My back hunched as I slowly pulled out. My thighs gave out and I collapsed on the carpeted floor, sprawling in ecstasy.

I spent a long moment simply lying there, catching my breath and recovering my senses.

“What did you mean by ‘Kind of’?” I asked, now having recovered the rationale one often loses during sex.

“I meant. . . it doesn’t matter if I’m on birth control or not.” “Doesn’t matter?”

“No. . . it doesn’t. . . it doesn’t because I’ve been diagnosed with cancer.”

“What?. . . When?”

She didn’t reply.

I raised myself till my neck was level with the couch. Her head was turned to the side, tilted up at the Star of David.

“Were you aware before the first time I was with you?” I questioned.

Again, no answer.

“Say something!”

“Look,” she said turning her head towards me, her eyelids like buckets of water preparing to overflow, “I did know and—”

“In the event of,” I rudely interrupted, “would you keep it?” “Birth wouldn’t outlast the cancer.”

“So. . . no?”

“I’d prefer to leave this life with a piece of you within me!”

“That’s murder!”

“And abortion is not?”

I fell silent and wished desperately for the ability to rewind the day, deeply regretting not remaining in bed.

“And this fantasy of yours is supposed to justify murder?” I continued after a tense silence.

“Who are you to speak for what goes on in my body? The fate of whoever is developing within me is no ones but my own.”

I fell silent and fell against the carpet. I looked up at the star atop the tree then shifted my gaze to the digital time on the cable box below the TV. Mass would end in ten minutes; if I sprinted, I’d be able to make it in time for a single prayer. . . and I’d pray for two.

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[marcus-and-carter]

Her Death

Here it is. The nightmares that haunt me. Sorry if it’s a tad incoherent, I wrote this across several times of day, ending just now. Also it’s kinda an emotional subject for me? It’s probably too dark a thing to be reading first thing in the morning, but this is more the end of the night for me. Anyway. Yeah.

I’m putting a warning again here for blood and realistic and graphic descriptions of blood, death, and decay. Please, if you’re easily squeamish, you might not wanna read this. This is all real.

I’m going to get straight to the point. My mom did not die a natural death. She built up her own death without even realizing it. Without any of us realizing it. I caught glimpses of her paranoia but I didn’t quite catch how deeply it ran. How deeply it drove her.

Let me preface this all by telling you that my mom was not okay, even before her death. It started about three years ago. I was eighteen, the summer after high school. Or was it a little before? Sometimes I think back, and I think I can catch glimpses of her downward spiral in the cage of rules she built for me in her parental protectiveness. Anyway, about three years ago, between the second and third day of Anime Expo, my mom wakes me up in the middle of the night (a few days after moving to a new apartment, we hadn’t even moved most of the furniture in) and tells me that we have to go sleep in the car. I ask why. Why did I have to leave the comfy air mattress? And she tells me, ‘I think the people upstairs are irradiating me.’ Not irritating, irradiating. She thought the people upstairs had a machine, sending radiation through the ceiling above us, trying to kill her. It’s the middle of the night, I’m confused and grumpy, I want to sleep. But instead I ask her why she thinks that. And she says her skin feels hot, that her arms look like they’re red and been burned. I can’t tell too well in the dark, but she looked the same as she ever was to me (I realized later that she was around the age to begin menopause, which could explain why she felt hot). But she insists, and we go down to the Jeep. So we try to sleep in the Jeep, but I can’t get comfortable, and besides, this news is too disturbing to me. And I ask, I beg that we go back upstairs.

She finally concedes and we go back, but she says we can’t sleep in the bedroom. She takes one of the couches, and she doesn’t want me in the house, just in case. So she sets up a sleeping bag on the patio. And the reality of what’s happening is starting to sink in. My mom’s gone insane. People tell me not to use that word, they say it’s insensitive, but what else was it supposed to look like to me at the time? I cry on the balcony because I know my world is changed from that moment on, because I’m losing my mom. I try to muffle it, I don’t want to scare her, but she hears through the flimsy screen door. And she tries to comfort me. We get up again and pack our bags and drive out of the city and across the hills to get to a hotel. She used to work for the Marriott, so she chooses one of their inns, close to where my grandma lives, and we have a bed for the night. I don’t remember where our dog was. I think in a pet hotel for the move.

The next day we’re driving, I don’t remember what for or where to, but she thinks we’re being tailed. Tailed! This was becoming all too much for me as we circle blocks and take turns down streets that lead us nowhere we needed to go, all so we could lose our imaginary tail.

We spend the night in the hotel again.

And the next day, I’m dropped off at my grandma’s. My mom thinks this is too dangerous for me. If I remember correctly, my dad was away on a business trip, and I was to go live with him when he returned until this disaster with my mom had calmed down. My grandma is one of my favorite family members, one of the closest to me. I remember crying almost every night of the two weeks I was with her. I thought that this was the death of my mother, she was no longer the person she used to be, and with her death I lost my home. I told my grandma that I felt I was homeless now, I had nothing to support me, no job, no car, no house. My dad couldn’t take care of me with his fluctuating income, his drops in jobs. Besides, that wasn’t my home. My grandma tries to tell me that I will always have family that will care for me, that I’ll always have a home. To this day, I still don’t believe her.

Also during this time, I try to get my boyfriend to come visit me, to comfort me and distract me. He refuses. It’s too far, he says. And I’m doubly heart broken to be turned away by two people I care about at once, with another too far to offer me comfort or direction. All I have is my grandma and my best friend, though I’m stuck communicating with her through skype. And suddenly Michael is there. I talk with him through skype for a few days, this person I barely knew. But we were skype friends somehow. And my dad returns, and Mike offers me a ride across the hills to my new home. And I accept. I want to see this person that inexplicably cares for me, and I don’t have much to carry anyways, a duffle bag and some goodies from Anime Expo that I’d collected in the two days I was there. And he’s an over joyous puppy when I see him, a little affronting to my quiet despair. But he’s so nice, and it’s not pity, it’s genuine joy to see me. I can’t turn that away. So I keep him around, he lifts my mood, but not too close because I still don’t know him. He’s a nice stranger in my mind, who used to be obsessed with me in high school.

I break up with my boyfriend a few days after.

And less than two weeks after, I’m kicked out of my dad’s house for a night over a fight. I wander the streets, shoeless and in my pajamas with only my clothes and no intent of returning. But a passing stranger hands me a rose and some kind words, and I’m turning back, reluctantly wandering the edges of my neighborhood until my dad finds me to apologize. It’s funny how the world works.

But this post isn’t about that.

Later, I found out that my mom had driven upstate to my abusive, alcoholic uncle’s to stay for a few months. When I called, he was treating her condition like it was some kind of cold, like it would fade with some bed rest instead of medicine. And when she returned, it was obvious that she had recovered somewhat, but she wasn’t better. She had pills from the doctor for anxiety, but I had a feeling she hadn’t told him the full extent of what was going on. And when I got a call in the middle of the following summer to help her move out, I was shocked again with the state she was in. I wasn’t called to move furniture or boxes. I was moving floor tiles and metal sheets, stacked on layers upon layers of store-bought tinfoil, packed so heavily that each strip must have weighed 40 pounds and taken several rolls. My mother must’ve spent hundreds or thousands on tinfoil to cover a whole floor. And later in the year, when I was asked if I could dog sit while she was away on vacation, I wasn’t shocked but saddened when I saw that her behavior had continued. I was told not to go into her bedroom, but I’m a curious person and I couldn’t help but look. Her room was in the middle of having tinfoil and reflective blankets strung up on the ceiling and walls.

But my mom, the astounding person that she was, never let any of her paranoia show: to her friends, family, or even coworkers. Whenever I saw her, she was the confident woman I remembered from my childhood. I never saw her much after I went to live with my dad, but she actually seemed to be getting happier, living life more fully. I joined her working for the Marriott and I saw that maybe her relationships hadn’t improved but her personal life outside her home seemed to flourish.

At first I didn’t even remember why I called out sick to hang out with Mike the day I found out my mom had died, but it recently came back to me. I had called out because it was his birthday and he asked me to spend the day with him. I did because we were together now, had been for half a year. On our way back towards my home, I had a call from work. My mom hadn’t been to work for two days without calling out. And that was strange. My mom was very responsible when it came to work. She would never take sick days, and if she did she would call out for them. My instincts are immediately screaming at me, What if something happened? What if she’s hurt? What if she’s dead? I shake it off and ask Mike to drive to her apartment, texting my dad at the same time because I had a feeling I’d need back up and I’ve seen him kick down a door before, useful if my mom was hurt and needed help.

We head to her apartment and sneak into the complex through a back gate, and I knock several times on her door to no response. I try to tell my dad to kick down the door, but he suggests we talk to the leasing office first. So we wander down to the leasing office and ask for a key, though I know my mom has already changed the lock on the door. And they say that they can call the cops to perform a “wellness check”. And my dad tries to argue, tries to insist that we just get the keys. But the receptionist refuses and says this is the only way they can do it.

By this point Mike and my dad are trying to convince me that maybe my mom had just taken a vacation and hadn't told anyone. Maybe she had another of her episodes and went away. But I know. Somewhere in me I know that everything is not okay. And my friend tries to distract me from my mounting worry through skype and role playing. But I'm too distracted, waiting for the squad car to pull into the front.

It takes over an hour. The car arrives and the officers step out and it's all procedure. “What is your mom's name, are there any hazards in the house that we should know of, this is what we're going to do.” And then they're off to the unit, telling us to wait in the lobby, they'll be back soon. We sit and we sit and we sit. An hour, two hours. We wander out front and look for another way back into the complex without the desk attendant catching us. Someone walks out a side gate and we sneak back towards the unit.

The cops are outside the door, arresting a man. And my worst fears rush back. She’s been robbed, she’s dead. And the officers spot us and come up to my dad and I. “There’s no easy way to put this. Your mother is deceased.”

And I’m not sure if I was in shock or if it just didn’t register. And the officer is talking to my dad for a minute or two, but I don’t remember. They don’t know if it was an accident or suicide or foul play. All I remember is that I asked about the dog, my dog now. And they had the dog in custody, and they’d come back with more details and I’d get the dog later.

So I skype my friend: My mom is dead. She comes over within the hour. And we all sit and wait for more news. We wander back toward the cops and ask again. And the details were given to us.

She hadn’t been robbed or murdered.

My mom had been crushed beneath her bed.

She had raised the frame off the floor, and instead of piling a mattress on top, she’d piled bricks and tiles and x-ray vests. High enough to substitute for a mattress and a box spring. And she’d been sleeping under her raised bed. Something must have moved one of the legs, they said, and it came crashing down on her. She’d been in there for some time, decaying and decomposing. They guessed about 5 days. They think that she’d died instantly, or at least hadn’t been conscious while she’d bled out. They said that none of the neighbors had heard her crying out, so it had to have been one of those.

I remember they told my dad to lead me away, so I couldn’t see them carry out the body.

I don’t remember the in between. I remember that I called her work, my work, to tell them that she’d died. I asked for time off. They agreed, which just threw me off kilter, why would they agree? I started crying halfway through.

Then I called my aunt, my mom’s best friend since school. I got a voicemail. And I called my uncle, my mom’s brother. Also a voicemail. And despite the fact I was crying, it still hadn’t sunken in. I didn’t know why I was crying. I just knew that I was.

And then I got the dog, the officers told me they fed her a little lunch meat from the fridge because she hadn’t eaten in awhile. And I’ve heard the stories of pets that have been locked in with their owners’ bodies. I was afraid. I was afraid this dog had eaten some of my mom. But I walked her because I was responsible for this creature, and when she puked up what looked like half digested skin, I was stuck somewhere between being sick myself and pure hatred. But I tried to love her, because she was just a dog trying to survive. And then I realized later that she’d just been fed lunch meat, that she’d thrown up lunch meat, and I started crying again in relief. And my friend and I sat out front with the dog in front of the complex out on their yard, just waiting for the day to end.

The officers came over and asked me to do a quick walkthrough so I could take any valuables that I might find before the apartment would be locked up for the night.

I know what a rotting body smells like. The whole apartment smelled of it.

My dad joins me as I walk through the kitchen, and the living room, and the bathroom across from the open bedroom. And I pick up jewelry and valuables. And I stepped in the bedroom to make a quick check, feeling like a thief, like I had murdered my mother and was now looting through her apartment. The cops point out that they’d covered the spots where the blood had soaked into the carpet with blankets so I wouldn’t see it. There were bricks shoved away from the cracked bedframe to lean against the wall.

I leave with valuables tucked in my arms, and my father’s arms. One officers pulls me aside and informs me that my mother had a gun. I knew already, she’d been taking shooting lessons. They say that I’d have to file with the court if I want it myself. We lock up the apartment. My dad and I pile things into Mike’s car and drive to his apartment and unload the valuables.

I realize that I was actually supposed to take a vacation the following week to New Orleans with Mike. Plane tickets and hotel already booked. My dad thinks it’d be good for me to go. So I spend the next few days cleaning out the apartment, packing away her things. We start in the living room, then bathroom, then finally we move to the bedroom, organizing and stacking bricks and carefully avoiding the blankets hiding blood. My dad comes by and tries to convince me to leave it all. Let the apartment management deal with it. We fight. I settle things quickly. I decide later to pull the blankets away. There’s a dried puddle, looking more black than red. It’s soaked into a pillow, and splattered across a flashlight and portable dvd player and her inhaler. And I’m crying again.

We clean what we can, toss the bloodied things in trash bags or wipe them off, and then my dad and I are fighting again as we stand over my mom’s spilled blood. I kick him out of the apartment. I want no help of his cleaning up. He spends the next few days talking disrespectfully of her and I’m angry at him. So angry. I spend the nights, and eventually months at Mike’s house with his family. They help me clean the apartment before our trip. We pack all her stuff away, and then Mike and I clean her room, tear the blankets and tinfoil off the walls. We gather the foil and head to a recycling center to trade it in, because it felt right to me. 620 pounds of tinfoil is exchanged to us for $6.20.

The movers had taken everything out of the apartment, and I was given a chance to say goodbye. And I stood in an empty room talking to the blood stain she’d left and the flashlight I had left on because I didn’t want to leave her in the dark when I left. And as I was saying my goodbyes, starting to feel a touch of closure, I’m interrupted. Mike had walked in, stealing it all away and leaving me feeling violated. And I’m furious. I kick him out, and try to pick up where I’d left off, but it’s not the same, it’s wrong, oh so wrong, and I can’t get it back.

The apartment never stops smelling like decay.

I go home with Mike that night, and as he sleeps I’m awake with his mother and grandmother, talking and having a glass of my mom’s sickly sweet amaretto in remembrance. And I’m caught between devastated and not caring at all because it still isn’t real to me.

We go to New Orleans and the experience is dulled with my slight hatred for my partner and the grief that hangs over me from my mother’s death, and the entire week I’m there my uncle is pushing me to make funeral arrangements. And I hate him too.

When I return, the arrangements are still being made and I’m pushing for an open casket funeral, but my uncle and everyone else insists she get cremated because her body isn’t in such good shape. They dance around the details until I finally push hard enough that they give me the number of the mortician. I call.

There’s a young girl on the phone and I very timidly ask for a description of my mother's body. And the girl is reluctant to give me answers but I insist. She tells me my mother’s skin is black with and loose with rot. And that some of her bone structure has been broken. And she still smells like she’s decaying. That even if I wanted an open casket funeral before she was cremated, that the surgery and make-up would not be able to hide how terrible it its. And I hate my imagination, because I can picture it all so vividly. I still have waking nightmares sometimes.

After the cremation and the funeral, I carry her ashes out into the car.

I return a week or two later for the death certificates so I can close her accounts. And I’m distraught. The police had believed that she’d died on the 8th when the bed had fell on her, but here the paper says that she’d died the 13th, the day we found her. And that her death wasn’t from bleeding out or blunt trauma, but she’d died by suffocation. Suffocation. My mother had suffocated to death.

And I try not to believe it, I refuse to believe that my mom had suffocated to death over the course of 5 days, that’d if I’d been just one day earlier I might’ve saved her. Because that’s ridiculous, right?

I will always feel guilty for her death.