#there is nothing comparable to the unbridled joy i get when i find a new species and see “new journal entry”

[youredreamingofroo]

arthur: im just such a bad guy, a maniacal bastard.

his drawings:

[littlelioncub43]

Our sweet sweet inexperienced ralphie 💖 i just wanna make out with him no matter how clumsy and not perfect it might be

Ah! My baby! So unbelievably inexperienced but so unwaveringly eager

Ralph was thankful the balcony was empty as you sat on a bench together, lips locked in a secret dance that he has never experienced before. He was new to this, to everything pertaining to the physical joys of love, and you knew this. Ralph loves you, and you love Ralph. He couldn't fathom the idea of anyone else being his first kiss. His mouth was shut for the better part of 3 minutes before you pulled back with a light chuckle.

"Ralph, honey, you can open your mouth," you encourage gently and pet his cheek with the pad of your thumb, your faces inches apart. You didn't want to scare him off or make him any more self conscious than he already was.

"O-Ok," he mumbled between quick breaths, even with relatively innocent closed-lipped kisses he was wound up tighter than a spring.

"Relax, Ralphie, relax. Take some deep breaths for me, hm?" You coo and comb out his hair. You breathe deeply with him for a few moments until he seemed more composed. "There you go. Now, let's try it again."

Ralph whimpered softly at your sultry tone and eagerly leaned in to capture your lips once more. His desire oozed off of him, it nearly overwhelmed you just how much he wants you but it was too enticing to ignore. This time around his lips are more confident, they move with yours after he found the rhythm. It was nice.

But nothing compared to the sound he made when your tongue licked at his bottom lip.

It was a choked gasp, the air getting caught in his throat the moment he felt your soft tongue tease his mouth. The gasp left his lips parted, just enough room for your tongue to dip into his mouth. The taste and feel of your tongue touching his for the first time is something you'd both remember for a long time.

"Mmmmm!" He moans, it's unbridled and wanton, no shame evident in the timbre of his voice. He's shocked, stunned, and flabbergasted. Your tongue wiggles and slides around his mouth in such a dizzying way that has his head swimming and his eyes rolling. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you deeper into him.

When you pull back for another breath, Ralph whines at the loss of your mouth and immediately chases you, stealing a few more wild, inexperienced kisses before you have to push him back softly, your foreheads touching.

"Oh my God," he sighs, his hands grasping the fabric of your dress as he grounds himself as best he can. "You-You're a Goddess, I'm sure of it," he speaks between heaving breaths, "oh, darling, you're perfect, absolutely perfect."

"You're so sweet to me, Ralphie," you bashfully whisper, playing with the ornate collar of his shirt and blazer. "Come, we must be getting back before your sister starts looking for us."

"Do we have to?" He whines, sounding like a child, it made you smile.

"Yes, unless you want Victoria to catch us like this," you tease. At the mention of his sister finding you both together in such an intimate position, Ralph resigned to your suggestion. You giggle at his sweet pouty lips, swollen from your kisses and slick with your spit. "We can resume this later in the evening."

Now, that sounds promising.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Can I request the hostage prompt with whirl,cygate and megatron with a human so

Ohoho I've been waiting to do this one... Hope everyone enjoys some silliness mixed with sweetness!

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Whirl

·You've always had a kind of strength Whirl recognized and admired, it's one of the reasons he fell for you in the first place, but even you aren't sure what exactly gives you the fuel to snap with enough force that it freezes your captor at their active communication station. Maybe you're just tired of being chained up, but their arrogant demeanor is more than likely what pushed you over the edge, specifically with that last taunt at Whirl that used "Cyclops" as the punchline for the millionth time. Swears are beautifully melded into an avalanche of fury that starts with you demanding this lazy idiot think of a better insult for your partner than something involving his looks, because "You think YOU'RE hot shit?! There's corpses in here with more charisma than you!"

·Fear doesn't even register as you keep on tearing apart your captor in every way you can. Nothing is off limits with all the taunting Whirl has been forced to endure on the other end of the communication line, and thus you bring out every below the belt insult you can think of. The bad bot's jaw is slack as you continue, looking to their dazed face and declaring "Not to mention you're dumb enough to go after MY mech, you think a loser like you is gonna stand a chance against WHIRL?! Just last week he tossed a combiner off a bridge because he called me "fleshy", what do you think he's gonna do to YOU?!"

· The communicator is still running when your kidnapper leaves it to try and intimidate you into silence, a move that makes you laugh in exasperated dismissal. "Oh, now you're gonna THREATEN me, really? Did I not make myself clear? You've pissed off the deadliest mech in the universe, and he's got the entirety of the Lost Light helping him search, your next few hours would be a lot better spent deciding how you want what's gonna be left of you interred!" Though you're not even knee height compared to your captor, he actually seems to flinch at your words, especially with you raging so close to his gobsmacked face. The rush of finally shutting him up spurs you to continue your roasting with increasingly petty and crude comments on your partner's significantly superior looks.

·In a stroke of fantastic fortune or misfortune depending on your perspective, a tactical explosion tears into the underground base just as you start to elaborate on Whirl's many other impressive skills. Bots rain in to overwhelm your kidnapper and his automated defenses in a coordinated ambush, one quickly ruined when your absolutely giddy paramour rushes forth without a care to take out the captor in a flying jump kick with a howling battle cry. Rather than eviscerate his now vulnerable enemy, Whirl leaves the crumpled kidnapper where he lies, heedless to the battle still raging all around as his optic sparkles as he beholds you. Like a damsel being swept off their feet you're plucked from your chains and pulled into his careful claws.

·All but gushing with euphoria, he explains that your brilliant distraction tactic gave them the ability to trace your location, and that he heard every word of your spark warming defense on his behalf. You can hear the unhindered adoration in his voice, but you also get a chance to see it as he practically dances through the combat with you held in one arm. By the time your kidnapper is the only one left, he looks lovingly into your eyes and primes his gun with a tender whisper. "Want me to kill this glitch just for you, babe?" The other bots quickly interfere to insist on taking him in for a proper trial, something you're quite alright with as you explain all you really want is to get some rest. Whirl insists on carrying you all the way to bed, whispering sweet nothing's and more or less being the most affectionate anyone has ever seen him.

·Afterwards you're told what it was like on the other end of the communication line. He'd been inconsolable at your kidnapping, and it had taken multiple bots to prevent him from tearing apart the ship as the messages came in. But the moment you'd started shouting? He'd been initially frozen like the rest of them, but had eventually leaned in beside the communicator to listen, his optic getting mistier at every passing curse word yelled on his behalf. Some described his demeanor as that of a lovestruck teen listening to their crush sing a love ballad, though they emphasize his emotional reaction to hearing you was undoubtedly genuine, as it was probably the first time he'd ever been defended so passionately by anyone. The endless doting on you he engages in afterwards leaves you little doubt this is true.

Cygate

·Having two loving partners has always been a blessing, which is probably why you're so easily driven to a blind rage in the face of your captor's endless attempts to mock both of them through the brief communications he sends to the crew, which are also made more unbearable by his ever increasing list of demands for your return. At his latest taunting of their "freakish" romance, you hit your boiling point. The communicator is still running when you lay into the callous bot for having the audacity to insult anyone's choices when he's set himself up in a literal evil lair. "There's body parts just thrown around like confetti in here, and you LIVE like this?! Do you think you get to decide who's weird in this scenario?! At least those two were decent enough to have each other as roommates, you couldn't convince anything living to shack up with your creepy ass!"

·At the total silence you somehow find the fury to keep going, but harder and faster this time, your self restraint little more than a memory as you dangle from the chains keeping you still. "Is it a jealousy thing?! Are you just that peeved off you're single? That you had to steal me to cut them down from three to two? Bad news dumbass; they're STILL beating you on the dating front!" It's not helping your situation, but tearing in to the jerk who's dragged you into a cave and spent so long bullying your partners feels too good for you to stop, especially with the stupid look of indignation and confusion twisting his expression. Not to mention he gives you plenty to rip into even as he tries in vain to make you shut up.

·"You think you scare me?! Do you even know who I'm dating?! Do you think they'll let you get away with this stunt?! One of them can destroy your stupid face with one punch, the other is Cyclonus, and you've gone and pissed them both off!" While it may be a little underwhelming to threaten the guy with what others will do to him, you're hardly in a mood to complain when his expression briefly gives way to one of horrified realization. Yet that hardly calms you down in any significant way. Did he drag you to some nowhere planet and chain you to a wall without even bothering to consider the consequences?! Your back is killing you and the bots have been enduring his incoherent demands for hours, and perhaps you could forgive that if not for all his haughty taunting, which drives you to once again begin raging.

·"Did you even have a plan?! Do you actually have any idea what you're up against, or did you just think you'd swipe a human and earn an easy paycheck? Because if you had even an inkling of what my mechs are capable of, you'd be headed for the nearest space bridge and warping as FAR away from here as physics allow!" While it's a new level of ridiculous, even for your crazy life, the absurdities of the nonexistent plan simply make you see red. It's one thing to be kidnapped by someone who at least has goals, but to be chained up in a cave by some idiot who doesn't have any plans beyond profit and bragging? That'd be enough to tick you off in itself, but the additional insults he's levied at your partners bring your tirade into molten levels of anger that seem absolutely bottomless.

·You're practically red in the eyes when the whole place quakes, and by the time you realize your captor is booking it he's already made it to the door, though his escape ends there when it opens to reveal the bots you've been wanting to see more than anything. A single strike from Cyclonus sends the kidnapper clear across the room, and he's followed by a battle ready Tailgate roaring out his fury as the security systems come on. The chaos of automatic turrets does nothing to distract you from the little blue bot pummeling your captor, and it only makes the arrival of a familiar purple mech that much more heroic as he snaps your chains and pulls you into his arms. The battle is little more than a formality before the barely conscious villain is cuffed and prepared for transport to trial, something your two partners are only willing to allow under the threat of personally hunting him down if he tries to escape justice. Before even leaving the cave you're smushed in the middle of a passionate hug.

·Tailgate alternates between ecstatic buzzing and relieved weeping at your rescue, while Cyclonus never loses a soft smile but keeps finding opportunities to hold and touch you as if he needs to be reassured you're here. It's heartwarming, but according to the rest of the crew it all started at your unplanned radio takeover. No bot had been prepared to hear their favorite human erupt in such unbridled rage, but those two had been shocked in the most wonderful meaning of the word, their expressions reflecting awe like no other until the ship had actually arrived at your location. Cyclonus had actually gone slack jawed while Tailgate had threatened to faint in his arms, but joy had painted their reactions more and more as time had gone on. The tiny powerhouse and the colossal mech out of time were still effusive in their praise every time you three were together, neither having ever known someone could truly love the two of them so completely.

Megatron

·Knowing that Megatron has a sizable target on his back and a lot to be criticized for doesn't make enduring your captor any easier, which is probably why you end up reaching a boiling point after a few hours of listening to the bot who's tied you up try to claim some kind of moral high ground. A tiny human being protective of a titanic gladiator may be illogical, but you can't seem to care when you finally hit your limit, the chains keeping you in place rattling from your sheer force of rage. Because seriously, so long as we're criticizing people for immoral actions, can you cut in about the time some raging jerk tied you up just to taunt another bot and get some cash on the side? Your simple but glaring barb immediately gets the attention of the much larger alien as they stare at you in shock.

·At his bafflement you become entirely unhinged. "Really? What, do you need me to spell out the irony of all this?! You're calling MY MECH a monster, but I don't see him running many evil lairs at the moment, do you?! Kind of rich, you claiming the high ground while I'm literally CHAINED TO THE WALL and our only present company is CORPSES, don't you think?!" The various and still unexplained dead bodies dotting the cave remain as the only audience you know of while the communicator is abandoned, your captor leaving it behind so he can approach and try to growl out some kind of intimidation. It has no effect beyond making you more furious than ever before. Had the chains not been holding you down, you'd have certainly tried to swing at his stupid face while you snapped.

·"Are you trying to scare me? You, a two bit kidnapper who holed himself up in a cave, and I'm supposed to be impressed?! I'm DATING Megatron! One look at a bot that terrifies the galaxy and I decided I wanted a piece of him!" You're almost proud as you declare your undying love for your gigantic partner, something that has earned you a lot of grief from others but has made you happier than you've ever been in your entire life. While you ordinarily don't attempt to argue on his behalf, per his request, it's impossible not to just grill a jerk who thinks he has the high ground to criticize literally anyone. Plus your open and passionate fondness for the former warlord seems to be scaring your captor more than the mech himself ever could, something that brings a devilish twinkle to your eye as you continue to threateningly gush over the bot you adore, if only to pay this jerk back for all the gloating he made said mech endure.

·You're absolutely effusive as you passionately and quite aggressively go on about what a gentlemech you're dating, with ample divertions to the many ways his incredible strength and size are used for much more protective and noble purposes, like holding you close or crushing bad guys. It isn't long before you're spinning a terrifying yarn about the time you were caught in a firefight and he tore a hunk of the wall clean off to shield you from the danger before proceeding to beat the attacking forces with the corpse of their leader. The kidnapper is actually backing away slowly, which turns to backing away quickly as you begin to describe Megatron's romantic poetry skills and how some of his greatest talents lie not on the battlefield but in the bedroom, by which point he's preparing his security systems to cover his escape.

·Perfect timing, from your perspective, makes the sudden explosion of every door a beautiful and inspiring sight. In what has to be the most well coordinated ambush of all time, your friends of the Lost Light storm the cave and annihilate the resistance so fast you only have to blink before a very restrained Megatron is cuffing your petrified kidnapper and tossing him to Magnus so he can be taken into custody. When he turns to you he's actually smiling, and there's a lot behind the expression. Relief, gratitude, exhaustion, and a million other emotions swarm in his optics as the chains keeping you bound crumble like dust in his grip, and you're lifted in his cupped hands like a priceless treasure. Though he's mostly quiet for some time after, you can hear how absolutely smitten he is with you every time he speaks, and the lovestruck look of pure affection never seems to leave his face, which you see often as he appears terrified to lose you.

·A couple of other bots feel compelled to tell you; he was on the warpath when he found you missing, and many had been taking bets on how little would be left of your kidnapper once the former Decepticon got his hands on him. Yet, as soon as he'd overheard you, something about his whole demeanor had changed in an instant. He hadn't just softened, he'd been visibly moved by the passion of your defense and the fire of your love for him. The very idea that he could be defended had been unthinkable in his mind. Yet you'd faced a much larger foe without fear because you'd been so angry on his behalf, what could he possibly have done to deserve such a thing? His gratitude is apparent every moment the two of you spend together, from his rather out of character cuddling to his impressive increase in poems written to describe his adoration of you. Though it isn't at all necessary, you do enjoy having been able to let him know how deeply you cherish him.

[janeykath318]

The Best Worst Day Of Your Life: Bucky x Reader

It was an incredibly awkward way to meet one's’s future spouse, but looking back on it later, you realized it would make an incredible tale to tell your future children. It started with you being dumped at the altar, because the man you were crazy in love with and had promised to marry changed his mind. 

You’d fled the church, unable to face your friends and family, and wandered until you found a bench, just inside the nearby cemetery. 

Throwing yourself down on it, you cried your eyes out. How could he do this to you? He’d told you many times he’d looked forward to being your husband. He’d been counting down the days with you and eagerly planning the future. You couldn’t figure out what had suddenly changed and how you hadn’t seen it coming. 

As the sobs turned to sniffles, you heard footsteps coming up beside you and someone cleared their throat.

“Ma’am? Are you alright?” a deep voice asked.

You blinked away the tears to see a tall brown haired man standing there, looking at you with concern. He wore a lot of leather and was a bit scruffy and you probably wouldn't have acknowledged him if you’d been thinking straight. However, You were too heartbroken to care about stranger danger. 

“No,” you said bluntly, wiping away more tears. So much for that mascara. 

“I just got dumped at the altar. The best day of my life just became the worst.”

The stranger winced. 

“Aw. That’s terrible,” he sympathized. “I’ll never understand why people wait until the last second if they can’t go through with it. A real Dick move.”

“Clearly, he didn’t have much of one,” you said bitterly. 

You noticed he had a bunch of flowers in his hands and you realized that your ugly sobbing had probably disturbed his graveside vigil. 

Very embarrassed, you buried your face in your hands. 

“And I’ve been making a spectacle of myself in this cemetery. I’m so sorry to bother you, Mister. I promise I’m not that inconsiderate normally.” 

“I wouldn’t say Crying is generally considered out of place in a cemetery,” the man observed. “And you aren’t bothering me. I was just paying my semi regular respects. My parents have been gone for years and I like to bring flowers for them.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” you said. 

There was something very familiar about his face, but you couldn’t think what it was. It was a very nice face, though. 

Picking yourself up, you dusted off your dress, hoping it wouldn’t be stained. Your attempt to walk forward, however, didn’t go well as your heels sank in the damp grass.

“Argh!” You groaned. “I did not think this through.”

Sitting back down, you removed your shoes. Better to get dirty feet than a dirty expensive dress. 

“Can you get back okay?” The stranger asked. 

“I think so,” you nodded. “You seem like a good guy. I hope your special someone appreciates you.”

Cute stranger cracked a very attractive grin. (His chin had an adorable dimple that you tried your hardest not to stare at.)

“I don’t have one, but thanks. I hope your ex realizes what an idiot he was.” 

“Thanks,” you said with a grateful smile, glancing back toward the church. Your stomach churned, but you couldn’t avoid it much longer. “I’d better get going before they send out a search party. Time to face this mess.” 

“So long. Hope your day gets better,” offered leather guy. 

With a wave, you started back toward the church, thinking it was a shame such a nice guy was still single, never dreaming you’d meet him again.

 Nearly three years later, after having sworn off romance in the wake of your own disaster, you were finally persuaded by an old college friend to go on a double date with her. It took a lot of pleading from Darcy, but when she said she was dating the new Captain America, you were more inclined to go through with it, if for nothing else than to meet the amazing Sam Wilson. 

“Ok, fine. But his friend better be worth this,” you told her. “I’m not breaking my drought for some average dudebro.”

Darcy grinned in delight. 

“There is nothing average about either of them. Trust me,” she said with a naughty grin.

Turned out Sam Wilson was a very charming guy and super cool when being introduced to you. You could see right away why he and Darcy were so good together and your misgivings were somewhat eased.

“So, please introduce me to your mysterious friend that no one will give me any clues about,” you said, looking pointedly at Darcy. 

Sam pulled his friend out of the corner where  he’d been lurking and pushed him toward you.

“Y/N, meet James Barnes, otherwise known as Bucky, otherwise known as a pain in the ass.”

You and Bucky looked at each other and then a shock of recognition had you exclaiming in unison, “Cemetery guy!!”  “Jilted Bride!” 

You stared at each other in disbelief, Sam and Darcy also wide-eyed, before the realization of who he was sank in.

“You’re Bucky Barnes?” You gasped out.

Bucky was looking very nervous now. 

“Is that going to be a problem?” He asked, in a wary way that suggested it HAD been a problem before.

“Nope. I’m just flabbergasted I didn’t recognize you before. There was something about you that made me instinctively trust you, even though you were a stranger. I could tell you were a good guy.” 

“Awww,” Darcy crooned as a crooked smile appeared on Bucky’s face. 

“Let’s get our table and you can fill us in on your mysterious meeting! I demand details!” And Darcy herded you into the restaurant with unbridled enthusiasm. 

When you and Bucky had finished your story, Sam and Darcy both went “awww!”

“So, you know about me, then?” Bucky asked quietly. 

You nodded and he gave a sigh of relief. 

“Well, I’ll take it as a good sign you’re still here.”

He looked hopeful and your heart was filled with emotions. This man was a hero who’d spent years brainwashed and forced to do horrible things, but he really was a very good man. 

“This is the first time I’ve gone on a date since he dumped me,” you admitted. “I haven’t really wanted to, unless the guy gave me the same vibes you did.” 

Bucky smiled at you very warmly. 

“Thanks for giving it a chance, Y/N. I haven’t had much luck dating either. I think I was subconsciously comparing them all to you.”

You felt entirely too giddy at this statement. 

“Their loss,” you said with a wink. “So, do I get to see your other hand, or is that a third date kind of thing?” You asked boldly, glancing at his left arm, which he’d kept mostly concealed in the leather jacket. 

Sam snorted and Darcy chuckled, but Bucky turned pink and almost sheepishly placed his metal left hand on the table. 

“Force of habit,” he said. “Freaks people out.”

“Not me. I think it’s gorgeous,” you told him, admiring the intricate design. “Wakanda?”

“Yep,” Bucky said, flexing it. “They’re geniuses. Fixed my brain and everything. No more worrying about being turned into the soldier again.”

“I’m very happy for you, Bucky,” you told him, feeling genuine joy for his good news. “I can’t imagine what a relief that must be.”

Sam and Darcy took charge of the conversation for a while and you and Bucky mostly stole glances at each other. Somehow, though, your hand ended up clasped in his metal one. 

“So, were you able to resell your dress then?” Bucky asked. “I’ve heard they can put quite a dent in one’s wallet these days.”

“Yeah, actually I was,” you told him. “A friend of mine bought it and wore it to her wedding, which had a much happier result. At least one good thing came out of that mess.” 

“Only one?” He asked, squeezing your hand gently.

“Well……..I guess we’re about to find out,” you told him, smiling shyly. 

A couple years later, you were wearing white again, but this time the groom showed up, looking unbelievably handsome and grinning ear to ear. 

[is-it-art-tho]

Summary: What happens when two of the most emotionally damaged members of the Batfam are tricked into spending quality time together?

OR

Damian and Jason have complicated histories when it comes to family and revenge, but a Father's Day card could help them start to work through it.

____

“You didn’t have to come,” Jason pointed out, trailing his fingers along the wall of greeting cards.

Damian scowled at a New Year’s card with a drawing of Superman on the front being pulled into the air by a balloon over the caption Up, up, and away to a new year! It was infuriatingly nonsensical. Why would the alien need a balloon if he could already fly?

“Pennyworth insisted. And I was under the impression that this was going to be some form of surveillance operation. It seems he didn’t find it necessary to disabuse me of that notion before we left.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the pleased slant to Pennyworth’s mouth as Damian had gotten in Todd’s car. The younger boy had assumed it was because Alfred would get to have the house to himself for the afternoon. Now he suspected a much more nefarious motive.

Jason chuckled. “Played by the old man, huh? Anyone who thinks Bruce is the master manipulator hasn’t met Alfred.”

“Tt. I wonder what I have done to upset him.”

“Hm?” Jason plucked a card from the wall and skimmed it. He chuckled at whatever it said.

“Pennyworth must be fairly irritated to have set this up. Obviously he knows how we feel about each other.”

At that Jason raised an eyebrow, putting the card back in its slot and grabbing another. “Oh yeah?”

“Of course he does.”

“And how do we feel about each other?” There was a subtle lilt in his voice; Damian could see the older boy fighting back a smile.

His jaw clenched. “Stop acting like a fool. You know the status of our relationship.”

“Thought by now you’d realize it’s not an act. I really am just an idiot.”

Damian scrunched his mouth together, but continued with forced calm. Meanwhile a woman pushed her cart past them slowly, clearly eavesdropping as she pretended to examine the envelop options.

“We are colleagues. That is all. Otherwise, we stay out of each other’s way.”

“Right,” Jason agreed as he flipped open yet another card. This one had Green Lantern grinning on the front and saying something that Damian couldn’t see around Jason’s fingers. “Why do you think that is?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘staying out of each other’s way’ thing. Why is it like that with us?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve got actual beef with Bruce, Dick-wing, and Replacement. Or at least, I did. You, on the other hand,” he glanced at Damian now. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Damian echoed incredulously, his voice grating under the strain of keeping it at least somewhat moderated. “Since the moment we met, you have made it abundantly clear that you want no part of me. Most of the time, you refuse to even look in my direction. You set the terms of this relationship, and I have accepted them. That, Todd, is my deal.”

Damian’s face felt hot, and it took more effort than it should have for him to slow his breathing. The nosy woman was openly staring at them now.

Jason blinked at him, his eyebrows arched in surprise, then looked back at the wall of cards. His expression reverted into something smooth and inscrutable, but his ears had gone red.

“Hm,” was all he said in response, exchanging the card in his hands for yet another.

Damian, on the other hand, felt as if his head might pop, and Jason’s lack of reaction was only making it worse. Now on top of being inexplicably angry, he was also embarrassed. Compared to Jason’s calm, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum in a store.

He was also embarrassed that Alfred had tricked him into coming here for a reason he apparently did not understand, and that Damian had also apparently misinterpreted something about the dynamic between him and Jason. All this time Damian had thought he’d understood the rules of engagement between them. Now it seemed as though he had been mistaken; that fact burned in his stomach like acid.

But Damian knew what he saw. He had not made up the aura of revulsion that had initially wafted off of Todd in waves whenever Damian had come around. He had not imagined the surreptitious glances of rage or disgust, the loaded silences between them. And he would not let Todd try to make him think that he had. As if all this time he’d been playing make-believe like some foolish child.

“What are you even doing?” Damian spit. For the first time, he noticed that Jason was looking at Father’s Day cards.

The older boy offered a delayed and distracted, “What?”

“What are you doing?” Damian repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

Jason looked at the card in his hands before looking back at Damian, the blush in his ears intensifying. There was an edge in his voice when he retorted, “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re browsing Father’s Day cards, which is odd seeing as how you don’t have one.”

Jason recoiled, and Damian relished the wild fury that flared in his eyes – the break in his vexing calm. The younger boy found himself bracing for a physical attack; the others would never be so reckless in public, but from what he’d seen of Todd, this boy was careless and unpredictable enough to launch into an all-out assault right here in the pharmacy.

But then the fury faded into something barely restrained, and he muttered,“You’re lucky you’re still just a brat and that I don’t pummel children.”

“I am not a child,” Damian snarled, trying not to cringe at how utterly childish that response sounded on his lips.

“You’re an infant. And I’m sick of looking at you. Go wait in the car.”

Although he wanted nothing more than to do just that, part of Damian despised the fact that it would now look like he was taking orders. He stood there, weighing his dignity against his overwhelming desire to be elsewhere, until he caught the flash of ire in Todd’s eyes again and decided that the consequences of his defiance would not be worth whatever satisfaction he might glean from it.

He stalked out of the pharmacy, ignoring an employee’s too-bubbly farewell as he slammed open the door and marched toward the old, definitely-stolen Jeep in the lot. It wasn’t until he yanked on the locked passenger door that he realized he’d forgotten to get the keys, and he threw his head back and screamed a curse that would have turned Alfred to stone.

There was no way he was going back inside now, so he found himself sitting on the curb, his arms crossed tightly around his knees as he glared at the asphalt.

A few minutes later, he heard the chime over the door, then the crunch and shuffle of boots on pavement followed by the sound of the car doors unlocking. He got in without a word and glowered straight ahead.

Beside him, Todd got in empty-handed and started the car, but they didn’t move right away. The following silence felt like a precursor to something, and Damian was glad he hadn’t yet put his seatbelt on. Adrenaline bubbling up in his chest, he slid his hand over to unlock his door, ready to make a quick exit.

At last, he chanced a glance in the older boy’s direction, expecting to find unbridled fury and perhaps even murderous intent. While Todd did still looked incensed, his unnaturally green eyes burning a hole in the windshield, he also looked oddly wounded and confused. The expression was enough to distract Damian from his escape plan, and he paused with his hand on the plastic nub of the lock.

Jason muttered something, and Damian asked, “What?”

“I said ‘I don’t hate you.’ I mean, I do – I did. But it was never personal.”

“That doesn’t make any–”

“Would you just shut up? I know, okay? I know it doesn’t make sense. Just let me–” Jason exhaled loudly, running his hand over his face as he tipped his head back into the seat.

When he spoke again, it was with his eyes closed and his hand still resting over his mouth. “I’m trying to communicate. Just work with me, all right?”

“Tt.” But Damian fell silent, allowing the older boy to continue.

Jason at last let his hand drop, his eyes slipping open so that he was staring at the stained and scuffed cream-colored ceiling. “When I first met Tim, it was like I’d been punched in the face. I don’t know how much you know about me and my… history, but even when I was Robin, Bruce and I never completely agreed on how we should handle things. We got along most of the time, but we argued a lot. He thought I was too aggressive, I thought he was too soft. He thought I was impulsive and reckless, I thought he had a stick up his ass.”

He paused. “Butt. Don’t tell Alfred I cursed in front of you. Anyways, we were just so different. The poor kid from Crime Alley and the billionaire CEO. It shouldn’t have worked, but when it did, it was great. And when it didn’t…”

Todd paused again, his gaze becoming distant and… pained, Damian thought. Not a sharp, lancing pain, but something dull, like an old bruise.

“Then I died and I came back and there’s this new kid– the new Robin. For some reason, I’d gotten it in my head that Bruce would just retire the role all together after me. As if he cared enough to do something like that.”

He smirked, but there wasn’t an ounce of joy in it; it was a sour twist of his mouth that reminded Damian of poison.

“So, there he was. Robin 3.0. And he was good. Like really good. I was a good Robin, Dick was a good Robin, but Replacement.” Todd shook his head in rueful appreciation. “The kid is a genius. He’s like a mini-Bruce. Even Dick was never like that. Apparently he even figured out the whole secret on his own when he was like fourteen or something?”

“Thirteen,” Damian corrected quietly. He, too, often found himself impressed by Drake’s mental acumen, even if he’d never admit it aloud. Damian was sharp, but he’d had to work for years to get like that; for Drake, it just came naturally. Watching him solve a puzzle was like watching a prodigy at their craft. There were connections that Drake could make that Damian knew he never could, no matter how many years of training he got under his belt.

“What are you getting at?” he asked, perhaps more sharply than he’d meant to.

“I’m saying, that when I first met Tim, I hated him. Like really, genuinely hated him. But it wasn’t him that I was pissed at. It was what he was. He was everything I never was and could never be.”

“Smart?” As soon as Damian said it, he regretted it. He could never figure out why he was like this, always throwing barbs even when he didn’t really want to. It was like a reflex, and he again braced for the equally reflexive response he expected from Todd.

Instead, the older boy barked a laugh. The sound was as genuine as it was sad.

“Yeah, that. But mostly, when I saw him I saw someone who was more like a son to Bruce than I ever was. And a way better Robin. They just fit together. Rich kid to rich kid. Like puzzle pieces. Then I met you. My worst effin’ nightmare.”

Damian bristled. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I hated Tim because he was like Bruce’s actual son. How do you think I felt about you?”

Any quick retort died in the younger boy’s throat. He swallowed and frowned at the glove compartment. “I fail to see how my biological relation to Father has anything to do with you.”

Jason sighed. “It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But I look at you and Tim and even Dick and all I can think is, ‘I bet Bruce would kill for them.’”

He chuckled wryly. “Jesus, it sounds even more effed up out loud.”

And again, he lapsed into a heavy silence, this one so cold and absolute that Damian hardly dared to breathe.

After some time, when it was beginning to feel as if Jason wouldn’t speak again, Damian cleared his throat and said, “Obviously, I was not there when you had your… incident.”

Jason scoffed, perhaps at Damian’s choice of words, and it rankled him, but Damian continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

“But I have heard stories from that time, and the time shortly after. From what I understand, your death was not insignificant. It nearly killed him.”

Jason seemed to be working hard to maintain his sardonic grin; he was failing. “Is that what they told you?”

“It’s what I’ve gleaned. And after living with Father for several years, I don’t doubt that it’s true.”

“Tell me something,” Jason said, his eyes searching Damian’s thoughtfully. Any trace of humor, false or otherwise, was gone from his expression. “If someone killed you tonight, what would Talia do?”

Damian stiffened but said nothing. He knew the answer and he knew that Todd knew as well. His mother would be enraged by his failure, for certain. She would talk grandly about how Damian was no longer her concern since he’d chosen to be with Father, but the same day she would unleash utter destruction upon everyone responsible. She would lay waste to them and their families and salt the earth at her feet. His killer would know the full wrath of the League of Shadows, and the last thing they would see would be the tip of his mother’s blade.

Damian knew this implicitly, but the knowledge did not inspire any feelings of love in him the way Jason apparently suspected. The younger boy did not feel flattered by this assurance. If anything, it made him sick.

“Father does not grieve in blood,” Damian said at last, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “He isn’t like us.” Damian didn’t know if us meant himself and the League of Shadows, or him and Jason. Perhaps both.

He’s better, is what he wanted to add, but instead Damian continued, “And vengeance is not always love.”

He thought again of his mother. The same woman who would wage a war on his behalf had also nearly killed him dozens of times herself. The fact that both of these things could be true at once still made his head spin.

Jason gazed out the windshield for a moment before offering a simple, “Hm.” It would have sounded dismissive, but Damian could see the consideration in his eyes.

Outside, the sun was tipping into late afternoon, and shadows were creeping longer and longer across the ground. Damian watched two birds dance together in the air. At first it looked like they were fighting, but then they landed side by side on a powerline, so close their wings were nearly touching.

His finger worried at the plastic lock as he built up his nerve.

“I don’t hate you either,” he offered, and he was grateful that his umber complexion a least somewhat camouflaged any flush that might be creeping into his face. Even staring out his window, he felt Jason’s eyes on him.

“You should.”

“I don’t.” He took a breath. “Where I come from, love is earned. Every day you must prove yourself worthy of it and every day is another opportunity to lose it. The slightest failure could cost you everything.”

He forced himself to continue quickly, outpacing the memories he felt rushing to meet him. “That is the mindset I arrived in Gotham with. My first few years with Father were marked by that conviction. It made sense to me. Dick and Tim are worthy combatants. I understood why Father would offer them his affection. But you… All I knew of you was that you had failed.”

At that, Damian’s head swiveled to look at Jason, realizing too late how his words must have sounded. The older boy was rigid, but he didn’t look angry.

“I didn’t mean–”

“I get it. It’s okay.”

“No,” Damian insisted sternly. “It is not. I was raised to believe that to die in battle was the ultimate failure. But that was wrong. Like much of what I learned back then.”

When Jason didn’t say anything, Damian continued, “I heard stories about how you were when you first returned. How you hurt Father and the others over and over again. I know about Father’s attempts to reach out to you and how you turned your back on him for years.”

Damian could feel the temperature around Jason dropping, as if the older boy was turning to ice at Damian’s side, but he continued, feeling now as if he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The words flowed out of him, unfiltered and unrelenting.

“Your grievances against him were so numerous and severe, it didn’t make sense to me that he would still love you. And yet he did.

“Meanwhile, I live in constant fear that I will inevitably prove them right. That I’m not worthy of…” Damian’s nail carved into the hard plastic of the car lock as the words hitched and stuck in his throat. He swallowed.

“Who?” Jason asked quietly.

“What?”

“Prove who right?”

My mother. My grandfather.

Everyone.

Me.

“That’s not the point,” Damian answered. “I resented you and your unearned love and and how absolutely oblivious you seemed to be to that blessing. Even now, it is clear to me that you fail to recognize how fortunate you are.”

A few years ago, Damian would not have been able to say this without lacing the words with venom. Now he was able to say them plainly, though something in the center of his chest still ached.

“You know it’s not like that with you, though, right?” Jason confirmed. “That whole earning and losing love thing– Bruce would never make you do that. You’re his son.”

“As are you.” Damian forced himself to look Jason dead in the eye then, and Jason held the gaze for a beat before looking away, his ears once again going red.

“You do not see the way Father looks at you,” he explained. “It is like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.”

Jason was speechless for a second before muttering, “Whatever you say, kid,” as he put his hands on the wheel and backed out of the parking spot. When they hit the road, the older boy switched on the radio, and Damian was grateful for the blanket of sound to quell any further discussion.

He sunk into the seat then, oddly exhausted, and turned around in time to watch as the two birds on the wire took off towards the clouds.

*********

“Just admit it. You killed him, didn’t you?” Tim asked, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair. “You finished the job.”

Damian’s eyes flicked up from his book to glare at the boy across the kitchen table. This particular joke had been going on for over two weeks, and while Tim’s attempts at humor were never amusing, this one was particularly grating since it also managed to twist Damian’s guts into guilty knots.

No one had seen or heard from Jason since he had returned Damian to the manor after their disastrous pharmacy outing, and now all the younger boy could think about was everything he had done wrong. He never should have been so transparent; he never should have been so cruel. In retrospect, he could concede at least that much.

Damian typically preferred to apologize with his actions rather than explicit words, and he’d thought that he had managed to convey that while he and Jason were in the car together, but perhaps the older boy had not seen it that way. Perhaps he’d been waiting for a formal apology, and now that so much time had elapse, they had finally fallen below even the status of colleagues – not quite enemies, but certainly no longer allies.

Damian straightened in his seat, setting his shoulders. If that was the case, then so be it. He was the last person who would ever weep over a burned bridge. The loss would be inconvenient – Todd had proven himself a useful aid in the field at times – but it was not as if they had ever been particularly close or worked together often. If Todd wanted to move on, then Damian would do the same.

He returned his attention to his book, but after a few seconds of rereading the same sentence over and over, he slapped it on the table with a frustrated sigh and took a sip of his lukewarm tea.

There was distant knock at the front door followed by some muffled conversation between Alfred and whoever the other person was. A moment later, Damian shouted as a plastic bag rocketed into the side of his head and fell to the floor. He whirled toward the source, but all of his rage evaporated into blank shock when he saw Todd leaning in the doorway, a fading bruise on his cheek and a butterfly bandage over his eye.

“You like those, right?” he asked.

Damian blinked down at the bag on the floor. Reese’s cups.

He nodded.

“Good. You and I are patrolling together tonight, got it?” Jason’s tone was decisive, leaving little room for disagreement. Two weeks ago Damian would have bristled at it, but for once, he felt he was reading the older boy correctly, and for all Jason’s gruffness, Damian was certain that this was not an order, but a request.

He nodded again, and Todd’s mouth twitched at the side.

“Wait, you disappear for two weeks and come back with free candy?” Tim exclaimed. “Where’s mine?”

“Get your own, Replacement,” Jason shot back, disappearing back through the door and shouting, “Bruce! C’mon, I wanna kick your ass in pool. Sorry, Alfred…”

Damian ignored Tim’s dumbfounded stare as he bent to pick the candy up off the tile. His chest suddenly felt warm and buoyant, and he lingered out of sight below the table for a second longer than necessary as his lips curled into a tiny smile.

[trash-muse]

Ask Meme: The Greatest Fear

WHO: Adam Constantine and Asmodel @dark-musngs WHAT: Ask Meme - 😈  Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse WHERE: The playground near John’s apartment WHEN: Az gets a minor heart attack from the tiny human. WARNINGS: None

There were very few creatures in the universe that could scare the angel, Asmodel. He had faced monsters and demons and even dared to oppose the Heavenly hierarchy itself. War, battles, pain, even death.

Asmodel feared none of it.

All the armies of Heaven and Hell combined were nothing compared to the small child currently holding his hand and walking by his side, innocently humming a tune he heard somewhere. And it wasn’t the child’s parentage that scared him - although it probably should have been a factor. Nor was it the kid’s raw power - which also should have been a factor but that did not rattle Az in the slightest.

The thing that scared Asmodel the most was the amount of unbridled love, care and trust the boy placed in him. He felt somewhat unworthy. But there was no way Az would ever give it up.

Well... there was was also the fact Adam Constantine was a cheeky rascal just like his father. And given how much Az knew of John’s history, that was a scary thought.

“Azzie,” Adam’s small inquiring voice drew Asmodel’s attention toward him. “I’m going to go play on the slide now.” And with that, Adam slipped his small hand from Az’s grip and trotted off toward the slide in the playground.

Az moved to a nearby bench seat so he could keep an eye on the kid. The squeals of laughter and joy coming from Adam and the other children in the playground bringing a smile to the angel’s face.

“Which one is yours?” A sudden voice to his left dragged his attention away from the park. It was one of the mothers he had seen at the park from time to time.

“Ah... the blonde.” Asmodel replied with a smile, nodding toward where Adam climbed the ladder to go down the slide again.

“Oh! Gets his looks from his mother, I take it?” the woman asked further, trying to continue the conversation yet clearly trying to do a bit of digging. Az knew he was good looking - he did, after all, choose his vessels - so it wasn’t odd that he gained attention. Of late he had been finding a new market that seemed to take an interest - single mothers.

In the past, Asmodel would have lapped up the attention and used it to his advantage. But despite how gorgeous the woman before him was, Az found he wasn’t interested. It was an odd feeling. But he had everything he wanted waiting for him back home in a dirty old trench coat.

“Actually, his father.” Az responded with a cheery smile. The woman backpedaled, realising what Asmodel’s response implied and tried to awkwardly take back her obvious flirting. Asmodel waved it off as nothing, turning his attention back to the park.

Suddenly, a cold dread flooded through him as Adam was no longer anywhere in sight. His eyes scanned the playground, looking for the young boy, each moment passing causing the panic to build. Az cursed inwardly at himself as he got up from the bench, chastising himself for taking his eyes off Adam for a second. It was a rookie mistake. Especially as there were still enemies out there looking for ways to hurt him and the family he had found.

“Adam?” Az called out, his voice oddly calm as he walked passed several other children, looking behind the slide and into other parts of the playground. “Hey kid! Where are you? Time to go.”

Beyond the park lay a garden of bushes, blocking the playground from view of the neighboring apartment block. Asmodel made his way closer, still looking for a sign of his small human charge. “Adam? You there?”

Just as he moved closer to the bushes to investigate, Adam jumped out with a loud cry of “Raaa!”

Asmodel near fell over in shock and surprise, shaking off the earlier fear quickly and picking up the little troublemaker. “What were you doing, kid?” He chuckled slightly, dread dissipating and replaced with relief. “You know you shouldn’t go running off like that.”

Adam giggled, no indication that he understood the fear he caused or the trouble he was in. Or perhaps he did but inherited that annoying trait off John in that he just didn’t care that he was doing something mischievous and potentially dangerous.

“You jumped when I scared you.” His giggles continued, his grinning face cheeky and full of mirth. “I thought angels didn’t get scared.”

“I wasn’t scared.” The angel lied, carrying Adam back to the path home. “I just wanted to make sure the Bogeyman didn’t get you and gobble you up.”

“No such thing!” Adam laughed louder as Az tickled him with the tease. He knew a lot about the occult and what was a real monster and what wasn’t thanks to his parents but there was still a lot more to learn.

“Oh, yes there is. You ask your dad. He’ll tell you all about the evil Bogeyman.” Asmodel continued, keeping his face earnest so as to not be caught out. The kid looked at him with renewed wonder, no idea if Az was telling the truth or not.

Suddenly, tiny arms went around Asmodel’s shoulders and neck and Adam leaned in close. “I’m sorry for scaring you. Won’t happen again.”

“It’s okay, kid. You were just having fun.” Az accepted the apology in a heartbeat.

Of course, he knew it would happen again. And again. And again. The kid was a Constantine and the Constantines seemed to have made it their mission to make his life scary and difficult as can be.

[tydy-the-megnet]

Sensory Transmission

This is the phenomenon experienced among people who feel what their soulmate feels in the moment.

...

Michelle Jones had never given much thought to her soulmate. Whoever it was, they had mostly stayed out of trouble, bar the normal amount of bumps and scrapes, and the odds of finding out who it was so early in life were poor.

So she didn’t think much of it. Until she started high school.

Normally, teenagers were always keeping their soulmates in the backs of their minds. “Is it that cute boy from science?” “Is that hot cheerleader her?” “I hope it’s not that nerd!”

But Michelle wasn’t normal. She didn’t constantly stress over who her soulmate was, because she was busy being an activist. Also because she was busy stressing over how her soulmate was.

Suddenly, her soulmate seemed stressed twenty-four-seven, and they got hurt often, and the adrenaline rushed were starting to drive her crazy.

She really hoped they weren’t a druggy.

...

Sophomore was interesting. Michelle still hadn’t managed to make any friends by that point, so she mostly hung around Peter Parker and Ned Leeds because they were too nice -- or at least weak-willed -- to tell her to buzz off.

Her soulmate wasn’t much better. Still getting hurt someway or another every other night. Sometimes it felt like she was getting punched in the gut, sometimes it felt like her arms would come off. One time, she had even felt burning pain race down her front as if she had been dragged through gravel by a horse.

Homecoming came too quickly that year, and Michelle ended up going alone, which wasn’t that unexpected. She held brief delusions of some faceless guy dancing with her -- her soulmate, surely -- but ultimately decided to hang around the food table and mock Ned and Peter from the sidelines.

Then the two disappeared, and Michelle huddled off to a corner, thoroughly bored. That’s when yet more pain hit. It was simple enough at first, even though the force brought her to her knees.

She was still recovering from feeling like a ragdoll in a hurricane when it happened, though.

Wherever her soulmate was, they needed to get out. Michelle felt the crushing weight as she sat in the corner, shaking. She felt the existential terror as her soulmate fully believed they would die. She felt the seeping disappointment of letting everyone down.

She herself didn’t even have anyone, but the pain was there. Michelle nearly passes out from the feeling as she lies there on the floor in the corner of Midtown High’s gymnasium. The determination she feels a minute later does nothing to stop the aching feeling coursing through her veins, but she stays awake anyway through sheer willpower -- she tries using that will to coerce her soulmate into continuing onward.

...

The next Big Feeling happens on an innocuous field trip. She’s hanging out with Ned -- who is officially her friend now -- after Peter bails on them again. Michelle swears he wasn’t always this flaky.

She feels it before she sees anything happen. She had been getting flashes of fear and confusion and amazement, all mixed together in a cacophony that overloads her senses. Then, unbridled defeat, as if her entire being has been crushed.

Suddenly, Michelle feels as if every atom in her entire being is being pulled apart piece by piece. As she sees those around her start to fall to dust, she thinks that idea isn’t far off. Distantly, she realizes the pulled-apart feeling is her soulmate’s, not her own. No one else seems to know what’s going on -- it’s as if they’re just falling apart without a moment’s notice.

Michelle, however, has a moment. She has several. Ned is starting to crumble as well. He looks more confused than scared or hurt. “Ned,” She says, taking his attention in their last moments, her words coming out with shaky breaths, “Something’s wrong.”

...

She feels like she passed out. She vaguely remembers feeling torn apart, but she’s up and about with the rest of her classmates, walking and talking as if nothing happened.

But something definitely did happen, as Michelle soon finds out.

Five whole years had passed in the blink of an eye.

She still has the connection with her soulmate, and Michelle finds herself sighing with relief when she realizes. She has her suspicions on who it is -- Spiderman, who she’s about fifty percent sure is also Peter Parker. Peter still isn’t there with them, having disappeared from the bus when the donut ship arrived.

She remembers clearly Ned’s shout of “We’re all gonna die!” right before her soulmate’s feelings stormed again.

She finds herself crying when everyone starts talking about what happened. She knows the relief and warmth is from her soulmate, but she relishes in it anyway. It’s nice, Michelle decides instantly, to feel something positive from the other side for once.

It doesn’t last long. Nothing good ever does.

She worries everyone when she drops to her knees. Her legs feel like jelly, her stomach vaults from her abdomen, and she suddenly feels so panicked.

Oh, that last feeling is genuinely hers, Michelle realizes as her breathing becomes labored. She’s having a panic attack.

“MJ? MJ! Are you okay?” She vaguely assigns the voice to Ned’s face, “Michelle!” He sounds worried.

Michelle takes a deep breath, then all the tension pours from her body like a leaking balloon. She deflates, turning onto her back to look up at everyone. The sky is dark and cloudy, and she’s so crowded by other sweaty teenagers that area feels way too cramped.

But all she feels is some distant light shining above her -- a beautiful ray of hope telling her everything would be alright. It’s a feeling she’s only ever associated to the big hero moments in her rarely-read adventure epic novels. Like an actual knight was standing before her -- or her soulmate -- and saying, “Everything is going to be fine.”

It feels like hope.

...

Pain. All she felt was pain. She had felt the phantom pains of physical harm plenty of times in the past few years alone, but today -- this was a kind of pain she had only ever felt once before.

She remembers clearly the day a couple years ago, when she collapsed at home one late afternoon, feeling as if the world had just ended. It was, oddly enough, the same day she had first seen Spiderman on the news.

Now she was feeling that same pain again. Loss.

Not even an hour ago (technically five years), she had felt as if every atom was splitting at once. Now she felt like that again, only she didn’t have the blissful oblivion to look forward to.

“Who?” Michelle whispers the question to herself, wondering at the sense of loos invading her every cell.

She lets herself cry to sleep that night.

...

Michelle Jones had given lots of thought to her soulmate. Over the past few years, she had felt more pain, loss, and stress than she could’ve imagined -- all at the heart of one young man.

Yeah, she was certain it was Spiderman, aka Peter Parker, now. They had been enjoying a nice night, almost like a date. The thought brought a pleasant warmth to her cheeks. But then there had been that mess with the projector thing and his mission and the big fight at the London Bridge.

Oh, the London Bridge. That thought brought unyielding heat to her cheeks.

Michelle remembered clearly the tired feeling she had pushed through as she charged the drones with her mace in hand. She hadn’t slowed down or let up until she saw him standing in the street.

He looked at her and she looked at him. He had won, that much was clear immediately. And the joyous relief she had felt when he looked at her.

“You’re okay.”

Joy. Relief. Affection. It was nice to have only pleasantness running over their link. It was nice to have no doom looming gloomily over them.

She had never felt more comfortable in that moment, despite laying bare her deepest insecurities to Peter. He took it all with his trademark less-than-grace and started rambling, of course; but he kissed her back. That was the important part.

They had kissed. It was astounding, feeling their emotions intertwining with the other’s. The swirl of affection twisting around them in wisps of pure electric bliss. There was nothing to which Michelle could compare it.

She had only been, like, sixty-seven percent sure; but in that moment Michelle was certain that Peter was her soulmate.

[coteriesrp]

– ADDY HAS BEEN ACCEPTED WITH DIVYA (AS NEELAM GILL)! CONGRATULATIONS!

You really went above and beyond on the character extras, holy shit. The app stands incredibly well on its own, providing a crystal clear image of your take on the character, your beautiful writing style, and nailing the vibe I had in mind absolutely perfectly; and then the extra work you did on establishing a background for her that really grounds her in the world provides such a tasty icing on top. Really looking forward to how much she and Dizzy are gonna get on each others’ nerves.

         — KIT

I love your writing, first off. It's the first thing I noticed, reading your application.  I was immediately taken by your portrayal of Divya, hard and ambitious and as Ventrue as Ventrue can be, pre- and post-Embrace. But the bit that really, really caught me was: "She still remembers the warmth of his blood staining her palms and fingers, and the way he tasted so foul. One thing became clear – her curated palate had no taste for the greedy." Do I really need to say ANYTHING beyond that? I'll just let your writing there stand on its own.

        — GHOST

You’ll be sent a link to our Discord shortly and have 24 hours to accept the invite or your role will be reopened.

out of character info.

ALIAS › addy

PRONOUNS › she/her

AGE › 23

TIMEZONE › gmt -6

in character info.

CHARACTER › divya patil

GENDER & PRONOUNS › cis woman ; she/her

APPARENT AGE › twenty-five years old

DISCIPLINE › auspex

DEMEANOUR ›

The unbridled thirst for power that courses through her veins is an unparalleled hunger; it permeates the very core of her being, multiplying into each cell, each nucleus, until the buzzing desire to control anything within her grasp consumes her in its ravenous flames. Her obsession with the concept of perfection has yielded a woman who abhors error in any form; those who have been cursed with the misfortune of her extended company are forced to reckon with her nit-picking, for Divya would never tolerate anything less than first-rate results. She’s quick to criticize, quick to undermine anyone who dares to stand before her. A cold, glacial exterior keeps her vulnerabilities locked tightly within. A part of Divya is foolish enough to believe that forcibly tearing her demons into small, bite-sized pieces and pushing them into the deepest, darkest crevices of her untouched mind may take away her weaknesses altogether. She speaks with hardened resolve, clinical and business-like at certain times & haughty and enraged at others. Her easily-ignited temper is the product of years of trauma, abuse, and mental degradation. Divya is and always will be the embodiment of power – from the way she holds her head high to the corruption she breeds in her heart.

JOINING THE COTERIE ›

Divya’s very existence has always hinged on the ability to step on others to lift herself up from her own ashes; as the daughter of one of New York’s most powerful influences perched upon the throne of Wall Street, she learned quickly that any and every man around her would come for blood if it mean subjugating her into nothing. Her aching desire to prove herself fostered the urge to join ranks with the most powerful forces around her. She often gravitated towards royal-esque entities, hoping to glean even the slightest bit of their golden-hued aura for herself – so to be offered the prestigious opportunity to join the ranks of generational power un her unlife felt almost like a reward for her trauma. To be bestowed with this chance – this gift… it felt right. Like this had been her destiny all along. She joined with arms outstretched, unbeating heart twisting at the ability to finally embrace a coterie that fitted her ideals of absolute perfection.

(UN)LIFE’S PHILOSOPHY ›

Her transition into the life of the Kindred allowed Divya to embrace the ravenous hunger that had always gnawed at the pit of her stomach; to be able to fully embody the petulant desire to tower high above others was a natural inclination that seized her almost immediately. Christened by the Clan Ventrue, Divya and her refined palate find a certain level of carnal pleasure in using the dimwitted Kine to her advantage. She had always been a bit exclusionary in her mortalhood – and now, as one of the undead, it feels only natural that she view vessels as nothing more than toys, devices, and forms of nutrition rather than as sentient, separate viewings. She views her new unlife as a transition for bigger and better things. The ability to pervade the senses, thoughts, and perceptions of the Kine bring her much joy, an adrenaline-induced power trip often following suit. Her philosophy surrounding her new state of being is what it had been when she had been a weaker, sniveling human fool – become greater than anything anything anyone has ever seen and then some.

THOUGHTS ON HUMANITY ›

Foolish, dimwitted sheep; Divya views nothing more disdainfully than she does her own time as one of the Kine. Humans had always been so painfully ignorant of their own capabilities, slaving away to graves of their own making – and now that Divya has been reborn as one of the Kindred, she sees them for what humanity truly is. A plague. Her archaic beliefs are abnormal for someone born in such modern society, but they linger nonetheless, dwelling in the hollows of her black heart until all she can see in humans is whether they are worthy of her finicky palate or would be better off left dead.

LIFE EVENTS ( tw: physical abuse. ) ›

manhattan, new york city, ny / 2013 – She was 23 years old; under her belt was a masters in business analytics from Columbia University. Divya had foolishly thought that such a fleeting accomplishment would earn her father’s good favor – but she learned quickly that not even exemplar grades and a prestigious institution would be enough to prove that she was worth her salt. She stood idly in the entryway to the large, sprawling penthouse her father called home, perfectly-manicured fingernails digging ever so slightly into the smooth surface of her iPhone. Dark hues watched with thinly-veiled anticipation as her father’s large figure paced intermittently in the wide living room. There was an air of impending doom sinking deep into her skin, burrowing into her bones and making a home in her marrow – but then again, it always seemed as if a deep sense of foreboding followed her wherever she went. All Divya had asked was whether her father had decided to appoint her to the position of CFO or not, as he had promised he would upon the completion of her degree. She had spoken calmly, measured tone far from minced, and had her head held high. Such an act, however, had been easily misconstrued as defiance. Heresy. She clenched her teeth together tightly as her father came to an abrupt halt. Her heart raced angrily in her chest, beating wildly against the confines of her ribcage, as she watched him turn then slowly make his way over to her. Divya didn’t dare speak; if she wanted her moment of glory, wanted her moment of appreciation, she would have to bide her time. When she looks into her father’s eyes, though, she sees nothing akin to pride. Instead, there was a look of disappointed rage. The fire lighting up her insides dimmed and before she could part her lips to ask what concerned him, his hand came sharply down against her cheek. Head snapped to the side and the dull throb of angry pain singing her face was nothing compared to the shame coiled deep in the pit of her stomach. She lowered her gaze, swallowing back the protest balancing at the tip of her tongue. “Never ask me again for something outside of your league,” her father warned, baritone growl low and menacing. “When you finally show promise worthy of anything more than a lowly intern position, then I will consider it. You think your Masters makes you any more qualified? Please.” His patronizing scoff crawled under her skin and twisted her insides. “If you want power, you’ll have to work harder than that.”

brooklyn, new york city, ny / 2016 – Two years of fighting tooth and nail for every promotion, every acknowledgment, every little success left Divya with jaded disgust regarding every little surrounding her; having every move she made analyzed so relentlessly by the tyrant who helped birth her proved to push Divya to maddening extremes. She had successfully taken on the role of CFO of her father’s company, ousting each and every person that dared to gaze upon her for a fraction too long – and her agonizing temperament left her with few friends and far too many enemies. She was unwavering, a beacon of pure mental fortitude – and soon enough, her name became associated with the harbinger of figurative death. Women like her were never meant to be dainty. She was as jagged as a blade, sharpened teeth ready to destroy anything that came too close… and such a tenacious attitude won the favor of her soon to be sire. A chameleon Kindred from the Ventrue Clan had discovered her blazing flame of potential like a diamond in the ruff, spotting her at a Fundraising Gala with the astute sharpness of a hawk. When he approached her, Divya immediately fell into the dangerous habit of sizing up her supposed prey – though little did she realize that the man before her was an apex predator to the nth degree. It was not a sordid love affair nor was it anything romantic in the slightest; the bond Divya developed with her future sire was one of mentor and mentee. She learned how to control her surroundings in a way that her father never could – and soon, she became filled with the thirst for more, to become so much stronger than she already was. The initiation into her unlife came both suddenly and slowly. The culmination of her sessions with her sire came in the form of a singular offer – would Divya like to become the strongest there ever was? It felt rhetorical; she had laughed at first before finally, she said – “Of course I do.” It was the clarity of her voice that won her sire’s confidence. She would make for a strong Kindred. The Embrace and her sire’s careful protection produced a fledgling with stone-faced potential. She learned the ways of her discipline carefully and diligently until she was able to take on her most coveted task – to take out the man that had turned her into the monster she was today. One year after her Embrace, her Sire made it clear that she was ready for her Becoming. But to prove herself one more time, Divya had to embody her most carnal desire. When she slipped into her father’s penthouse, the man was sleeping soundly in his bed. She stood idly at his bedside, head cocked and dark hues intent. When careful fingers slowly drew the blankets back, he stirred with a tired groan. It was the last sound he made before Divya let the Beast spill free, unbridled and fueled by rage. She still remembers the warmth of his blood staining her palms and fingers, and the way he tasted so foul. One thing became clear – her curated palate had no taste for the greedy.

EXPANDING CONNECTIONS ›

dizzy / Vapid, air-headed behavior incites the most ragged of violences from within Divya’s core; she had never taken kindly to those who take everything they have for granted and Dizzy’s painful bubbliness easily falls under this category. Perhaps, though, Divya’s obvious distaste for the girl stems from a place of vague jealousy. What is it like, to live so freely and free of shackled chains binding one’s ankles? Will she ever know, or will she always be a slave to her own work ethic? She has not a clue and perhaps that is exactly why Dizzy’s dizzying personality pulls at Divya’s desire to snap uncontrollably at the drop of a hat. Maybe one day – she can learn from the other. But only when the tension is finally relieved from her bones.

harel / Respect is not a sensation Divya gives out freely; to earn her respect is a game of whether you can bear the brunt of her heavy gaze or not – but somehow, Harel has managed to tear down the expectations Divya so often holds. Their quietude and ability to bear what feels heavier than humanly – or Kindred-ly – possible puts her in a state of silent awe. She dares not admit this, though, because that would be weakness. Instead, she studies them suspiciously in hopes of one day besting them. It does not sit well with her to feel so small and meager compared to another and so, she persists. Uncomfortable, begrudging respect has left her with no words to say.

angel / Rapt attention has always so childish – but it’s a sensation that cannot be helped when her eyes fall upon Angel. Their strange ways interest her and she can’t help but feel as if they are the only being in this coterie that understands her in a way beyond superficial. She chides herself often on the fact that perhaps her fascination is childish – like a schoolgirl crush – but it does little to quell the fact that the lingering desire to treat Angel not only with respect, but as an equal, continues.

miscellaneous info.

EXTRAS ›

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LAST WORD ›

hewo! i hope you guys enjoy reading this application! only thing i wanted to ask if you guys are open to any alternate fcs? an idea i had is neelam gill! it’s totally oaky though if you’d prefer keeping the current fc over an alternate! just thought i’d ask! thank you guys!

[seriouslyhooked]

Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 18)

22 part AU written for @cssns​. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13,Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy​!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone! So another chapter of ‘Lost Souls and Reveries’ is finally here, and this one brings… well a lot of stuff I don’t think any of you are expecting. We open in cuteness and move to an unforeseen complication, and honestly a lot of really heavy emotions. This chapter talks a lot about loss and about the grief that comes after you’ve lost someone you love. It’s heavy at times, but rest assured, we will get closure and we will end in a good place. That being said, if you’re worried about reading it and being upset, I am more than willing to answer any questions before, or tell you what you miss in this chapter so you can skip to the next one. The scenes I’m talking about will come in Emma’s POV, which is the second part of the chapter. Either way, I’m really looking forward to seeing what you all think of this installment, and as always, thanks so much for reading!

So this is what it means to be truly blissful.

Killian had thought the same thing a hundred times in the past week, and each time it was just as true. For seven whole days he’d had everything he could ever dream of. Liam had returned and there was renewed hope that his brother could find a second chance. The anxiety and fear that had long lingered in the back of Killian’s mind was gone now. Instead, Killian felt the certainty of hope. He believed with an unyielding conviction that Liam’s return heralded a new day for all of them. It filled the world with promise, and though life had been no less busy with his brother’s arrival, it was exactly what Killian wanted.

Despite his baser wish to hide away with Emma and revel in their still new bond to each other, his lovely mate had other commitments. She and her father did invaluable work at their clinic, serving the town in a way that couldn’t be avoided long term. Killian was proud of all Emma accomplished, and loved how much she loved what she did even if it meant their days were filled with some hours apart. In the meantime Killian had been preparing – working towards cementing his life here and helping Liam to do the same. While there was no need to work, Killian felt strongly that he and Liam should do something together, for that was what they’d always thought might happen when they were young. Killian also felt strongly that he wanted to find the perfect spot for his next chapter with Emma. There were many beautiful homes here in Storybrooke, but the hunt for the right one was proving a bit laborious, though Killian was more than up for the challenge. All in all they were adjusting still, but things here felt right, like this was the home Killian and his brother had always been meant to find.

Mixed in with all of this business and responsibility, there were also extensive chances for fun as well. Emma’s family and friends were great fans of barbeques and dinner parties, of bonfires on the beach and the occasional fireworks show and all of it was a welcome change to Killian. What a new feeling it was to celebrate a summer again, to revel in the lazier days, the subtle heat, and unfiltered sunshine. The sea this time of year was picture perfect, and he and Liam had found themselves there a number of times, reminding him of the good times they’d had as kids in England. He was reinvigorated by the freedom and connection that Storybrooke provided. He’d never felt such a sense of belonging or peace, and though each moment had been miraculous, none of them ever compared to the ones like where it was just he and Emma.

Right now was a truly quiet moment. While he had risen with the sun and the songbirds, Emma was still nestled up beside him, holding close even as dreams still claimed her. She was totally relaxed and indescribably beautiful, with her golden hair tumbling around her and the long, lean lines of her body intertwined with his. Emma was perfection itself, and Killian couldn’t tear his gaze away or keep from grinning at all of his good fortune. He didn’t know how long he stayed this way, luxuriating in the easy comfort of this moment, but soon enough the quiet was broken with sultry words from his lovely mate.  

“How is it that I know you’re smiling, even without opening my eyes?”

The words from Emma as she stirred awake were thick but sensual, gripped with lingering sleep but filled with love and amusement. His siren might tease him this morning, but there was no doubt of her happiness at his unbridled joy, not when the first thing she did was meet his eyes and share a brilliant smile of her own. Her green eyes sparkled, and her lips called to him, demanding that he greet her with the kiss he’d been craving from the moment he woke up.

“You know because there is nothing in my life but goodness, now, love. I have you and so I have everything.”

“Everything?” Emma asked, her eyes filled with feeling as her fingers traced over the muscles of his chest.

“Everything. With you I have more than any man would dare to dream of. I want for nothing, Emma, as long as I have you.”

“Well I don’t know about that,” Emma said, her eyes heating up as her gaze slid down his body. He made no move to cover himself, knowing that the sheet that draped over them last night was no longer there thanks to the summer heat. His core muscles flexed unconsciously as a response to Emma’s eyes hungrily taking him in. They moved down his chest and his abs to the hard length that had woken him this morning. It was a given when he was allowed to hold his love all night long that he should always need her, but that need ramped up even higher as Emma licked her lips and her eyes shot back to his. “I think we both know there’s more you’re wanting right now.”

“Perhaps,” Killian said, pulling a surprised gasp from her lips and then a laugh as he moved above her quickly, but it turned into a moan as he moved his lips to her neck kissing her before he nipped at her sensitive skin. “But I can sense my mate is just as willing and desirous as I am.”

“Always,” Emma sighed out, her hands clutching to him and driving him mad as the love continued to grow between them. “I always want you. It’s never enough, even if it’s everything.”

Killian knew exactly what she meant when she said that, and so no more words were needed. What Emma wanted was action, and Killian was desperate to give it to her. He traced every beautiful line of her body and every erogenous place that drove his love wild with his hands and his mouth. He chronicled every sound she made, every arch for closeness, and every beg for more, feeling more alive as he brought her closer to the edge than he ever could outside of this space between them. He gave over to his instincts and his urges, feasting on the love of his life, and tasting as she came not once but twice. He’d have stayed there forever, blending Emma’s need for slow steady patience at the start that then became faster and more demanding, but his beauty had other ideas, bringing him up over her again before taking control and giving them both what they wanted. They chased a joint completion, crashing towards an all too blissful finish, and when Emma’s soft plea fell from her lips that begged him to come with her he was lost. He had no choice but to give in, and then revel in the glory that was their love made real.

“So, is it living up to all that you expected?” Killian asked when they’d both regained their breath enough to speak again. Emma arched a brow at his question and he couldn’t help grinning at her perplexed look. “The calm after the storm. This is the normal you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I would hardly call anything we just did normal,” Emma countered, pressing another kiss to his lips as a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“What would you call it?” Killian growled, his want for her growing again even though they’d just sated this need a moment ago.

“I’d call it perfect or destined or fated,” Emma whispered, her eyes misting up a little in a show Killian knew was brought on by sheer joy. “Every day I think maybe some of this will fade, but it never does. I love you more today than yesterday, and I know tomorrow will be the same. It’s so much more than normal. It’s exceptional.”

There was no way to hear this and not immediately want to ravish her again. Where Emma had breathtaking words that mirrored his own feeling so exquisitely, he had physical response. He’d show her all over again just how much he loved her, but then a knock sounded at the door, and without even knowing who was behind it Killian groaned loudly. This prompted Emma to laugh, which in turn lit him up inside, but he resented the fact that whoever had come to see them was ending this moment for the time being. Emma got out of bed, finding some clothes to throw on and pulling her hair back in a tie as she mirthfully watched him where he still lay in bed.

“I think it’s safe to say you jinxed us. You said our life was peaceful, but you forgot, we don’t really do calm, quiet moments. At least not for long.”

“No I guess we don’t,” Killian said, admitting defeat and getting up. Before he went about clothing himself though, he brought Emma in for another kiss, taking delight in the way she went a bit breathless and the touch of pink kissed her cheeks as her eyes widened ever so slightly.

“I’ll get the door while you get dressed. There’s no telling who this is, and if it’s my Mom…”

“If it’s your mother, I’ve got roughly thirty seconds before all hell breaks loose. Aye, I know, love. I’ll get a move on.”

Killian took comfort in Emma’s laughter that reverberated through this home that he thought of as theirs. It was small, but it was bursting with life and with love, and Killian knew that while it wouldn’t be their forever place, he couldn’t think of giving it up. Someday soon, if all went as he hoped, Emma and him would marry and then grow their family, but he had enough saved away to keep this place and any other home they may acquire in town. Perhaps it was strange to think that way, but Killian had eyes set on the future, even as he and Emma shared an incredibly present.

“Elsa, are you all right? Did something happen?”

The words from Emma spurned Killian to dress faster and close the space between them. He moved hastily to the front hall, seeing that Elsa was not alone outside. His brother stood next to her, and behind them were Ruby, Graham and Anna. Not a one of them looked to be at all happy to be here, and Killian immediately felt the same sense of foreboding that his mate was grappling with. These were their dearest friends and family, and there was clearly something very wrong.

“I’m fine, Emma. Just tired, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Elsa, I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that’s not true. You’re more than tired. You’re shaking, you’re pale -,”

“Well technically I’m always pale,” Elsa joked, but Killian could see what Emma meant. Her friend was whiter than normal, and there were dark circles forming underneath her usually bright blue eyes.

“Elsa, you look like you’d topple over at the next strong breeze. What’s happening?”

“It’s my fault,” Liam said, his voice gruff with anger at himself and pain at his mate’s suffering. Killian’s brows knit together. How was Liam the cause for this? Surely he’d never willingly do anything to harm Elsa. He’d rather die than do so.

“It’s not, Liam,” Elsa attested, squeezing his hand as she looked at him with nothing less than full-blown love. “All of this is just a lot for my magic to handle.”

“Elsa’s essence and Liam’s are being tied together naturally,” Ruby explained. “Their mating bond has created a natural sharing of energy, but it’s not sustainable for it to go on this way. The sickness is strong, and right now Elsa is overextended.”

“So what do we do? How do we fix this?” Emma asked, ready to do whatever it took to help her friend. Killian pulled her back to him, and though she was still determined, Emma welcomed the gesture, pulling strength from him and his supportive presence.

“There is a way,” Anna said, her usually bubbly demeanor now softened and unsettling. Emma’s friend was quieter than Killian had ever seen her, leading him to believe the answer would not be a satisfactory one. “We found a spell in the family archives that essentially ties two lives together. Our great-great aunts used it when one of them was sick as a teenager. They blended their life lines together, making them both healthy for many more years. They lived together for decades, and ultimately passed together too.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma said and Killian nodded in agreement. It sounded spectacular to him, but also, Killian was guessing, very dangerous.

“It is,” Elsa agreed. “But the thing is, when we’ve done this, my magic will be severely limited. I’ll still have it, but it won’t be as strong.”

“Oh,” Emma whispered, but where she seemed to understand something new from Elsa’s disclosure, Killian was still at a loss. True Elsa had just recently discovered her gifts, but what was a little sacrifice when it came to securing a life long love?

“What am I missing here?” he asked, and after a moment of awkward silence, Emma filled in with her own guess.

“Elsa was going to help lift my block if I ever decided I was ready to be a shifter. She was going to do what she did for Neal with me.”

The weight of that came crashing back into Killian, and though he’d never forgotten that Emma was a hybrid of two species, he had allowed himself to forget that this was a risk she could someday face. He knew that Emma was unsure about what she wanted, but deep down Killian also realized the what-if would always stay with her. A part of Emma was a brilliant, vibrant animal, just as he was, and he knew first hand how hard it must be to not feel truly whole by not having an open connection with one’s wolf. As much as he loved her, and as much as she loved him, it would always be something missing if she didn’t rectify that rift. Killian grieved for Emma, believing as she did that Elsa was saying she could no longer perform such magic. But a not so little part of him was relieved that the choice had been made already and that Emma would not undergo such a potentially dangerous process when she was well and healthy right now.

“I still can,” Elsa said, prompting Killian’s heart to plummet. “It’s just… well the time table has moved up a little.”

“How much?” Killian asked, and Elsa looked at him blinking in confusion. “How much time does she have to decide? A few weeks? Days?”

“Hours,” Ruby replied.

“Hours?” Emma parroted, her voice flying up an octave.

“The sooner this is done the better for Elsa,” Ruby reiterated. “She’s only growing weaker, and she needs as much energy as she can possibly garner. Also, the moon is strong right now and the tides will be in longer than they normally would, meaning Emma’s wolf will hopefully be stronger too, even if she’s currently suppressed.”

“But you don’t have to do this, Emma,” Anna assured her. “If you’re not ready it’s okay. We can probably figure something else out. We can study Elsa’s memories more and maybe together Ruby and I can -,”

“No,” Emma said, halting Anna’s words and making Killian’s heart skip painfully again. “I’m sorry, Anna, I know you mean well, but it has to be Elsa. I don’t know why, but I just… know.”

“Just like you know that this is what you want,” Killian said, not needing to ask a question when he could feel Emma’s decision coursing through the link between them. She looked at him then, turning to face him and focusing solely on him. Her arms wrapped around him and he pulled her close, and though he was worried and so damn scared – more scared that at any other point in his life – he did everything he could not to show it.

“This isn’t just my choice, Killian, and I know that. I won’t do this if you think I shouldn’t.”

He was so close to saying just that, but Killian couldn’t take that choice from Emma. He loved her with everything he was, and sometimes love meant giving up one’s peace of mind in the name of their love’s happiness. He knew he could never live without Emma, and so her risking herself in this way was a risk to him too. But in the depths of her jade colored eyes Killian could still see belief that this would be okay. She was hopeful, despite the odds stacked against it, and because Emma’s hope had never served him wrong before, he chose to follow it again. He brought his hand to push away a strand of her wayward hair, his fingers running lightly against her cheek as he memorized her every feature.

“I trust you, Emma, and I trust in us. We’ve a lifetime ahead of us, and if you and Elsa feel good about this, then this is what we do.”

Emma’s eyes looked to Elsa and the two of them shared a nod of certainty. Killian felt his throat tighten at the choice, but he stood by what he’d said. He would follow her anywhere, even if it terrified him in every way.

“What do we need to do?” Emma asked. “Can we do it here? Now?”

“But Emma, your parents. Maybe you should…” Graham let the idea trail off, knowing that his thought process insinuated that Emma should be saying goodbye. That riled Killian up, and he stiffened up at the notion, but Emma put her hand on his chest above his heart to calm him as she responded.

“There’s no need to worry them. It’s going to be fine, and I don’t want to put them through that. After everything with Neal… they just should never have to face something like that again.”

“That’s your choice,” Anna said with a nod. “And we will all respect that.”

The group agreed, and things felt like they moved impossibly quickly from there. Killian’s nerves continued to fray as he watched Elsa, Anna, and Ruby get everything ready. It seemed that Elsa’s memories had given enough clues of how this worked to instruct some of their choices, but Killian felt lost and unhelpful at every turn. There was nothing he could do except support Emma and try to keep the terror he was feeling from showing and worrying his mate. When everything was finally ready, Elsa looked to Emma, another silent exchange between the friends telling Emma that it was time. For the first time Killian could see that Emma wasn’t as calm, cool, and collected as she’d been before. She was still certain this was what she wanted, but Killian could sense her fear and unease. Not knowing what would happen was a scary thing, but in seeing Emma falter, Killian felt his own courage rise. He had to be there for her to defend and protect her, and though he couldn’t do much, he could remind her that he loved her always, and that he’d be here every step of the way.

“I’ll be right here, Emma. There’s no need to worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Emma let out a soft laugh at his resolve, and then pulled him down by the collar of his shirt so he was jut a breath away. “I know you won’t. But trust Elsa, okay? If it looks a bit dodgy at any point you have to respect her choices. She’ll know what to do. Right?”

Emma looked to Elsa who nodded and responded with an immediate, “Yes.” This prompted Emma to finally be led to the couch, the place that Elsa had decided was best for the treatment. She lay back, closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them again and looking only at him.

“Don’t let go, okay?” Emma whispered, and though she smiled at him, Killian could sense her lingering fear. He swallowed harshly, fighting against his own emotion and nodded.

“I’ll never let you go, love. I love you, Emma. You can do this.”

With that Emma nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, and then Elsa moved her hands to hover over her, and Killian and the others watched in awe as magic filled the room and the process of blending Emma’s souls began.

…………………

It was beyond difficult to act like she wasn’t scared shitless at the thought of submitting herself to such an unknown magic, but Emma did everything she could to hold on to her calm. It should have been impossible to do so, but the love in Killian’s eyes was so comforting, and knowing that he would never leave her helped Emma to push forward.

Closing her eyes and giving into this was a monumental task. Emma tried not to hyperventilate and to count the breaths she took. She heard Elsa’s words, felt the warmth of her magic, and eventually her mind evened out, settling into something more comfortable than fear. The sounds all around her faded, and Emma transitioned into a new state of calm that made her feel like things must be going okay. It could have been seconds or days that she stayed like this, but finally Emma’s consciousness told her to open her eyes again. She expected to see the ceiling of her and Killian’s home, or maybe the faces of the people she loved most, but what she saw instead was as beautiful as it was perplexing.

As her gaze took in her surrounding, the light she saw was too raw and too natural for her to be in the right place. It glowed like the first few moments where sun breaks through the clouds on a gloomy day. The gentle swirls of gold were lovely, but it didn’t fade as Emma blinked her eyes from the sleepy state of rest she’d just been in. When she saw the canopy above her she felt her brow furrow in confusion. She inhaled the air around her, sensing she was definitely outside, and that this wasn’t a trick of her imagination. There was the hearty smell of forest with the softest kiss of something floral. A cool breeze settled over the grass around her, and as she realized she was laying somewhere on the ground and not on the couch she’d started on she bolted up.

“Oh no,” Emma whispered, her eyes watering immediately as she contemplated what may have happened. Had she… no please, say it wasn’t so. Had she really sacrificed all of her happiness only to have it end so soon? She felt ready to crumble at the thought, when a voice sounded out around her.

“You’re not dead, you’re healing, becoming something new. It’s all right, Emma. Everything is going to be all right.”

The words came from a voice just shy of familiar, and Emma jumped at the realization that there was anyone else here at all. Then when she turned to find out who had spoken, she was struck by the sight of a beautiful woman who she had never seen before. This woman was a complete stranger to Emma, dressed in a flowing light green dress that danced in the slight gusts of wind around them. Her hair was curled and long, held back by a bold emerald ribbon, and the color was so dark it was nearly black. Her skin was fair, spattered with a few freckles that Emma could see even from this distance, and those eyes – she’d only ever seen eyes of that exact shade one place in her life, but that had to be a coincidence. Surely no one else in the world could have the same eyes as Killian.

“I don’t understand,” Emma said, not knowing how to formulate any other thoughts. The woman smiled, and again Emma was struck by the resemblance this woman had to the love of her life.

“Oh I think you do, Emma, at least to some degree. But let me clarify so as to spare you that impossible question. My name is Meera, Meera Jones.”

A physical bomb detonating in that moment would have been less jarring to Emma than that claim. At some level Emma knew it could be true. Just looking at this woman, the resemblance was uncanny. She could see Killian and Liam so acutely in her features, but Emma’s rational mind argued that it couldn’t be possible. Their mother was killed so many years ago, and seeing her while also being alive had to be, by definition, impossible.

“I thought you said I wasn’t dead,” Emma blurted and though she was mortified for a second, she was instantly soothed by the sound of genuine laughter. It was easily given, and though it was distinct from Killian’s, Emma sensed a familiarity in it, as if her bond with the man she loved gave her insight into this special sound he must cherish deep in his memories.

“You aren’t. You are still very much alive, but this is a plane outside of life and death, it just… is.”

Meera gestured at their surroundings, and though Emma took the time to look around again, tracking all of the wild natural beauty that was bursting with energy while still being still and tranquil, she noticed Meera didn’t do so. Her lack of interest in this otherworldly place interested Emma, and ultimately curiosity about the particulars of this meeting right now won out.

“But you… I mean, Brennan…” Emma blanched as she realized that hearing the name of her psychopathic husband/killer might upset Killian’s mother.

“It’s okay, my dear, you can say his name. Brennan took me from my boys too soon,” she acknowledged, and though the words were painful, it didn’t sound like Meera was carrying that pain any longer. Killian’s mother seemed calm and unbothered, as if she’d long ago accepted what her fate had been. It was an unexpected response, when Emma knew forgiveness must be near impossible when someone had wronged you so horribly, but the perseverance in this woman’s whole demeanor inspired her. She wasn’t devoid of feeling; she simply had stopped giving the evil actions of her husband any kind of power. “He had his reasons, at least in his mind.”

“But why? Just for revenge? Because you left?”

“No. In the end, his actions had very little to do with me leaving at all. It wouldn’t have mattered if I stayed or left. He wanted me gone forever, and he told me as much when he found me. I was always a means to an end, and running, in the end, gave me so much more precious time with my boys. Time I am incredibly grateful for.”

“It’s not right though. You should have had so much more.”

“I wish we could have, but the thing about dying is that you truly learn a lesson we’re all taught when we’re very young,” Meera said, pausing a moment before explaining to Emma. “You realize that life really does unfold with purpose. Things happen for a reason, things end in their time, and every pain and every heartbreak serves a purpose. It hurts you, it changes you, but it ultimately makes you, you. Brennan understood that in his own twisted way, and he thought that my death would push my sons towards a darkness not unlike his own. He hoped to take my boys and make them monsters just like him, and he knew that as long as I lived, I would never let that happen.

“But despite his best laid plans, Brennan ultimately failed, because he neglected to understand that a mother’s love is stronger than life and death. It doesn’t ever end or fade. It is eternal. I loved my sons from the first moments they knew life, and I will love them always and infinitely. Truly nothing could take me from them, and I’ve been with Killian and Liam every step of the way.”

“You protected them,” Emma said, knowing from the fierce love in Meera’s eyes that she’d done everything she possibly could from whatever kind of spirit world this was.

“In every single way I could, but even a mother’s love has limits. I hoped that time would heal all wounds, but for my boys the wounds seemed to get worse and worse, just in different ways. I’ve fretted over that for years, until you came dear.”

“Me?” Emma asked and Meera nodded, stepping close enough to pull Emma into a huge bear hug. Emma was surprised for a moment, but accepted the gesture, hugging this remarkable woman back not just for her but for Killian and Liam too.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have asked,” Meera said as she pulled back while shaking her head. “I just don’t know what else to do. You saved my sons – both of them.”

“I didn’t,” Emma said but Meera cut her off.

“You did.  You opened my youngest boy up to love when he’d hardened himself to goodness on the whole. You brought him back, you made him remember,” she said, her words whispered with the subtle tone of tears. “I fought for years to be close to Killian, to guide him, to help him feel like hope wasn’t lost and like he wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t reach him. He closed himself off in order to survive, but when he found you he remembered how to live. In Boston you paved the way, and in Storybrooke you changed him for the better, and through your love you saved Liam too. My sons will be healthy and whole now. They will live long and lovely lives, all because of you.”

“You sound so sure of that,” Emma responded and Meera gave a small shrug.

“That’s because I am. Things work differently here. Fate is clearer, and she makes no attempt to hide. I’ve known since I came here how things would end. I held onto it every day – my impossibly possible dream. I knew that you would heal my family, just as I know that you will make it grow.”

“You mean like kids?” Emma asked, her hand absentmindedly moving across her abdomen as Meera looked to her totally flat stomach with a knowing smile.

“Your children will be beautiful and wonderful, Emma. They’ll be the perfect blend of you and Killian. And yes, some may be here a bit sooner than expected, but that just means more priceless time to love them. Don’t let any of it go to waste, my dear. It’ll never be enough, no amount of time can be.”

“I – I don’t know what to say,” Emma replied, her mind and heart both overwhelmed by all of this.

“You don’t have to say anything. All you have to do is believe that you and Killian have everything you need to walk this life together. You two can and will weather every storm. No matter what comes, you’ll be ready. Just think of all you’ve already done for your children without even knowing they would come.”

Emma nodded, appreciating that thought even though she was still stunned. Kids. She was going to have kids, and from what Meera was saying, it sounded like one – or maybe more – was already on the way. Was she okay with that? Yes, her mind thought immediately and she smiled at the way things were shaping up.

“I need to thank you, Emma. It’ll never be enough, no words ever could be, but I am so grateful for all that you have done. You believed in love and took the risk, and in doing so, you inspired Killian to do the same. That is no easy feat, but you rose to the challenge. I owe you everything, and I will always be in awe of all that you have done.”

“It was just as much Killian’s work as mine. He’s saved me just as much as I’ve saved him,” Emma confessed, and at this Meera smiled even brighter.

“You are partners, equals in all ways. Well almost. There’s just one last thing that needs doing.”

Meera motioned to the tree line and Emma saw the white wolf that had been in her dreams so many times before. The beast was beautiful and bold, unflinching and unafraid. Her fur was a silky, creamy color, almost white, but laced with a hint of gold. Immediately Emma started to walk towards the animal, pulled in by her presence in ways she couldn’t explain, she didn’t even have the space to think if that was rude to Meera. She had to go see this part of herself that had always been there, but never truly in reach. But when they were close enough to touch Emma faltered, wondering what it was she was meant to do.

“Listen to your instincts Emma, for there is where your wolf will meet you.”

Emma heeded Meera’s command as she tried to listen to her inner thoughts. She allowed herself to trust her gut, and to follow the eyes of the animal before her. Finally she nodded at the beautiful beast before her, and she stood unflinching as the animal charged at her, jumping at her but landing with no impact, instead dissolving into Emma’s very being. The moment that they blended together was transcendent, and aside from the moment that she’d first seen and bonded with Killian, it was the strongest lightening bolt of rightness that she’d ever been struck by. Suddenly Emma felt so much more and sensed the whole world around her in new and transformative ways. She’d internalized her gifts, and the world was an all the more glorious thing to behold because of it. 

“Amazing! That was fantastic, and so much easier than it was with Neal.”

“Neal?” Emma asked, her level of surprise vastly outpacing what it had been even ten seconds ago when her wolf essentially crashed into her innermost being. “You know my brother?”

“I do, but let’s finish the task at hand before I explain why, okay? Best to settle the present before we journey back into the past.”

Emma agreed to give Meera time, and she listened with rapt attention as Killian’s mother explained to her what shifting was like and how to access her animal now that they were joined. She was a wonderful teacher and patient and kind when Emma faltered slightly, but soon enough it became second nature, and Emma felt the power and the pleasure of being connected to her wolf and in command of her shifter abilities. She sprinted at top speed, loving the complete command she had of her body. She fed off of the exertion, living for the feel of a hunt and the adventure of running through unknown wilds. She tried out her strength, jumped higher than she could have imagined, and learned so much that she knew was still only at the surface of her potential. Soon she was pleased with all of it that her wolf acted on instinct, howling into the open air and prompting a feint echo in the distance.

“You are a natural, Emma,” Meera said with glee as she clapped her hands excitedly once they’d shifted back to human form and returned the quiet calm of the field where they had started. “Killian won’t know what to do with himself.”

Emma was happy to hear that, and she knew Meera was right. Killian and her would get the chance to share so much, and in time share that gift with their own little ones too.

“But I know you have questions, and I promised to answer them. Ask away, Emma. I swear I will tell you everything I can.”

“How is it possible that you were there for Neal?”

“That was fate acting in her way,” Meera replied with a smile. “The night you and Killian met in Boston, you two couldn’t know what you were to each other. You were still too young, and mates must come of age to sense their bond in all its glory. But I knew exactly what you’d become to each other, and could see it all. I was curious to know who this girl was that was so right for my boy, and so I stayed with you. I watched you pull yourself together after facing such a terrifying moment and I knew then that you were strong and brave. Then I saw what life had given you so far and I understood that bravery had become part of the very fabric of who you are. 

“Seeing your brother and the grief your family was facing, my heart broke for you all, and I knew I had to help in some way. I saw that the doctors couldn’t fix this. Neal needed magic, and you already had magic in your life, even if you never knew. I couldn’t believe how fortunate that was, and when I realized that Elsa was meant for Liam… well it was one of the happiest days I’ve ever known, experiencing all this newfound hope for my boys. I sent Elsa a dream that night, and low and behold she came. Then, when she wielded her magic on your side, I was here, helping however I could.

“It was admittedly much harder the first time around. Your brother was so young, too young to shift, and he had no idea about any of this. Explaining shifters to him was tricky. I didn’t know much he should know, and I had no idea how he could blend his shifter self with his human self. He was so fascinated by this world and his wolf was still just as young and excitable, and he and his animal ran and ran and ran. I think he was so sick for so long that running was a relief to him. I couldn’t bring myself to stop his fun. Lord knew he’d had so little of it those long hard months.”

Emma felt tears running down her cheeks as she held herself together at the thought. It made her so happy to think that Neal had had that experience because Meera was right. His illness had been so draining and limiting. Running must have felt amazing after so long spent in confinement.

“Does he remember any of this?” Emma asked and Meera smiled again.

“That I don’t know. I think he chalked it up to a dream, but knowing how smart Neal is, he could very well understand it all. I did tell him that this had to stay a secret and that when the time came for him to tell your family, he would know.”

“You never know with him,” Emma said with a laugh. “But we’ll find out soon enough when he comes home.”

“Yes, and there will be plenty to catch him up on. The story is hardly finished, but you just need to remember what I said Emma, it will all be okay in the end. You can handle this and everything still to come.”

Emma didn’t know what Meera was speaking of. It felt like she was being purposefully vague so as to not give Emma too much insight into the future, but as she reached out to touch Emma’s stomach Emma knew that her hint about babies had been a real one. Inexplicably Emma felt a stirring inside too, and she realized it was her wolf confirming that she was in fact pregnant already with her and Killian’s cub.

From there, Emma’s questions were a little less easy to respond to. Meera couldn’t give the particulars of how she’d gotten here or what things were like here long term. She could only say that unfinished business had kept her from being able to move forward. Until she knew that Liam and Killian would be okay, her soul would never rest easy, but that business was now resolved after years of uncertainty. Meera also shared that while Elsa had an incredible gift, this would be the last time such a spell could ever be wielded. Once she and Liam were truly mated the door would be closed, but since everyone who wished to be a shifter was now able to do so, and since all of Emma’s children wouldn’t suffer the remnants of this block, there should be no need for such an exorbitant magical showing. Meera than gave Emma some last tips about communing with her animal, and reminded Emma that while time was a great teacher, she already had all the same tools of a wolf at her disposal.

“Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done this without you,” Emma confessed and Meera hugged her close again before pulling back and wiping away a happy tear.

“You are stronger than you know, Emma, but it has been my pleasure to help you with this. I only wish I could do more, but time, I’m afraid, is not on our side.”

Emma knew she was right, and she was beginning to feel restless to return. She could only imagine how worried everyone was. She’d been here so long and it was time to go back. She couldn’t wait to get back to her life and embrace all the people she already missed to pieces, but she also felt a loss to say goodbye to Killian’s mother who had been nothing but wonderful to her.

“And what about you?”

“Me? I finally get to move on,” Meera said thoughtfully, looking to the other end of the field where they stood. In that corner the sunlight was strong, but Emma found her vision was hazy, and she couldn’t really see what lay beyond. It was obscured, but Emma could imagine that it was beautiful and serene. “Take care of my sons, Emma, and my grandbabies, and know that wherever I go next, I’ll still always be with them, and with you.”

With one final hug, Emma bid farewell to Meera, watching as she moved into whatever beyond lay in store. It was a bittersweet moment, but Emma chose to cling to the good. After years of limbo, Killian’s mother could finally be at peace, and though she may be farther away than she was before, Emma knew Meera and her love would never really disappear. Closing her eyes Emma quietly willed herself to be taken from this place too, wishing for the chance to go home, and when she opened them again she was delighted to find that she was back safe and sound on the couch once more.

“Emma!”

The chorus of everyone’s happiness at seeing her awake was the best kind of welcoming Emma could imagine, but immediately she got up and flung herself into Killian’s arms. He hugged her back, his relief undeniably washing over them as he held her close and murmured words about how much he loved her. It was too much for Emma, and all the emotions of the past few hours bubbled over into happy tears that quietly streamed down her face.

“I missed you so much,” Emma whispered and Killian smiled before kissing her surely.

“Missed him? You’ve been asleep for like thirty seconds. I know you love him, Emma, but that’s a little much,” Ruby joked. Emma looked over at her friends shaking her head.

“You’re not serious. I was only gone that long? God, it felt like forever.”

“Aye it did,” Killian agreed and Emma looked back to him as he continued his thought. “Longest thirty seconds of my life, and one I have no intention of ever repeating.”

“No, there’s no need,” Emma agreed. “It’s over now. I’m a shifter.”

“Well, let’s see then!” Anna said excitedly. “Show us what you got!”

Emma happily agreed, and as they all moved outside she wondered if she’d feel any pressure or worry about doing this. It was still so new, but Emma felt totally in control. She also couldn’t wait to see Killian’s reaction, and as she shifted before them all she got exactly the response she was hoping for. Everyone else commented on how amazing it was or how gorgeous her wolf was, but Killian was looking at her so intently, his eyes burning her from the inside out. Emma could sense that he was ready to pounce, and the image of him shifting and them being like this together made her tummy flip, but before he could she shifted back, knowing that she had to tell them all the truth of all she’d gone through before doing anything else.

Telling the story was difficult in its way, especially at first. Emma stayed close to Killian, holding onto him as she outlined what her time in the in between had been like and who was waiting for her. Throughout her retelling, Killian was still and silent, but Emma felt all of his shock and wonder and awe. Both Liam and Killian were astounded, but Elsa was the most vocal when confronted with the unbelievable news.

“I can’t believe that was your mother, Liam. She came to me in my dream that night. I couldn’t remember the particulars before, I just knew I had to get to Boston, but now that you’ve said that…” Elsa trailed off, her eyes glazing a bit as she recalled the memory. Liam for his part was holding her so tight, and he was clearly overcome with the thought that his mother had not only been watching him, but that she’d found a way to meet his future mate. “She was so beautiful, and so kind. She told me I had to get to Neal and to Emma because only I could make things right. She said my magic was a great healer and then she hugged me. When we broke apart she said she was sorry, but that things would be the way they should be soon.”

“Do you think she was talking about Mom and Dad?” Anna asked, her eyes absolutely watering as she made no attempt to hide her emotion. Elsa nodded, and the sisters embraced even as Liam kept hold of Elsa.

“They weren’t there with us,” Emma said, hoping to offer her friends support. “Which makes me think they must have already moved on to whatever comes next. They didn’t have the same anchors here, because they knew you two had each other.”

“And you,” Elsa and Anna said at the same time as Emma smiled.

“Yes and me.”

Everyone continued to ask Emma questions about all that had happened, but eventually the hour grew late and the day drew to a close. Emma, for her part, was exhausted, but more than anything she just wanted to be alone with Killian. He’d been so quiet since she revealed the truth of how her block was lifted, and she needed to be sure he was okay. So as soon as everyone left and they were in the house once more, Emma brought him to face her, and ran her fingertips against his jaw until his deep blue eyes met hers.

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Killian replied honestly as his hands snaked around her, drawing her in. “You met my mother, and it turns out she has been protecting me all this time. It’s miraculous. But…”

“But even if she was there, you didn’t always feel it. You might not have been alone but you felt that way for a long, long time.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Maybe that’s wrong. I should only be grateful, and God knows I love her and I am thankful for all that she’s done. I just wish we had more. I can’t forgive as easily as she can.”

“And you don’t need to,” Emma replied with conviction. “All you need to do is what’s best for you. Forgiving your father brought your mother peace, but if it doesn’t for you, then don’t push it. I told her myself I found her strength incredible. I don’t think I could ever do what she did.”

“So you don’t fault me then?”

“Never,” Emma affirmed. “I know you, Killian. I know your heart. I know who you are and what you’ve been and I love every part of you. The light and the dark. We’re all a mix of both in our own ways, and I would never judge you for how you handle the pain you’ve faced in your life. I love you for everything you are and I always will.”

“Marry me,” Killian begged and Emma’s heart skipped a beat as she took in his incredible words.

“What?” she asked, hoping she’d heard right and knowing she had as he grabbed a tiny black box from the side table and then came down on one knee in front of her.

“Emma Nolan, I love you in ways that I can’t possibly describe. You are the sunshine of my life, the hope in the darkness, the beauty in everything I see. I am who I want to be when I’m with you. You’re my mate, but you’re so much more. You, Emma, are the magic in the world. You’re the calm in the storm and the peace that I’ve been craving. No one could ever deserve you, but damn if I won’t try every day to do just that. So please love, please say you’ll be my wife so that I may be your husband for this day and every day.”

“I want to say yes, but I have to tell you something,” Emma said, and immediately she blurted it out when Killian started to worry at her reaction. “I’m pregnant.”

The growl that came from Killian as he jumped up and pulled her in for a kiss took Emma’s breath away and she couldn’t help but meet him at exactly the same level of frenzy and passion. She could feel his joy pulsating between them, and eventually when he broke away from the kiss, his hand came to rest over the space that would soon swell with their child. His eyes were filled with so much admiration, and his voice was tinged with the sounds of genuine felicity.

“I will love you, this child, and every other we may have for this life and any others there may be. I’ll never stop, and I’ll never let go. It’s us forever, Emma.”

He slipped the ring on her finger without her even vocalizing that she would marry him, but for good measure she said what they both already knew aloud. Of course she would marry him, for marrying him was part of the big beautiful dream that was her life. And all she asked was that the wedding happen soon, so that she and her mate could have a chance to enjoy being newly weds before the impending joy of their new child graced their lives with even more beauty and joy and hope.  

Post-Note: So there we have it. I know it’s kind of wild for me to have included Killian’s mother in this story in such a tangible way, and I won’t get into the details of whether she was a ghost or an angel or what, but I will say I have had this as part of my story idea from the moment I was first drafting a concept for this story. The magic Elsa uses which defies explanation had to be bigger than something from this world, and I loved the thought that though she was gone, Killian’s mother never abandoned him or Liam. I also tried to time this moment with some really good news, namely the baby on the way and an official engagement. Emma and Killian are definitively moving towards happily ever after, and now they have it all. If you can believe it though, there is still definitely more to come and I am so looking forward to what the next few chapters bring. Thanks again so much for reading and hope you all have a great rest of your day!

[raisingsupergirl]

Grilling: The Next Generation

I'll admit it. I'm a total porch jockey. Anyone who drives by my house on the weekend will likely see me sitting on my back deck working on my computer (like right now), smoking my pipe (like right now), or grilling (like yesterday). But my favorite of these is definitely grilling. And as I said, I participated in that favorite past time yesterday, but it was a whole new experience for me. Why? Because, for the first time in nearly a decade, I cooked on a new grill, and the experience was bittersweet. You see, the last grill I bought was eight years ago when my wife and I first moved back to Missouri from Virginia. Since then, my humble Kenmore gas grill has given me countless memories and mountains of delicious food. But nothing is meant to last forever, and grills are no exception. I knew I would have to say goodbye eventually, but I had no idea how much it would affect me.

It was a slow fade. First was the electric igniter about five years ago. No biggie. Matches did the job just fine. Then the heat shields crumbled. An easy replacement. Grill covers came and went, and I saw the creeping rust and increasingly unstable base as endearing character traits. Even it's inability to get over 400 degrees was just a minor nuisance. But when the warming rack literally fell in half, I knew it was time to say goodbye to my old friend. Thus began my search for a replacement. And gosh, did I have a hard time deciding.

As I said, I'd grilled exclusively on gas for the majority of my adult life, so it's what I was comfortable with. I knew the hot spots. I knew its strengths and weaknesses. And I loved the ease of use. But I was ready for a change. And so, I had two options in mind: a pellet grill or a dual gas/charcoal combo. I researched countless brands and variations online. I pestered my co-workers and patients for a solid week (bless their patience). And still I was no closer to deciding. It was like comparing apples to oranges. But in the end, a couple of factors led me to a decision.

Remember when I said the electronic igniter was the first thing to go out on my gas grill? Well, as much as I loved the diverse options of a pellet grill and the idea of getting that delicious smoked flavor with the push of a couple of buttons, pellet grills right now rely heavily on a slue of electronics. Igniters, thermostats, and augers, oh my. So much so that most have some form of motherboard to control their fancy gizmos. And even though I keep my grills covered religiously, they do sit outside all year. And I really hated the idea of having to replace essential components. For me, simpler is better.

The second factor was the wood pellet itself. It's the fuel that makes pellet grills possible. They pack all of the flavors of various wood chips for a fraction of the cost because they're essentially the sawdust byproduct of furniture manufacturers. They're waste that's put to good use, and they wind up being cheaper than charcoal and even gas. But the little secret that Traeger doesn't want you to know is this: you don't need a pellet grill to use pellets! Throw a handful on top of your charcoal and you get all of that smoky goodness without the fancy technology. But what's that you say? The mess and time that charcoal requires doesn't compare to the quick, easy use of pellet grills? Well, yes, that's true. But that's what ten-dollar smoker boxes are made for. Fill one up with pellets and throw it on top of your gas grill. Problem solved (okay, not completely. I'm aware that it's hard to replicate the raw smoking power of a pellet grill or a dedicated smoker, but my solution is a reasonable one).

So now that I knew I'd be happy with a duel-fuel grill, all that remained was to pick a brand and style. There were only a few that I found with the massive amount of cooking surface that I wanted, and the variations between them were negligible. In fact, as I compared, it seemed that most used a lot of the same parts. Like, the exact same parts. So much so that it got me wondering if they came from the same manufacturers. I couldn't find any proof online, but the fact remained: instead of comparing apples to oranges, I was now comparing apples to apples. And I was ready to stop comparing them and start grilling them (if you've never grilled apples, you're really missing out). So after work last Thursday, I felt like a Viking returning from a successful conquest when I brought home a $300 Char-Broil side-by-side with 1,000 square inches of cooking surface. And then I pulled it all out of the box on Friday and felt like a child staring at a 1,000-piece Lego set. 

But I didn't let it intimidate me. I put on some tunes, cracked a cold one, and got to work, knowing all of my efforts would soon be worth it. And four hours later (after assembly and rubbing the whole interior down with margarine to "cure" everything), I stood back and admired the newest member of the Winch family. I mean, sure, it was already past dinnertime, which meant we had leftovers, but I was ready to break that bad boy in the next day. And the anticipation was more exciting than Christmas Eve.

Needless to say, my Saturday was a day to remember. One thousand inches of cooking surface. The left side was what I knew: clean, even propane. And the right was unexplored territory: raw, unbridled charcoal. And things got out of hand in a hurry. Waaaay too much charcoal and pellets. My chicken was burning within minutes, even with the vents closed and the charcoal basket as low as it would go. But I adjusted. I buckled down and harnessed the storm. And it was glorious. Every inch of that cast iron was filled with meats and veggies of the most heavenly varieties. And everything landed on the plates with better flavor and texture than I've been able to attain for years. And the critics agreed.

And I think that's the main reason why this has all been so important to me—my family. They always look forward to Daddy's grilling. It brings them joy, and they tell me as much. And for any husband or father, having a family's praise is the ultimate joy. It's what it's all about. All the hard work. The long hours and the time away from those loved ones. It's all worth it to see them appreciate you. And grilling has always been a surefire way to win over their hearts.

As I said, nothing is meant to last, and I know the grill I bought won't outperform a Weber or a Traeger. But when it does finally collapse into a pile of rust, maybe I'll want something different. Maybe the pellet grills will have more options and lower price tags. And until then, I'll honor the memory of my trusty Kenmore by creating new memories with my Char-Broil. So from my porch to yours, happy grilling.

[ejm513]

UNTIL YOU’RE IN MY ARMS AGIAN

Hello my lovely @iwoulddieforhector! Here is your gift for the @cocofanexchange :D Enjoy!

UNTIL YOU’RE IN MY ARMS AGAIN

A COCO ONE SHOT FANFICTION INSPIRED BY “HOW DOES A MOMENT LAST FOREVER”

BY EJM513

To Iwoulddieforhector- the first Coco blog I followed back in December. I hope you enjoy! Please forgive my Spanish-I’m very rusty even though I’ve spoken Spanish/Spanglish  my whole life I’ve studied two other languages since so I’m not up to snuff. So please forgive my probably awful effort. Happy belated Valentines Day! Love, Emma (aka EJM513)

 It all started as a normal morning for the Rivera’s home and shoe shop. They had all risen with the sun and began their day early. Everyone had their space and task to complete-creating a special music of its. Imelda sat firmly in front of her trusty sewing machine, her fingers expertly running the rough leather through the aging green machine. Julio quietly hammered away, creating the study base of the shoes. His eyes, normally soft and wide, were narrow in concentration. Near by the twins were mummering, pens scratching on paper as they came up with the wildest designs. Rosita sat next to her brother, humming softly to herself as she gingerly embroidered boots. Victoria sat nearby at the phone, her eyes glued to a book as she waited for the shrill ring to pull her back to reality.  It all blended together into a simply melody of its own-though no one would dare compare it to music.

Especially since there was finally real music filling the open room. Nestled in a corner of the work shop-far away from the hustle of bustle of everyday business, sat Hector. It was him who brought the music back. As he sat with his eyes closed, his fingers expertly plucked the strings of his beloved guitar. This had become his daily ritual since he was welcomed back into the embrace of his family. The moment it became clear he had no real talent for making shoes-and that it would be the end of Imelda and Hector’s fragile relationship- Hector happily found a corner and played. Just as it was on that warm summer morning, his melodies were already gentle and sweet and always in sync with the rhythm around him. It always created a calming atmosphere in the working shop, allowing most of the Rivera’s to work in peace.

And work in peace they did. Despite the severe expression of focus on their faces, the family seemed completely relaxed as they worked away. Even the ever stoic Victoria and Imelda had little smiles on their faces as they listened to the gentle music.

Hector opened his eyes and felt himself smile when he noticed this. He felt a strange yet welcomed surge of warmth in his chest, near where his heart would have been. In terms of business he might only be useful for deliveries, but he had a strange way of making everyone feel at ease. Watching them work with such a quiet calmness, and knowing he helped create such an environment brought him nothing but pride. He closed his eyes once again and leaned back against the wall, letting the music and warmth fill his old bones. He let out a contented sigh, feeling a sense of peace washing over him.

Yes, after all those years alone, life was finally beautiful once more.

A loud, shrill ring broke through the tranquil atmosphere, making Hector jump and causing the guitar to fumble in his hands. There were certain things Hector was convinced he would never understand-one of them being the telephone. Everyone else seemed entirely unphased by the sound, not turning their focus on their work and ignoring the sound of Victoria’s voice. Only Imelda glanced away from her sewing, taking a second to smirk at her husband before returning back to her work. Hector rolled his eyes began to lean back, ready to begin playing. Just as he back touched the wall Hector glanced towards his granddaughter. She had gone completely silent. Her hand held on the phone as if her life depended on it. Her jaw was dropped and her eyes were wide, staring at nothing in particular. Hector gave the room a quick glance, and no one seemed aware of the state Victoria was in.

This would not do.

Hector immediately put down his guitar down and walked to Victoria, weaving carefully through the different stations and task. He watched with careful eyes as she gave a stiff nod, her hand somehow gripping the phone even tighter.

“Si… Si..” Victoria said, her voice far less biting and commanding than it usually was. She lapsed into silence once more, listening closely to the person on the other end. A moment later she nodded and in the same stunned voice said,

“Si… si. Okay we’ll be there. Muchas gracias.”

“Everything okay angelita?” Hector asked the moment Victoria took the phone away from her ear, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Victoria kept her eyes trained on the counter, completely silent and seemingly unaware of Hector’s presence. Hector gave her shoulder a tender squeeze, hoping to pull her out of whatever trance she was in. She refused to look up at him, but much to his shock she slowly raised her hand and placed it on top of his. She wrapped her fingers around his and gripped his hand. Hector felt his own eyes grow large as she looked up at him, a large smile on her face. Hector thought his eyes were playing a trick on him, but he could have sworn if it had been possible, her cheeks would have been wet with tears.

“Mija?” Without saying another word Victoria threw her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder. Hector held her close, his mind swarming with confusion. Victoria had long since accepted him as his grandfather and part of the family, but she was never one to be so openly affectionate. Though he had no stomach, he could still feel the sensation of it growing tighter with worry.

“Mama…” Hector’s face twisted with incredulity, his head tilting ever so slightly. His thoughts were bouncing around, desperately trying to decipher who she was talking about. It only took a moment for him to realize who she was talking about.

Coco… his Coco.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning, making his bones become rigid. He held on tightly to Victoria’s shoulder and pushed her away so he could look at her.

“What about your Mama?” Hector asked, his words slow and his voice low. His words were enough to truly halt the flow of business. The once calm atmosphere was replaced by anticipation and tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. All eyes were one them as Victoria beamed up at her grandfather, trying to find to find her voice. Despite having long been dead she felt the all too familiar sensation of her heart pounding with joy, compromising her habitually aloof demeanor. She relished that feeling and deciding her family could no longer be kept in the dark by her silence, she finally spoke.

“She’s here, Mama’s here!!”  

Those simple words hit like a speeding train. Everyone in the room seemed frozen where they stood, their eyes never moving from Victoria and Hector. For a long moment it seems time has stopped as Victoria’s proclamation bounced around in their heads, trying to settle. Hector continues to hold on to Victoria’s shoulders, looking more and more like a stunned statue with each passing second. For him the world had come to a complete stand still, his thoughts drowning in a raging sea of emotions crashing over him. There was a surge of unbridled joy, making his old bones strain from the urge to leap for joy and his nonexistent throat burn with the desire to cry out in elation. His eyes began to sting, though he knew no tears would come. He was so lost in himself that he was only partially aware that Victoria had skirted her away around him to hug her father. Hector staid motionless by the counter, his back turned to the rest of the family. He couldn’t seem Victoria and Julio embracing, couldn’t see Oscar and Felipe bouncing with excitement. He was oblivious to Rosita chittering away, rushing to pull her brother and niece into a massive hug. He was unaware of the joyous smile on his wife’s face.

At that moment, all Hector could focus on was the simple fact that after 96 years he would see his daughter.

And despite his sheer joy at the thought, he couldn’t ignore that cold sensation of fear that grabbed hold of him. He became painfully aware of the number of years they had spent apart, of how much he had missed. He never saw her blossom into adulthood. He wasn’t there to walk her down the isle on her wedding day. He wasn’t there when she became a mother. He had inkling of what kind of person she had become. There was no simple way of getting around those painful facts-he had missed her entire life-and there was no way to know how she would react when seeing him.

After all… she never put his photo on the ofrenda…

He could hear a voice-most likely Imelda- call over the excited clatter.

“What are we waiting for? We need to get our Coco!” She exclaimed, her voice wavering ever so slightly when she said her daughter’s name. The room suddenly came alive once more. Everyone began buzzing around the room, clearing the room of any signs of a their own work.

Only the guitar sat in the open. Only Hector seemed unwilling or unable to move. He was lost in a sea of his own terror and guilt that kept him stuck to ground. The same ugly thoughts raced through his over and over again, taunting and mocking taunt and causing him to spiral further and further into himself.

You missed everything.

It wasn’t my fault!

True but you shouldn’t have left in the first place!

Well….

She’s never going to want to see you-and if she does she’s just going to tell you how much she despises you.

¡Cállate! ¡Eso no es verdad!

Si eso es verdad.

Suddenly Hector felt an arm loop around his and felt himself moving. The vicious circle looping around in his head came to a screeching halt. Without warning Hector found himself outside the sanctuary of his new homeHe looked towards his left and sure enough there was Imelda. Not only was her arm looped around his, but she stood as close to him as she possibly could. Her head was resting against her shoulder. Without thinking he rested his head on top of her poof of dark hair, following her adoring gaze. The rest of his family were trailing a head of them, full of joyous chatter and laugher. They were indulging in all the happy memories of Coco, thrilled she had lived she a long life, wondering what she would be like. Though no one said it out loud-they silently pondered whether she would have regain his memory. If Imelda was worried about such things Hector didn’t know. She just beamed at her family, seemingly lost in a world of her own happiness.

Hector wished he could be so lucky. Though his thoughts had ceased their venomous taunting his still felt a strange tightness and fluttering senesation where his stomach would have been. His bones were still stiff and unable to escape from the icy grip of fear. The world suddenly seemed uncertain for the first time in months. It was a sensation that he prayed he would never have to feel again. He felt as if he was walking on egg shells when he had first eased his way back into the family, unaware of how they would react to his presences. The idea of feeling this way about seeing his daughter only added to his torment.

Why couldn’t he escape the guilt?

Why couldn’t he accept that his after life had changed? That he had been forgiven of his youthful mistake?

Out of the blue he noticed Imelda look up at him, her dark eyes swimming with gentle concern. She stopped walking for a spilt second and stood on her toes, placing a kiss on his cheek. She then planted her feet firmly on the ground and continued her walking, once again pulling a surprised Hector along.

“It’ll be okay Hector. She’s been waiting for this day for as long as you have.” Imelda whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder once more. Though Hector had no possessed a beating heart in almost a century, he could still feel the sensation of it skipping a beat, could feel it burning with excitement and adoration. It was something he was still not used to-the feeling of being alive when he was nothing but bones. At that moment though he thanked God for that sensation. For the first time since Victoria had given the wonderful news Hector truly felt grounded. The corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile, his eyes laughing at his own madness. He unhooked his arm from Imelda’s and pulled her in close, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

“Los siento mi amor. I guess I’m just being… un poco loco.” He chuckled, earning an exaggerated eye roll from his smirking wife. Hector let out another chuckle and kissed her cheek, nestling his face in her thick hair. He was finally content enough to ignore whatever demons had been plaguing him.

Whatever the day brought at least he could get to see his girl, and that was all that mattered.

  Though she had only been dead for an hour, Socorro Rivera, better known as Coco, had decided that being dead was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to her.

For so many years Coco had found herself rendered useless. First her hands had started ache and creak, making her unable to continue the family trade. Then her legs started to go, rendering her in an uncomfortable wicker wheel chair and completely dependent on others. Though she despised being so dependent on others, she could swallow her pride and manage the she had been given-just had she done her entire life.

That is until her mind started to slip.

It happened slowly. Coco would forget a name or sometimes be a little confused. It was nothing to blink an eye at and indeed her family did not think of her momentary lapse of memory. With each passing year she remained on Earth she could feel her memory fading faster and faster. She began to forget faces she had seen for decades and even more terrifying, forgot the name of her own daughter. Coco could remember the day she realized what was happening, how she had been frozen to her wheelchair in terror. The last thing on Earth she wanted to do was forget…. She couldn’t forget. She held on to her memory until she no longer had the strength to. Those last months of her life had passed in a hazy blur, never entirely aware of her surroundings or who she was with.  

Until her sweet boy Miguel saved her…. at least for a little while. All the beautiful songs in the world couldn’t prevent the inevitable. No matter how many times he played her Papa’s song, it couldn’t stop the hands of time or the damage that had already been done to brain. At least it made her smile, helped bring back long forgotten memories and bring her peace in her final days.

And now…

Now the issues that plagued her had, for the most part, faded away. As Coco sat in a private office at the Department of Family Reunions, she felt lighter than she had in years. Sure the agent sitting before her had explained it might take a few days her for to walk without any weakness, but she could kick her short legs freely and wiggle her toes. She was no longer haunted by a constant ache that had riddled her body for a long time. The best part though-the part she relished most of all was how clear her mind was. Of cores some memories and thoughts were blurred, and once again the kind women before her had said her mind would return to normal in a matter of days. However as she sat there, half listening to the agent, Coco knew the fog that had overtaken her mind was finally disappearing.

Oh yes… Socorro Rivera had never felt more alive. Though she knew the agent was telling her important information, Coco found it impossible to listen. Her warm dark eyes were glued on her feet, watching her toes wiggle and her legs kick back and forth. She was entranced by these simple motions she hadn’t been able to do in such a long time.

“Senora Rivera?” A delicate voice asked. Coco looked away from her swinging legs and wriggling toes. She was greeted with a warm smile from the agent. She returned the gesture with a gentle smile of her own, trying to subtilty look down towards her name tag. But of cores there was nothing subtle in Coco’s actions-subtle was not a term you could use to describe any of the Riveras. She managed to catch a flash of a name starting with M before the agent caught her, letting out an airy laugh.

“Oh Senora if you don’t remember my name you could have asked-I wouldn’t have been upset.” Coco shook her head and felt her smile turn into a smirk.

“Si of cores. Forgive this old woman-like you said my memory will take some time to come back”

“Only a few days! You already seem to be much better!”

“Si, but it would be lovely if you could tell me your name.” The agent nodded happily, resting her elbows on her wooden desk and somehow managed to sit even straighter than she already was.

“My name Maria Luciero.” Coco’s smile softened at the sound of the name, her smile and eyes softening.

“What a lovely name.” She sighed, earning a delighted giggle from Maria.

“It’s such an honor to hear you say that-to be in your presences and to help you with this process.” She exclaimed, her voice growing higher and higher throughout the sentence. Coco willed her smile to stay in place, only fully aware that if she were alive her face would be flushed red and burning hot. For a moment she could have sworn she felt the all too familiar sensation, but wrote it off as a trick of her old mind. An awkward silence fell over them as Coco didn’t respond to her excitement, and the woman turned around to obtain something. Coco welcomed the silence, it gave her time to sift through her thoughts-the loudest of them wondering why it was such an honor to be in her presence-why she was so special period. From the moment she came into this world, she was whisked away. It had not been quick enough. She was only too aware of the eyes staring at her, could clearly hear the hushed words people were trying to hide from her. Too add to the strangeness of it all she was taken a private office-which she had the sense to know this was not always common practice.

Oh yes something strange was going on.

Coco opened her mouth to voice her concerns, but before she made a sound a loud plop on the desk caused her to close her mouth. In between herself and Maria was an intimidatingly large stack of gleaming white paper. Maria crossed her arms on top of the pile, a pen held in her fingers. She gave Coco an apologetic smile before putting her elbows back on the desk and pushed the pile of paper towards her. Coco’s eyes budged and her jaw dropped at the sight. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a feeble squeak.

“I know… I’m sorry Senora. Unfortunately, death is a nasty business in more way than one. But the sooner you get this done, the sooner you can go to your family.” Maria said, handing the pen over to Coco. She took the pen, her eyes, still too stunned to speak. She sat as tall as she could, stretching her neck to see the top of the pile. With a sigh and huff she reached up and placed the first paper and front of her and began diligently filling it out.

 Coco had no way of knowing how much time had passed since she had begun to fill out the seemingly insurmountable amount of paper work. The rational part of her knew it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. On the other hand she was convinced that the papers didn’t just somehow multiply each time she completed one. Those she was hopefully her eyes wouldn’t strain anymore she was almost certain her head was beginning to spin the longer she kept writing.

“Is this normal?” She asked, her voice weak with exasperation.

“Si.” Maria replied, her eyes glued on to the elderly woman. Coco sighed and looked away, feeling incredibly uncomfortable by Maria’s contently gaze. With a dash of a pen she completed another form, letting out a huff of annoyance. She looked up, hopefully it was the end, only to see yet another form staring her in the face.

As she for the next form, she sent a silent prayer for some relief-anything to stop the endless stream of paper work and Maria’s constant staring.

Just as if God was listening Coco could hear muffled voices trickling through the closed door. She couldn’t make out the individual voices, but she knew perfectly well who they were. Her hand grasped the pen tightly, her other hand crimpling the form she was filling out. The voices grew louder and louder, making it far easier to pick out individual voices. She could hear the familiar nasal tones of her tios as they chattered in their unusual way. She could her the high twitter of Rosita’s voice and the raspy, gentle timbre of her Julio’s speech. Coco dropped the pen at the sound of her husbands voice, her chest filling with a beautiful warmth that as far as Coco was concerned shouldn’t have been there. It only grew stronger when she heard the door knob rattling. Before it swung open she dropped the pen and turned around to face the door, her eyes wide with anticipation.

After what seemed an eternity, the door finally opened.

“COCO!!” A chorous of voices cried, rushing into the room as fast they good. Coco’s mouth spilt into a massive smile, and with no regards to her legs she freed herself from that chair and walked towards her family with open arms. It was hard to tell  who would reach her first, and she didn’t care. As along as she was able to hold on to one of them, she would be happy. Much to her delight she felt a rather short person collide into her and pull her into a tight hug. She would know those arms anywhere, even if they lacked any flesh and muscle. She’d know her Julio anywhere. Coco could feel her eyes burning as if she wanted to sob-but of cores she didn’t. She held him as tightly as she could, placing little kisses all over his face. He kissed her cheeks and then her lips, making her giggle like a little school girl. She rested her forehead against his, placing a little peck on his cheek.

“Oh mi amor.. I’ve missed you so, so much.” She sighed, finally opening her eyes and taking in every detail of his skeletal face. She traced her fingers around his marking, relishing the sound of his chuckle.

“I’ve missed you to mi vida…so much.” He replied, leaning into her gingerly touch. They both could have stayed like that forever, wrapped in each other arms and staring into each other eyes, as if nothing else mattered in the world. For a few blissful moments they did stay that way, completely unaware of the all the eyes staring at them. After those few moments Julio reluctantly pulled away, resting his hand on her cheek. Coco reached up and held his wrist, not ready to look away.

“We’ll have all the time in the world to catch up amor. But in the meantime, I think there are some other people who want to see you.” Julio said, letting go of Coco’s face. She looked over his shoulder to see the group of people standing behind him.

Had she possessed a heart she swore it would have exploded from joy. Right before her eyes were people she hadn’t seen in decades-people she had longed to speak to and hold for so long. They were right there, smiling her and just in reach. She walked around Julio, slowly making her way to her family. Everyone began to surround her, wanting to pull her into a tight hug.

Everyone of cores, except Hector. He staid by the door as still and as frozen as a statue. Only this time he was not paralyzed with the same self-doubt and terror that had plagued him before. From the moment he stepped into that office, he found himself so overwhelmed he was unable to move. As everyone else rushed to gather around Coco, he could only stare. Of cores he was highly aware that Coco was far older than the three-year-old he had left. The reality of it was much different. She was short, not a great deal taller than her tiny husband. Her back was slightly hunched, covered in a delicate orange shawl. Her hair, which had once been thick and dark was now a tuff of long white braids trailing down to her chest. Nothing else could have put it into clear focus how much he had missed. The very sight of he daughter as a small, snowy haired woman should have sent him down the same slippery slope back into his demons.

Yet as he stood there, watching Coco embrace her family, Hector saw what he could have only dreamed of-a glimpse of all he had missed.  As he watched Coco and Julio hold each other close, he could see just how happy and in love they were. Though he already knew what kind of a man Julio was, it filled the empty space between his ribs with elation to see just how gentle and loving Julio truly was with her. Hector saw what kind of sister and friend she was when Coco threw her arms around Rosita as both women fell into laughter. He saw how close she had been with her tios, happily letting them dote on her just as they had in life.  He saw what kind of mother she had been when Coco laid eyes on Victoria and glowed with elation. Hector thought he would break as he watched his normally stoic granddaughter melt into her mother’s arms, to hear Coco whisper sweet nothings as she kissed every inch of Victoria’s face. He could have watched them all day, only imaging what they must have gone through when Victoria meant her untimely death.

However, if watching Coco embracing her child came close to taking him over the edge, he had no idea what would happen to his emotions the moment Imelda and Coco held on to each other. Coco was short enough to easily rest her head on her mother’s shoulder. She smiled happily as Imelda stroked her hair, whispering how much she loved her.

Suddenly the scene before Hector was replaced with another, a beautiful memory that Hector had kept keep within himself. The small office had vanished and was replaced by an open, sunlight kitchen. Imelda was standing by pot, slowly stirring the contents inside as she held Coco close. She swayed back and forth, humming a simple tune. The tune would cease momentarily when Imelda would kiss Coco’s cheeks, making the little girl giggle. They were both smiling, their heads resting against each other. Coco lifted her head up and stared her mother right in the eyes, grabbing Imelda’s face and said,

“Love you Mama!” Imelda had ceased her stirring and let the spoon rest against the pot. She held Coco close, kissing her chubby little face. She pressed her face against Coco’s dark hair and whispered in return,

“I love you to cariño… I love you so much.”

The memory vanished just as quickly as the memory came it vanished, and Hector was once again in the little office. Imelda was still holding Coco, unaware of him watching. Hector just smiled, soaking in the sweet picture before him. It was better than a memory-this whole day was far better than any sort’ of distant memory, and he was unable to see how the day could have gotten any better.

Until Coco and Imelda finally let go of each other. Coco’s brown eyes scanned the room, desperately searching for something-or someone.

“Where’s Pa…” She began, slowly spinning around until she faced the door. Her voice came to a halt, unable to finish her question. Hector lowered his hand from his mouth, letting it fall to his side. Hector once again felt the sensation of time slowing, of everything around him fading away. His sole focus was the small skeleton before him. Her astonished expression mirrored is own, as if she also couldn’t believe who was she was staring at. Her job dropped into a slight O shape, her the corners of her mouth turning up into a wide smile.

“Papa!!” She cried, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She held out her arms and began to take a slow step towards her. Hector watched her carefully, his chest feeling tight at the sight of her glacial, weak walking. She kept walking closer and closer towards him, despite the fact her legs were clearly tired from standing as long as she had. Being the stubborn woman she was, Coco kept moving forward despite obviously struggling. She didn’t make it too close before her legs finally began to buckle. Every Rivera let out a gasp as Coco began to wobble and fall, but no one had a chance to react. Fueled by some powerful, long dormant instinct Hector bolted to her side, catching her before she had a chance to crash on the floor. Instead both of them fell to the knees, holding each other as close as possible.

Hector closed his eyes and buried his face into her hair, swaying back and forth. Even after all those years she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, the only difference being she could pull him into an equally tight embrace. It was truly a marvelous thing to feel her arms so strong and steady around him. He could feel his eyes burning more fiercely than they had all day despite them being closed. Despite having no throat he could feel a cry bubbling up, until it had nowhere else to go but out his mouth. He began to sob in spite of the lack of tears pouring down his face. Though he wasn’t sure how Coco managed to hold him tighter at the sound of his cries. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye, her skeletal face painted with unbridled joy. Hector couldn’t help him at that point. He began to kiss her face over and over again.

“Mi amor.” He whispered in between each kiss, and didn’t stop until he had showered every inch of her face in kisses. The whole time Coco held perfectly still, keeping her eyes closed and melting into his chest. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could have sworn his arms felt warm, just as they had in life. She loved that warmth-she had missed that warmth for over 90 years. A sense of peace washed over her, even as her Papa sobbed into her hair. She knew they were tears of joy-and she knew if she dared to speak there would be no words but a joyful sob. But she didn’t. Somehow Coco managed to stay silent, listening to Hector call her “mija” and “mi amor” over and over again. She could had no idea how long they staid like this, holding tightly to each other as Hector whispered sweet nothings, but eventually Hector pulled away, still keeping his hands resting on her shoulders. He soaked in every detail of her face, from her warm chocolate eyes to her high cheek bones and purple markings that were so much like his own. He lifted his hands off her shoulders and placed them on her cheeks, stroking them with thumbs.

“Look at you mija… you have lived such an amazing life.”

“Si.. I did.” Coco began, her smiling oddly fading as she thought of every important moment in her life, how there was always one important person missing from it all. She willed her smile to stay, but she knew it was growing sadder and sadder with each passing second. Her glanced drifted down to the floor, giving her a moment to steal herself before she spoke.

“Pero… it would have been better if you were there.” Hectors massive smile faltered the instant she finished her sentence, his joyful eyes becoming clouded with a million negative emotions-anger, grief and above all regret. His back hunched over , his hands fell away from her cheek bones and for the first time since entering the office he looked away from her. Coco immediately lamented her words. It didn’t matter that what she said was sad reality of her life, but she loathed what they had done to her father. She went to reach for his chin so she could tilt his head up and look him in the eye while she apologized, but Hector looked up before she had a chance to. He forced a smile, but his eyes were still hazy with the same toxic blend of emotions.

“ I’m so sorry mija…. I’m so so sorry I ever left you and Mama. I’m so sorry mi amor….” He said, stroking her soft snowy hair. Coco had enough of this. She raised her eyes and brought them to his face and pulled it close to her, just as she had done so many times as a child. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his forehead, feeling her mouth curl into a bigger smile than she had before. It felt like the most natural thing in world.

“I know Papa, you would have come home if you were able to.” She said tenderly. Hector shook his head, screwing his head, as if her words didn’t reach him.

“I was coming home when… I tried so hard to come home.” He explained, desperate for her to know that he had always meant to come home, that he had never meant to leave her. Coco kissed his cheeks, letting out a sweet chuckle.

“None of that matters anymore. We have all the time in the world now.”

Hector’s smile returned in full force at the sound of those words, his chest swelling with pride.  His sweet little girl had turned into such a wise woman. It made him all the more excited to spend an eternity getting to know this wonderful daughter of his, to make up for all the time that was stolen from them. He wrapped his arms around once more, finally feeling at peace for the first time in over ninety years.

  Hours later the Rivera family found themselves back in their hacienda, all huddled in the sitting room. Hector and Imelda sat arm and arm, watching on with contented and peaceful expressions as their daughter regaled tale after tale and story after story. Hector particularly enjoyed watching Coco interact with everyone else; seeing her sitting contently in Julio’s arms, watching her dote on her daughter and joining in on her tios jokes. It was fuel to that all-encompassing feeling of peace he had felt back in the office. He was convinced that there would be no greater joy than sitting in the arms of his love and just watching their Coco.

That is… until she mentioned Miguel. Hector’s spine stiffened at the sound of his name, his eyes growing wide. His arms tightened around Imelda, causing her to glare at him.

“Vendejo don’t hold me so tight!” She hissed. Hector didn’t seem to notice. He continued to hold her tightly as leaned closer towards his daughter.

“How is he?” Hector asked. Coco turned her gaze to him, her gentle smiling morphing into an expression of incredulity.

“He’s good-how do you know about him? I thought you weren’t able to cross over until now?” Everyone in the room went dead silent, glancing at each other. It had never occurred to them to wonder whether Miguel had told his family about his ordeal in the Land of the Dead-at the very least they had all assumed that Coco had been told since Hector was still with them. As Coco eyed them suspiciously, it became obvious that she knew nothing. Always the parent, Hector cleared his throat and smiled brightly, knowing full well it would not fool her as it had done when she as a toddler.

“It’s uh… a long story amor that we’ll talk about later but… I know all about Miguel.” Coco narrowed her eyes, burrowing them in to her father as she decided whether or not to push him further. It was nowhere near as terror inducing as Imelda’s, but it was still formidable none the less. He stayed still, trying to hide his shock at seeing such an expression on his little girl, and hoping she didn’t question him.  Thankfully for Hector she her face softened and a small smile appeared once more.

“All right then. Miguel is still the same sweet heart-you should see him with his baby sister, it’s so beautiful. He’s always been so good to me. Do you know he always gave me orange slices every day?” Imelda’s face became painted with confusion, her mind filling with memories of Coco chucking orange slices across the kitchen the moment she laid eyes on them.  

“You hate orange silences.” Imelda stated, her smile mingling with confusion.  

“I guess I got used to them because of Miguel. I always wondered why he did that.” Coco pondered. Victoria fixed her glasses, her face growing stoic with concentration.

“I think it’s because oranges are supposed to help memory. At least that’s’ what I read somewhere.” Coco turned to her daughter, beaming with pride.

“Look at my girl-so smart!” Victoria’s faced soften into a pleasant smile, her eyes glancing down as if he was embraced by her mother’s praise.

“That would explain a lot-especially why he gave so many, especially after.”

A loud rapping knock interrupted Coco, causing all heads to turn towards the door. Imelda groaned in displeasure as she untangled herself from Hector’s arms. She marched towards the door with her hands on her hips, muttering vicious words about delusion fans and people interrupting them. She swung open the door, a slew of fiery words at the ready, only to be foiled by a sudden pair of arms being thrown around her neck.

“Ay Imelda mi hermosa amiga!”

“Fr…Frida! What are you…” Imelda asked, completely stunned by the sudden appearance of the famous artist, Frida Kahlo and her ever present monkey alebrje .Frida kissed both of her cheeks, giving her once last squeeze before letting her go.

“Oh chica think about who you’re talking to-I know everything. Besides you know how quickly news travels around here, especially since you’re”

“Finish that sentence and I swear…”

“Oh calm Imelda darling I mean no harm and you know it.” She skirted around Imelda before the matriarch had a chance to stop her, gliding right into the living room as if she owned the place. She walked right up to Coco, who sat slack jawed and frozen at the sight.

Frida was everything she had expected her to be. She was no particularly tall-maybe only a few inches taller than Imelda. Her dark hair was pulled back into an elegant up due, and she was dressed in the most colorful clothes had seen. A small, green monkey sat contently on the top of her shoulders. It eyed her with as much curiosity and awe as its owner did. Coco felt her bones tighten, and her jaw dropped even more, threatening to detach.

“You… You…” She stuttered, earning a chuckle from the renowned artist. She bent down to hug Coco,  completely ignoring how rigid the woman was in her arms.

“Si I am Frida Kahlo, and YOU are the illustrious Coco!” Frida exclaimed, releasing Coco and hold her by the shoulders. Coco fell silent for a moment, trying to process what had just happened and what she had just heard. Her stunned expressed twisted into one of extreme confusion and horror.

“I… I wouldn’t call myself illustrious.” Coco muttered, her face growing hot as if she should be turning as red as a tomato. She gripped her white dress in a desperate attempt to keep her hands from fiddling with each other. Frida laughed, bending down to give Coco’s cheek a pat. Coco stiffened under the touch, feeling her nonexistent heart beating rapidly.

“Ay dios mios, you really have no idea how special you really are” Frida claimed, her joyful expression softening into a thoughtful one. Coco felt as if she could crawl out of her skin had she had any. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into herself and forget this moment had ever happened. It was almost impossible to wrap her mind around-one of Mexico’s most famous artist was standing before her, a simple old shoe maker, telling her she was special. Not knowing well else to do Coco shook her head, her braids swinging around her face. She opened her mouth to protest such a claim, but never had the chance to utter a word.

“Si Frida, our Coco is quiet special.” Hector said, flashing a loving smile at his daughter. Despite her embarrassment Coco felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a small smile. The burning feeling in her cheeks only grew when she heard the rest of her family agree with Hector and Frida. Though she didn’t look at anyone, preferring to just glance around the room, her small smile grew bigger with each complement. After a moment she finally felt comfortable enough to look at Frida, who had moved over to Hector.

“I’m so happy for you amigo-this must be such a special day for you.” She said, gently patting his shoulder. Hector stiffened, looking up at Frida with a kind smile.

“Si it is.” Frida nodded in agreement, lifting her hand of his shoulder and smooth her skirt. She turned on the balls of her feet, declaring;

“I can tell I overstayed my welcome so I’ll just leave you all alone.” She looked over her shoulder back at Coco, flashing a brilliant smile.  

“I’m very you’re here chica. I can’t wait to get to know you-that is if your mama’s alebreje will let me.” She said, her voice turning bitter at the mention of the infamous multicolored winged jaguar. As if right on cue Pepita let out a low rumbling row, making the room tremble. Imelda scowled as Frida walked back, her eyes full of irritation and anger. Frida gave Imelda a warm smile, holding out her arms to pull her into a hug. Imelda crossed her arms and stood firm as she found herself in an unwanted hug, even more rigid than Coco had been. The little monkey patted her head, only irritating the shoe maker even more. Imelda shoved Frida away, placed her hands on her hips.

“All right you had your fun now go!” The famous artist shrugged, seemingly unphased by Imelda’s hostility. She simply floated out the door as effortless as she had come in.  Imelda slammed the door shut. She let out a loud huff and crossed her arms over her chest, marching back to her family.

“I swear! I’m sorry Hector I know she’s your friend and has done so much for us but she has no right to come into our home and insult my Pepita!” She chided, sitting on the couch with a unlady like plop.

“And that monkey in a nuisance!” She added, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression tight with frustration. Hector went to put his arm around her shoulder, prepared to try and calm her down.

“Frida Kahlo is your friend?!” Coco asked, causing Hector to freeze and hover his arm just over Imelda’s shoulder. He placed it back to his side, staring at Coco with an emotionless expression, his thoughts running a million miles a minute. Coco continued to stare at him with wide, expectant eyes, waiting for the answer she seeked. The other Riveras refused to talk or even look at them, knowing full well it wasn’t their story to tell. Memories came flooding back, of sneaking into Ceci’s costume studio to “borrow” a Frida costume, -and the painful reminder it wasn’t the first time he had tried such a thing. The memory of Frida catching him in costume still haunted him to this day. He could hear how she cackled and doubled over from laughing so hard-even the monkey was snickering at him.

No. Hector decided if he had any say in it his daughter would no idea of him dressing up as Frida Kahlo-or anymore for that matter.  

“Uh I don’t want to talk about it mija.” He said, looking down at his feet and rubbed the back of his neck, silently hoping it would be enough. He knew it wasn’t. If there was one thing he knew about his daughter that seemed to have not changed, was how frustratingly persistent she could be. Sure enough  Coco’s once shocked expression and twisted into pure irritation.

She wanted to hear the story and she would hear it-even if she had to restore to certain measures she had not resorted to since childhood.

“But how..”

“I said I’m not talking about it!” Hector stated, standing up and walking away from the group. Despite still getting used to her legs Coco immediately stood up and began to trail behind him as he walked through the house.

“How do you know Frida Kahlo?” She demanded.

“I’m not talking about Coco.”

“How do you know Frida Kahlo?”

“I said no mija.”

“How do you-“

“SOCORRO RIVERA DROP IT!”

The family watched the scene with amused expression and laughter, unused to seeing Coco act in such a manner. Everyone that is except Imelda. She watched the scene unfolding with a soft smile and a thoughtful expression. Her chest glowing with a kind of adoration she hadn’t felt in a long time.  As she heard them squabbling, Imelda found herself falling deep into the recesses of her mind, just as Hector had done before. Right before her eyes her hacienda suddenly became much smaller. Hector was no longer a skeleton but flesh and bone. Coco was a little toddler once more, having gained use of her leg and a small amount of words. For whatever reason Coco was following Hector around the house, pleading with him for something or to do something.

“Please Papa!” She begged, her choice high and childish.

“No mi amor.”

“Please Papa.” She tried again, batting her chocolate eyes and trying not to stumble as she kept up with him.

“Coco I said no.” Hector repeated, his voice growing every more agitated with each childish plea.

“PLEASE Papa?!” Coco cried, throwing herself at Hector’s leg. She wrapped both her arms and ankles around the unsuspecting leg, causing Hector to drag her along as he went through the house.

“Socorro Rivera you need to let me go!” Hector ordered, desperately trying to conceal his frustration.

“No!” She cried, holding Hector’s leg even tighter. Hector’s annoying grimace turned into a loving smile, letting go of whatever annoyance he had.  He bent down and pried her from his leg, scooping her in his arm and spinning her around.

Imelda felt her breath being sucked away at how vivid the memory was, how even though she had returned into reality she could have so easily been back in her little home, watching Hector slowly make his way around the house as Coco clung to his leg. She knew it was only a memory, and she could tell by the way Coco kept harping at her poor Papa that it would not end the same way. Their voices carried on for a few more minutes until Hector finally caved.

“All right all right you win mija! I’ll tell you later okay?” Coco’s lips curled into a proud smirk as she let out a low chuckle, instinctively wrapping her arms around her nonexistent stomach. Hector stared at her wide eyed, his face colored in disbelief.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?! Remind me again how old you are?!” He demanded, looking completely offended as Coco’s chuckle turned into full blown laughter. He gawked at her in disbelief, his jaw dropped in a slightly O. He wanted to stay annoyed at her childish antics-after all she had almost lived a century. However, her soft, feather like laughter melted away frustration he felt. His exasperated expression turned back into a smile, and he began to laugh along with her. He pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed the top of her snowy head, thankful to have his miracle back in his arms.

“Te amo mucho mi amor.” He said, rubbing gentle shoulders on her shoulder blade. Coco wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could and looked up into his large, loving eyes.

“Te amo tambien Papa.”  

Imelda’s small smile grew until it reached the tips of both cheeks as she watched them. She was so full of joy she felt like she was glowing. For the first time in ages, Imelda could finally let herself fall back into the couch and relax.

Life was good.

[recentanimenews]

Don’t Toy with Me, Miss Nagatoro – 03 – Going Steady

Nagatoro continues her daily intrusions on Naoto’s drawing sessions, but it’s clear it’s not out of malice. She slips off her skirt and top to reveal her school swimsuit for the sheer thrill of it, and to get her fix of that sweet, sweet Naoto fluster. This cold open is nothing new, but when the two are caught in the rain it begins the trend this episode of Nagatoro acting more like Naoto’s friend (and even admirer) and less like his tormentor.

When they find some temporary shelter, Nagatoro plays herself once more by warning Senpai not to look at her as her soaked uniform is see-through. He assumes she’s still wearing the swimsuit underneath, and takes a good long glance at her. You can watch Nagatoro shift from a neutral expression, to a bashful one, and finally to her mischievous one. But when the rain fails to let up, the teasing stops and she suggests they dry off at the nearest house—which is hers.

Once there, it’s Naoto who makes an unforced error by smelling the towel Nagatoro provides, in case she used it first. From there, it’s a pretty standard house visit, or it would be, if it weren’t the very first time Naoto was in a girl’s room. As for Nagatoro, she clearly couldn’t be happier to finally have Naoto firmly ensconced in her lair…so they can play her brother’s video games together!

At first, Naoto kicks Nagatoro’s ass and she is not gracious in defeat. Thinking this could be a way to exact revenge, Naoto presses his attacks, but Nagatoro starts using various forms of physical contact to distract him so she can win. After some tense back-and-forth, the two eventually settle in to having fun together, not worrying about teasing or being teased. Nagatoro seems genuinely touched when Naoto says he had fun before leaving for the day.

Of course, the teasing will never be fully over for Naoto, it will come down to how he chooses to react to it, or whether he ever tells her to flat-out knock if off (which will be never). When he braves the packed cafeteria for lunch, who should have an empty seat next to her but Nagatoro, who uses it to present her new…er…senpai to her two friends Gamo and Yosshi.

Naoto fully expects a three-on-one teasing assault, but both he and Nagatoro’s friends are surprised by how she reacts to them teasing him. While she’s all over him saying he’s her boyfriend/pet/slave, she does not take kindly to Yosshi trying to touch him—giving us the first look at Nagatoro’s “Possessive Face”. Gamo-chan picks up on this and calls Naoto a “bug”, which crosses a line for Nagatoro.

Naoto is shocked to find her getting angry for his sake! This motivates him to stand up for himself and loudly declare that Nagatoro isn’t his girlfriend. The thing is, Nagatoro looks miffed and even a little hurt that he denied it quite so strongly and publicly.

It’s clear from their encounter with Gamo and Yosshi that Nagatoro would much prefer to have her beloved Senpai all to herself. I mean, her demeanor at the restaurant with the other guys compared to her pure unbridled joy hanging out with him at home was as different as night and day. To this end, she attempts to get Nagatoro to fight back…not against her teasing, but the teasing of others.

She suggests the best way to do this is to smack the taunts down with a hearty slap to the shoulder. Nagatoro decides to do a couple of dry runs. The first time he slaps her, she’s surprised by the force and passion he put into it. She in turn cranks up the verbal abuse until once again Naoto is fighting back tears. This time, when he says she doesn’t have to “take it so far”, Nagatoro clearly regrets doing so and apologizes.

Then she changes gears by insisting he give her the shut-down smack, but he’s a little too forceful this time, and his arm ends up smacking against her chest. So he definitely has some work to do . But the bottom line is, even if she’d prefer to tease him at her leisure, she wants him to fight back against others. To her, there’s a clear distinction between their particular “thing” they have, and everyone else.

By: sesameacrylic

[nijxma-blog]

Sessions

This is a small story written by both me and @just-arsene-around based around some of the art by @one-punch-titty, which shows a more...dominant Makoto x Akira.

Warnings: some light sexual content, mostly based around hitting and blood. Put under Read More nonetheless.

A light hummed softly, a young man tied to a chair nearby and looking down at the wooden floor. To say it was a sticky predicament for the male was an understatement. But then again, he willingly put himself to this task. As he heard the footsteps from the woman in front of him on the creaking floor, his heart beat faster as the anticipated moment drew near.

For starters, the male in the chair, Akira Kurusu, was the true leader of the Phantom Thieves. At that very moment, he was currently in a friendly bout with the brains of the Thieves, Makoto Niijima. Most people considered the Shujin Student Council President to be rather weak, a pushover, focused on her own desires. Well, that wasn’t the case by any stretch of the imagination. The fact that Akira was covered in noticeable bruises and some cuts proved beyond doubt that when provoked, Makoto was one of the scariest women alive. But to be honest, as she found out, Akira liked that sort of thing. He liked being the matador with the red cape, trying to tempt the bull and in the process trying not to get gored too badly by the horns.

It was also noticeable that the man was naked. And thus the true nature of the scars and cuts begins to form: there was an obvious power dynamic when it came to the two. Makoto being the obvious dominant party, and Akira being the willing and cocky submissive. It fit him, in all actuality. A natural showman on stage, yet off it, he was meek. Still, there were occasional flashes of that showman attitude. But everytime it came out, it was promptly smacked, spanked, and whipped out of him. Yet Akira came back time and again, begging for more.

Clad in the studded and leather-bound bodysuit she wore into the palaces, giving Ann a run for her money in the ‘rookie Dominatrix department’ Makoto proceeded to grab Akira’s chin with her hand and force him to look up at her and specifically her ruby red eyes, burning with the fires of domination and unbridled desire. “Is my dear Joker ready for another round?” She asks in a straightforward manner. The girl definitely did not bullshit when it came to who held the control, or the cards. Akira was expected to fall in line and be a good boy.

Of course, that meant that the sessions wouldn’t be as fun. So he broke the rules and talked back. Constantly. And they both loved it.

Makoto was clad with a riding crop on her hand, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. “As always. Come at me with your best shot, Queen.” Akira replies, a wicked smile on his lips. Make no mistake about it, they both loved each other. But unlike other couples that participated in mushy rituals, both of them cut to the point. She replies quickly, smashing the crop into his thigh. “No talking back!” She yelled, moving the crop slowly across the other marks she had made earlier, both tonight and previous play dates. Her voice and words are laced with equal parts seduction and anger, looking over the male, still smiling like the cocky fuck he was. Never change, Akira.

“This needs to change.” The dominatrix mentions icily, specifically pointing out the growing erection amidst the pain and abuse he faced. “Are you enjoying the pain I am giving you Joker? Am I giving you the thing you crave?” A simple nod of approval. What comes next is a slap across the male’s face. Not just a soft slap, but a rather hard one, enough to make his nose bleed from the hard contact. Like a leaky faucet it was, droplets of red drip, drip, dripping onto the wood floor, while the rest ran down. There was something so intoxicating about seeing Akira like this, bleeding and bruised, asking for more. Makoto had to admit that he didn’t exactly have a desirable, movie star style physique, but for the woman, it was utterly beautiful. True beauty was within the eye of the beholder and Akira certainly passed the test. “Look at you.” She said, a sneering tone to her voice that was hard edged and full of contempt. “A disgusting male who finds joy in the strangest things like pain. Is that was you enjoy, Joker? People giving you your comeuppance?” Her voice is laced with venom, very much enjoying this surge of adrenaline she got from controlling the male.

"Maybe just a little bit," replied Akira cheekily, a trickle of blood emerging from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. Compared to the beating he received from Shadows on a regular basis, this was nothing new. And yet seeing Makoto take so well to her role, the strength and sexiness only she could project through expressing both her anger and her desire---that's what drew the young man's desire toward it's peak. "Or maybe it's just the right woman putting me in my place." Again, he let his smirk play across his lips, defiance shining in his dark, mysterious eyes.

"I see. So you wouldn't let just anyone handle you this roughly?" Makoto leaned forward, roughly grabbing Akira's chin in her left hand while brandishing the crop in her right, forcing him to look directly into her fierce red eyes. "So you wouldn't let, say, Ann-chan or Kawakami-sensei treat you like I do?" Her eyes narrowed menacingly as she leaned even closer to him, their faces mere inches away from each other as she began to hiss in a low voice. "You'd better not be lying to me, Akira. I have a tendency to get very... very angry if someone doesn't tell me the truth."

“After all we’ve been through, you think I’d have the gumption to lie to your face?” asked Akira with another cheeky grin. Of course, that sort of reply only earned him a rough push from Makoto as she shoved his face away from her, nearly forcing him from his chair before she struck his exposed side with the riding crop.

“I’d have rewarded you if you hadn’t said it in that insolent tone, you know.” Makoto latched the toe of her boot below the seat of the chair and lifted her foot, forcing the chair to fall backward. As Akira felt the air leave his lungs from the sudden impact with the floor, Makoto stood over him haloed in the light of the fluorescent lamp above, tossing aside the riding crop with a ferocious, yet lustful, gleam in her eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. This isn’t about you. It’s about me. And I’m going to take what I want from you, no matter how much defiance you show me.”

“You can certainly try,” grunted Akira, eyes squinted from the corona of light shining behind Makoto. “Just know you’re gonna have to work for it--”

Suddenly, Makoto was straddling him, her body pressed against him while he remained bound to the chair. Any rebellious words abruptly died in his throat as the sensation of close physical contact overwhelmed him.

“......Gun Shot,” murmured the brunette into the youth’s ear.

“Huh?” Akira blinked in a slight daze, turning to face his lover who, to his surprise and bemusement, blushed much redder than usual. “..Wait, again? You know, technically the submissive one is supposed to be the one to use the safe word, remember? I haven’t even said it once in the seven times we’ve been doing this.”

“Pfft. Like you’d ever even consider saying the safe word….” Makoto turned to gaze into Akira’s eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “Besides, we don’t need to keep going with the roleplay, do we? I’m so ready to go right now as it is that it’d just… get in the way of the moment…”

“Makoto…” Akira couldn’t argue with Makoto’s flawless logic, as usual. A gentle smile crept over his lips as he leaned in to give her a gentle peck on the lips. “If that’s the case, then maybe you should untie me, hmm?”

A mischievous grin played across the girl’s face. “Ohhhhh, no you don’t. I still have you right where I want you, and I know better than to let this opportunity pass me by.”

“Oh. Well, then,” murmured Akira, admittedly a little surprised by Makoto’s daring. “I guess I don’t have much choice, then, do I?”

“Oh, now you decide to be obedient?~” teased Makoto with a soft giggle, leaning in to give him a longer, more romantic kiss. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle… at first.”

BONUS:

“Ahh, there’s nothing like a day at the beach, is there? I-- Akira?! What the hell, man?!”

“Ryuji? What’s wrong?”

“Your body! It’s like… covered in welts!”

“Is it? Huh. I didn’t notice.”

“How can you NOT notice that shit?! What the hell have you been doing?!”

“Uh… practicing at the batting cages?”

“....Really. What, are you the ball or somethin’?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, whatever, man. Hey, Ann! Makoto! Come take a look at the welts all over Akira’s bod--.... Uh, why is Makoto covering her face like that?”

“Hm. She’s probably just being respectful. Don’t bug her about it, alright?”

“...Man, you’re both so effin’ weird.”

[hellafluff]

In a Week

So for my creative writing class we had to write a 10 page short story and then after we workshopped it, had to turn in a revised version for the final. This is my final version and I like it so I figured I’d share! It’s based on the NaNoWriMo story I was working on last year but never finished. Hope you take the time to read it, its around 3000 words

---

“It’s very sweet of you to cover for Mr. Engel tonight, Ms. Hayles,” Ms. Rote says as she scrutinizes a black hardback book with no visible title. She makes a face, something akin to distrust, before putting the book in a box to her right. 

Ms. Rote is in her sixties but carries herself in the dignified and proud way a young businesswoman would. She’s mostly around the shop in the evenings, but occasionally makes surprise visits during the day with a box under each arm, one full of books to shelve, and one empty. She does with them as she does now, placing the books into their appropriate places and books deemed unworthy into the empty box to be whisked away into the back. Marissa doesn’t know what she does with them or why she decides those books aren’t worthy of the shelves, but she isn’t about to question the woman who signs her checks. Instead, she shakes the snow off her boots and hangs up her coat and purse, feeling the shop air warm her. 

“It’s no trouble, he deserves a night out for once,” she clocks into the ancient work computer, beginning to sort through the box of consigned items on the table behind the front desk. “Will you be staying long, ma’am?”

“No,” she places another book in the box, red leather with silver etchings in the corners. “This is the last shipment for tonight. You focus on the items, please.” 

She nods and ten minutes later Ms. Rote makes her exit, bundled up thick in a chic black overcoat, bidding Marissa farewell and reminding her to triple check the locks before she closes. The noise of the bell above the door leaves the air feeling tinny once she’s gone and Marissa begins to wonder how Davie stands working the night shift alone so often. 

The shop is small, cramped, dark, and honestly a little bit spooky. Low, yellow lighting coming from lamps situated in strategic corners provide just enough light to see and read without straining the eyes but give off strange shadows from the various items stacked about, consigned for sale along with the old tomes. She distracts herself with music, placing her phone beside her as she works and swaying gently with the beat that fills the lonely space. It’s warm, which she’s thankful for, and she’s glad to have time with her thoughts. As she tags and sorts the items set out for her, she thinks about visiting her mother for Christmas. She smiles, content. 

Halfway into a playlist, the bell above the door screeches. She turns to find a man with frantic eyes darting around the shadowed corners, hunched over, clutching something to his chest. He’s not much older than her, she thinks, but he’s haunted. The look in his eye ages him by decades. She’s startled for a moment before her retail self takes over. 

“How can I help you, sir…?” He lurches at her voice, scrambling up to the counter, slamming down a hand on the polished wood table while still grasping the object. 

“I must speak to Lysandra!” His voice is hoarse and forceful, making her step back and her nerves to set on fire. His eyes bore into her. His lips are drawn back into a snarl. His teeth are blackening at the gums.

Her heart is pounding in her ears, making sentences hard to form. The shadows of the yellow lamps seem to coalesce around the stranger who curls and uncurls his outstretched hand. The light scratching of his bony fingers against the wood seems so much louder than the beat of her music still playing behind her. 

“Ms. Rote? She just left. Half an hour ago, I think.”

Her hands shake as she watches the man reel back like he’s been slapped. She notices then, as his sleeve falls back, black tattoos etched into his skin. She can’t get a good look at the design before he presses forward again.

“Then you! You have to help me,” he whines, desperate. He slams his treasure on the counter, dropping it like a sack of bricks. It’s a book. “You need to take this.”

The book is thick, almost the size of her copy of Les Mis back at home, but taller. It’s bound in black leather, intricate designs pressed into the front and back covers. A beautiful chaos. It’s held closed by a latch on the side, a shining silver that contrasts the black nicely. It’s a gorgeous book, and Marissa was always a sucker for a book with a pretty cover. 

Or well, normally she would be. Currently, she’s too scared of this unstable man currently shoving the work towards her with a furious intensity. She begins to reach back for her phone to make a call, get her boss back down here, maybe call the police as a last resort, but the man sees her movement and cries out against the action.

“No, please! I… I just need you to take this book, please! Lysandra will know what to do with it,” he’s on the verge of tears, eyes reflecting, body shaking, lips curled in a rotting grimace. She can’t deny the man this, he’s hurting, from what she doesn’t know, but this book is the catalyst.

“Yeah! Okay. How much do you-”

“Nothing! Just take it! Give it to Lysandra to put with the others!” He holds the book out to her over the counter, hands shaking desperately like it’s taking all his strength to do this simple action. She reaches out and grasps the edge, pulling it towards her.

Then her entire being is consumed in pain and darkness, with only the last cry of unbridled joy from the man ushering her into oblivion.

All around her is dark. Her skin feels like a million needles are lightly carving their way around her. Just enough pressure to hurt, multiplied by the sheer mass of them, making an unbearable sensation. She tries to escape but only begins to let loose ragged, wet coughs. Her chest heaves, unable to gain air. Her ribs feel like they’re trying to burst outwards, out of her chest, break through the skin to expose her heart to the world. Her stomach is lurching but there’s metal in it, keeping it weighed down and it spasms as the muscles work against each other. The intensity keeps gathering, dragging apart her body's tissues and vibrating her teeth and bending back her joints until she can’t take it anymore and she finally forces out a desperate scream.

And then it stops.

“Marissa, please for the love of god wake up! Please, please, please!”

“Davie?” She’s awake. Her voice sounds bad, to say the least, and she flinches at it.

“Oh thank god!” Arms are thrown around her suddenly as she tries opening her eyes. The only thing she sees is the black of a band t-shirt. 

She sits up, maneuvering around Davie, who clings to her in a desperate hug. They’re on the floor behind the counter of the bookshop. August, Davie’s boyfriend, is back against the wall, looking relieved. He sighs as he pushes his hair out of the way. Davie’s face suddenly overtakes her vision as he releases his hug, holding her shoulders instead as he looks her up and down, assessing for injury. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” Her mind is slow and her words reflect it. 

“August and I were in the neighborhood and wanted to see if you wanted to hang out after work but when we showed up the door was open and you were passed out! Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she stutters out and scoots backward, rubbing her head to try and soothe the bump that has risen. She must have hit her head on the way down. “A man came in with a book, I don’t remember what happened after that…”

A terrified gasp. “August, call Ms. Rote, I think someone robbed the place!” Davie tosses his boyfriend his phone before offering Marissa a hand up. She takes it, wavering a little as she realizes her legs have fallen asleep.

And then she rips her arm away from August, finding that the air is betraying her and refusing to fill her lungs as she stares at her wrist. 

There are black marks etched around it, swirled and angry and definitely new. She lifts her other arm, comparing the skin, only to find almost identical marks on the other side. Where did they come from? She begins to tear at her wrists with her nails, desperately trying to smudge or peel or scratch off the offending things. It’s not working. She can’t imagine why it’s not working, they weren’t there a moment ago and they really shouldn’t be there now, maybe if she claws harder, maybe if she digs deeper, maybe if-

Davie yanks her arms apart and pulls her into a crushing hug, begging her to stop. Her arms are raw and she’s shaking and she’s vaguely aware of August on the phone. She doesn’t return the hug but leans her body against her friend who supports her, holding tight. He sits her down and talks to her softly until Ms. Rote arrives.

It doesn’t take long.

The three stand as the older woman approaches and immediately grabs hold of Marissa, checking her over with telescopic scrutiny. She sees the still raw wrists and swears, eyes closing and shoulder tensing, as if pained. Her eyes are open again, cold blue-black staring firmly at her.

“You’ve been cursed.”

“Pardon?”

“Cursed.” Ms. Rote scans the room before moving, standing above the book the man had thrown at her, left discarded on the floor. 

She bends down to pick it up but snaps her hand away, swearing and shaking the limb like she’s been shocked. Her frown deepens and she begins to look more her age, wrinkles deep and body tired. She turns to August and beckons him over, and the same thing happens when he tries. A heavy sigh follows and she turns sad eyes briefly to Marissa before standing again. 

“Girl, you pick this up.” 

Tentatively, ready to be shocked like the others, she crouches down and places her hand on the cover. Nothing. She picks it up and feels the weight and the age of the old pages on the side, all frayed. To her, it’s just a book; heavy, beautiful, and apparently, cursed. 

“I know this magic,” Ms. Rote moves into the back, gesturing the others to follow her. “I’m sorry, Marissa, but if it is not taken care of, it will be fatal.”

“What?!” Davie and Marissa both yell, shocked and confused and deeply upset about this horrid night. August pales, moving to Davie’s side, placing a hand on his arm to steady him.

“Fatal? There’s no way to fix this? Magic is real and my first experience with it is it trying to kill me?” Marissa laughs, but with no joy. It sounds like dead air escaping her throat.

“Come with me, to the back,” they follow the boss dutifully, feeling no other choice.

They enter the back office and Ms. Rote grabs a very thick volume from one of the many shelves that line the walls. Her own personal collection. After flipping through the pages for just a moment, she stops, sighs, closes her eyes, and gently takes a seat in her brown leather chair. 

“That bad?” Marissa asks. She regrets it as her boss looks at her like one looks at a stray puppy they can’t keep. The dissociative state she’s been in since this started is beginning to crack. She feels cold.

“The only way to lift the curse is to pass the tome on to someone else who willingly takes it. If this is not done, you will be dead in a week.”

Marissa’s heart aches like it’s skipped too many beats and is struggling to catch up. Her wrists burn in the cold back room. Her entire body feels so much heavier. She’s going to die. Too much absurdity has happened in the past hour, too many new concepts and revelations. Her boss works with magic books, she’s cursed, magic is real. She begins to cry without realizing it. She thinks about missing Christmas with her mother and finally collapses into the chair across from Ms. Rote.

“Marissa, please, give me the book. I can handle this for you,” Ms. Rote holds her hand out like offering assistance to a drowning man. Davie is having a hushed argument with August in the corner before he interjects at the offer.

“No! I should have been working the counter tonight, give it to me!” August pulls him back, telling him to stop. He’s not letting him martyr himself like this. 

There’s silence as Marissa stares at the books lining the shelves, seemingly lost in herself.

“No,” she stands so suddenly that Davie flinches and Ms. Rote snatches her hand away. “It’s my burden now and I’m going to deal with it on my own.” 

“Where are you going?” Ms. Rote calls after her as Marissa speeds away back into the shop floor, grabbing her coat and purse and the book. 

“Home, to get some sleep. I’m taking the week off, if you don’t mind.” Her words are final and she’s out the door before there’s an answer. The bell rings final as the door closes. 

The first three days pass by in private despair. Marissa locks herself in her room, tells her roommate that she’s sick, and lies motionless in bed for hours on end. Sometimes she’d stand in front of the mirror and stare at the markings that grow and twist their way up her arms. She doesn’t eat or shower, barely even sleeps.

On the morning of the fourth day, she gets a call. Her phone had been buzzing on and off, worried texts from her friends, but there was only ever one person who called her. Her mother.

She answers, lethargic and barely gets out a greeting before her mother asks what’s wrong. She says she’s sick, bedridden actually, and the wisdom of a hundred generations of mothers is recited to her from across the connection. She laughs at the old remedies her mom lists out, everything from honey tea to onions in socks. That brief moment of joy makes her take pause and she sits up, listening to every word her mother says, memorizing her voice and accent. When she finishes, Marissa smiles and tells her she loves her, and the conversation ends. 

She spends the rest of the day cleaning herself up and then the apartment too, until she’s so exhausted she passes out when she falls into bed that night. 

Day five starts at eight am. Breakfast is made for her roommate and herself and she’s out the door as they stumble into the kitchenette half asleep, telling them the coffee is all theirs. She explores the city, enjoys herself, strangling any thoughts about death that pop up. She meets some friends from college for lunch and ends up having an impromptu snowball fight afterwards when they all walk through the park. She brings the group home and they watch their favorite movies and laugh like they used to.

Day six she decides to treat just herself. She wanders into a nicely lit restaurant, surprisingly crowded for a Thursday night, and finds a place at the bar. She sips her cocktail and eats some fries, enjoying the nightlife.

She turns to find the bathroom at one point and just briefly through the crowd thinks she sees a familiar face. Pausing, waiting, watching… there. The crowd parts briefly and she sees him, a man her age, but haunted in a way that makes him look older. Not nearly as old as the first time she saw him, but it hasn’t completely left his face. Six days and the man that cursed her still looks worse for wear from his encounter with death. 

The weight of the book sits heavy in the inside pocket of her thick winter coat. She couldn’t bring herself to leave it at home, feeling like the thing was shackled to her. Her arms would itch if she got too far away from it. The man never looks at her, probably doesn’t recognize her face in this nicely lit, welcoming atmosphere- a stark contrast from the yellow, crowded emptiness of the shop. 

A notice takes over in her mind, the whisper of an idea that at first makes her sit straighter, feeling nauseous and disgusted in herself. Trick him into taking the book, give him back the curse he gave to you, it says. The longer she thinks about it, however, the more the sickness passes and the more resolute she becomes. She needs to give him back his book. A plan formulates, not a good one, but she needs to do this before her confidence leaves her. 

She stands from the bar playing with her hair as she maneuvers through the crowd until she looks approachable, like she’d never hurt a fly. She tugs on her long sleeves, making sure that the markings that claw up her arms are hidden. The book burns against her chest. She ignores it. 

“Excuse me?” He looks up at her, confused. He doesn’t recognize her. “I think I know you, were you at Rote Books and Antiques last friday night?” He pales, choking on his beer.

“Uh, why do you, uh what-?”

“You left your book behind,” she smiles so sweetly at him. “It’s a real antique you know, we put it aside in case you came back for it.” 

“No, no girl, that things no good,” he’s grinding his teeth. His friends in the booth look confused.

“Oh, I beg to differ. I’ve been reading it actually, it’s very good. I have it with me actually,” she takes it out of her jacket. The silver clasp shines. “Here, I’d hate to miss the opportunity to give it back.”

He’s panicking. His friends stare at him, wondering why he’s not taking it. She smiles, tilting her head and offering it to him. She keeps from shaking by biting her tongue. Any second now she’s going to lose her nerve, he’s going to run, or she is, and it’ll all be over for her. 

“Dammit, Mike just take the book so the girl can go,” the woman on his left chastises, shoving his shoulder roughly. On instinct, he reaches out to stop himself from falling off the seat, and grabs the book. 

Marissa doesn’t think she’s ever run faster in her life, as the moment his hand is on the cursed tome, she’s fled the scene, running and never stopping until she’s home.

On day seven, she walks into work. Ms. Rote stares at her as she removes her coat, revealing unmarked arms. They stare at each other for a few moments, finality and uncertainty in the air between them. 

“I gave the man his book back,” she says, voice level. Ms. Rote nods, a single, slow tilt of the head, expression unreadable.

“Well, that’s good to know... Would you like to help me sort the books?”