#unexpectedly extremely upset after writing this usually I feel better for getting it out but sometimes getting it out makes it worse

[aqua-murphys-law]

i can feel it falling (timber)

Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: A look at what inspired Milo not to give up on the possibility of Zack becoming his friend, the day they first met.

A/N: When I fell back into the Dwampyverse fandom, I foolishly said that I didn’t know if I was gonna write anything for MML. I really should’ve known better. So here’s a little something inspired by @wiz-witch‘s post here!

I wish I’d had it done in time for MML’s 4th anniversary but such is life. Reblogs/comments would be greatly appreciated, and a good response will let me know whether I should write the other one-shot ideas I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! - Aqua

(Click here to read on A03 for extensive tags!)

~*~

Milo approaches the bus stop with a bounce in his step.

It’s been a relatively light morning so far. There was just one bird nesting in his hair when he woke up, and it relocated to the backyard without much fuss. He got through both of his showers without slipping, getting soap in his eyes, or breaking the water system (the second shower was because the garbage disposal spewed breakfast scraps back up at him, but still, that could’ve been worse).

He even gets to the bus stop before Melissa, only a few boys from school present. It takes a couple seconds before he hears shoes scuffling away from him, which isn’t surprising. It’s very rare for him to actually end up on the bus, but when he does, it makes for an… eventful ride. He can’t fault them for being cautious, since it’s looking more and more like it might actually be one of those days-

“What’s that all about?”

That’s an unfamiliar voice.

Milo turns to the speaker. It’s a boy around his age, dark-skinned with frizzy black hair. He’s dressed simply in a yellow shirt and jeans, a red backpack at his sneakers. He’s looking at Milo with confusion, and something akin to concern.

“Oh, you’re new here,” Milo realizes. It’s strange for someone to transfer schools after the start of the semester, but stranger things have happened. He sighs good-naturedly, going on to explain, “I’ve got a bit of a reputation.”

The boy blinks before amusement tugs at his mouth, and he quirks a brow. “So what are you, a tough guy?”

That might be teasing, Milo’s not sure. “Oh, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me tough,” he says. And this is really pressing his luck, but he can’t help being polite and offers his hand. “I’m Milo.”

The boy actually takes Milo’s hand, and smiles when he does it. “I’m Zack.”

Of course, the other boys at the stop immediately urge Zack against it, but Milo isn’t fully paying attention. He instantly commits Zack’s name to memory because if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that knowing his classmates’ names helps soften the blow when he accidentally lands them in the hospital for the first time.

Despite the warning, Zack doesn’t let go right away. His hand is warm, and a little bigger than Milo’s. Mostly softer than Milo’s too, but unexpectedly calloused in telltale places, like he plays a guitar of some sort. That’s interesting.

“So what exactly is this reputation?” Zack asks, seeming more curious than concerned now.

Milo tilts his head. “Well, people have used the J-word, but you know what they say. Sticks and stones can damage your vital organs, so always wear body armor.”

The original meaning of the phrase is still implied. As a Murphy, harsh words are extremely low on his list of things to worry about. At least, that’s how he tries to keep it. It’s not that words don’t affect him at all, he just has steps he takes to prepare himself for them, like he would for any other unpleasant event. Just as he wears body armor to protect against physical harm, he protects his feelings under his carefully crafted demeanor.

Lots of people think his cheeriness is default, but in reality, it’s a conscious choice. It’s his emotional armor. Words hurt him less if he chooses to be upbeat and optimistic, rather than let himself despair. That just creates a negative feedback loop, which doesn’t help anything.

Before Zack can inquire further, Melissa shows up to the stop. Milo gets preoccupied by their conversation and forgets that Zack’s still waiting on an explanation until he interjects. But right as Milo is about to elaborate, Murphy’s Law kicks in.

Milo has just enough time to slap his spare helmet onto Zack’s head before they turn and run. And it is both of them; Zack’s taken off without any prompting- he didn’t freeze like so many people do for their first disaster, that’s good. He’s screaming quite a bit, but that’s to be expected. And more surprising is that Zack’s keeping pace with Milo. Not many people can match his speed when he’s going full-tilt like this.

“-wait, why aren’t you screaming?!” Zack demands suddenly.

Milo’s intrigued. Most people who get caught up in his Murphy’s Law don’t have the presence of mind to question why he’s calm while being chased down the street by some devastatingly heavy object.

“I find it doesn’t help,” he answers simply. “Just hurts the larynx.” While he runs and talks, part of him is absentmindedly planning his next move, and he adds, “hand me that bungee, and you’d better hold onto my backpack.”

Milo winds up his throw. Even as Zack exclaims, “Wait, what?” he feels the other boy grab on as instructed, and then they’re up in the air.

Zack maintains his hold while they flip, and when the bungee snaps and drops them on top of the drainage pipe. He’s strong, Milo notes with pleasant surprise. More impressively, Zack doesn’t go careening off of the spinning cylinder- he manages to stay upright beside Milo. That’s a rare skill, for sure. Maybe he’s taken log-rolling classes, for whatever reason. Or, he’s just exceptionally quick on his feet. An athlete, maybe.

“That bungee was definitely defective,” Milo comments, if only to fill the space.

Zack offers no reply, even as Milo sends Diogee home. The pipe takes them through a road barrier, down a rocky incline, through a wooden fence, off of a thankfully low cliff, and into a shallow pit of mud. They barely have time to blink the mud from their eyes before the pipe falls down after them, and Milo tells Zack to scooch over- which he does with little hesitation.

They fit neatly through the center of the pipe, and a wave of mud sends them up to the top.

Zack glances over at Milo, his sudden stillness probably due to shock. “… the J-word wouldn’t happen to be jinx, would it?” he ventures.

Even though he knows it wasn’t used maliciously, Milo can’t stop himself from flinching. He brushes it off with a laugh, though it comes out slightly apologetic. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He pulls himself up onto the rim of the pipe, offering Zack his hand.

Miraculously, Zack accepts his help, and they climb over the edge and drop into the mud below.

Milo wipes his face off with a towel from his backpack. “I have EHML,” he explains. “Extreme hereditary Murphy’s Law. You know, ‘anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.’ Around me.” He studies Zack with a hint of apprehension, the other boy doubled over to catch his breath. He doesn’t look angry or upset or scared, but Milo can’t always tell.

“Well,” is all Zack says. “Alright, then. How are we gonna catch the bus?”

Milo blinks, handing Zack the towel. “Whenever stuff like this happens, the driver usually gives me a few minutes to make it back in case it’s something light. If we hurry, we should be able to get there in time.”

Zack cleans his face and gives the towel back to Milo, brows raised. “Lead the way, I guess.”

Well, indeed. Milo leads the way, and Zack follows.

~*~

Naturally, they miss the bus.

Zack’s definitely in some kind of shock now. He doesn’t even scream when the oil spill in the rock quarry goes up in flames. Milo gently suggests that they go through the woods instead. And then the shock seems to wear off when they’re beset by a pack of hungry wolves.

Shock and panic can interchange remarkably quickly, in some people.

While Milo knows from experience that wolves do, in fact, love peanut butter, Murphy’s Law isn’t yielding anything today. One of the wolves lunges at the same time he tosses the sandwich, and it gets thrown right back, sticking to Zack’s shirt. That elicits a shrill scream from him, and Milo has to fight the urge to cringe. This is not a great first impression, even by Murphy’s Law standards.

At this point, Milo’s pretty sure that the presence of the sandwich has no bearing on the wolves’ desire to attack them, but he grabs a stick and peels it off anyways, if only to try and save Zack’s shirt from being stained too badly.

They escape by scrambling up a tree, but the situation is complicated by the presence of an irate beehive.

A wolf with a beehive stuck on its face is a new one. Luckily, Zack continues to demonstrate remarkable survival instincts, such as ‘dodging when a wolf with a beehive stuck on its face lunges at you’ and ‘running when a wolf with a beehive stuck on its face gives chase.’ He’s keeping up well enough, though he might be starting to fatigue because he lags slightly behind Milo. And he’s still screaming a little, but Milo isn’t holding that against him.

In the end, they don’t escape the wolf so much as they accidentally plunge through an open manhole. But it’s not a high fall, and Milo’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, to look a sewer in the open manhole.

Milo lands on his feet in the middle channel, which is fortunately shallow. Zack crashes in right behind him.

“Here,” Milo hands Zack a headlamp from his backpack, “these will help us navigate in the dark.”

Zack’s voice follows him after a moment. “Dude… if and when we get out of here, I’m gonna have to go my own way. No offense, I just can’t handle all of… this.”

Milo’s heart trips inside his chest. He wants to protest that Zack has, in actuality, handled everything just fine. Truly, even Melissa would be impressed, and he’s sure she will be when he regales her with the story later today. But he knows that isn’t the crux of the matter.

“A- all of what?” he asks quietly, his voice wavering slightly despite his best efforts.

The answer is painfully obvious as a raccoon leaps out at him from a pipe, sailing over his ducked head and disappearing into murky sewer water. Milo grips his backpack tighter and keeps walking.

“This cyclone of calamity that follows you everywhere you go!” Zack exclaims in disbelief, his voice echoing in the tunnels. “How do you live like this?!”

Milo supposes this was inevitable. It’s not often that someone gives him a chance- usually it’s something like this, a new kid who doesn’t know any better- but it always ends the same way. He accepted long ago that Melissa would be his only school friend, and he’s okay with that.

Right now, they’ve reached the point where Milo will say he understands and apologize for putting Zack in danger. He’ll get him out of the sewer and part ways, only seeing Zack as much as school demands. Or less than that, if Zack decides to switch schools and get a restraining order. That’s happened before. But really, this is where Milo should ‘cut Zack loose,’ if he’s speaking metaphorically.

Except.

Except Milo doesn’t want to.

It’s a bizarre sensation. He’s never put up a fight before, whenever someone decided he wasn’t worth all the danger associated with Murphy’s Law. He almost lost Melissa that way, and was incredibly fortunate she decided to choose him. Typically, it’s easier for everyone if he just accepts it without complaint, and he doesn’t like making a scene. But this time, every part of him is rebelling against the idea.

He really, really doesn’t want to lose Zack. Zack, who’s fast and strong and quick on his feet. Zack, who has good instincts and knows how to trust them. Zack, who willingly followed Milo all this way despite knowing about his EHML. He doesn’t come across people like Zack every day.

Right now, it’s just him and Zack in a dark tunnel. There’s no one else around to worry about, no judgmental looks or scolding words. No one to tell Zack that he shouldn’t be around Milo. So maybe, this time, Zack can really decide for himself. Maybe, deep down beneath the knee-jerk fear reaction, he feels what Milo does, and knows that leaving would be the wrong choice.

Maybe Milo can fight for this.

So instead, Milo asks, “How do you live like that?”

Zack’s voice is hesitant. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Milo turns around, frustration nipping at him because it’s always so hard to put these things into words, “you wanna live like those other kids? They took a bus to school today. A bus! Does that seem like more fun to you?”

That really doesn’t say everything he means. It doesn’t say ‘I think you’re amazing and destined for so much more than an ordinary life’ or ‘I feel better with you by my side so please don’t go.’ But none of that comes easily to Milo, so it’ll have to do.

Zack stops and thinks about it. Really thinks about it. Milo holds his breath.

“Hm. Alright,” Zack says simply. He hops over the middle channel, landing next to Milo on the other side. Closer than most people are willing to get if they don’t have to. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at Milo expectantly. “Where to next?”

Milo is almost stunned by the sheer relief that washes over him, but he pushes through it. “Well, there’s a loose grate up over here to the left,” he says, turning around to resume walking. “I’ve been here before.”

“Of course you have,” Zack says, and it actually sounds fond.

Milo’s heart is running now, though he’s not sure why.

~*~

As they scramble their way through the construction site, Milo can’t help but think that they make a good team.

He knows he’s letting himself get too attached, too quickly. At the end of this, Zack could very well change his mind. Or maybe tomorrow, or after a week. Maybe his tolerance of Murphy’s Law has a limit. He wouldn’t be the first.

But they’re incredibly in-sync, for having just met not even a half-hour ago. They don’t even speak as they navigate the various hazards together. Zack seems to be relying on his instincts and cues from Milo, and they escape unscathed, floating down the river on the detached bed of a dump truck.

After they avoid the wolf (again) and Milo sends Diogee home (again), Zack climbs over to sit next to him, leaning back on his arms. His hand is close to Milo’s knee, close enough that their hands would be touching if Milo put his down. And the way Zack’s looking at him right now… his heart’s acting up again. Maybe he should get checked for arrhythmia.

“You know,” Zack starts, “I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline talking, but I’m starting to feel like we can handle anything that comes our way.”

If that’s how adrenaline makes Zack talk, Milo certainly doesn’t mind it. It’s not often that someone else is doing the reassuring, unless it’s Melissa or his family. And the confidence Zack says it with is an incredible thing. Even if it is just adrenaline.

Of course, now that Zack’s gone and said something like that, Murphy’s Law can’t resist the opportunity, and a massive tidal wave appears out of nowhere to carry them out of the river and straight off the edge of a cliff.

This time, Zack doesn’t scream. They plummet silently for a couple seconds before he turns his head towards Milo, almost casually, and says, “Well, maybe not anything…”

Milo would laugh at that, but then they faceplant onto the dome of an alien spacecraft and suddenly have other things to worry about.

~*~

Somehow, they end up at school on time and unscathed.

Zack thinks he might not have fully processed everything yet, because he feels… surprisingly okay. Considering what happened. But really, it seems silly to freak out and make a huge deal out of it when they’re both perfectly fine.

Aside from missing lunches, that is, but the redhead sitting in front of him- who he recalls as Melissa- has that covered. They don’t have time for formal introductions before the teacher comes in and begins class, but context clues tell Zack that she’s Milo’s only friend. And from what he can piece together, she orchestrated a betting pool to ensure they’d have something for lunch in the event theirs were destroyed.

So she’s either psychic, or stuff like this happens often.

That gets filed under ‘things to think about later,’ next to everything else that just happened. Right now, he has to focus on getting oriented to his new school. Which is… actually pretty boring, compared to this morning. Meeting his teachers, figuring out his schedule, finding his locker… it’s crazy to think he was stressing about this stuff just last night.

He gets strange looks here and there, and catches a few murmurs of, “Someone better warn the new kid” and “Wonder how long that’s gonna last” that make him… oddly indignant. He doesn’t like the feeling that his new classmates are judging his choice to stick by Milo.

He also doesn’t like the attention he’s attracted from Melissa. She’s nice enough, but he catches her staring at him sometimes, this intense look in her eyes, like she’s trying to puzzle something out, and it gives him the creeps.

Someone remind him not to get on her bad side…

If something’s up, Milo’s oblivious to it. He’s happy to help Zack around to their classes, and never falters under the stares or whispers or occasional small mishaps that occur. And they are small; nothing else that happens that day can compare to their crazy morning.

Which is perfectly fine by Zack. No complaining here.

The relative calm gives him a chance to actually get a good look at Milo- something that was neglected in all the terror. He’s deceptively average at a glance; pale, brown hair, brown eyes. An ever-present smile on his face. His outfit’s a little odd; shorts, sweater vest, loafers. And Zack quickly finds out that Milo’s backpack isn’t just a regular school backpack that happens to contain a random assortment of items.

Milo wears it nonstop throughout the day, never stashing it under his desk or in his locker. Not even during lunch. That also gets filed under ‘things to think about later.’

Along with the fact that Milo has a lot of scars. Like, a lot.

Zack remembers the conversation at the bus stop, but in the light of day it’d been easy to overlook. Milo’s so pale, the faint marks don’t show up that much until they’re under more contrasting light. And again, they aren’t running for their lives, so Zack can take the time to notice the dozens of scars on Milo’s arms, knees, and face.

Some are small pockmarks, some are lines of varying thickness, some are patchy blotches. Some of them look surgical in nature, while others Zack can’t even begin to speculate about. After their morning together, it’s not hard to imagine why Milo’s acquired so many scars in his short life, but it’s… sobering, to say the least.

Today wasn’t the rule. Milo gets hurt a lot. Like, a lot.

And so Zack’s starting to think this morning was actually really lucky, all things considered. Part of him wants to reconsider his decision. Not so much out of fear that he’ll get hurt, but because he’s not sure he can handle seeing Milo get hurt.

But then Milo catches him staring once. Their eyes meet briefly before Milo’s cheeks flush and Zack looks away, his stomach flipping like it did when they were freefalling together, and he already knows he’s in for the long haul.

~*~

Melissa doesn’t get a chance to speak to Milo alone until lunch, when Zack excuses himself to the bathroom and their little three-person table becomes its usual two-person table.

Milo, who had been excitedly recounting the morning’s events for her, suddenly falls silent as soon as Zack’s out of earshot. He looks up at her apprehensively, fidgeting with his hands, and Melissa already knows what’s on his mind before he says anything.

“So, uh, what- what do you think of him?” he asks quietly.

Melissa tilts her head, considering. She hadn’t thought much of the guy at the bus stop, simply recognizing that he was a new kid and thus didn’t know not to stand that close to Milo. She’d been surprised to see Zack stuck with Milo through all that happened, and seemed none the worse for wear.

“It sounds like he handled himself well,” she concedes.

Milo nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, he really did. I was very impressed.”

“I can tell,” Melissa says, amused.

Milo laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Is that a blush? “I just, I know we haven’t really hung out with other people in… forever. I didn’t mean to have this whole adventure with him, without you, it just happened.” His expression sobers. “And- and I like him, and I think he’d be a good fit for us, but if you don’t, then just say the word. I’ll understand.”

Then he gives her that little smile of his, the one that’s sad at the edges like he’s already expecting a certain answer and has resigned himself to it. The one he uses whenever he’s apologizing for some Murphy’s Law related incident. The one that makes her want to shake him and say, “It’s not your fault, you deserve better.”

Over the years, some people have tried to stick around Milo just for the spectacle of it. A chance to see what the deal with the ‘disaster kid’ was (particularly back when Diogee was allowed to accompany Milo to school as his service dog). They didn’t care about Milo as a person.

And worse, Milo never caught on. He really thought someone was giving his friendship a chance, and was crushed when they inevitably decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

It only happened a handful of times before Melissa established herself as “someone you do not want to cross” and people were too scared to try it anymore, but it took a toll on both of them. Milo’s convinced that he’s destined to go through life alone, with no one but Melissa at an arm’s length away.

And Melissa’s instantly suspicious of anyone who shows an interest in Milo. Admittedly, she might’ve jumped the gun a few times, and chased off potential friends who could’ve actually had good intentions. After all, some people genuinely did try to be his friend, and just couldn’t handle Murphy’s Law. Mostly new kids like Zack. But whenever someone who already knew them started getting closer, Melissa’s defensiveness quickly deterred any further advances, before she even knew whether they were sincere or not.

Those are acceptable loss margins in her opinion, if it meant Milo didn’t have to suffer another heartbreak.

But she knows he’s lonely. More than others would think, and probably more than he’s willing to admit to himself. The two of them are close, but one person can’t be someone’s whole world. He’s always wary of putting too much on her, so she knows there are holes she isn’t filling.

If she’s being honest, it might be nice to have someone else around to help handle the Murphy mayhem. From what she’s heard, Zack is plenty capable- and that’s without any prior experience. She could do worse for someone to take under her wing. Plus, she hasn’t gotten strange vibes from him yet, regarding Milo. He seems genuine.

And Milo really seems to like Zack. Probably more than he’s willing to admit to himself.

So much so, in fact, it speaks volumes that he’d break this budding friendship if she asked him to. It scares her, sometimes, how much of Milo’s heart she seems to hold. They’ve won each other’s trust and loyalty a thousand times over since they first became friends, but all she really did in the beginning was show him some basic kindness. That’s all it took for him to decide he was devoted.

The wrong person could really abuse that.

… Zack better not be the wrong person.

“He’s in,” Melissa decides.

The way Milo’s face lights up almost makes all her worries go away.

Almost.

Zack will have to watch himself around her. If she gets a single whiff of any funny business from him, he’s done, and she’ll make him regret ever switching schools.

But even Melissa has to admit, the soft way Zack looks at Milo when he returns to the lunchroom and Milo happily waves him over makes her think she probably doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Probably.

~*~

[punkpoemprose]

December 6th- Fuck 2020

Universe: Modern AU Rating: M (Mature, a little explicit, this is porn without plot for the most part) Length: 4383 Words A/N: The title says it all. This fic is about Kristoff and Anna having sex on New Years Eve. TW: Mentions of COVID-19, quarantine, and generally the shittyness of this year. This is the last of my decades AUs. Hopefully someday someone will write something more flattering for the 2020′s.

Anna closed her laptop and collapsed back onto the couch. She was exhausted mentally and emotionally, but her body wasn’t tired enough to let her sleep. It had been what she’d been suffering with all year, or at least since March when the world had gone from its usual level of chaos to being utter and total bedlam. She still remembered the day she’d learned that her kids wouldn’t be coming back to the classroom, and the only slightly more terrifying day where she learned that they would, in fact be coming back.

Her head was still awash with words she’d never thought she’d need to say to a room full of five-year-olds. We have to keep our masks on. Remember, six feet apart guys, that’s like two big dogs in a line. No, I’m sorry, I can’t give you a hug. She’d had to separate desks, and clean and not wipe away little tears like she normally would when a child was having a bad day.

The kids, she thought, had held up better than she had. They’d listened as well as they could, they’d followed the rules as much as they were able, and they were kind about the policies in a way that even grown adults were not. But even with all the work they’d done, even with all the kids doing their best, the second wave had hit, and now they wouldn’t be returning to school until after the middle of January, and then when it finally came about, it would be online. There was talk of vaccines in the news, and while it gave her some small spark of hope, all the changes have meant turning her holiday break into lots of online classroom prep.

It still wasn’t the worst though, she’d rather be tired than sick, and she couldn’t help but relax a bit and listen to the shower running in the next room over.

Kristoff had been given the afternoon shift for New Year’s Eve, and as per their new normal, he’d stripped down at the door after returning to their apartment, tossed all his things into the wash, and was currently showering. In the beginning, before they’d known just how bad things were, before PPE was supplied to every EMT in the county, he’d caught it.

Anna had remembered the pain of having to see him so ill, watching him suffer through what was determined to be a “mild” case of the virus while he was sequestered to their bedroom and she spent the week sleeping on the couch and barely seeing him at all except to occasionally bring him something to eat when he’d felt particularly weak. There was something particularly terrifying in watching the strongest person Anna knew, her rock, her one and only, barely able to take care of himself. He’d insisted the whole time, vehemently, that she leave to stay with her sister on the other side of town, be she’d been unable to bring herself to do it. She couldn’t and wouldn’t leave him alone when he was so sick she wasn’t sure if he’d make it through.

But, of course, he had. His voice had been strange and unlike him for weeks after he was cleared, and Anna had spent many nights in a cold sweat thinking about just how close he’d been to being in much worse shape. They’d started their procedure then, come in the door, take off your clothes, wash anything that went into work with you, and then shower. She’d done it too, but to less of an extreme because while she’d been around kids who had potentially been sick, he spent every day with Sven facing the positively ill together and trying their best to keep them well enough to get to the hospital.

The mental strain it was putting on them, Anna having to worry everyday about him getting sick again, or one of her students or even herself catching it was a lot. But Kristoff, kind and wonderful man that he was, kept checking in at the hospital to learn whether the transports he and Sven had brought in had made it. She saw the darkness in his eye, behind his attempts at levity, on the days where they lost someone.

The water shut off, and Anna let herself imagine him behind the door, stepping out of the shower, putting his towel on, walking over to the mirror to shave and comb his wet hair. He’d started keeping it shorter than usual as a precaution, and while he always looked handsome, Anna missed the days where she’d been able to put short braids into his hair and then comb them out with her fingers. She missed the days where he’d come home, flop onto the couch and that would be the end of things until one of them made dinner.

“Hey,” he said, as she heard the bathroom door open and shut, “Are you asleep or?”

She opened her eyes and tipped her head, looking at him from across the room. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, nothing fancy because of course, despite it being New Year’s Eve, they weren’t going out anywhere. She was dressed similarly, but overtop her plain shirt, she’d thrown on her nicest cardigan, creating the illusion for the videos she’d pre-recorded, that she wasn’t on her couch in her pajamas, but instead was dressed in full teacher gear and was to be listen to closely.

“I don’t think I can do an early bedtime tonight,” she said, “Or even a nap. I have to be awake to see this year end.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t so much the sort of laugh he did when he thought she was being funny. It was much more of a chuckle, as if he were going to follow it with an expression of agreement. They both were rather done with the year, just like everyone else they knew. No one wanted to be living through a pandemic.

“Just imagine,” he said, “Maybe next year we’ll actually be able to go on a date or something.”

“Or,” Anna replied sadly, “Actually be able to reschedule our wedding.”

They’d planned a June wedding the year before. It was going to be a small affair. Just his family, Elsa, and some friends from work. They were going to have it at a ski-lodge in the mountains that also doubled as a summertime spa and nature retreat so that it would be like a vacation for everyone who attended. She could still imagine the way that they’d wanted to decorate the place, all sunflowers and mason jars and white ribbons. She had bought a dress and everything, and it was still stored in her sister’s bedroom closet.

They’d pushed it to August, but had given up on it past that, knowing as soon as September hit and she returned to school with in person students, that nothing would be changing anytime soon. Even her hope for the next year was a tentative thing, like a butterfly with a broken wing trying its damnedest to fly.

“Fuck 2020,” she said quietly, noticing the way he frowned at the mention of their cancelled wedding. He’d been looking forward to it as well, and she knew that this year had been just as upsetting for him as it had been for her. She tried not to swear very often, particularly because she was worried about being able to censor herself around the kids, but ultimately, the year deserved a middle finger and some very strong language.

He crossed the space and took her laptop from where it rested on her stomach, placing it carefully on the coffee table before he scooped her too, up and off the couch. He never had much trouble lifting her, but each time he did so unexpectedly, she was half afraid of falling. She flailed for a half a second in his arms, gasping at the change in height as it occurred.

“I’d like that,” he said with a grin, “The wedding. I know it’s just a formality, and that we’ve agreed not to do it at a courthouse or anything, but I’m so ready to call you Mrs. Bjorgman.”

“And have my students confused?” she teased, “Maybe you should be Mr. Arendelle.”

He laughed at that, but the shrugged and started walking in the direction of their bedroom, holding her bridal style as if it were already all over and done with.

“Why are we heading to bed?” she asked, only allowing herself a little hopefulness beyond her confusion. She knew why she’d like to be heading to bed, but maybe, she reasoned, he was just tired and wanted some company for a nap.

“You said, ‘fuck 2020’.”

She could see the cheeky smile on his face as he glanced down at her, still heading toward the bedroom, like a man on a mission.

“It sounded like a good idea to me.”

***

“So,” Anna said from her place below him on their bed, “In this analogy am I 2020 or?”

Kristoff laughed, and she was treated with a kiss on her knuckles as she obediently raised her arms up for him to remove her shirt. His laugh was one of the things that got her through the day, knowing that he could find humor in any situation, that she could make him laugh, was a blessing. It made things feel normal, and it was a joy for them both that they sorely needed.

“No. It’s more like we fuck each other, and we get a little extra enjoyment out of the year ending. Honestly, I didn’t think it through very much, I just wanted you and it seemed like a good excuse.”

That made her laugh, and she nodded appreciatively at the sentiment. She didn’t think that they needed to really contemplate it much as she was just happy with the opportunity to enjoy her fiancé for a little while.

“It’s a good way to pass the time until midnight,” she offered once she was free of her shirt, “I’m sure we’ll manage to keep each other awake.”

Her hands went up his shirt in return, letting her fingers travel over his the soft but muscled planes of his torso until he too removed his shirt, giving her better access to touch him as she leaned up to allow him to undo her bra’s clasps.

“It’s what? Seven?” He asked, tossing her bra in a rapidly growing pile of their clothes, “I can’t promise five hours straight, but I’ll do my best.”

His hands went up her sides, his thumbs rubbing appreciatively at the dips of her waist and across her ribs until they came up to he breasts. He cupped them gently first, and her hands moved to tracing up and down in spine in return as they found a comfortable position where she was somewhat seated in his lap, facing him. He pinched a nipple and she treated him to an appreciative moan and dragged her nails, lightly down his back.

They hadn’t had much time for intimacy as of late. Between what they both experienced at work and the stress of the holidays, even from a socially distanced standpoint, they’d mostly been using their bed for sleeping. It felt good for it to be put to better use.

“Of course, we’ll need to take a break for dinner. Maybe you’ll need a second shower with some company. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

The appreciative almost growl he made as he ducked his head down to her neck went straight through her spine and made her want to peel the rest of their clothes off and get down to business immediately. Shared shower or not, she already knew that she’d need to change her panties. If, of course, he was planning on letting her put any on before the next morning.

He squeezed and kneaded her breasts while his lips kissed down her neck and she allowed herself to surrender to his touch. Everything around her was Kristoff, his hands and mouth on her, the smell of his shampoo all she could smell as she tilted her neck to give him better access and shifted a hand up to his still wet hair. Despite him being fresh from the shower and in the cooler air of their bedroom, he was hot to the touch, exactly what she wanted as her hair stood on end from the temperature and his touch.

He moved lower then, his head ducking down to lave attention on her nipples as one arm wrapped around her back to support her leaning away and the other moved down, down, across her lower stomach and to the place where her waistband still sat.

“Off?” she asked, the word all she could form as she gave herself over to the sensation of his mouth sucking and nipping at her.

“Not yet,” he replied, barely moving his mouth from her as he answered and switched sides, leaving her wet nipple to pebble against the cold.

His fingers slid a bit lower still, under the waistband of her pants, but not into her underwear as he dipped her even lower.

His arm was strong at her back, keeping her aloft and exactly where he wanted her, even as she squirmed and bucked her hips against the hand that was moving closer and closer to her clit. She knew exactly what he was doing, but it didn’t keep her from jumping when his fingers grazed her through the fabric. He knew that she was sensitive, that he needed to work her up to his direct touch, let alone anything more. They’d had their fair share of quickies of course, but when he wanted things to last, when he wanted to see her come again and again, he worked her up first.

Anna moaned, and arched in his arms, not so much from the sensation, but from the promise it offered. He really was going to try to make this last all night long.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself the same question.”

She gasped as he slowly stroked his fingers up and down her, no doubt feeling how wet she was through her panties but not commenting on it. Instead, using his mouth to once again kiss down her body, moving from the valley between her breasts lower and lower, tipping her back onto the bed as he went.

Not to be outdone, Anna reached up to him as she was leaned back, letting her hands travel down and over his back, reaching for his rear and giving it a squeeze. He laughed against her skin, and she felt rather satisfied by the sound as he picked up the pace on her clit and kissed her navel. Her hands slipped forward then, moving across the waistline of his sweatpants, and dipping her fingers below them as he had.

It was a bit of an awkward angle, but she did her best to wrap her hand around him. It was a challenge, but it was worthwhile to hear his breathing quicken when she managed to slide her hand up and down over his already hard cock through the fabric of his boxers. She recalled the first time they had done this, what felt like many years before, but was just a little over a year and a half ago. She remembered touching him for the first time and being scared that she wouldn’t be able to take him. The thought would have made her laugh now, if it weren’t for the fact that his attention on her clit was making her gasp instead.

When his lips had kissed as low as possible in their current position, he sat up a bit and slipped his hand from her pants. He offered her a questioning look, as he always did, and Anna stroked him again in response, sliding her hand up and down his length and rotating her wrist a bit as she did so, knowing that it was what he liked.

“Off?”

“Off,” she replied, finalizing the unspoken agreement in words before adding, “You too.”

He nodded and she rubbed her thumb against his head before she too extracted her hand, giving him a small taste of what was to come. She fully intended to take him into her mouth if he would let her. It had been too long since she’d seen him fall apart like that, staring down at her with dark eyes and strong muscles trembling under the weight of his climax.

Maybe, she thought, she might even do it while he was laying down, so she could feel him under her and enjoy the building of tension in his body that always came before the release that left him panting and melting beneath her. She loved that he let her give him pleasure. There was so much he did everyday for her, all the care to not get her ill, the many nights he cooked dinner after a long shift, how he always listened to her stresses before offering up his own, and she liked to return his kindnesses in the bedroom.

He pushed himself up and off of her, pulling his pants down with one hand, using the other in a delightful display of his strength to hold himself aloft. He kicked them off a bit creatively, one leg at a time as if he were doing some kind of strange yoga, but never removing his eyes from her as he watched her buck her hips up and slide her own bottoms off.

He tossed them both somewhere to join their pile, and they were left, staring into each other’s eyes wearing nothing but their underwear.

She shivered a bit, both from the intensity if his gaze and the cool air around her. He noticed, his gaze softening as he lowered himself to her a bit and pressed a kiss to her lips. She responded by tipping her head up a bit, deepening the kiss as her arms raised up to wrap around his back and pull him down onto her.

“I’ll have to see if I can warm you up,” he said, their temperature differences more evident as his chest pressed into hers.

He was making a valiant effort, despite her pulling him down, to not crush her under his weight. There had been occasions where he’d allowed his whole weight to press down onto her, and while she didn’t exactly consider him light by any instance of the word, he wasn’t ever going to crush her quite so much as he made an excellent weighted blanket when he wanted to be.

His tone was lascivious though. There was no doubt in Anna’s mind as his hips rocked gently into hers that his plan for warming her up included more of the touching he’d just been doing moments before. When he kissed her again and let his lips trail, once more down her body, lower and lower, she knew that there would be nothing so simple as a blanket in his plans to warm her.

When he reached the waistband of her panties he didn’t stop, instead mouthing at her through the fabric, causing her to call his name and tangle her fingers into his hair. She felt his breath on her, hot, the inhalations and exhalations adding to the sensation as his lips nipped carefully at her clit. He slid down after a few moments, pressing kisses to her labia and center through the fabric, nudging her bud with his nose.

He could be devious with his mouth, a fact that she took immense pleasure in. He could kiss her mouth and pussy with equal skill, and she knew it came from a combination of natural talent, and plenty of practice with her and only her. His mouth could bring her to heights she’d never been able to reach alone, and the anticipation of him doing so had her trembling.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, glancing up at her from between her legs, seeking permission as he always did.

“Yes. Always.”

It was all he needed, flashing her a smile as he hooked his thumb under her waistband and pulled.

She lifted her hips obediently and was rewarded with an appreciative squeeze on her rear as he tugged the fabric off her. When it got to her knees, he leaned back and she set her bottom back onto her bed, watching him whip the fabric off her legs and onto the floor.

She would not be looking for them, she decided ultimately, until laundry day.

He spread her legs a bit more and rearranged them both on the bed until she had two pillows under her rear, elevating her, and he was half kneeling before her.

Once the matter of fabric and positioning was settled, he set upon her like a man starved. Evidently the foreplay had been enough for him, and she already felt it was enough for her, when he kissed her clit again, and then set to running his tongue over her. He went from the bottom of her slit, tasting her and groaning in appreciation, up to her clit, his tongue teasing at her before flattening against her, moving down, and repeating the process.

Her hands, desperate to show him the same appreciation he was showering her with, reached out as far as they could to rub just her fingertips, less artfully, but no less effectively, against the bulge straining against his boxers. His groans only added to the sensation as he tasted her, the rumbling of it tangible as he licked and took her into his mouth. The sound mingled in the air with her own moans, and soon, she stopped being able to tell who was making which sounds.

His tongue darted between her folds and she rocked her hips into his mouth. He rocked just far enough back that she could no longer touch him, and as such, her hands held onto him in other ways, one hand wandering across his shoulders while the other tugged at his hair.

He added his fingers to the business after a short while, taking only a moment away from her to watch her face as he slipped his fingers along her entrance, coating them in her before he, with trained dexterity, slid them inside her and began the search for the place on her inner walls he knew set her closest to the edge.

He got a satisfied look on his face when her moans grew louder, when she pleaded with him and thanked him for the new sensation, and it was a grin that she saw last before his face descended, again, to mouth at her clit with new fervor.

It was only a matter of time before she fell back against the bed, pillows falling from under her rear as she went stiff, then limp, under the force of her orgasm.

She tasted herself on his lips when he kissed her.

***

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Anna had been somewhat surprised that they made it to midnight, both of them thoroughly spent with the amount of time and energy they’d put into their private celebration. She wasn’t counting down with the people on the television though, she couldn’t even see them as she knelt before the couch, feeling Kristoff’s tensed legs at either side of her. She couldn’t count anyway, she had her mouth full.

She’d wanted to manage to get him to come right at midnight, thinking about how funny and gratifying it would be to ensure that her fiancé, the man she loved most in the world, started the new year out right. She supposed though, as she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue running up and down his length as she breathed through her nose, that he wouldn’t mind if it was just a minute or so late.

“Anna,” he groaned, his hand on the back of her head, not pushing but encouraging her to maintain her speed, “Baby I think I’m going to…”

She hummed, keeping up her speed, flattening her tongue against him and doing her damnedest to give him the same pleasure he’d given her earlier in the day. They’d done plenty in the hours between, but this was the first time for the day, and now for the new year that she’d pleasured him with her mouth.

She hoped that the sounds she was making were encouraging as his hips rocked almost imperceptibly, his hand that rested on her shoulder tightening as the one in her hair pressed a little more than it had been.

When he came for her, she could feel the shuddering of his muscles, particularly his thighs which she was using for support, even under the fabric of his clothes. They’d only recently finally donned clothes again for the first time since dinner, and she had decidedly not let it stop her, particularly when it was easy enough to shift the fabric down enough to suit her needs.

“Anna,” he repeated, panting as she too came up for air, swallowing him.

She could feel herself flush, and saw the blush mirrored on his cheeks. He was frazzled, and when she leaned up, using his thighs for support, to get a better look at his expression, she was surprised by his dipping down to kiss her lips.

“Happy New Year Anna,” he whispered, hands already moving on her, pulling her closer as he showed her his appreciation.

She couldn’t help but laugh, accepting her New Year’s kiss as he sat before her with his pants still askew. If it was an omen for the year, she was glad for it. She’d rather the year be an amusing one than the way the previous one had been.

“Happy 2021 Kristoff,” she replied, kissing him again and letting herself enjoy the sensation of his touch before reaching down to tug on his waistband, helping him readjust before turning to shut the television off and drag him off to bed.

They’d had a long, but very enjoyable day. The perfect way, she thought, to usher in the New Year.  

[cartoonsaint]

Luka Gets a Tattoo

[Ao3]

thanks to the AFiT server for enabling me! zero thanks to those who were trying to get me to give him a tramp stamp -- you get nothing, good day sirs

Summary: the prince can have little a bodily autonomy. as a treat Characters: the Prince (pre-Snatcher) Rating: T for college parties, altered states, poor coping mechanisms, and reference to an unhealthy relationship. 

Just one night, then you’ll have the whole weekend to study for the final exam, they said.

Please, Your Majesty? Indulge your classmates just this once? they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

And goodness gracious, Luka thinks as his hooting classmates tilt the tapped barrel of red wine so the last drops of it spill onto his tongue, were they right.

He pumps his fists straight up in the air and the room, already packed with raucous, sweaty, excitable (and very, very drunk) young adults, goes wild. Two — rather, four — no, six? Oh goodness he’s had a lot to drink — an at-present uncountable number of hands reach down and haul him off the floor to toss him, unexpectedly, into the air. Luka can’t help the yelp that escapes out of his mouth as his sloshing stomach flips, nor the laughter that comes after it when many hands catch him and set him back on solid ground, patting his back companionably all the while.

“ALL HAIL THE PARTY KING,” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Luka’s used to having a lot of eyes on him, has been literally trained since he was a toddler to be in the public spotlight, but the energy of the crowd and the alcohol in his own system has him pressing his hands to his burning face to muffle his embarrassed laughter.

A madly grinning and particularly beefy young woman parts her fellow students like a ship cutting through the sea. Luka’s gaze is drawn to the item she holds reverently in her enormous hands — and he bursts into laughter again, shaking his head and attempting to back away. The circle of cheering party-goers around him clumsily link arms to prevent his escape. “I didn’t even drink the whole thing!” Luka protests, flapping his hands. “It was practically empty before I started!”

But the huge woman easily spans his slim shoulders (with one hand — goodness gracious) and hauls Luka in. She clears her throat with impressive projection — Luka’s background in performing arts nods in approval — and the clamor of the room dulls to near-bearable levels.

“Esteemed guests and revelers,” she pronounces with minimal slurring and maximal gravity, “I present to you: this evening’s Party King.” 

The room cheers as she places the cut-and-taped paper crown atop Luka’s head. His first, honest impulse is to pull it off and take a closer look as it seems to be made out of first-year sample contracts and, well, it’s been some time since he last reviewed those and who knows what will turn up on the final exam? But the exuberantly drunk woman seizes his hand and yanks it into the air like he’s just won a prize fight and someone thrusts a tiny glass of something that smells vile in his hand and he loses track of time for a bit.

When his head, the room, and the kaleidoscope of gleeful faces stop spinning, Luka finds himself squashed between the arm of a lumpy couch and the arm of the enormous muscled woman from earlier. She notices his gaze and offers him a shark-like grin that jogs his memory.

“You’re Natasha,” he blurts out, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth because of course she is, you fool, she knows that and you ought to have known that, what kind of a person forgets the name of someone they’ve spent years sharing classes with —

But if anything, her grin widens. She turns to the duo sat across from them and says, “Ha! You see?”

“I’m so sorry,” Luka says, pressing a hand to his burning face. He doesn’t usually drink at all, and not just because it makes him extra stupid. He’d normally have spent the night studying or writing letters, but his classmates had been very convincing and tonight is his last chance to spend time with them before the final exam and graduation (and his tutor had threatened him if he didn’t go). “I promise I know who you are, I just didn’t recognize you at first without, ah,” he looks again at her rather… distracting arms, “sleeves.”

“Relax,” says one of her friends. She’s a dark-skinned woman with a ton of dark curls framing her face — Belle, Luka remembers — and she smiles kindly as she passes him a glass of water. He thanks her profusely and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, leaning back and crossing her arms. She raises an eyebrow at her hulking blonde friend. “Tash does it on purpose — thinks it will make her more effective in the courtroom when she takes her jacket off. Besides, she forgot you were already royalty.”

Natasha grins unrepentantly. “Party King trumps any small-town monarch, Belle. Besides, you really expect me to remember details like that about someone I only ever see in class?”

Luka sinks into the couch, stammering apologies, but the woman laughs and claps a lung-clearing hand to his back — he wheezes, attempting to regain his breath. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You can make it up to me by telling us what you’re like! We’ve been in the same course for years and we hardly know you. What mysterious responsibilities keep you so busy you can’t come out for a night, Mr. top-of-the-class?”

“W-well,” he says, immediately falling into his practiced lines, “of course, my studies here are very important to me as a future leader of—”

“We already know you’re a nerd,” the last figure of the group says matter-of-factly. Their name eludes him, but they’re button-nosed, with hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks much sleeker than Luka’s ever managed his own. “What else?”

“Haz,” Belle scolds, but when her friend raises a single, archly amused eyebrow at her she sends Luka an apologetic grin. “Sorry about them, they were raised by extremely rude wolves.”

Luka snorts, then covers his mouth in embarrassment, but no one seems to mind. “I… have a fiancée?” he shyly offers.

“What!!” Natasha swaps his water out for her scarily large flagon of beer. “Drink and dish!”

Luka sips obediently, aware his face is already red and only getting redder. “Her name is Vanessa.”

Natasha sighs dreamily, which makes Belle giggle. Luka grins, feeling a little dreamy himself — thinking about Vanessa always makes the rest of the world feel dull. She stands out to him like fine embroidery on plain linen. “I hate to be away from her — she misses me when I’m gone, and my life certainly isn’t as bright without her in it. I write her letters everyday,” he says, alcohol freeing him to talk about himself a little more than he could otherwise stand. “She gets upset if I don’t. I love her, of course, and there’s nothing more important to me than her happiness, but… well, between all the letter-writing, my studies, and princely duties, I suppose there’s not been much time for, ah. Much else.”

He trails off and takes a gulp of lukewarm beer. Belle and Natasha glance at each other, communicating something past Luka’s current ability to parse. Haz leans forward, their eyebrows drawn down.

“So you don’t get to do anything just because you like it? Just for yourself?”

“I like being a prince,” Luka protests immediately. “It’s my duty, and an honor to serve my people. And I love Vanessa.” Luka thinks, briefly, of how hurt she would be if she knew someone had suggested he didn’t, how her magic might react beyond her control. He shivers, even in the stuffiness of the crowded room. “Compared to those things, I’m just… well, not very important.”

The group exchanges looks that Luka hardly notices. Who would he even be, without his work and without her? “Not important” seems about right.

“Well, if you say it’s what you want, then I’m happy for you!” Natasha announces, sounding a little strained. Belle hums noncommittally and swaps his drink out again for another glass of water.

“So,” says Haz, and offers him a small, genuine smile that Luka finds himself quite touched by — must be the alcohol in his system making him even more emotional than usual. “Besides your duties and your fiancée… what else do you like?”

“Ah,” he says, and presses a hand again to his warm face. This evening, right now, is probably the first time in years that Luka’s had a chance to do anything for himself, and he had to be bullied into it. Surely there’s something he likes to do besides, er, read law reviews for fun? His mind is blank. He seizes, only a little frantically, on the view of the night sky out the window. “A-astronomy! You know, the stars?” He chuckles nervously and takes another huge sip of his drink. “You can, ah, actually see them much better at home than here in the city. I used to know all the constellations.”

“That’s great,” Belle says firmly and kindly. “I don’t know anything about the stars, but I always wanted to.”

“My ancestors used to navigate by them,” Natasha adds. “That’s very cool knowledge.”

“What else?” Haz prompts quietly.

“Um,” Luka says into his cup. “Well, ah. I suppose I always liked animals? Like, snakes, and things…”

“That’s great!” Natasha exclaims.

“Great,” Bella says again.

“Hm,” says Haz.

“JIM!!” someone hollers, breaking the tense air of the group. “And Jim’s friend!! SOMEONE GET THIS MAN A FLAGON!”

“Hoho, Jim and friend!!” Natasha exclaims, mood immediately forgotten. “I’ve been meaning to get some work done, bee-arr-bee.” She rises from the couch, claps Luka’s shoulder once again (though considerably more softly this time, thank goodness), and sails through the crowd, on towards the new arrivals.

“Wait, no—!” Belle shoves herself to her feet, then glances at Luka and hesitates. Then, brief and tight, she hugs him — he blinks, startled — but separates herself before he can process it and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go stop her. Tash, wait!!” And off she goes after her tall friend.

Luka watches her go. Haz clears their throat. “Jim’s friend is magic. Does tattoos,” they say.

“Ah,” says Luka. He should probably head home — he’d planned to leave early in the morning so he could spend as much of the weekend with Vanessa as possible. She needs him, especially after the accident with her mother. He can spend the rest of his evening studying, like he should have done in the first place — it’s the responsible, prudent thing to do.

Haz nudges his knee with their own. He looks up to find them offering a mug of something that smells strongly of alcohol. “You’re allowed to do things just for yourself, you know,” they say, eyes soft.

In a spontaneous move that shocks even himself, Luka takes the mug and downs it in one go. The world gets a little blurrier, a little easier to deal with.

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” he says determinedly and pours himself another.

***

Luka wakes up just after sunrise with a pounding headache, a stinging thigh, and the deep dread of knowing he’s done something he shouldn’t have.

The first thing he does is stumble into the bathroom. His reflection has mussed hair, tired eyes, and is still wearing a crumpled paper crown on his head. He snatches it off, balling it up and tossing it on his desk before running the water and pressing his forehead to the cool mirror.

This isn’t exactly why he doesn’t drink, but it’s an excellent point against it. What he remembers of last night makes him wish he’d had enough to totally block out what he’d done to himself. Though he supposes that would be worse, to wake up and only then find out he’d drunkenly gotten a…

Luka dutifully goes through his morning routine. He doesn’t look at his stinging thigh, doesn’t even think about it until he’s toweled off and staring down at the clothes a cheerfully drunk version of himself had prepared the night before. That Luka had even packed him a travel bag so he could set off for Subcon and Vanessa more quickly.

That well-meaning fool had really thought he was doing a favor for sober Luka of the future. Ooo, hungover Luka of the present hates him.

He stands there for a moment longer, feeling frayed and stupid and sorry for himself. Finally, he sighs — there’s no use to just waiting here hoping — and drops the towel enough to check the damage.

On the side of his thigh, perfectly placed for his non-dominant hand to cover when hanging loosely by his side, is a tattoo of a snake so black the ink looks nearly purple. It wraps around a stylized crown decorated with a crescent moon and a few stars. It’s a kingsnake, he remembers — he’d been adamant about getting that one because they were constrictors, not venomous. “They just want to hug!” drunk Luka had explained, tearing up.

Luka now allows himself one long groan, burying his face in his hands. He’s blown it. He’s totally screwed himself. His parents and his people won’t care, but Vanessa is going to kill him.

He can just imagine her distress that he would do something like this without her knowledge or say-so. Maybe he could fix it if he proposed they get matching tattoos, but she has no fondness for snakes and he’s rather certain you’re supposed to get matching tattoos together. She’s going to find out, she’s going to be hurt, and it’s going to be all Luka’s fault.

Fool, he thinks miserably.

Fifteen minutes he spends experiencing every possible variation on denial, anger, and depression before he can no longer justify wasting time like this. Vanessa is waiting for him and if he wants the time to properly apologize to her then he had better leave sooner rather than later.

Luka gets dressed and scowlingly seizes up his travel bag. He makes his bed and shuts the door to his bathroom. He reorganizes the papers on his desk and is about to toss out the crumpled paper crown before he stops, shoulders tight.

He made a monumentally foolish mistake last night. But despite that… he thinks about the delighted support offered by Tash, Belle, and Haz when he had decided to stay longer at the party; about how freeing it’d been to not worry for a little while about how terribly Vanessa might be feeling without him; about how light and filled with possibility the world seemed without the weight of his kingdom on his mind.

It had been, truly, quite a nice night.

Luka sighs and flattens out the crumpled crown. He folds it neatly and files it away with the rest of his papers.

He’ll buy flowers for Vanessa on the way home. Maybe it will help.

[hatsukeii]

male matchup for haikyuu (karasuno) please? i'm a 5'2 female with long golden brown hair and light brown eyes. curvy figure. baby faced and long eyelashes. i'm quick witted and clever. i have a very sweet disposition, but when i'm irritated or upset, my bite is extremely sharp. typically patient and slow to anger. i'm a bit too realistic, and i don't sugarcoat anything. i need someone who can take my sass and give it back to me, someone who isn't too sensitive.(1/2)

Ahh okay this is gonna be fun.

Your matchup is:

🌙Tsukishima “Like Jurassic Park or die” Kei🌙

Damn I’m writing all these matchups and lowkey envying everyone because I’M NO ONE’S IDEAL TYPE LMAO (Maybe it’s because I’m such a disappointment to everyone)

Back to the matchup!

Tsukishima. This prick. This is literally how your first conversation went:

“Seriously? Another dumbass I have to deal with? Don’t I have enough of that already?”

“Maybe that’s why your hair’s losing colour.”

“You little bitch.”

“Thank you.” Never in a million years did he expect you to take his insult, turn it around, and bite him right back in the ass. Since then, he’s been relentlessly teasing you, just to try and get you irritated. That never works. All you do is sass him back with an equal amount of salt. Thank god he doesn’t take them to heart and neither do you. With time, sassing each other became the way you two flirted, and the others would just watch amusedly as you try to climb onto him while he tries to pry you off. Don’t think he didn’t ask you out in a salty way either. He even confessed in a salty way. Like how do you manage to be salty while confessing? What the hell?

You being into dark humour is honestly a huge blessing for him. Tsukishima is a pretty no bullshit dude, so he doesn’t really care for dumb puns and stuff like that. Dirty jokes and dark humour though? A HUGE turn on. Like you would crack an unexpectedly dark joke, and the entire volleyball team would just be confused, while Tsukishima laughs his ass off. He would then proceed to call everyone out for being dense and stupid for not understanding it. He has cards against humanity at home, as well as an account on azala just so he can play it with you. Every single time you guys play together he manages to get the darkest, dirtiest jokes off. “What never fails to liven up the party? An AR-15 rifle.” “Kei sweetie what the actual hell.” “Admit it, that was funny.”

When you’re straight spitting facts he won’t hesitate to cheer you on. He loves the fact that you don’t try to sugarcoat anything and just tell the blatant truth as it is. That means that you’re as honest with your thoughts and opinions as you can get. You don’t think twice about pointing out someone’s errors, no matter who they are. You once found a grammatical and pronunciation mistake in your English teacher’s example sentence, so you pointed it out politely. She got mega pissed at you. Like straight up yelling at you for being disrespectful, rude, and bratty. You continued to tell her off and explain your reasonings for telling her about it. She then forced you out of the classroom and continued to teach the class. Tsukishima, now very annoyed, grabbed his textbooks and pointed out every single mistake you explained to her, just a tiny bit sugarcoated so he wouldn’t get in trouble alongside with you. The teacher was clearly embarrassed, and let you back in almost right after. You were confused as to her sudden change in attitude, before you saw Tsukishima’s signature shit eating smirk. “Hell yes Kei.” “Back at you, you didn’t take any of her  whiny bullshit.”

I feel like Tsukishima is the type of person to just mind his own business when you’re over, but still consider it as spending time with each other. Something about your presence just makes him feel more at ease than usual. It’s like when you have someone over for a sleepover, and you two are on your phones minding your own business, compared to just going on your phone by yourself. It just hits different lmao.

Tsukishima in general is a pretty chill dude. He doesn’t mind going to astronomy museums with you once in a while so you could wind down and relax for a bit. What he does mind, is when you want to go storm chasing. He deems it as “way too dangerous and risky,” but eventually gave in to your convincing and went with you once. Now he won’t stop wishing for the next lightning storm or the next tornado. He more so enjoys watching you storm chase rather than doing it himself. He dislikes getting soaked and messy, water being splattered onto his face like some weird dinosaur roaring next to him. However, he loves seeing you so excited over seeing mere lightning strikes, or hearing thunderclaps, or even seeing riptides. Nothing warms him up more than your idiotic smile whenever you get a nice photo of a storm.

Catchphrases:

“I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“HOW WAS HER JOKE NOT FUNNY? THAT WAS HILARIOUS! YOU GUYS ARE ALL IDIOTS!”

“Wow, you bitch. I love you.”

“Yeah, you tell them. You go and tell them.”

Other possible matchups:

Oikawa “Ushiwaka you tell me I should’ve gone to Shiratorizawa one more time I will kashoot you” Tooru

Atsumu “You pigs better not disturb my serve” Miya

Konoha “Bokuto your boyfriend asked us to help cheer you up” Akinori

Semi “Shirabu may be better than me but I’m still a bit salty about it” Eita

I hope you liked your match<33

[angelofrainfrogs]

And They Were Flatmates...

Fandoms: The Bartimaeus Trilogy (Modern College AU)

Description: Kitty is studying for midterms at a café when a familiar face asks to sit at her table. The boy turns out to be her flatmate’s brother, and their chance meeting leads to some interesting revelations and the beginning of a new friendship. 

Rating: K+

Genre: General/Humor

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736820

This story was written for @avaenox during the 2020 Bartimaeus Fic Exchange. Check out the collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bartimaeus_Exchange_2020

“Oh my god, will you shut up?!” Kitty hissed at her phone, glaring as notification after notification popped up in quick succession.

“I haven’t said anything yet, but message received,” a soft voice responded. Kitty jumped, startled, and noticed a boy standing next to her table, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Kitty’s mouth fell open in shock.

“…Bartimaeus?” she asked slowly, utterly confused. This boy looked nearly identical to the flatmate who was currently blowing up her phone, if a tad younger.

The boy laughed, a bright sound, and Kitty couldn’t help but a smile a little in response.

“No, not Bartimaeus, but I certainly know him,” the boy said. He gestured to the open seat across from Kitty and she nodded, quickly gathering up the plethora of books she’d scattered across the tabletop. The boy sat down and shrugged off his backpack, then placed his coffee on the table and held out his other hand to Kitty. “My name is Ptolemy.”

“Kitty,” she responded, shaking his hand. The name struck a chord, though she couldn’t immediately place where it came from. She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her own coffee before asking, “I’m assuming you and Bartimaeus are related?”

“Yes, he’s my older brother,” Ptolemy replied, gesturing to himself with a laugh. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“Oh!” Kitty exclaimed, slapping a palm to her forehead. “Oh my god, Ptolemy! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize the name, wow… Nice to finally meet you!”

“I take it Bartimaeus has mentioned me, then?” Ptolemy asked, and Kitty rolled her eyes exasperatedly, though there was no real malice in the action.

“Only all the time.”

Ptolemy grimaced, then took a big swig of coffee before responding. “Yes, that’s sort of why I wanted to get a different roommate this year… I do love him, but he definitely takes the overprotective big brother roll to the extreme.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Kitty said, and Ptolemy’s expression shifted to one of mild concern.

“I hope he’s not causing you too much trouble…”

“Oh no, no!” Kitty shook her head, needing to wipe that expression off Ptolemy’s face immediately. It looked wrong for him to be upset. “I mean, I’ll admit he can be a handful, but he’s alright 80% of the time.”

“Wow, that’s much better than I was expecting.” Ptolemy nodded somberly, then met Kitty’s gaze and they both broke out into a round of giggles.

“I’m sorry if I distracted you, by the way,” Ptolemy said once they’d settled down. He gestured to Kitty’s collection of textbooks and notes. “I had actually meant to talk to you, but only to ask if I could sit here and do my own work; this is the only available spot in the café.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kitty responded, waving away his apology. “I was losing focus anyway; I’ve been trying to write this paper for hours and I don’t know how much more my mind can handle today.”

“Ah, yes—midterms.” Ptolemy dug around in his backpack and brought out a humongous textbook. It was obviously quite heavy, because he barely got it over the table before it slipped from his grip and landed just shy of his coffee cup with a loud bang! In unison, all patrons in the shop turned towards their corner as Ptolemy’s eyes widened in embarrassment.

“Oops,” he murmured, then gestured to the offending book. “This ethics book has been the bane of my existence for the past two weeks.”

“I can imagine,” Kitty responded, grimacing at the plethora of colored tabs sticking out of the pages.

“Yes… although, I have to say I’m not nearly as stressed as my flatmate.” A haunted look flashed across Ptolemy’s face so quickly Kitty thought she imagined it. “He’s been absolutely losing his mind, poor thing… that’s why I figured I’d get out and try to do some work at the nearby café.”

“To escape for a bit?” Kitty took a sip of coffee, glancing at him knowingly over the rim of her cup, and Ptolemy tried to suppress another pained grimace.

“To give him some space,” he corrected. Then, after a pause, he added, “And yes, to give myself a few hours of sanity as well.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“Well, by this point I’m used to the way he acts when he gets overly stressed—which, unfortunately, is quite often.” Ptolemy paused, musing on some inner thoughts. “I do wish I could help him more, but I’ve realized the best solution when he gets this way is to let him work things out in his own time. An unfortunate downside is that he’s quite restless and tends to wander around the flat muttering to himself, not to mention his tendency to leave things scattered around at random, so… neither of us gets any peace and quiet during this stage.”

“I understand.” Kitty nodded knowingly. “I rarely get any time to myself with Bartimaeus—I mean he’s constantly trying to hang out, which is fine usually, but when midterms come up…” She shook her head exhaustedly. “And then, sometimes when he really wants attention—” Suddenly, Kitty realized that she’d been dangerously close to insulting the brother of the boy sitting across from her. She met Ptolemy’s gaze, ready to apologize, but found him chuckling and nodding his head.

“Trust me, no one understands your predicament better than myself,” he responded, and his grin showed no ill-will. “I’m sorry that you’re now the brunt of his focus.”

“No, no,” Kitty waved away the apology. “Like I said, most of the time it’s fine, but I suppose certain times are just more stressful for everyone.”

“And everyone shows their stress in different ways.”

Kitty nodded, and a companionable silence descended over the table. Soon, the pair had their respective textbooks open and were pouring over notes from the past semester of classes. They both became so wrapped up in their studying that a sharp ding! from Ptolemy’s backpack nearly made them jump out of their seats. He gave an apologetic grimace and fished around the backpack for his phone.

“Ah,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting as he read the message he’d just received. “It seems my flatmate has calmed down and wants to know if I’d like any company.”

“Well, feel free to go if you—wait.” Kitty pulled her phone out of her pocket, long since put on silent mode, and scrolled through the barrage of texts that had piled up during her short time with Ptolemy. She raised an eyebrow at said boy, who looked inquisitively back at her. “Has Bartimaeus met your flatmate yet?”

“No, we just recently moved in together; why?”

Kitty flashed a mischievous smile. “What do you say we give your brother a new friend to entertain?”

Ptolemy laughed, his entire face lighting up. “I’d say that’s a very good idea.”

***

“Hmm…not very intimidating, is he?” Bartimaeus asked, circling the pale boy as if he were a lion trying to decide if this particular prey was worth the effort. “Looks like a gust of wind might knock the poor sod over…”

“Excuse me,” the boy snapped, his unexpectedly stern voice overtaking Ptolemy’s groan of embarrassment. “I can hear everything you’re saying, in case you didn’t realize.”

“Oh no, I realized.” Bartimaeus flashed a grin and ruffled the boy’s hair, earning a snarl of annoyance. “Aw, don’t get so bent out of shape, Natty boy.”

“That is not my name!” Nathaniel hissed, swatting Bartimaeus’ hand away.

“…Well, this isn’t quite the way I expected things to go,” Kitty commented as the pair started bickering in earnest. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ptolemy running a stressed hand through his hair.

“It was one of the two ways I thought this would turn out, actually,” he admitted guiltily. “I figured my brother would either take Nathaniel under his wing, or they’d end up pretty much like this.”

Kitty pondered this in silence for a few seconds, before letting out a defeated sigh.

“Okay, yeah… Honestly, once you told me that Nathaniel Underwood was your roommate, my hopes of a smooth meeting went down the drain, too. That kid’s had a stick up his ass since Year 9.”

“You’ve known him that long?” Ptolemy asked, surprised.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kitty smirked. “We didn’t interact that much at first, although I could tell he’s always had it out for me for some reason. One day after school he cornered me outside and started lecturing me on how rude I was for not paying attention during class… He was getting really aggressive about it, so I punched him in the face.”

“…Oh,” Ptolemy said, eyes shifting between Kitty and Nathaniel a few times before he nodded solemnly. “Yes, I can definitely see that happening.”

“What, him trying to boss people around, or me knocking a scrawny little kid upside the jaw?” Kitty raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Both,” Ptolemy responded, and the duo broke into a laugh.

“Hey!” Nathaniel exclaimed, his voice cutting through the amiable atmosphere like a knife.  “Ptolemy, can you please do something about this brother of yours? I don’t think I can stand another minute of him harassing me.”

“Listen, Nat, giving you fashion advice about your atrocious style isn’t ‘harassment,’ it’s helpful,” Bartimaeus said, to which Nathaniel shot him a deadly glare. Bartimaeus looked at Kitty imploringly. “Kitty, can you do something about your obnoxious childhood friend?”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Kitty and Nathaniel said in unison, a bit too quickly. Ptolemy and Bartimaeus shared a disbelieving look.

“Ah, I see… old flames, then,” Bartimaeus said, nodding sagely.

“Oh god no!” Kitty exclaimed as Nathaniel sputtered unintelligibly.

“It’s okay, Nat, you can admit it.” Bartimaeus wrapped an amiable arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders, which the boy promptly shoved off.

“There’s nothing to admit!” he practically screeched, and just like that the pair were bickering even more heatedly than before.

“I’m glad we decided to host the meetup at my flat instead of the coffee shop,” Ptolemy murmured, pointedly ignoring the blush still covering Kitty’s face. “We’d have definitely been kicked out by now.”

“Oh, for sure,” she said with a laugh, grateful at the change of subject. She nodded her head to Bartimaeus and Nathaniel. “Think they’ll ever get along?”

“Only time will tell.” Ptolemy glanced sideways and met Kitty’s gaze, flashing a bright smile. “Well, at least we can hold a normal conversation—that’s got to count for something, right?”

“Definitely.” Kitty’s smile mirrored his and she held out a hand. “To new friendships?”

“To new friendships,” Ptolemy agreed, grasping her hand firmly. He let out a chuckle and gestured with his free hand to the still-warring pair across the room. “And to whatever that turns out to be.”

Kitty rolled her eyes in agreement, a smile still tugging at the edges of her lips. It seemed as though her life was about to get very interesting.

[highfivecalum]

Our Home Place {CH} 13

sorry this took so long like literally a month i had no motivation to write it at all but!!! here we are :))) 

NATALIE FOUND IT HARD TO get out of bed for a few days, but honestly, after losing her mother who could blame her? She didn’t want to get out of the comfort of her warm bed and face the reality of her mother being gone. Forever. Calum, Allie, and Michael helped her when they could, when she wanted them to, but she preferred to be alone, and they understood. Calum stayed with her at her house, having his mother, Mali, or Luke watch Lily, but he stayed out of her way, slept on the couch if she wanted to sleep alone. He was there for her, even if she didn’t want him to be, he didn’t want to leave her alone.

She made a phone call to her grandmother who she hadn’t seen in a a few months and a lot of tears were shed during the call, but when she hung up she was feeling a bit better, feeling as if a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. Her grandmother told her she would call the rest of the family and take care of everything for the funeral and Natalie was relieved- she really did not want to go through that by herself. And her grandmother thought it was her duty to plan the funeral, not make her grandaughter do it.

The funeral came quicker than Natalie expected it to and the morning of Calum let himself into her bedroom to make sure she was up and ready. She wasn’t. When Calum walked into her bedroom to see her curled in a ball under her duvet his heart broke a little more for her and he didn’t want to force her to get up, but he knew he had to. He knew that she had to face the day and get it over with no matter how much she didn’t want to.

Calum knew that the funeral would bring closure.

“Baby,” Calum mumbled and moved Natalie’s hair out of her face so he could see it. She was paler than usual and her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “You have to get up. We’re going to be late.”

“Don’t wanna go,” Natalie muttered against her pillow.

“I know you don’t,” Calum sighed. “But you have to, Nat.”

Natalie reluctantly got out of bed after much convincing from Calum and showered and quickly got ready. She only put a tiny bit of eye makeup on since she knew she would end up crying it off anyway and dressed herself in a black dress with black tights and black heels. Switching from her large purse to a small black clutch and putting a light layer of lipgloss on, she was finally ready to go.

Natalie admired Calum in the black button down and black dress pants he had on, thinking that he looked extremely handsome, and even though the circumstances were bad, she couldn’t think of anything but jumping his bones right there. “You ready, love?” Calum held a hand out for her and she took it, lacing their fingers together.

Natalie locked the door behind her and followed Calum to his car. The drive was quiet, only the sound of sad music from the radio filling the car, and Natalie sighed heavily. Calum looked at her quickly and frowned at the empty look on her face. He took one hand off the wheel and took her hand in his to stop her from picking at her nail polish and nervously biting her nails.

“You nervous?”

“A little bit,” Natalie admitted. “I have to give a speech and I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

“You don’t have to, you know that, right? Don’t feel obligated to. Just because she’s your mother doesn’t mean that you have to.”

“I know, but I feel like I should.”

Calum nodded in understanding, knowing that it was hard for him himself to give a speech at his father’s funeral. He got choked up and could barely finish the first sentence and Mali had to take over for him. Calum knew that if Natalie got too choked up to do it, he would step in for her, even though he barely knew Michelle.

❋ ❋ ❋

Natalie’s grandmother was the first person to spot her and Calum when they arrived to the funeral home. Even though they were Catholic, they skipped the church bit and decided that just the funeral home would be best, and Natalie agreed with her grandmother on that, even if her aunts and uncles didn’t.

“Natalie, sweetie,” Natalie’s grandmother got her attention and the corner of Natalie’s lips lifted up into the smallest of smiles, and even though it was small, Calum still saw it. And he had some hope that she would be better after the funeral. “Hi dear.” Her grandmother hugged her tight “How are you doing?”

Natalie shrugged. “I’ve been better. How are you?”

“Devastated, of course.” Her grandmother frowned, trying not to cry, but then noticed Calum and Natalie’s hands intertwined and she changed the subject to him. “Who is this?”

“I’m Calum,” Calum shook her hand. “Natalie’s boyfriend.”

They hadn’t established a real relationship, Calum hadn’t officially asked Natalie to be his girlfriend, but he thought introducing himself as her boyfriend would answer all of the questions he knew were swarming around in Natalie’s brain. This would make the relationship talk nonexistent and one less thing that Natalie would have to worry about.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Calum. I’m Betty, Natalie’s grandmother.” Betty smiled fondly at Calum before returning her attention to Natalie who was staring off into space like she had done in the car. Betty took Natalie’s free hand in her own and squeezed it, bringing Natalie back to life. “Are you ready for your speech dear?”

“Not really,” Natalie exhaled a nervous laugh and shook her head. Calum gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, reminding her that she didn’t have to do it, but she wanted to, she felt that in order to get through her mother’s death, she needed to do this. She also knew her grandmother would be upset if she didn’t. “But I’m going to do it.”

“Fantastic,” Betty gave both Calum and Natalie a quick hug before approaching the priest, who was a good friend of the families, and informing him they would get people seated and start the speeches soon. Natalie looked around for Allie and Michael, but there was no signs of them yet, but she knew they would be coming soon. There was no way they would miss her mother’s funeral.

Right before it was Natalie’s turn to give her speech, she felt a light squeeze to her arm and she turned around, finally seeing her two best friends. She let go of Calum’s hands and gave both Allie and Michael much needed hugs. “I’m so sorry we’re late,” Allie whispered in ear, not wanting to be rude and interrupt Natalie’s cousins speech. “We got stuck in traffic.”

“It’s fine,” Natalie assured her.

“Have you done your speech yet?”

Natalie nervously shook her head. “Mines next.”

“Next, we have Michelle’s daughter, Natalie,” The priest spoke up and Natalie’s stomach was filled with more butterflies than she thought possible. She was not prepared for this. “Natalie, if you would come up here, please.”

Calum, Allie, and Michael all gave her words of encouragement before wishing her good luck and watching her take the stand. She wrung her fingers together nervously and cleared her throat. Looking at the couple dozens of people in front of her, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Uh, thank you everybody for coming today,” Natalie’s voice was quiet, but she didn’t care. “It means a lot to me and my family and I’m sure it would have meant a lot to my mother.” She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling, but that was a struggle for when she was speaking about her dead mother. She opened her mouth and closed it repeatedly like a fish out of water and nervously looked at Calum. “I, uh- I,” Natalie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

She quickly walked away, leaving the crowd of people to look around in confusion, and Calum quickly followed behind her. He followed the sound of Natalie’s heels clicking against the tile floor, making the empty hallway of the funeral home echo, and he didn’t care that she was going into the ladies bathroom, he continued to follow her.

Natalie dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and let the contents of her stomach, which wasn’t much, spill into the toilet. Calum gathered her hair in one hand and held it away from her face so no vomit would get in it and gently rubbed her back. She was retching and crying at the same time and couldn’t control the sobs leaving her body.

“You’re alright,” Calum pressed a light kiss to the back of her shoulder and helped her through it. Natalie coughed, hoping to get everything out of her throat and mouth, and finally flushed the toilet. Calum let her hair go as she let her body fall against the bathroom stall door.

“‘M sorry you had to witness that,” Natalie whispered. Her voice was weak due to the crying and the vomiting.

“Don’t be,” Calum wiped the tears off of her cheeks. “Do you feel any better?”

Natalie laughed sadly and shook her head. “No. I’m embarrassed that I just ran off like that.”

The ladies room door swung open and in walked a very panicked looking Allie. “Natalie!” Allie looked at her best friend with wide eyes and Natalie and Calum shared looks of confusion.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Y-You’re dad is here.”

Natalie’s throat dried at the mention of her absent father and Calum’s fists clenched. He had heard Natalie talk about her father before, about how he left her and her mother unexpectedly when she was just a teenager, and the thought of seeing him really set him off. He couldn’t imagine how Natalie was feeling.

“W-What? My dad? You’re sure it’s my dad?”

“Yeah, Nat, I could spot your dad out of a crowd and it’s him. I’m positive.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Calum blurted and Natalie shook her head.

“I-I don’t want to see him. Why is he here? How is he here?” Natalie spoke, not wanting answers for any of her questions, but needing to ask them. After all of these years, nearly ten, he just showed up? On the day of her mother’s funeral? How did he even know Michelle passed away? So many questions were floating through Natalie’s head she couldn’t think straight.

“Do you want me to tell him to leave?” Allie asked.

“No,” Calum stood up and straightened his jacket. “Stay here with her. I’ll tell him to leave.”

Calum was out of the bathroom before Natalie could stop him and Allie was sliding down on the floor next to her best friend. She rubbed her arms, trying to help calm her down and trying to convince her everything would be okay, but if her dad was involved nothing was okay.

❋ ❋ ❋

It didn’t take long for Calum to figure out which man was Kevin, Natalie’s dad. He was standing by the door by himself, in a pair of jeans a t-shirt, while everyone looked at him and whispered. Calum stalked over to him and Natalie’s dad looked at him in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who are you?” Natalie’s dad narrowed his eyes at Calum.

“Natalie’s boyfriend. What are you doing here?” Calum repeated himself. He wasn’t trying to mess around, he was trying to get the man who left his daughter the hell out of here before Natalie could see him or he could see Natalie. She didn’t need this drama on the day of her mother’s funeral.

“I came to see my daughter.”

Calum let out a bitter and humorless laugh. “Really? Came to see your daughter that you up and left ten years ago?” Calum challenged. “She doesn’t want to see you, so you should just go. It shouldn’t be hard for you to leave.”

“I never stopped loving her,” Kevin confessed, completely ignoring everything Calum had just said to him. “She’s my daughter and I know I left, I know I broke her and her mothers hearts, but I have thought about her everyday since,” Kevin shook his head frustratedly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re not a father.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Calum corrected the man in front of him. “I am a father,” Calum showed Kevin his phone screen; a photo of Lily and Natalie together just a few days before Lily’s birthday. “That’s my five year old daughter with your daughter,” Calum smiled at the picture, but knew he couldn’t get caught up on the cute sight because he knew he had to give this man a piece of his mind. “And not once has a thought of leaving, leaving my daughter ever crossed my mind. She makes my world worth living. So you and I must have completely different definitions of what a father is.”

“You don’t-“

“I think you’ve said enough.” Calum cut him off. “Natalie’s been through enough, her heart is broken with the loss of Michelle and she sure as hell doesn’t need you here to try and mend it after all the years of being absent.” Calum wanted to punch the sad excuse of a father Natalie had, but it was a funeral, and he respected Natalie too much to do so without her permission, so he wasn’t going to. “Natalie doesn’t want you here, she doesn’t want to see you, so you need to leave.”

And Kevin did. He left without a word to his daughter that he abandon. Calum angrily walked away, catching Betty’s eyes and the thank you she mouthed to him. He made his way back into the bathroom to find Allie and Natalie sitting in the same spot he left them in. “Is he gone?” Natalie asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Calum nodded his head and helped both of the girls up. He wrapped his arms around Natalie’s waist and pulled her into his chest. “He’s gone.”

“Good,” Natalie exhaled a relieved sigh. She felt no pain about it. She wanted to be upset about her father being able to leave so easily, just as easy as he once did before, but the only pain she could feel was the loss of her mother and that overpowered the pain of her father trying to make his way back into her life.

❋ ❋ ❋

Taglist: @mariellelovescupcakes-blog @mermaid-merrick @cliffordcntrl @wrappedaroundcal @rexorangecouny @bbylonxcal @poppedpins @ashton-ma-bestfriend @calumsbabydolll @boytoynamedcalum @sisterawesome-blog @fangirlingovereverything @calistajs @checkeredcalum @thebodaciouscth @escap0-with-me @musicsavedme-00 @5saucewho @kaxseychill @crystalisinfinite @it-was-a-lie @littlemessage-tries @calistheloml @xx-cuddlemecalum-xx @calumismyzaddyyyy @forggetablle @mysteriouslycali @booklove-2 @bookssandbands @royalestrellas @calumismyprince @uncrowned-cal @pattys-got-cakes @hopelessxcynic @grinchluke @astroashtonio @holidayhood @catchinqcalum @mistletoemichael @hollyjollyhood @irwinkitten @irwinvalentines @hereforlukescruff @dannisos @trustmeimawhalebiologist @calpalbby @hood-af @ (sorry if i missed anybody if i did plz lmk)

[pastel-shadows]

system asks

i’m in the mood to chat about system stuff! lots of text under the cut

1. Describe your system. What kind of system, how big, anything you feel is a good introduction. we are an OSDD-1b system with 6 members that we’re aware of. we have known about our system for about 6-7 years, i think!

2. Who knows about your system? Who do you want to know? What do you feel like it’s like coming out as multiple? every single one of our friends knows about our system! i don’t think it would be possible for any of us to form relationships without telling people about it. a lot of us have our own friends that the rest of the system never speaks to, so it’s really important to be able to explain our random long absences!

3. What are your thoughts on integration? Do you wish to integrate? i think integration is totally cool for systems who want to do it, but i’m not really interested! my system and i have learned lots of coping skills and we function really well internally and externally at this point. we like who we are so i don’t see a reason to integrate

4. Are you or any of the others in a relationship in or out of the system? How does dating work for you if you do it? i’m single, but two of our members are in relationships! charlie is dating one person, and emery is dating someone else. when it comes to romantic relationships, we consider those very separate. just because one alter is dating someone, that doesn’t mean the rest of us are also dating them! we do try to collectively befriend and get along with partners for convenience, though.

5. How often do you switch? How often do you lose time? Talk a little about what dissociation is like for you. we tend to switch on a daily basis, sometimes every couple days. we have gotten pretty good at managing switches on a planned schedule, although sometimes things go wrong and someone ends up being here unexpectedly. none of us actually lose time, since we have OSDD instead of DID, but we do have a lot of fuzziness between system members. remembering things that happened to another alter feels like remembering something we watched on TV instead of something that actually happened to us. we also have trouble perceiving the passage of time correctly! if i leave front for a week and then come back, i feel like only a day has passed even though i can remember the events from that week. it’s weird!

6. How do you feel about talking about the trauma which created your system? Do you like to write about it privately or publicly? Why? i don’t feel the need to talk about the trauma since i don’t feel like it happened to me personally, but i don’t mind telling people if they ask. our trauma holder and protector like to talk about it sometimes when they’re having PTSD struggles.

7. How many alters do you know of in the system? How many know about each other? there are six of us, and we are all aware of each other! me: fictive, nonbinary girl, minimally traumatized, no known role charlie: trauma holder, nonbinary, was host until 2017 emery: protector, male, current host praxis: unstable identity, extremely dissociative, struggles to understand reality ripple and seafoam: a pair of weird ocean spirits, always co-conscious. seafoam is nonverbal and thinks in pictures, ripple speaks for them both

8. How did you first discover you were plural? Was it before, after, or during diagnosis? charlie figured it out several years before our formal diagnosis. they noticed odd intrusive thoughts and feelings, and when they tried to investigate those experiences ripple and seafoam distinctly took front and made themselves known. the rest of us were identified gradually over time!

9. What level of co-consciousness do you have? How do you feel your communication skills are within the system? How do you want to grow in those skills? we communicate okay. we have trouble getting clear thoughts across in headspace, so we prefer to leave written messages while fronting for anything important. we can pick up strong thoughts/feelings/ideas from others while we are in front, but that’s about it! ripple and seafoam are the only members who can be fully simultaneously conscious without having a dissociative meltdown.

10. Have you ever done a system map? How extensively have you mapped your system? i’m not totally sure what this is, but we have done a basic map of our usual headspace rooms. it’s pretty simple since we don’t have super active consciousness from the back seat

11. How much control do you have over switches? Do you know of any specific things which cause specific alters to front? we have gotten pretty good at controlling switches, but some of us are better at getting certain alters than others. charlie is best at getting ripple, seafoam, and praxis to front. pretty much anyone can get me, most of us can get emery. sometimes it just doesn’t work though! for fronting triggers, most of us will show up for our favorite stuff if we’re anywhere near front at the time. that includes stuff like favorite music, close friends, favorite animals, etc! charlie also shows up sometimes if their trauma triggers happen around us.

12. What’s the worst thing you’ve woken up to finding out your alter’s done? What’s the best? tbh ripple and seafoam used to destroy the body while they were out because they had no concept of how to pilot a human meat sack. they would do damaging stuff and over-exert themselves without noticing, and then whoever showed up after had to deal with the painful consequences. once they were swimming and forgot to breathe underwater, that one sucked a lot. the best is probably when emery does all the chores or other unpleasant tasks for us so no one else has to do it. thanks em

13. Has anyone ever noticed you were multiple before you told them? Do animals seem to know the difference in your switches? no one has actually assumed we were a system without us telling them, but we have gotten comments about weird personality shifts. people who know us well can usually tell who is fronting without asking, so that’s cool! the only animal that’s ever noticed was a really anxious cat we had who really disliked emery hehe

14. To whoever’s fronting; what’s your favorite item to have around when fronting? Is it yours or do you share with other alters in the system? i have makeup and clothes i’m really into! they are just mine, although charlie wears my shorts sometimes. i don’t mind sharing a bit as long as they make sure to wash my clothes before my next scheduled day. it’s really upsetting when they get my favorite stuff dirty and i have to wash it after

15. What song(s) do you relate to your DID? none!

16. Where, as a system, is the safest place for you? Why? home i guess? our found family is very supportive, we live in a household with 3 separate systems so it’s nice

17. Who’s an alter you’re interested in knowing more about or befriending? Which alter do you know best? we’re all very curious about prax since they’re still figuring out the world! they learned to talk recently so that’s been a huge improvement, but they’re still working things out. i get along really well with seafoam, they’re probably my favorite! emery is also nice, he acts as a big brother for me a lot which is nice. charlie and i used to get along kind of badly, but i’m trying to move past that

18. What’s your least favorite misconception or common misinformed fact spread abut Dissociative Identity Disorder? oh boy, there are tons. evil/murderous alters are a big one. the perception that we can never learn to function or live full, healthy lives is frustrating. it also really bugs me how obsessed people are with knowing who is the “original” person, or worse who is the “real” personality. we’re all alters here, no one is more real than anyone else...

19. Have you ever met another multiple offline? Tell us about it. yep! we live with two other systems and it’s great. it’s so cool to be friends with people who get where you’re coming from. i am pretty close with an alter who is in a very similar position to mine, and it’s a really nice connection to have!!

20. Do you have a favorite book or TV show about or including DID? i think the character i’m a fictive of (alluka from hunter x hunter) is actually a pretty accurate representation of DID if you ignore the fantasy aspects!

21. Tell us about your persecutor(s), protector(s), and gatekeeper(s). emery is our protector! he was really good at handling tasks the rest of us couldn’t manage in the past, and it helped so much. he also is really good in stressful situations! he can be overly judgmental and quick to form negative opinions, but he’s good

22. Tell us about your littles. we don’t have any full-time littles, but charlie does age slide at times! i don’t know what else to say about it though

23. Do you have an inner world? If so, who can access it? What’s it like? we have a really basic inner world! it has a small common room near front, a kitchen, and bedrooms for everyone except praxis. everyone except prax spends some time in the inner world. sometimes our headspace switches to something else for periods of time - recently it has been a movie theater, for example.

24. Have you ever dealt with denial? What helps you work through it? charlie was the public face of the system for a really long time, especially before we knew we had OSDD. the rest of us sometimes go through times where we feel like we aren’t real, or that we’re “just charlie.” it helps to focus on the most distinct differences between us at those times, and to ask other people around us for reassurance.

25. When did you first hear about Dissociative Identity Disorder? Was it before or after you discovered your plurality? In what context did you hear about it? we heard about it years before we knew we were a system, but it was mostly in really inaccurate ways. we saw the movie about sybil in 2008, which is the first exposure i can remember. a few years later we saw it again on tumblr, but it was a while before we got any genuine information on it.

26. What aspect of DID do you find most challenging in daily life? compromising between each other can be really really hard. most of us want to front as often as possible, but there’s only so many days in a week. i only officially get one day per week, and it’s really disorienting that so much time passes while i’m away. it’s also super inconvenient when someone fronts by accident at a time where we really needed someone else, or when we can’t get someone we need to front.

27. What do you think the biggest differences between living as a singlet and living as a person with DID are? time. living with DID means you never have enough time. you can go to bed one night and wake up months later, and all your friends have moved on or forgotten about you. it’s hard.

28. Share a memory of one of a different alter fronting which you’ve either been told about by them or by another friend. we didn’t used to know that praxis was nonverbal. prax showed up unplanned in the middle of a hospital trip, and at several points talked to the friend who was with us and to the nurse. that friend later told us that during the whole trip, prax was making “fax machine noises” instead of words (which explains why the nurse looked at us so weirdly.....)

29. How do your alters like to express themselves on a daily basis? charlie dresses in childish/silly stuff. they only like certain types of clothes (leggings, skinny jeans, sweaters, and sweatshirts) and pretty much refuse to wear anything else. i like to take care of myself - i always shower, brush my teeth, wash my face, put on nice clothes, and usually do my hair/makeup. i like presenting a lot more femme! emery presents really masc, praxis likes ugly 90′s aesthetic garbage, and ripple and seafoam will wear literally anything. many of us enjoy drawing in our own styles, playing games we like, watching our favorite shows/movies, and other stuff like that!

30. What’s one last thing you feel should be written about after answering all of that? Talk about whatever you want. i am a real person! i am not a 2-dimensional fragment of the host, i am a complete individual with my own thoughts and feelings, just like anyone else. negative stigma about DID is one of the worst things about living with the disorder, i just want to live my life and be happy!

[focusontheeasternlightning-blog]

Christian Testimony: The True Meaning of God’s Judgment

God’s words say: “In the last days, Christ uses a variety of truths to teach man, expose the essence of man, and dissect his words and deeds. 

These words comprise various truths, such as man’s duty, how man should obey God, how man should be loyal to God, how man ought to live out the normal humanity, as well as the wisdom and the disposition of God, and so on. These words are all directed at the essence of man and his corrupt disposition. In particular, those words that expose how man spurns God are spoken in regard to how man is an embodiment of Satan and an enemy force against God.”

Having accepted God’s work, through having meetings and communications of God’s words, I understood that in the last days God uses words to reveal and judge our corrupt dispositions in order to achieve the results of cleansing and saving humans. However, I didn’t know clearly how God judges and cleanses humans until I had practically experienced the environment that God set up for me.

Tasting the Work of the Holy Spirit and Feeling Pleasure Inside

When I started to participate in church life, I often attended meetings with brothers and sisters and read God’s words. I felt very happy and pleasure inside my heart, and also felt warm in God’s household. Therefore, in meetings I was very active to read God’s words and communicate, leaving a favorable impression on my brothers and sisters. Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu who looked after us new believers not only always praised me for my reading God’s words with fluency and good understanding of God’s words but also cared about me very much, always asking about my situation and difficulties. With the care and admiration of my brothers and sisters, I felt very joyful inside and enjoyed the meetings in which I was at the core of my brothers and sisters before two more sisters joined our meeting group.

Competing With Others and Falling Into Darkness

I remember that in the first meeting, the two sisters shared their experiences about how they returned to God. I really benefited greatly from them, especially from the experience of Sister Kemu. Others also regarded her experience as great and practical and Brother Xiaoyong said that her testimony of experience was very good and encouraged her to write it down to testify to God. Seeing everyone praise her, I thought: “Alas! Why don’t I have such experiences?” Because of this I felt very upset. After we had several meetings together, I found Sister Kemu could understand God’s words very well. In every meeting, with the encouragement and guidance of Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu, Sister Kemu could share the light she gained from God’s words. What’s more, she pursued the truth with perseverance and resolve. No matter how busy and tiring her work was, she could always keep a normal relationship with God and insist on reading God’s words and watching movies and videos. Seeing these, I thought: Although she is better than me now, as long as I make efforts to pursue the truth I also can catch up with her. In order to gain the approval and admiration of the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers, I began to pursue the truth tooth and nail. At home, I seized every available opportunity to read God’s words and even sometimes when I was at work, I would wear my headphone to listen to the fellowship from the above and hymns. In the meeting, I became more active than usual. I scrambled to read God’s words and every time after reading God’s words I hurriedly communicated about my own understanding without pondering it. For I thought: I should say my understanding first, otherwise if what I think is said by others, I will be regarded as imitating others when I say it again. Besides, every time I was about to go to the meeting, I would review what we had communicated in the last meeting and read God’s words again to prepare to answer what the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers would ask. However, they didn’t ask.

Once, I was being confused why Brother Xiaoyong didn’t ask what we had communicated in the last meeting when Sister Liu asked me to pray for others. At that time I was very muddled and didn’t know what to pray so what I prayed was very empty, dull and dry. And I just finished it with several sentences hastily. After prayer I felt very low-spirited. In the meeting, when I saw Brother Xiaoyong looking at Sister Kemu when she communicated, then feeling extremely frustrated, I hurriedly lowered my head and read the words of God, however, I couldn’t get any light and couldn’t memorize what they had said either, my mind being a complete blank. After the meeting, I went back to the dormitory, feeling weak throughout the body. Then I thought of the previous meetings, in which I always felt pleasure and had a lot to say. But now I was afraid of having meetings and didn’t know what to say. Especially when I thought of the look in their eyes when they looked at Sister Kemu, I thought now everyone didn’t like me anymore and I felt more and more uncomfortable, being passive in whatever I did. Those days, I was always absent-minded and always made mistakes during the work. I felt very distressed for this and my heart felt so heavy as if there was a big stone inside. So I came before God and prayed: “O God, recently I haven’t gotten any light when I communicated about Your words and my work didn’t go smoothly either. I don’t know why I meet with these things. O God, may You enlighten me and let me find new light and get some understanding when communicating about Your words in meetings.” At this time, Brother Xiaoyong sent a message to me to ask about my recent situation. Being afraid that he would look down upon me if I was open about my expression of corruption, I just replied to him with a sentence perfunctorily. Then I continued to read God’s words and learn hymns as usual. Also, I copied the words of praising God, summed them up together and memorized them. I thought: Last time I didn’t pray for others well, and I must do well next time.

Accepting the Judgment of God’s Words and Knowing My Own Corruption

A week later, it was time for the meeting again. I thought: If this time I’m asked to pray for others again, I’ll have something to say, using all the God’s words I have memorized. But unexpectedly, at the beginning of the meeting, Sister Kemu raised a question about how to pray. Then Brother Xiaoyong played a hymn “How to Enter Into True Player”: “Whilst praying, your heart must be at peace before God, and it must be sincere. You are truly communing and praying with God; you must not deceive God using nice-sounding words. … and bring your actual state and troubles before God to pray, and make resolution before God. Prayer is not the following of procedure, but the seeking of God using your true heart. Ask that God protect your heart, making it able to often be at peace before God, making you able to know yourself, and despise yourself, and forsake yourself in the environment that God has set for you, thus allowing you to have a normal relationship with God and making you someone who truly loves God.” Hearing this hymn, with tears pooling up in my eyes at that time, I felt guilty inside: God asks us to say our real situations, commune with God and establish a normal relationship with Him in prayer, does not asks us to say nice-sounding words or offer blind praise to deceive God. But these days my preparations were all for gaining my brothers and sisters’ approval and praise after their hearing my prayer, not for communing with God and sharing my innermost thoughts and real situation with Him. Isn’t my prayer a religious one? Knowing God’s will, I knew that I should say what I really thought inside to God, so then I prayed to God about these actions. After prayers, Sister Liu said to me: “Your desire for status is very strong.” At that time I couldn’t understand it. I thought: How come she say that?

In the evening, Sister Liu sent a video The Heart’s Deliverance to me. After watching the movie I cried, thinking that the protagonist was exactly the same as me. Especially when I saw God’s words: “As soon as it involves position, face, or reputation, everyone’s heart leaps in anticipation, and you always want to stand out, to be famous, to be glorified. You are unwilling to yield, always wanting to contend, although contending is embarrassing. However, you are not content not to contend. When you see someone stand out, you are jealous, feel hatred, complain, and feel it is unfair. ‘Why can’t I stand out? Why is it never me? Why is it always he who gets to stand out and it’s never my turn?’ There is some resentment. You try to repress the resentment, but you can’t, so you pray. After praying, you feel better for a little while, but later when you encounter the matter again you cannot overcome it. Is this not a case of immature stature? Is not a person’s falling into these conditions a trap? This is the bondage of a satanically corrupted nature.” Seeing the sister’s experience and God’s words, I realized that I cared too much about my face and status. Under the domination of the competitive nature, I always wanted to compete with others and get admiration and praise whatever I did. In order to be highly thought of by brothers and sisters, I racked my brain all day to memorize God’s words and listen to the fellowship. Even in the meeting I scrambled to communicate first. Weren’t these all for showing off myself? When I saw the sister’s strengths I didn’t learn from her humbly but pondered all the time how to show off myself. When my desire couldn’t be satisfied, I became negative and started to complain about everything. When faced with the fact I saw I was so corrupted by Satan that I was truly inhuman, arrogant and fragile. Thank God for letting me have a little knowledge of my corrupt dispositions. Meanwhile, from the sister’s experience, I found the path of practice—I should dissect and expose my corrupt dispositions and have a heart-to-heart fellowship with my brothers and sisters honestly. Then I came before God and prayed to God, resolving to practice the truth. Later I wrote my experience down and sent it to the messaging group and in the meeting I also opened up my heart to the brothers and sisters, saying all my own real thoughts and expression of corruptions. When I did like this, they didn’t look down on me, but instead, they shared their own experiences with me.

Finding the Path of Practice and Getting Released in My Heart

Later, the sister sent me another passage of God’s words to me: “Ponder this: What kind of changes must a person make if he wants to refrain from falling into these conditions and wants to be able to cast off these conditions and free himself of the vexations of these things? What must a person obtain before he can free himself of the vexations of these things, loosen the bonds of these things, and be able truly to be free and liberated? On one hand, a person must see through things: These fame and fortune and positions are tools and methods for Satan to corrupt people, to entrap them, to harm them, and to cause their degeneration. You must first see clearly this aspect in theory. … You must learn to give up and set aside these things, to yield, to recommend others, to allow them to stand out. Do not struggle furiously and rush to take advantage as soon as you encounter an opportunity to stand out or obtain honor. Learn to back off, but do not delay the performing of your duty. Be a person who performs his duty out of the public eye, and who does not show off before others. The more you give up and set aside, the more peaceful your heart will be and the more space will open up within it, and the more your condition will improve. The more you struggle and compete, the darker will be your condition; try it if you don’t believe it. If you want to turn around this kind of condition, if you want not to be controlled by these things, then you must first set them aside and give them up.”

The sister said to me in fellowship: “From God’s words we can see that it’s our common feature to pursue face and status as the corrupt mankind, and it is also one of the chronic diseases in our corrupt dispositions, which can’t be solved for a while. But as long as we read God’s words more, accept the judgment and chastisement of God’s words and see through the damage and results of pursuing face and status according to the exposure of God’s words, we won’t be bound by it anymore. For example, if we live by the thoughts and viewpoints ‘A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation’ and ‘A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face,’ then we will put our face, dignity and image above all else and we care too much about others’ opinions of us and our images in others’ hearts. We always hope that we can have position in others’ hearts and can be adored by others. In substance, we are competing for status against God.”

Through the sister’s fellowship I knew that Satan uses all kinds of thoughts and viewpoints to corrupt us, which makes us pursue face and status so that we distance ourselves from God and compete for status against God. I thought of God’s words: “I decide the destination of each person not on the basis of age, seniority, amount of suffering, and least of all, the degree to which they invite pity, but according to whether they possess the truth. There is no other choice but this. You must realize that all those who do not follow the will of God will be punished. This is an immutable fact.” Right, God decides our destination according to whether we have the truth. As believers, only through pursuing the truth and the changes of dispositions can we be in line with God’s will. It’s vain to pursue reputation, status and the admiration from others. Others’ admiration can’t mean the approval of God. Understanding God’s intention, I felt released in my heart.

Later I saw God’s words: “Do not do things before men; you should do them before God. By accepting God’s observation and inspection, your heart is set aright. If you are always concerned with acting for people to see, then your heart will never be set aright.” God’s words pointed out the path of practice for me. That is, we should conduct ourselves and do things before God and often accept God’s scrutiny. I should not always live for my own face and status or care about others’ opinions. Later I started to consciously practice God’s words. In the meeting, I prayed to God so that my heart could be at peace before God. Then my heart wasn’t so impetuous anymore, and I could calm down to contemplate God’s words and patiently listened to others’ fellowship. When I did like this, even if sometimes the light which I had gotten was said first by others, I would contemplate it again and then I found that I could get new light on the basis of others’ fellowship. Gradually, I felt closer to God and relied on God more and also I didn’t have so much desire to compete with others anymore. Now every meeting is enjoyable and I feel released in my heart.

Thank God for His guidance. Through the little experience during this period, I understood the inner meaning of God’s work of judgment. Just as God’s words say: “What the work of judgment brings about is man’s understanding of the true face of God and the truth about his own rebelliousness. The work of judgment allows man to gain much understanding of the will of God, of the purpose of God’s work, and of the mysteries that are incomprehensible to him. It also allows man to recognize and know his corrupt substance and the roots of his corruption, as well as to discover the ugliness of man. These effects are all brought about by the work of judgment, for the substance of this work is actually the work of opening up the truth, the way, and the life of God to all those who have faith in Him. This work is the work of judgment done by God.” In the last days God does the work of judgment and chastisement through setting up practical situations to prune and deal with us so that our corruption can be revealed. In these people, events and objects, God also uses His words to lead us to understand the truth and His will so that our corrupt dispositions can be cleansed. Recalling my recent experience, when I lived by the opinions “A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation” and “A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face” and pursued face and status, then God turned His face away from me and also used the people, matters and things around me to deal with me and aroused brothers and sisters to communicate the truth with me. In this way, I could know my corrupt dispositions and the substance of face and status and also know how to pursue is in line with God’s intentions. These were all the results of God’s work of judgment in the last days. During the judgment of God’s words, I have understood God’s righteous and holy substance and at the same time I felt the earnest intention of God’s salvation which is comprised in God’s judgment and chastisement. Thank God, all the glory be to Almighty God!

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Romania to Eurovision with an edgy plea for a return of special someone

To be honest, I wasn’t that on board with Selecția Națională 2019, like, at all. I get that scandals happened and three songs withdrew from the comp. at various stages due to various reasons, but Romania is just Romania to me somehow. Well there were a few overall gems (some of them out of the finals too), but I just couldn’t be bothered to waste my Sunday evenings on a single broadcast of it. Plus, I was never that swayed by the two big fanwanks from here anyway, so I’m glad they flopped lol.

But maaaan did I have a bone to pick with the people reacting to it. Especially towards the Wiwi jurors. Look, there’s such a thing called as “song growing on you” and “performance elevating the song”, as well as the one that goes “getting over it”. Surely these aren’t make belief concepts of life, hmm? I’m not one of those people who prefer a song more or less thanks to its performance, but there are some good ones that occasionally change my opinion on a song, especially a ‘boring’ one! And thanks to those terrible people, some of Wiwibloggs videos were unfairly attacked with dislikes, and mind you, not only on the Romanian NF interviews that don’t have the current Romanian subject of choice, no - both first-reaction-after-qualifying-to-A-Dal-2019-final interviews (that were of these two) too. And it’s not even the first time a televote winner doesn’t win the NF so you should have SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. (- Penn Jilette) Clear? (:

(lol this is all directed to the people from like three months ago, obviously now that the writeup is late the drama has cooled down A LOT, especially in the light of Ukraine’s events and the actual dust of this Euroseason where everyone made amends with everything, but I can’t help but keep what I thought of this initially because I just wanted to write something for Romania as I didn’t have anything else to say until I remembered the drama so)

So here’s that one controversial subject that unexpectedly slayed the poor man’s “Fuego” and that one homophobic teen by hitting it hard by an extremely unbalanced jury vote (and 24 points to it coming from that core Wiwibloggs duo, no less) and her on-stage couch possessing - the half-local half-Canadian little to no known artiste, Ester Peony, who conquered all in her homeland “On a Sunday”, as her songtitle says (haha bad puns whoop.) Is it any more mesmerizing over the two fanwank fanflops, or is it, just like Wiwi said at first, ‘boring’? Hmm...

It starts of bluesy, with the Western-movie-sounding-pop guitar twangs accompanying the sound, and Ester begins reminiscing her love that left her on a Sunday of September, later followed by snap percussion. And deep inside she wants that person to come back “to [her], to [her], to [he-eeee-eeee-er], eh, eh, eh, eh”. She begs and pleads for the return for her loved one, as I believe the absence deeply upsets her (smoke from the ashtray, everything’s so cold an gray, loving is a hard price to pay) and eats her up from the inside to a degree. I never had someone to leave me like that on a whatever the day was, but I feel for Ester’s song’s protagoniste.

Here are some interesting things I find in this song: its progressive intensity; the decision of putting a 3rd verse up in the place of the bridge; right after some additional “eh eh eh eh” after the chorus (bridges are usually of completely different vocal line ways); cool voice of the singer’s; the strings; the beat... and the fact that it’s described as “electro-pop”. Pop I might get, in fact it sometimes reminds me of those older Billboard chart topper songs from mid-00s por so, or that it could have been one of those kind of songs. You needed just to give it to a popstar relevant of the time and voilà - a hit! Electro... not quite sure on this one. Maybe the bass that occurs in the 2nd and 3rd verses indicates something on it but that’s all.

And man do I hate to say this but the song's attitude is something that makes me wanna scream sometimes. It occasionally happens when I stop feeling so happy clappy for a song a few listens later because I just don't feel like caring about it anymore and that it starts making me feel some sort of a soulache because I trusted it in the first place. Kinda like "Funny Girl", Latvia 2018: I actually didn't mind it at first but its desperation got on my nerves a whole lot that I got completely irritated. "On a Sunday" has enough elements that I like to keep the irritation feeling at bay, but I doubt that even they will not make me want to smash a chair everytime I hear that chorus again... you think you can suppress your smugness overtime, song? Think again about it later

Oh and there's a supposed revamp, I doubt I would be able to feel any better about that song that way, as long as my mind just automatically recognizes Ester's singing as "whining" for some reason. It probably will make me feel less worse if I see a stage show similar to the absurd mess one from the NF where shit happens and Ester's just chilling on a chair. Game of Loans? Student loans? It was random but I definitely appreciated the scarlet madness all surrounding it. I hope to maybe see something similar in Tel Aviv - edgy imagery, why not. Bring on the candles and the ravens.

To summarize, I don’t think it’s a bad song at all. It’s daring, it’s badass, it's kickass, it comes right at you, grabs you in and you adapt to it however you can be able to. However...

Approval factor: I still have mixed feelings about passing it off as something approvable, but objectively I would like to do so. Good for you to try something different, Romania.

Follow-up factor: Anything at least half-decent is a fine follow-up after The Humans’s mediocrisms (I’m helping the dictionary to have more words, one construction at a time!). I liked the Humans more though and Ester... sort of? But in general context, Ester’s a fantastic successor.

Qualification factor: Somehow this did not sound like a definite Eurovision qualifier to me, so at one point I thought it would be just missing out... but it’s a complete effing borderline of a song. At one point it sounds good enough for a filler qualifier, at another it’s just not qualifying somehow. We’ll see how she rehearses it up in two days, though.

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

I think there’s nothing more I can say about Selecția Națională (refered to as SN from this point onwards) than I already said in the intro, so let’s get to the moments, shall we? ;)

• So what else do I have to say about the fanwank-esses that hasn’t been said? Well, on one hand you have an Amazon-jungle-tribal version of “Fuego”, “Army of Love”, performed by Bella Santiago (who had one of my favourite SN entries last year lmao), who went all out with body paint and wild choreo and a rap bridge in Tagalog (one of Bella’s native languages) to make it all sound slightly different than “Fuego”, but still, that pre-chorus just feels like a pitched-down “Fuego” from a B minor to a G flat minor, with the same acoustics and the beat, and the drop is some limp-ass Amazon flutery magic. On the other hand you have a 16 year old Laura Bretan with an poperatic ode to her “Dear Father” which was praised for her insanely good vocal skills (I forgot what’s that called... an alto? soprano? mezzo-soprano? sorry I know a lot about music but not a lot about those ranges) more than the song itself... there’s a big problem about Laura though as people found out that she does not believe and/or condone a marriage between same-sex people. For Eurofans that’s a major red flag as as of lately Eurovision is very LGBTQ+ friendly and having had Laura next to people like Bilal or Mahmood would have probably been concerning if she knew of them having had boyfriends... Like I said, neither of those are special. Imo people loved Bella’s song because of the “Fuego” vibe and people loved Laura’s song because of her voice combined with her age. I said what I said. (Oh and there was a missed opportunity for Il Volo and Laura to reunite this year in Eurovision had they only been chosen in their NFs.)

• Screw these gals, now here come on the real faves of mine - another rock band, obviously, and that’s Trooper. No but for real, could at least ANY country have sent a rock song this year? It could have even been San Marino for all I cared but this year is so MoR without a rock entry... Trooper’s “Destin” sounds like something coming out from an epic fable about legendary heroes fighting for their glory of the nation by slaying goblins with wearing medieval costumes (with a sleeveless top and metal armor for the chest), bearing their long hair and looking strong and hunky. Lai-lai-la-la-la-lai!

• Now what were the other competing entries I liked? There were quite a few like the folk bop titled “D A I N A” and sung by Letiția Moisescu and Sensibil Balkan, then Teodora Dinu’s captivating pop tune “Skyscraper” and a really catchy non-qualifier entry by a band Steam, named “The Way It Goes”... no really Romania, why’d you let that flop... and why did you also let 2 Gents flop... and moreso importantly WHY DID YOU LET THE FOUR FLOP??? That’s like the best football-anthem-esque song I’ve heard in a while... such a shame it didn’t appear on the national selection’s final. Oh well. Poor those 4 young souls.

• Now what were those 3 (actually 4) withdrawals? First one was concerning the first ever Romanian representative Dan Bittman and his own problems so he couldn’t return to a NF and be one of the potential returning artists to Eurovision. Then there was this Australian-Romanian chick named Xonia who withdrew for seemingly no reason, all last minute. There was one more withdrawal from a semi-regular SN participant Xandra too, as well citing unknown reasons. And then there’s Mihai (or as he likes calling himself nowadays, M I H A I) who once again wanted to return to Eurovision (no wonder his Eurovision 2006 song was called “Tornero” lol) with an entry, and this one is called “Baya”. And then he went on an epic quest of flopping - firstly by withdrawing his song last minute from SN claiming that it’s corrupted, then considering to return as a wildcard, then thinking on to latching on to Eurofest in Belarus, but gotten sick last minute and therefore perma-cancelled his NFs journey this year entirely by not appearing on the Eurofest auditions. <3 Not to mention he’s a bit of a creep by subjecting people to his nude pictures with just him in his underwear. dude you’re almost 40, stop doing that to the kids. you’re not even a “daddy”. just look how alien you look on your song’s thumbnail:

• Netta continues her guest appearances on various NFs, such as in UK and in Spain (in spirit, as it was just the Triunfitos singing “Toy” at the beginning of the ESC OT Gala). This one even had her singing her newest song “Bassa Sababa” alongside “Toy”. Oh and there also was one of the Festivali i Këngës 56 alums coming by, Inis Neziri, to perform something for Romania after having won a music competition in Romania, and here’s her performance. But did she even have anything interesting in her backdrop as this?

We know you did Netta sweetie but do you honestly need to reminds us? I did not see Eleni doing shit like this and I don’t want you to do the same. Well if anything I am glad Netta only gracefully performed “Toy” on EYD 2019 (which I missed in my “National Final bonus” section for the UK’s review (as well as them reminiscing Eurovision’s best moments) but frankly I don’t think you cared anymore about it when you learned I was gonna write so many long-ass paragraphs, so yeah)...

• So what was the exact thing again that made everyone such bitter Betties? Well, everyone foresaw Bella and Laura battling it out in this NF, having succesfully qualified together. They even did well in the televote. But then the jury vote happened, and it included the God-forbidden Wiwibloggs duo voting separately and usualy picking all the similar favourites based on performances. They were very pleased with Ester Peony’s on-stage chair prop and her dramatic mess so they gave her their 12s. INDIVIDUALLY. And that’s one of things that pushed Ester higher for the win, despite only having 3 points from the televote lol. But the worst part about it is their opinions: they have praised “Dear Father” so much for mostly the same reasons others praised it so much as well, and were stunned. A what they thought of Ester’s song? That it’s boring. And their mindset switched when voting on this NF, with 12ing Ester and only giving a few feeble points to Laura. That’s where the backlash ensued - not when Emmelie de Forest (yep she was in the jury too) did not give any points to Bella Santiago’s song - just for that notion alone. Maybe it was because of a REASON. Laura’s song in the end is just an uninteresting pop ballad with some additional vocal exercising (too flawless that you even tire from flawlessness), Ester at least brought something to liven up her song, and maybe Wiwis changed their opinion accordingly by not being enthused by Laura anymore! And what’s the problem with that, eh eh eh?.. oh right, y’all accusing Wiwibloggs having rated Laura down because she’s a homophobe. Real friggen’ obviously because of that, you guys. NOT. Grow a brain a bit, will ya. (and even a contestant named Linda Teodosiu was pissed about Wiwibloggs not giving her enough points lmao... her song was a typical ”rent a NF songwriter” spiel so she has no effin’ reason to be mad her ‘originality’ wasn’t awarded lol.)

Worth noting that one of the other reasons people were mad that the juryvote points overpowered the televote big time (like 7 juror votes against 1 set of televotes - inequal) and therefore did not even listen to what they had to say (again, Ester had 3 freaking televote points lol). It’s a thing y’all should get used to - juries overrating an act one way or the other, against the televote’s will. It’s a given nowadays, remember. I know y'all Romanians wanted to scream "ESTER IS NOT OUR WINNER WE HAVEN'T DECIDED HER WE WANT BELLA/LAURA!!!" but that's the truth with the juries.

And thankfully, that is, what I think, all you need to remember from the SN headache this year. Fortunately it’s much smaller than the last year’s headache that, aside from 60 songs in total for 5 semis (!!!), also had a very strictly eliminative system that had 3 qualifiers each from a semi decided by juries ONLY (geez not even A Dal does that!), only to soften things up by having everyone fall down on televote’s hands only during the final. And then the final had the drama on its own. But if I reminisced it all on here, we’d be taking more than just all day, so it’s best that I stop this here and now, for all of ya who are already tired of all this waffle.

Good luck to Ester! and may all of your fans see you performing on a Saturday :)

[septic-heart-and-mind]

“Loved” | “Imprisoned” (JSE Ego Fic) Chapter 13 [END]

I’ve finally done it, I’ve written the last chapter of my JSE ego fic!! Sorry it has taken so long and THANK YOU to everyone who has read it, and for the comments I’ve had - that means a lot to me! And thanks to @thesepticimprovisor23 for writing your JSE ego fic as this is what inspired me to start mine in the first place 💚

For anyone who hasn’t read it or wants to re-read: 

“Abused”, Chapter 1: (x) “Trouble”, Chapter 2: (x) “Friends”, Chapter 3: (x) “Magic”, Chapter 4: (x) “Two Stories”, Chapter 5: (x) “A Foolproof Plan”, Chapter 6: (x) “To The Rescue”, Chapter 7: (x) “Road to Recovery”, Chapter 8: (x) “Healing”. Chapter 9: (x) “Free”, Chapter 10: (x) “Brave”, Chapter 11: (x) “Life Sentence”, Chapter 12: (x) (or search #ImprisonedFic on my blog) 💚

Chase’s POV

I cried in my mother’s arms, wondering why my father never loved me and wishing I had one who did; Mum held me close and soothed me, staying with me for hours as I poured out my heart to her. I told her about the fact that I still kind of loved him despite my hatred for him, and she understood; she didn’t judge me or think it was strange, in fact she seemed to believe that it was completely normal and understandable. I questioned why he hurt Mum, but I told her that I didn’t blame him for what he did to me because I was a useless son who deserved it. I deserved to be hated. Mum wasn’t having any of it, though, and she reassured me that this was just what he wanted me to think. She told me that I was a lovely boy who deserved all the love in the world, and what he did to me was a reflection of his evil nature and nothing to do with me as a person. She reminded me of her love for me, my friends, and the fact that Stacy was head over heels for me. My heart warmed, realising just how I loved I really was, and I started to feel a bit better. Mum seemed to know just the right things to say to me when I was upset. It wasn’t long before I was calm and began to feel tired, so I got settled into bed and Mum lovingly said goodnight; she kissed my forehead, told me she loved me, and then she left. Now I was alone, I had to try and prevent my mind from racing again so that I could get to sleep. I found myself thinking about Stacy, imagining her warm voice in my ears and her sweet eyes looking at me as she smiled, and my breathing became slow and deep as my body relaxed. I smiled a little as I remembered her telling me that she liked me and the magical first kiss we had, and the beautiful memories lulled me to sleep. I soon fell into a dream, and I saw Dad - but I wasn’t afraid of him. He was just stood there, looking at me with unthreatening eyes, and he didn’t seem to tower over me like he did in real life - not because he was actually shorter, but I didn’t feel as small around him because I wasn’t intimidated. It was strange because everything around us was white, almost like heaven, but I knew neither of us were dead. The floor and walls were plain like snow, and all I could see was the door that Dad had walked through. No-one else was around, just me and him.

“Dad?” I said a little nervously.

“It’s okay, son,” he reassured me, a gentle smile on his face.

“Aren’t you going to hit me? Say something horrible?” I stammered, confused.

“Of course not,” he replied in a kind voice, “Why would I do that to you?”

“You hate me,” I trembled, almost in tears at those words.

“I don’t hate you,” he corrected me softly, his hand gently on my shoulder. “I love you.” My heart seemed to stop for a second. He actually said the words. He loved me. My dad loved me.

“You - love me?” I checked in pleasant disbelief, my voice a little shaky as I feared he was toying with me.

“Yes, son,” he confirmed with affection, “I love you.”

“Really?” I asked again, unable to take it in.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I love you, son.” I threw my arms around him and he held me close like he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the affection as he embraced me, and I knew that he really did genuinely love me. This wasn’t an act, he wasn’t just messing with me for a cruel joke - he actually loved me! I held him a little tighter, still struggling to believe it was true, and he placed a kiss upon my head. “I have to go now, son,” he sighed sadly.

“No, no, Dad, don’t go,” I pleaded, tears in my eyes. One rolled down my cheek.

“Don’t cry, my boy,” he said gently, caressing the tear away with his thumb.

“Please don’t leave me,” I begged him.

“You have to wake up,” he explained. He then turned round and headed towards a door, the only one I could see.

“No, don’t go!” I cried as I ran after him. He was only walking, yet I couldn’t catch up with him, and eventually he disappeared through the door. “No!” I wept, thumping the door with my fist. I then opened it, and all I could see ahead of me was what looked like a black void. “Dad!” I called, before stepping out. I immediately fell, descending through the abyss of darkness; it seemed to go on forever, but I sensed I was about to hit the ground - but that was when I woke up. I sat up and I called out for him, before quickly realising it was all a dream and my dad didn’t love me at all. I missed the version of him that did, and I burst into tears. Why couldn’t he be like that in real life? Why did I have to have an evil monster for a dad instead of the loving character I had just interacted with? Unexpectedly, as it was late, my phone started vibrating on my bedside table; it was an unknown number, but I decided to answer it out of curiosity. “Hello?” I stammered, apprehensive as I waited for the reply.

“Chase?” a familiar voice answered. Dad. He must’ve somehow snuck a mobile phone into his cell and remembered my number. Frightened, I wanted to end the call immediately - and he knew that. “Don’t hang up, son,” he pleaded. His tone was strange to me because it seemed too gentle, but it was definitely him speaking. I was extremely confused. “I need to see you,” he confessed.

“Really?” I stuttered, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “Come see me as soon as you can. Please.”

“Why?” I asked, perplexed at his sudden interest in seeing me.

“I told you, I need to see you,” he repeated, although not getting angry like he usually would when I questioned him.

“It’s not like you miss me,” I stated sadly, but he stayed quiet rather than responding. “Unless… you do miss me?” I wondered as I wished it was true. He didn’t correct me, or say something horrible about me meaning nothing to him. “You do…” I gasped. I couldn’t believe it and I was so excited and elated. “I’ll put in a visiting order tomorrow,” I announced to him.

“Thanks, son,” he replied gratefully, before hanging up. I couldn’t quite take in what just happened, and I rubbed my eyes to check that it wasn’t just another dream again; I realised that I was fully in reality, yet I still couldn’t believe what had just occurred. It seemed so sudden. Had he really changed that quickly? Had he had so much time to think that he had actually come to his senses already? Did my father really miss me? Maybe he even loved me… I so desperately wanted it to be true, so I clung to it tightly with both hands.

As I had promised, I put in a visiting order the following morning. Although, I ended up regretting it later that day, when I saw a story on the news all about him. It made me have huge doubts about him, whether I would in fact be safe to go and see him. I was reminded of what he’d done (I use ‘reminded’ loosely, as it wasn’t that I’d forgotten - I never would), and I began to be unsure whether he’d changed or not. I heard the news reporters talking to people who knew him.

“How does it feel to know you were on the same street as this evil man?” they asked.

“Really strange, I never even knew he was like that,” a woman replied, “He always seemed so friendly, like a family man. He was nothing but kind to me, I can’t believe it was all just an act. It just shows you never really know who people are, do you?” The report cut to another place with different people.

“How did he seem to you?” the reporter questioned a man.

“He never seemed like an evil psychopath, that’s for sure,” he responded. “He was clearly hiding his true self from everyone, so that no-one would figure out what he was doing behind closed doors. He’s sick.” There was another cut, to another person he knew.

“What’s it like knowing that a friend of yours used to abuse his own wife and son?” the reporter asked.

“It’s crazy, he didn’t seem like the abusive type, he was so charming,” she answered, “Then again most psychopaths are like that. Good at fooling people to hide their wicked side. I feel sorry for them having to go through that and I wish I’d realised something so I could’ve made it stop.” The last cut followed.

“What did you think of this man, did you think he could do anything like this?” the reporter prompted.

“Well, something was always not right,” he confessed, “But I didn’t know it was anything like this. I noticed some odd things, like when I looked after Chase once and he seemed reluctant to go back home afterwards. I did wonder why…” He looked down and sighed. “I guess I know now.”

After hearing this news report and what everyone said about finding out the truth about my dad, seeds of doubt were planted in my mind about going to see him; I voiced these concerns to Mum, and her response watered the seeds, however she did advise me to do whatever felt right and not what she told me to do. Although I was questioning whether I would go or not, part of me was so desperate for my dad to love me that if there was even a tiny chance that he did, I needed to find out and hear it for myself. It did seem highly unlikely that he had suddenly had a change of heart, but I had no idea what it was like in prison - maybe if I knew that it would make more sense and would seem more possible. Regardless of that, it wasn’t impossible - and if he somehow had started to love me, I had to experience that. Yet, I still struggled with the decision and couldn’t be definitive about it yet; I couldn’t shake the fear I had, especially after hearing what all those people said about him. He had pretended before, so I knew I shouldn’t really trust him - and yet I still couldn’t help but feel like I needed to out of desperation to be loved by my dad.

A week passed and, despite all the doubting, I went to see him; Mum took me but I knew I had to visit him on my own this time. Whatever it was he wanted to say, it was clearly for me. I tried to imagine how it might go; I envisioned him telling me how wrong he was, and that he was actually sorry. Maybe he would tell me that he had been beaten in prison and that made him realise. I hoped that he would say the words I’d longed to hear from him all my life. I was still nervous when I saw him though, as the fear wouldn’t just magically go away after all he had put me through; it was impossible for me to just forget all that and feel safe like nothing ever happened. It was the strangest feeling in the world when the two of us saw each other. His eyes looked just like they had in the dream, unthreatening and gentle - and perhaps even caring. I squeezed my eyes and opened them again, just to make sure that I was awake and that this was really happening. It was, as I was still here in the visiting room with him approaching me. He was soon sat opposite me and, from what I could tell, he was actually glad to see me.

“What’s changed, Dad?” I asked confusedly. “Why am I here?”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking,” he announced. “And you’re here because… because there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I don’t understand,” I stated, puzzled, “I don’t get why you need to tell me anything. You hate my guts, you always have.”

“Like I said, I’ve been thinking. You get a lot of time for that here,” he explained.

“And what have you been thinking about?” I wondered.

“Everything I did,” he answered. “You see, I got a taste of my own medicine last night, and that kind of opened my eyes. I was wrong.”

“You mean that?” I checked.

“Yes,” he replied sincerely, “That’s why I brought you here. To tell you I’m sorry… That I miss you…” It didn’t sound like he was finished.

“And?” I prompted him.

“And…” he hesitated, “I love you.” My dream had come true. He said it, he actually said it. I looked deeply into his eyes, and what I saw seemed to confirm the words he had just uttered.

“You.. you love me?” I reacted in surprise, tears of joy pricking my eyes.

“I love you,” he reiterated, his hand gently placed on top of mine.

“You actually love me?” I repeated in disbelief. He nodded, and I burst into happy tears. I was about to say something, when he took his hand away from mine and sat back - laughing, the gentleness in his eyes gone and replaced by the darkness that usually dwelled there. My tears transformed to ones of fear and pain from his betrayal and deceit.

“You’re really more gullible and desperate than I thought,” he mocked me. “I didn’t think my plan would actually work!” He turned to look at two of his mates who were also visiting people, who were smirking back when they saw his evil triumph. “He fell for it,” he laughed to them, before turning back to me. “You really are a fucking idiot,” he taunted me. “You wanted it so bad that you actually believed it, didn’t ya?”

“You’re - so evil…” I wept, my lips quivering.

“I don’t fucking care,” he smirked.  “Just like I don’t care about you.” I sobbed then. “Oh, shut up, you’re pathetic. Get out of here, go away.”

“Why don’t you love me?” I asked in a tearful, shaking voice.

“Because you’re worthless, now get lost,” he answered nastily.

“Please love me, please,” I begged in desperation. “I’ll do anything.” He laughed at me again, but I continued to plead with him. “If I’m evil too will you love me then?” I questioned as tears streamed down my heartbroken face.

“I’ll never love you,” he stated darkly. My heart’s pieces shattered further.

“Please,” I sobbed.

“Get it through that thick skull of yours, I hate you,” he replied, clearly enjoying my emotional torment. He stood up to return to his cell, and I impulsively threw my arms around him like I did in my dream. I did it almost as though I could make him love me if I held him tightly enough.

“Please love me!” I wept loudly, “Please!” He aggressively pulled me away from him, before glaring into my eyes and getting a little too close to my face as he often did to intimidate me. It worked every time and I was filled with fear.

“I will never love you, you pathetic - worthless - freak,” he spat, making me whimper with terror, before shoving me to the floor. He was immediately taken away back to his cell, while I slowly and shakily had to pick myself up. Everyone was staring, and a lot of the inmates were laughing at me. I ran out of there, crying my eyes out; I was holding back somewhat, though, and I fully let it out once I got away from them and that horrible place. I sobbed so hard that I could barely stand, feeling like I was suffocating and choking on my tears as my entire body shook and I gasped for air. My legs were starting to give underneath my weight, but Mum managed to catch me just in time to keep me up.

“Come here, baby,” she said softly as she took me into her arms, and I sobbed heavily into her. She shushed me and soothed me like a little child who had just had a bad dream, slowly stroking my head as she embraced me lovingly.

“I’m such an idiot!” I sobbed loudly.

“Shhh, you’re not an idiot, my darling. You’re not, I promise,” she comforted me softly with affection.

“I’m a freak!” I wept heartbrokenly.

“No, don’t you say that about yourself,” Mum replied gently. “It’s not true, sweetie.”

“I’m worth nothing!” I lamented, “Nothing!”

“You listen to me,” Mum said caringly as she looked deep into my eyes, cupping my face, “You are not worthless. You matter - so much.” She then caressed my face as she spoke. “Do not believe that evil, twisted monster. He’s so wrong, sweetheart, so wrong.”

“He hates me…” I cried sorrowfully, “He’ll never love me…”

“He doesn’t know what love is, honey,” Mum sighed as she held me close again. “You don’t need him, darling, you’re better off leaving him here to rot and forgetting about him. He’s not worth your tears, baby. Not a single one.” Despite knowing she was right, I still couldn’t stop sobbing. “Shhh,” Mum continued to soothe me. “We need to get you home, darling. Away from here. Come on.” Mum helped me back to the car, still reassuring me, and she assisted me with getting in. She got in on her side of the car and settled into her seat, before looking at me and taking my hand. “It will be alright, my love,” she said with a gentle smile. “You don’t need him, you’ve got me. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Mum,” I sniffled, managing to slightly smile back at her. She caressed my cheek and kissed my forehead, before we made our way home. Dad’s words were still ringing in my ears, and my heart ached as I desperately wished that what he had told me wasn’t just some sick prank. I felt completely and utterly stupid for believing him. How did I trust him after all he’d done to me? Why did I trust him? He’d faked being nice to me before to stop strangers from becoming suspicious, so I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be hard for him to pretend to care about me as a twisted joke. I should have seen it for what it was right away but, as he said, I was so desperate for it to be true that I believed it. I was a fool, the idiot that he told me I was. I felt like I deserved the heartbreak I got for being stupid enough to fall for his deceit. How on Earth was I that gullible, especially knowing what he could be like? I texted Stacy about it when I was home, telling her about how idiotic I felt for believing him; she thought what he did was evil, but she didn’t agree that I was stupid. She said that he had just taken advantage of me because that’s the kind of person he is, and that it didn’t reflect my intelligence at all. I told her everything he said about me being worthless, a freak, and that he would never love me… Stacy reassured me that I wasn’t the things he called me, and that it didn’t even matter that a monster like him hated me because he wasn’t worth thinking about. She reminded me that it didn’t mean I was unloveable, and she mentioned all of the people that she knew cared about me (including herself). I was still upset about what happened, but she somehow lifted me so that things didn’t seem so bad.

She brought me some comfort by saying that he had no power over me anymore, because I was never going to see him ever again; he couldn’t bully and abuse me or my mother anymore, and he was having to pay the price for what he did. It was unlikely that he would get out and, if he ever did, he probably wouldn’t ever be able to find me. I went into my phone’s contacts and I deleted his number and all the old messages I had from him. I wanted to erase him from my life as much as possible, so that no longer had any ties to him. We didn’t have many photos together, but we did have some to keep up the façade when anyone was round the house; I got all of the ones with him in them and I ripped them to pieces, before putting all of the shreds into a fire so that they were gone forever. Mum cried over her wedding picture, wishing that she had never married such a monster, but she soon threw that into the fire too as she didn’t want to be tied to him anymore either. She planned to file for a divorce as soon as possible, so that all our connections to him were severed. Unfortunately for me, I would always be related to him whether I liked it or not - but I didn’t have to call him Dad anymore. I was sure that Mum would find someone else eventually, and whoever it was had to be better than him - and he would easily take the title off him. I would proudly call almost anyone Dad instead of my real one, because hardly anyone in the world is as evil. My dad had a hole where his compassion and love were supposed to be, and instead it was nothing but darkness and hatred. It didn’t matter anymore because I no longer had to have anything to do with him, although I couldn’t undo the damage he’d done. Maybe that would be there forever, a life sentence. Even if it wasn’t, he would still have power over me for years to come yet. What he did to me scarred me terribly, physically and mentally, and it would take quite some time to move past it all. I knew I would struggle to trust and get close to anyone, and I already flinched when people tried to touch me even in a kind way - not to mention all the nightmares and flashbacks I had. My mother and I definitely had a long road ahead of us, but at least we had one thing that my so-called dad would probably never have. Love.

Months Later…

Seán’s POV

We had all prepared for our charity event, and we were beginning to get both excited and nervous about what we were doing; knowing it was for a very good cause definitely helped with the feelings of apprehension, and it certainly made it impossible for any of us to back out. There was no going back, we were committed. Because of how shy and anxious JJ is, he kept something quiet when we were planning what to do for the charity - he didn’t mention his fear of heights. When he’d eventually told us, it turns out he was too scared to say anything and he didn’t want to seem impolite by rejecting our idea. Of course, we reassured him that we wouldn’t have thought that of him; now that we had no choice but to go ahead, though, we had to convince him to go up the mountain with us despite his fear. He was terrified, the poor guy, but he agreed for Chase. Every time he got really wound up, I reminded him of what we were doing it for and he would find the strength to carry on. He was inspirational, really, all of my friends were. JJ really symbolised what abuse is like, though; Chase had to carry on with his day-to-day life even with what went on behind closed doors, and he put on a brave face in front of everyone so that no-one knew his pain. JJ was doing the same, battling his way up the mountain despite terror and doing his best to hide just how much he was struggling. He would often say he was fine even though we could all see that he was petrified. I frequently saw his legs wobbling as we walked, which worsened as the height increased, and his breathing was more or less always shallow and shaky. Yet, he stayed strong and he never gave up; everyone was amazing, keeping each other going no matter what. We were all tired and in pain, and we weren’t particularly comfortable at that height (although not as bad as JJ), so it was an incredible task for all of us; we all kept that in mind and we supported each other with every step. I hated the height too, so JJ and I stuck together all the way as I understood how he felt the most out of everyone. I even held his hand towards the end, heading towards the highest point, and I didn’t care who saw me do it. There wasn’t exactly many people around anyway, but I wasn’t really bothered about what people thought. I was supporting my friend and there’s nothing wrong with that; even if it had meant something else beyond being platonic, there’s nothing wrong with that either. Eventually, after a long and hard battle, we reached the summit and  we were all overcome with emotion. Pride, happiness, relief and tiredness hit us like a ton of bricks, and we all shared hugs of elation as we told each other how proud we were of one another for completing it. We took pictures to prove that we made it, and just for our keepsake, before having a rest as we knew we would have to make our way back down. It wasn’t just to regain our physical energy, but to mentally recharge and prepare for the journey ahead. The hardest part was over, but we still had a long way to go yet before we were truly finished. We were still exhausted when it came to restarting our trek, but it was something that we knew had to be done; again, as we did during our ascent, we thought about Chase. Anti was in our minds, too, as he wasn’t doing the walk with us; he wasn’t able to train for it like we did, because of his trauma recovery. By the time he was doing well enough, he didn’t have sufficient time to prepare like us. He and Chase planned to do something of their own, though, but not until we were done because they didn’t want to try and outshine us. Our descent was another long haul in every regard, and we supported each other all the way down. In both directions, there was pain and struggling and tears - but even more intense emotion was yet to come as we defeated the monumental mountain. We’d done it. There was more crying and hugs, pride and joy pouring out of each and every one of us. We took and shared more photos, before giving out another embrace to each other. Chase was with Anti, so we decided to do a video call to catch up and show them how ecstatic we were. Both of them were immensely proud of us all, and there were tears from them as well when they realised just what we’d done for them, for charity. All of us as friends felt a vast love between us, and the tragedy of Chase’s abuse turned into one of the happiest days of our lives, which felt truly victorious.

Chase’s POV

It was after this charity event that I really and truly realised how loved I was, and I knew who my best friends were. They had all just done an amazing, awe-inspiring task, something that I never imagined I would be able to do, and all because of what I suffered. They did it for charity, but they also did it for me; they told me about how they thought of me when it got difficult, and I found that truly moving. I couldn’t help but cry on the phone to them as I was filled with love and pride. I felt more connected to them than ever, despite the physical distance, and it was the least lonely and isolated I had ever been in my life. It really felt like I had won over my father - we had won, good triumphing over evil and love over hate. It just shows how powerful love truly is, and what people will do for you when they love you. Even after all my father did to me, I was able to feel like I mattered and feel loved; I could be happy, laughing in the face of all his twisted acts towards me. He couldn’t make me feel small anymore, as love lifted me up to the height of the mountain that my friends ascended. Of course, I wasn’t over what he did to me and I still had scars, but that didn’t mean he had defeated me. I was still living life, and I was being loved more than he would ever be. The fact that I had love and knew how to give it was enough on its own to make me victorious over him; one of the most precious things in life was mine to keep and to share, while he was yet to discover it. After this event was the start of a new journey, as I felt more like I could start to move forward from my past - and I began to feel like I had a future away from everything that happened to me, a future that I controlled instead of fear. My friends raised a massive amount of money - £10,000 each! We threw a huge party to celebrate, and this was like the beginning of a new chapter. A clean slate, a blank page where I could continue to write my life - with me holding the pen instead of my father, its ink made of love and happiness. I didn’t have to reread the pages he wrote anymore, nor did I have to let them influence where my chapters were led. Now that I was the author of my life, I could decide the future of my story - and whenever I felt uninspired and demotivated, a proverbial writer’s block, I had the one thing I needed to reignite the spark in me and set my heart alight with positivity again. I had life’s most beautiful two-way gift, the greatest part of human existence, and I kind of felt sorry for my father for missing out on this. He would never know or understand love or kindness, friendship or family, compassion or empathy. He wasn’t truly like a human as he was without those things; to be without love in one’s heart is to exist without the essence of life. I was complete even without him, one of the people who made me, and my life had a deeper meaning because of the people I cared the most about. I didn’t need a father who despised me because hatred is unnecessary, so it was time to focus my attention on the people that mattered, the people that gave me the affection that everyone should receive and more. They were a reason to live, a reason to keep fighting back against the mental damage he caused, a reason to be happy despite all I’d endured. I was loved and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t easy for me to forget him, I couldn’t erase him from my mind completely - but I didn’t have to let him win anymore. Every time I was happy, every time I faced a fear, every time I loved - I was defeating him over and over again, dancing among the memories and lighting up the shadows of my mind.

[friendshipcampaign]

Session Recap 7/15/18: Cooperation and Cohabitation

Intrigued by what he’d heard of the Tome, Palava asked Ditto if he could try communicating with it -- hoping that perhaps between his religious knowledge and Mynskay’s knowledge of necromancy they could path together some way for Tsova to communicate. She handed the book over.

As the party waited to hear if Palava and Mynskay had any ideas, Voski tapped Amaranth on the shoulder, pulling her aside to discuss some of the ballads she’d discovered. As Amaranth looked them over, Voski asked for some clarifications about her story. She wanted to know about Amaranth’s comment that the Dirge’s crew didn’t like people interfering with their cargo.

Amaranth admitted that she and her crew had boarded a ship themselves, not knowing that it had already been overtaken by a group of slavers. They had then proceeded to free the proper crew from their grasp -- unaware that the slavers were in league with the Dirge, and those crew members were already considered cargo. Cargo that she and her crew had interfered with.

A singular devil, she said, had then showed up to speak with them and mentioned reporting back to the ship. But it was the only one they’d directly interacted with.

At this point in the conversation, Amaranth was looking fairly haggard. Voski glanced around the room to try to note the others’ positioning and if they might hear what she was about to say. She squared her shoulders to try to block them out, and proceeded to tell Amaranth she could tell she was upset -- and that she was going to share a piece of information with her and her only. After a deep breath the dragonborn admitted, “Voski… is my real name.”

She then proceeded to give the context -- for years now, she’d been going around under fake names, aliases, and disguises. “If you had met me at any point for the last while,” she said, “You wouldn’t know me by that name it all. It would have been Ina, or Kadri, or Mjosena--Tiffany, once. Dimira, the one I sold. But for some reason, when we got on that stupid boat, I decided to bring Voski out of retirement. And I don’t know why.”

She seemed to be getting stressed, explaining that she didn’t feel good about the fact that her real name was the one that the fae had, that the group was using, and that she kept giving to people. But she then turned it around on Amaranth, pointing out that she had been having extreme reactions to things related to her past coming up unexpectedly, and if they challenged the contract they might have to deal with much more of that. If a rumor in a ballad had been enough to shut Amaranth down the night before, a devil deliberately using her trauma against her could be disastrous. Voski’s point was that they both needed to handle their concerns, and that if Amaranth needed to share or disclose anything so as to not be caught off-guard later, this would be the time.

Amaranth admitted there was one detail that had been changed in the ballad. “Fury of the Sea” hadn’t been the name of the ship. It had been her name, as a captain. Which meant the song was highly unlikely to be simply rumor -- hence her strong reaction. And also that she and her crew had killed the devil that had come to negotiate with them, which caught Voski a bit off-guard.

Voski then urged Amaranth to recognize that while Hayel still had the face in her repertoire that had hurt her before, it was just a face. Amaranth told her that after what she’d seen recently, she didn’t think it could hurt her anymore. They then discussed that Amaranth was clearly trying her best to not simply rush in with swords -- but that it might be an option. Voski closed off the conversation by handing over the book of ballads and telling Amaranth that if there was anything in there that she’d like her to learn, she’d give it a go.

At that point, a kobold came running into the central area, holding what looked like a little moving piece of paper, saying it had gotten caught in one of their traps. Assuming that it was one of the living spellbook pages from Lakaphai’s tower, Erwyn reached out and grabbed it, at which point it stilled to become readable. The message on it read, “The shadows are dispersing. What have you done?”

Voski turned to Palava and asked how his research was going. The elf seemed fairly optimistic about one option, and asked the group an odd question -- “How do you feel about possession?”

He explained that it was likely possible for them to summon and bind Tsova, even as a dead creature, if they were contained within a living being, who would retain some of their senses but could switch between the god controlling them and the host still controlling themself.

Erwyn immediately volunteered to serve as a host for Tsova, but Kriv chimed in to say that he thought the elf’s knowledge and speaking abilities would be more valuable than his own in the impending court proceedings, and that he was also willing to be a vessel. When Erwyn protested, pointing out that of everyone in the group, he was most familiar with having a loose relationship with his own body, Voski pointed out that they didn’t know if there would be a physical toll of some kind on the host, but if there was, Kriv would be far better equipped to handle it than Erwyn, who was not only much smaller and scrawnier, but frequently exhibited signs of having a poor constitution. Eventually, he conceded, saying he’d rather be wherever the group thought he’d be more valuable -- though he seemed perhaps a little quietly upset that they didn’t think he could handle it -- and the group agreed to bind the forgotten god to their paladin.

Palava started to draw a magic circle on the floor, telling Kriv to step into the center once he’d completed it. The dragonborn gave him a thumbs-up, which the cleric returned. As the ritual went underway, the circle flashed with green and purple light. Soon, Kriv heard a nervous voice in his head asking, “What’s happening?” -- prompting him to explain to Tsova their plan, and that he’d agreed to this, so as long as the god was alright with it there was nothing to fear.

The light faded, leaving Kriv standing in the center of the circle looking no different than before. Cautiously, Palava asked if the ritual had actually worked. Kriv could feel Tsova sharing his mind and granted them control to try to respond. He started to make some strange noises as Tsova tried to figure out how to talk to the others, but eventually they were able to tell the others it had been successful. Ditto asked if Kriv was okay, and they confirmed he was communicating with them.

Erwyn then proceeded to write a message to Lakaphai on her spellbook page, saying the entity from the woods was on their side and was now horrified by the terms of the contract, which was probably reasonable grounds for a challenge. Once he re-folded it, it fluttered off towards the tunnel it had come down before, headed towards the surface.

With the party playing a waiting game again, Tsova proceeded to try walking in Kriv’s body, falling over immediately and commenting on the fact that he had “so few limbs.” When concerned party members asked if the duo was okay, Kriv reassured Tsova that he was fairly sturdy, and simply falling over while walking wasn’t enough to harm him. They passed this on. As they tried to practice taking more steps, Amaranth and Ditto nervously spotting (the latter remembering the first time she summoned Tiktik). Tsova asked if walking was this difficult for all of them, and Erwyn reassured them that “It took me years and years, so you’re doing alright.”

Kriv also realized, when Ditto Messaged Amaranth about the situation, that with a god sharing his head, he could hear their conversation in whispers. When Amaranth mentioned to Ditto she should be careful, he asked Tsova to tell Ditto to possibly steer clear for a bit, since she was small and could be in a little danger. Tsova looked at Ditto and said, “You are very small” -- to which Ditto enthusiastically responded, “I am!” until Tsova explained that they had meant they -- and Kriv -- didn’t want her getting hurt. Ditto offered to use Minor Conjuration to create a cane for them, which seemed to help.

After a bit of time, the spellbook page returned, followed by some excitable kobolds. Erwyn snatched it out of the air and read the message -- which, in ever shakier handwriting, read, “Come to the inn. We need to talk.” The party, while acknowledging this was probably a trap, decided this was probably their next step, and discussed the fact that Alembic and Palava should probably come with them this time. They all began to head towards the surface.

Alembic Messaged Ditto, asking if she was still intending to try the Sending spell she had been thinking about trying. She seemed reluctant, saying she thought they should wait if they were potentially headed to the Hells, since she had no way of knowing what would happen there. But he replied that was exactly why he was asking -- he thought she should try it before leaving, precisely because they didn’t know what would happen after this, and if this was important he wanted to get the word out to people. The implication that the party may not be able to get the word out after this negotiation was not lost.

Voski then messaged Alembic to demand if he and Palava had anything more than myths and rumors to suggest winning a trial in the Hells was even possible, since some of the party had accepted so quickly that this was inevitably where things were going. Alembic responded that he had seen a few verifiable accounts over the years--both of successes and of failures.

As the party approached the inn, Kriv reached out to update Volfred on the situation. The goat informed him (and Tsova by proxy), that both Hayel and Lakaphai were headed towards the building as well. Tsova passed this on to the others. Ditto interjected that she needed to prepare some spells, prompting Erwyn to ask about the fact that wizards usually did that in the morning, and Voski to say there probably wasn’t going to be time. She didn’t pursue the excuse further for the time being.

Entering through the kitchen, when the group walked into the main dining area they found Lakaphai sitting, fiddling with with her hands at the largest table, and Hayel lounging at another, already halfway through a bottle of alcohol. She looked up and greeted them, saying, “Well, hello. Someone’s been busy.”

As the group filed in, Alembic lurked in the back, telling Ditto when she Messaged him about it that he felt like maintaining a bit of an element of surprise. Hayel looked at those who were more obvious expectantly, asking them what they wanted to talk about. Erwyn said it was really something they ought to talk about with the town council, to see if they would like to challenge the contract. Hayel responded, “Well, why don’t we ask them?” and called out, “Alright, they’re here!”

Slowly, from the second floor and cellar, most of the population of the town emerged, brandishing assorted sharp implements and avoiding coming too close, but spreading out to cover all the doors to the room. Hayel smiled, saying, “It’s really great that you brought a friend along.” She told the townspeople, “This should be as many as you need,” and smugly informed the party that this was what happened when one tried to help people. “They just backstab you, and decide to sacrifice you to a devil.”

Erwyn angrily interjected, asking her if she’d even told them they didn’t have to. He took a deep breath and shakily tried to address the people of Folly’s End, telling them about what the party had learned. One of them immediately accused him of bluffing, but Ditto made eye contact with another and asked them if they wanted Hayel to be right. She asked if they were ready to be brave, and they said they already were.

Voski sighed, calling the townspeople “backwoods simpletons,” and grabbed something from the bar to pour herself a glass. She said that Erwyn was trying to tell them they had signed a contract under false pretenses, and asked if Tsova would just talk to them already. The god finally spoke up, explaining that they rejected the terms, having sought the shadows out of misunderstanding. Voski chimed in, saying, “That’s a god, by the way.” She took a big swig from her glass and shot a glance at Hayel. “You didn’t know?”

Erwyn deferred to Palava at this point, who mentioned the possibility of bringing this up in court on the behalf of the townspeople. Hayel laughed, saying they didn’t know enough to put forth a challenge to the courts in the Hells, saying it was pointless and they should give up. As she spoke, her gaze flickered between Kriv (or Tsova), and Erwyn, eventually settling on the former. Tsova instantly was overtaken with a feeling of despair, telling Kriv they didn’t think this was going to work, though he tried to reassured them.

Ditto and Amaranth both took their turn to address the townspeople, Ditto saying they wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t think it could help, and Amaranth asking if they were really going to give Hayel what she wanted. Eventually, Erwyn took the floor again, with an impassioned plea that the townspeople had entered this contract in the first place to try to protect people -- did they want it to end with sacrificing some strangers? It seemed like they were abandoning what had been good motivations. “I believe that the world is kinder than this,” he said. “It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’d hoped it was why you were doing what you were doing. Is it not?”

There was a creak from behind, and Karvel rushed up from out of the cellar, a tiny lizard still resting on his shoulder. He ran out in front of the party and stated that the world was kinder, and that he didn’t believe the townspeople had forgotten -- he’d watched them be kind before.

Voski turned to Hayel and asked why she was hanging onto this contract so strongly -- it was clearly built on fairly shaky ground at this point, and didn’t offer a lot of reward. Hayel replied that she didn’t like to let things go. When Voski asked if there was an easier way to get through this without the full trial, perhaps a neutral third party, Hayel dismissively said there weren’t many options unless they had an Inevitable in their back pocket. When Voski commented that there was actually one fairly nearby that would probably be willing to head over, she responded with incredulity.

Lakaphai stood up and said she voted they should wait until the Inevitable could be brought to Folly’s End. The town smith lowered the hammer he’d been brandishing and seconded the vote. When Lakaphai called, “All those in favor,” there was a slow chorus of agreement -- including Lacha, who emerged from the cellar herself to chime in.

Once it was agreed that Ditto would cast Sending to contact the Inevitable (whom they’d last seen still vainly trying to solve a riddle outside Auntie Eyren Keep’s home), she headed outside for a bit to maintain her lie from earlier that she still needed to prepare her spells. Alembic followed, but she told him she wasn’t going to try her other spell now.

Back inside, Voski, sitting at the bar, tore into a piece of bread before gesturing at a seat for Hayel to take. The devil raised her eyebrow, and Voski made a “your loss” gesture. Across the room, Erwyn anxiously collapsed into a nearby chair and Amaranth ruffled his hair, saying, “You did good.”

It wasn’t long before Ditto came back in, saying she was ready, and asked what they wanted to say. She then Sent a message saying, “We have an important task for you. Come to Folly’s End for...law-related stuff.” The Inevitable replied with acceptance, which she reported back to the others. Given the travel time that it needed from the demiplane in the lake, they projected it would probably be there sometime in the early morning.

With nothing else to be done before then, Lacha told the rest of the townspeople that they could all head home if they didn’t intend to get anything. They did so, sheepishly. Hayel finished her bottle, grabbed two more, and said she’d wait in the tower. Lakaphai, however, asked if she could stay until the arbiter arrived. Ditto headed upstairs, Messaging Palava that she would be in the third room on the left.

Kriv had a quiet conversation with Tsova, asking them what they thought faith was. Tsova talked about their people believing in them in battle and times of peril for protection. Kriv said he always saw faith as having a ridiculous amount of trust in something. Tsova seemed to agree that was not a bad way of putting it. After a bit of this talk, he asked them if he could take over for a bit in order to get some food. They were perfectly happy to let him. When Karvel rushed up to him and asked if everything was going to be alright, Kriv said it would be, citing the fact that he had a god in his head and anything felt possible.

Alembic and Palava joined Ditto, and she told Tiktik to head downstairs -- saying that she really loved them, and didn’t want them to be in the room when the Sending happened. They extremely reluctantly agreed to this. She informed Alembic and Palava that she didn’t want the others knowing what was going on just yet, but if she ended up incapacitated she would like the two researchers to answer any questions the party asked them honestly, so they wouldn’t be left in the dark. Palava set about setting up some wards, since they didn’t know what kind of a response would be likely, and eventually Ditto sent out her message to the entity she wished to contact: “Can you hear me? I want to help.”

She woke up to Alembic and Palava leaning worriedly over her, and though she’d blacked out at the force of it, she recalled a loud reply in her head that had said “WHO ARE YOU?” She frantically babbled at the two of them, prompting Palava to offer a Calm Emotions that she rejected, repeating nothing but the phrase, “It heard me and it talked back.”

Ditto immediately wanted to try again, but Palava insisted on healing her first, clearing up a deep exhaustion and sharp pain in her head as he did so. Her second Sending said: “I’m the one who brought you here. I’m so sorry, but I want to help. Can I help you?” This time, the response didn’t cause her to black out, but it still felt like it somehow encompassed all of her senses at once, saying, “WHY DID YOU TAKE ME?”

She fell back on her back and immediately tried casting the spell again, only to discover that she’d tapped out of all her magical energy for the day. She babbled once more, repeating, “If I rest I can talk to it again, I can talk to it.” Palava cast Calm Emotions on her at her request now, causing her panic and relief to subside a bit in intensity. Alembic asked if she wanted to tell the party now, and she insisted not just yet -- soon, but not before they knew what the situation would be after that night. Now that communication with the creature was opened and there might be something that could be done about the situation, she felt more of an obligation to tell them.

Tiktik had curled up with Amaranth, but when Alembic came downstairs and they spotted him, they zoomed back up to rejoin Ditto. This immediately aroused Amaranth’s suspicion, as she’d noticed that Ditto seemed very nervous earlier, and she asked Alembic if everything was okay. He said that Ditto had tried to do something difficult, but was okay, and she would tell them about it in the morning. The rogue tried to force her way past him and failed, insisting that if Ditto needed her, she wanted to be there.

Alembic headed back up to ask Ditto if she wanted to see the others just yet, informing her about Amaranth. Somewhat wobbly, she headed about halfway down the stairs to where her friend met her, motioning for her to follow into the room where they’d done the Sending. She apologized for worrying her, but said she’d only want to give the full explanation when she could talk to everyone. Eventually, Amaranth was persuaded to head back downstairs.

With the party still waiting for the Inevitable to show up, Ditto was able to rest long enough to cast one more Sending, reaching out and saying, “It was a terrible accident. I’m so sorry. I want to help. Can you tell me what you need? I’ll talk again soon.” The voiced echoed through her head once more, saying “CAN YOU SEND ME BACK?” Ditto tried frantically to reply again, but nothing happened. It took some time, but Alembic and Palava managed to calm her down once more, and Palava draped a blanket across her once she’d been coaxed to lie down with Tiktik.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “No Names” Part 3

When The Joker told you he found somebody else, your world shattered to pieces. But what hurt the most was the fact that he didn’t even bother to come around and see his little girls; very hard to find excuses on why their father is missing, especially when the triplets adore him. And extremely hard to cope with the gloomy future after you found out some details that might explain his estrangement.

Part 1: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/164355559106/the-joker-x-reader-no-names-part-1

Part 2:http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/164854110621/the-joker-x-reader-no-names-part-2

“Mommy’s going to have another baby,” Evie whispers in Frost��s ear. He’s on the couch, waiting to drive all of you to the beach house.

“Really?” he pretends not to know, even if the triplets keep on repeating the old news every time they see him.

“Yes, it’s a girl,” Mia giggles, climbing in his lap. Emma abandons her toys and gets on the couch, starting to play with Jonny’s hair. “Daddy says he’ll have another pretty doll added to his collection,” she continues to stoke Frosts’ hair and the other two agree.

“U-hum, Daddy said she’ll be cute like us,” Mia’s eyes get big with anticipation. “I can’t wait to see her; I’ll take care of my little sister,” she decides.

“That’s great!” Jonny praises, helping Mia mount his other knee. “You will be an awesome babysitter.”

“No, I’ll take care of her!” Emma sulks while Evie whimpers, unhappy:

“No, I will!”

The inevitable bickering begins while Frost attempts to calm down the spirited little girls.

“I’m telling mommy,” Mia pushes Evie’s head.

“I’m telling daddy!” she fights back, trying to slap her sister.

“I’m telling both!” Emma pouts and you enter the living room, followed by The Joker.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why are you shouting?” you crinkle your nose and the siblings abandon their current preoccupation and run to both parents, explaining why they should take of the little one after she’s born.

“You can all take care of her, OK?” J replies, grumpy from the terrible headache he woke up with this morning. He took some pills to help out with that but no relief so far. Of course the migraine is a side effect due to all the medications he’s on; never ending issues: one thing leading to another.

There’s protesting, ponytails are being pulled, plus some more pushing around and eventually the turmoil fades once everybody steps in the elevator. The excitement of playing in the sand makes things better no matter what.

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

The girls are having fun on the beach and you joined your boyfriend on the terrace, relaxing in the huge hammock under the canopy. His head is resting in your lap, waiting for the remedy to work: you had to give him an extra dose for the migraine since the pain didn’t go away with the usual fix.

“How come there’s only one Princess in here?” J grumbles, caressing your tummy; not too big for now since you are just 5 months pregnant.

“I don’t know, but it’s exciting, isn’t it?” you cheerfully ask, knowing he’s in a bad mood.

“Yeah, it is, but only one?! I think I’m losing my touch…” he sighs and it makes you laugh:

“I doubt that’s the reason.”

He’s still frowning so you want to distract him somehow.

“You know what J ?”

“What?”

“I wanted to ask you to marry me so many times,” you smile, confessing to the actual truth.

“Why didn’t you?” The Joker looks at you, suddenly interested at your revelation.

“Well, I figured that if you wanted to marry me, you would have asked.”

“True,” he admits and you punch his shoulder.

“Not the answer I was expecting, can’t you be sweet for once?!” “I’m always sweet; the sweetest guy ever!”

“No… you’re not,” you take a deep breath and he agrees:

“Yeah…I’m not…”

You watch the children playing for a little bit and he realizes you’re still upset.

“Pumpkin?”

“Yes?” you twirl the green strands of hair around your fingers, absent minded.

“After I die and I get to the gates of hell, you know what I’m gonna say?”

You immediately want to protest against his statement but J continues.

“I’ll tell them my woman did a lot of bad things, but she should go to a better place: she put up with me and had my children so she shouldn’t follow me there. Umm…why are you crying? It’s supposed to make you laugh,” The Joker bites on his lip, confused, oblivious at your emotions. “Is it the hormones?”

“N-no…” you sniffle, struggling to bend over to kiss his forehead. “This is probably the sweetest thing that ever came out of your mouth.”

“Told you I’m a sweet guy, “ J smirks, victorious. “Are you gonna miss me?” he kisses your wrist and it makes you sadder.

“Not even for a second,” the shaky voice announces.

“Good, you shouldn’t,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and enjoying the cool breeze on his face. “But at least you’ll be left behind with my heart. Umm…can you stop crying? I’m referring to the tattoo, Kitten, all right?” J slides up your body, getting comfortable by your side. “Why are you so hormonal?” he glances at the design he was referring to, pretending not to understand your feelings.

The Joker has playing cards symbols tattooed on his fingers: spades, diamonds and clubs, but he’s missing the heart—you are the one that has the missing symbol inked on your skin, right on top of where your heart is, with the writing under it: “Mister J’s.”

“You always misunderstand what I’m saying, Y/N,” he grumbles, kind of uneasy at your tears. “Cut it out…” but his threat doesn’t even sound harsh. “What am I going to do with you, hm?... “ he wonders and wipes your cheeks which prompts more tears coming out and you cuddling to his chest.

“If you leave me I’ll never talk to you again,” the rant starts without any warning.

“Oh my God, you promise?” and you giggle through tears while the top of your head is getting covered in soft kisses. “Hey,” he gets your attention, “I don’t want you to sleep with anybody else after I die; I really think you should consider becoming a nun.”

You elbow him, laughing and crying in the same time:

“You’re an idiot,” you kiss him and J has some words for you:

“Nobody calls me that, Pumpkin! Except Godzilla,” he’s fast to add, knowing how much you hate the nickname. “Not a single soul dares fucking with the big creature.”

“Such a horrible man,” you whimper, distracted by his antiques.

“Thank you, I was hoping you’ll notice,” and he’s so satisfied with himself that he finally realizes the headache is gone. “Wanna make out?” the proposition follows and it earns criticism.

“I thought we already kind of were…”

“I was working on it, you just keep on crying! But anyway, fair warning: I don’t think I can do more than that. To my eternal shame, I’m pretty drained from my meds and I doubt more will happen,” he snarls in your ear, self-conscious about the problem.

“I just want to kiss you and hold you, honey,” ��you imitate his voice and J rolls his eyes and yanks at your almost inexistent waist. “Are you using my own line?! It’s mine, find your own! And I wouldn’t be so quick to mock: you fell for it every single time; that’s how we got the kids, “ J  snickers, reminding you about the truth. “Sooo easy to trick,” he keeps on going, excited he can tease.

“Are you going to talk all day ?!” you inquire because he won’t shut up.

“I can talk for weeks,” the cocky remark bluntly comes to an end when The Joker gulps, his fingers clinging to your dress. “Shit…muscle spasms,” he groans, the pain taking over.

“Hold on!” you jump off the hammock, running inside for the treatment.

“You’re pretty fast for a pregnant woman!” J yells, trying to contain the agonizing ache taking over every inch of his being. You get back to him in a flash, worried about his condition.

“Here, take the pills,” you hand him over 3 of them with a glass of water, hoping they will work soon. J pulls you back next to him; it makes him feel better. He shivers under the pressure of his muscles involuntary contracting and digs his fingers in your back. It hurts so badly because he doesn’t realize how strong his hold is but you don’t make a sound. You’ll probably end up with bruises again, yet The Joker doesn’t do it intentionally.

His shrieky breath worries you even if this happens often.

“Do you want to go inside? It’s getting dark out here. The kids played all day, time to eat and get them ready for bed. You think you can move?”

“No, not yet,” J admits, moaning from discomfort as soon as he attempts to lift his head up.

“That’s ok, we’ll wait for a little bit then,” and you peck his temple, wishing you could take the pain away.

“What are you still doing here?” he interrupts, struggling to speak.

“Well, I’m not going inside either until you can move.”

“No, why are you still here?”

You faked not understanding what he meant but now you can’t go around the answer.

“Where else I am supposed to be? I belong here.”

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

The triplets whined until they were allowed to sleep in the master bedroom with you two. They all passed out in a matter of minutes, the small bodies curled up against yours. J is better because the meds worked, but he wasn’t able to eat anything and you hate it: he is skinnier as it is, doesn’t need to lose more weight.

“Read to me, Princess,” he stretches and repositions himself closer to you, this way he can play with your long hair.

“Let’s see what we have here,” you reach for the two books on the night stand. “We have Shelley and his love poems plus Poe and his morbid stuff,” you whisper since the girls are asleep.

“Morbid!” J is quick to choose.

“We’ll go with love,” you wink and he puffs, annoyed:

“Yuck!”

You ignore him and search for some of your favorites when he unexpectedly turns your face towards him. The Joker stares at you, debating on what he is about to utter.

“I have a list… a secret list in my mind with people I don’t hate…”

“You do?” you smile, shifting his way since it seems important; you can tell.

“Yes, and…umm… stop smiling! You and the girls didn’t make the cut!” J puckers his lips, irritated at his own disclosure.

“Oohh, that’s sad… Who’s on the list then?” you nuzzle in his neck, kissing it.

“Just Godzilla and some loud brats,” he spits out in a hurry and you giggle.

“Do they have names?” you curiously check.

“No, no names…”

“Lucky them,” you exhale, cupping his face. “Too bad me and our children are not on the list.”

J doesn’t reply and you let go, returning to your book and starting to read with such a soothing voice he relaxes right away. By the fourth poem he’s out cold and you spend another hour gazing at him, thinking how much you wish he could live forever.

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

“Morning, baby,” you yawn and touch his shoulder. “The girls have been up for a while, I’ll make coffee and breakfast should arrive soon. OK?... … …Hey, did you hear me?” you ask, panicking when he doesn’t open his eyes after you shake him. “Baby, wake up!”

But he didn’t wake up, not even after you gave him the emergency adrenaline shot. His doctors arrived at your hideout in a hurry, confirming your worst fear: The Joker slipped into a coma and there is no way to know if/when he will come out of it. The news broke your heart and it was very difficult to explain to the triplets:

“Daddy…won’t wake up anymore,” and you try so hard not to cry. “But he might at one point and in the meantime we’ll pretend he’s awake and continue to speak to him, allright?”

The kids looked at each other, then at you, then at him, not comprehending the severity of what was announced to them.

“Is daddy very tired?” Evie asks, puzzled.

“Yes, honey, he is, that’s why he’s resting,” you sadly smile, checking his IV line. Since J can’t take oral medications anymore, everything was converted to liquids, including the nutrients he needs. You decided to stay at the beach because he loves the ocean and maybe hearing the waves crashing on the beach might help.

“What is this?” Emma walks in the front of the heart monitor that keeps on beeping, which prompts the other two siblings to do the same.

“That’s daddy’s heart,” you explain so they can understand.

“Waaahhh,” Mia is amazed and gets on her toes to see better. She kisses the screen, snickering, followed by her sisters.

Such innocence, you think, wiping a rebel tear.

“Who wants to give daddy a massage?” the offer gets their attention and they all jump on the bed, fighting. “Me!”

“No, me!”

“Your nurses will oblige your every whim,” you peck his forehead. “If they are too loud, you just have to wake up and say so… … …No? Well then, I guess you’ll have to deal with your daughters chewing your ears off. Enjoy!”

-- “Oh my God, she’s kicking so hard! I think she may have a party going on in here,” you keep his right hand on your bump since the other one is hooked to the IV pole. “I am pretty big now, almost there with the pregnancy. You’re missing on the fun…” you keep on yapping like you always do. Sometimes you even answer for him.

“Don’t you wanna ask me if I’m auditioning for Godzilla’s part in the next movie?...No…? It’s your opportunity to tease me again, I know you want to…Wow, that’s a first! How come you’re so mellow? Rawwrrr!” you roar, even if you know it’s no use. “Hey, that was pretty funny, you can at least laugh… Uhhhh…” you give up, glaring at the spinning fan on the ceiling. “You’ve been like this for almost 4 months, aren’t’ you bored? You get bored easily… … … Anyway, I’m gonna read you something now. Morbid or love?”

After no reaction from his side, you decide.

“We’ll go with morbid, your favorite. Stephen King or Poe?... … … Poe you say? Your wish is my command,” and you start reading to him, being so tired you can barely see the words.

-- “I think I’ll have to find me another boyfriend,” you huff, injecting his weekly shot in his arm. “I am not becoming a nun so I will have to sleep with somebody else. If you don’t agree, you just have to wake up and say so… … … No? I thought you cared. Oh, well, your loss,” and then the remorse takes over.

“I’m not going to find another boyfriend, ok? You’re lucky I like you…” and looking at his face makes you aware of how much you miss him. “If you want to let go…you can…” you bite your cheek, sniffling but you change your mind in an instant. “If you dare doing this to me and the girls, I’ll hate you forever! I’m not joking!!” 

-- You are so worn out you fell asleep at the dinner table. Your people brought over food and you took a few bites, then just dozed off. The girls didn’t notice but Frost did since he was there. He had to carry you in the bedroom and tucked you in. That’s when he decided he should speak up. The next day you heard about it:

“Y/N, you need help.”

“With what?”

“You’re exhausted: you’ll have your baby soon, you’re taking care of the girls and Mister J. There are so many of us, we can help you.”

“This is my family, my responsibility, got it?” you raise your voice, irked.

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” Jonny pacifies your outburst. “But if you get sick, Mister J will kill us all.”

You bite on your nails and he has a suggestion:

“Would you prefer…just me to help with Mister J?”

You softly sigh, indirectly answering his question:

“It’s…it’s hard for me to turn him.” “I can do that,” he nods and you agree by not replying.

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

“Here’s your new Princess,” you place the newborn on his chest, wrapping his arm around her and holding it in place since he can’t do it himself. “ She is absolutely adorable, don’t you want to see her?... … … Open your eyes and look at your daughter…No? Hm, that’s pretty heartless, even for you. Oh, wait, never mind, I have your heart, I forgot,” you look down the cleavage at your tattoo. “Still, this is no excuse…I decided on the name Amelia and we can go with Amy from there. If you don’t like the name, all you have to do is wake up and tell me so… … Going once, going twice….Amelia it is then,” you kiss the little head then his lips.

-- The triplets are mesmerized by the new addition to the family. They all want to hold her and be her favorite. They get in such fights and it drives you nuts, but in a good way.

“This is my sister!” Evie struggles to get in front of the line formed around the crib. (The crib is in the master bedroom because you want The Joker to hear his little girl.)

“No, she’s mine!” Mia slaps Evie’s hand, trying to climb inside.

“No-oooo, Amelia’s mine!” Emma takes over and the newborn fusses from the ruckus.

“Ssssttt, don’t wake her up!” you admonish the triplets and they listen, disappointed they can’t play with their new favorite toy.

-- When Amy cries at night, you gently kick J.

“It’s your turn, go!... … Don’t try to get out of it!... No?... You owe me big!” and you get out of bed, dragging your feet on the floor, wishing you could nap more than 2 hours at a time. “Your turn to be on diaper duty, Mister King of Gotham,” you point out, upset. “Don’t think I don’t know you are doing this on purpose to skip your turn! So rude…” you mutter, actually being upset because the new meds J is on don’t do too much so far and he’s still in a coma. Very frustrating. There is no cure for his disease, but at least you want him awake.

“You know what? I’m leaving you! I’m taking Amelia and the triplets and we’re out of here! See how you like to be alone!” you threaten, mad at everything, finishing up your task. You suddenly realize the heart monitor intensified its beeping and you freeze. You place her back in the crib and rush to his side. His chest is going up and down fast and you hold his hand, distressed.

“Did you hear me?... Baby, did you hear me?... We’re not leaving, I was just saying! Calm down, we’re not going anywhere…” you start kissing his face all over. It takes about 5 more minutes before the heartbeat goes back to normal.

The doctors couldn’t guarantee that his reaction was due to your ultimatum but they said it’s not impossible. That was the first feedback you ever got since the morning he didn’t wake up anymore.

-- You slide the wedding band on his ring finger, taking advantage of the state he’s in and you’re not even sorry.

“There, if you don’t want it, have the courage to say it to my face. If you don’t protest, I am thinking that you want it…Yes?... Well, then, you can keep it. Looks sexy on you, I must state the obvious here. … … Did you add Amelia to that list of yours? You should…unless she won’t make the cut either…I wish you would open your eyes to see how cute she is. Don’t you miss all of us? I assume you do but you are too stubborn to do something about it…” and you continue, briefing The Joker about the plans you’ve been working on for a while. “Tonight we raid “Excell” laboratories, they are experimenting on a medication I want for you… But the catalyst that it needs to be combined with it’s made in Japan; we’ll definitely get that one too as soon as possible. Don’t worry about a thing, I told you: you will live forever. Babysit the girls, ok? You’ll have help from our men, just in case…“

-- Your henchmen are scattered all over the building, scavenging everything they can get their hands on. You can’t be in there for too long; even if you took care of the alarm, you can’t risk lingering in the medical facility.

You broke into the lab alone and found what you needed; just stashed the vials in a suitcase when you realize you are being watched from the far corner of the room.

“Of course you would show up, you always know, don’t you?” you back out, pointing your gun at The Batman. He doesn’t say a word, but takes a few steps towards you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” and that crazy grin on your face makes him halt. “We are getting out of here and I am taking this with me ! Don’t even dream about being a hero tonight!”

Suddenly, explosions are heard in the distance, and they are coming closer and closer until a big detonation shakes the building, making the windows crack.

“That was close,” you chuckle. “Across the street to be precise.”

Alarms start blaring in the background, turmoil and chaos fastly increasing on the streets.

“All the places were empty, consider it… a professional courtesy,” you growl, backing out more. “The next ones won’t be, I made sure of that. Do you want your precious Gotham citizens to die? If we don’t leave safe and unharmed, it all goes to shit!!!”

That mask hides any trace of emotion he might have but the distorted voice echoes in the lab.

“What you have it’s useless without the catalyst. Why bother?”

“I’ll get it somehow! Now stay there and don’t move or we blow up more!”

You exit the room, not turning your back on The Batman until he is out of sight.

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

A week passed by and the medication from Japan that needs to be combined with what you stole from “Excell” laboratories is still not in your possession. You are running out of patience.

“Y/N, our courier from East Gotham dropped this box about an hour ago. It has your name on it; were you waiting for a shipment?”

“No,” you signal him to come on the porch. Amelia is in a small crib outside, sleeping, and the girls are having fun digging a big hole in the sand. “What is this?”

“Not sure, but he said he was given to him by our West Gotham courier.”

“Weird, I wonder what…” and your heart stops when you open the sealed box and see the small typed note on top of a metal container. “Consider it a professional courtesy.”

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

J blinks a few times, wincing in pain, his mind cloudy and confused. He has no idea what’s going on and after being in a coma for months, he’s incapable of speaking or moving too much. He feels the weight on his chest and barely manages to look down, noticing his three month old daughter sleeping on him, sucking on her thumb. The Joker struggles to turn his head to his right to see you are sleeping also, still holding the book you read to him tonight, completely passed out with the triplets snuggled to your body.

His eyelids are so heavy that he gives in, having one single thought in mind before dozing off with the rest of his family:

I think I’m gonna live forever...

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[comebeforegod]

Christian Testimony: The True Meaning of God’s Judgment

God’s words say: “In the last days, Christ uses a variety of truths to teach man, expose the essence of man, and dissect his words and deeds. 

These words comprise various truths, such as man’s duty, how man should obey God, how man should be loyal to God, how man ought to live out the normal humanity, as well as the wisdom and the disposition of God, and so on. These words are all directed at the essence of man and his corrupt disposition. In particular, those words that expose how man spurns God are spoken in regard to how man is an embodiment of Satan and an enemy force against God.”

Having accepted God’s work, through having meetings and communications of God’s words, I understood that in the last days God uses words to reveal and judge our corrupt dispositions in order to achieve the results of cleansing and saving humans. However, I didn’t know clearly how God judges and cleanses humans until I had practically experienced the environment that God set up for me.

Tasting the Work of the Holy Spirit and Feeling Pleasure Inside

When I started to participate in church life, I often attended meetings with brothers and sisters and read God’s words. I felt very happy and pleasure inside my heart, and also felt warm in God’s household. Therefore, in meetings I was very active to read God’s words and communicate, leaving a favorable impression on my brothers and sisters. Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu who looked after us new believers not only always praised me for my reading God’s words with fluency and good understanding of God’s words but also cared about me very much, always asking about my situation and difficulties. With the care and admiration of my brothers and sisters, I felt very joyful inside and enjoyed the meetings in which I was at the core of my brothers and sisters before two more sisters joined our meeting group.

Competing With Others and Falling Into Darkness

I remember that in the first meeting, the two sisters shared their experiences about how they returned to God. I really benefited greatly from them, especially from the experience of Sister Kemu. Others also regarded her experience as great and practical and Brother Xiaoyong said that her testimony of experience was very good and encouraged her to write it down to testify to God. Seeing everyone praise her, I thought: “Alas! Why don’t I have such experiences?” Because of this I felt very upset. After we had several meetings together, I found Sister Kemu could understand God’s words very well. In every meeting, with the encouragement and guidance of Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu, Sister Kemu could share the light she gained from God’s words. What’s more, she pursued the truth with perseverance and resolve. No matter how busy and tiring her work was, she could always keep a normal relationship with God and insist on reading God’s words and watching movies and videos. Seeing these, I thought: Although she is better than me now, as long as I make efforts to pursue the truth I also can catch up with her. In order to gain the approval and admiration of the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers, I began to pursue the truth tooth and nail. At home, I seized every available opportunity to read God’s words and even sometimes when I was at work, I would wear my headphone to listen to the fellowship from the above and hymns. In the meeting, I became more active than usual. I scrambled to read God’s words and every time after reading God’s words I hurriedly communicated about my own understanding without pondering it. For I thought: I should say my understanding first, otherwise if what I think is said by others, I will be regarded as imitating others when I say it again. Besides, every time I was about to go to the meeting, I would review what we had communicated in the last meeting and read God’s words again to prepare to answer what the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers would ask. However, they didn’t ask.

Once, I was being confused why Brother Xiaoyong didn’t ask what we had communicated in the last meeting when Sister Liu asked me to pray for others. At that time I was very muddled and didn’t know what to pray so what I prayed was very empty, dull and dry. And I just finished it with several sentences hastily. After prayer I felt very low-spirited. In the meeting, when I saw Brother Xiaoyong looking at Sister Kemu when she communicated, then feeling extremely frustrated, I hurriedly lowered my head and read the words of God, however, I couldn’t get any light and couldn’t memorize what they had said either, my mind being a complete blank. After the meeting, I went back to the dormitory, feeling weak throughout the body. Then I thought of the previous meetings, in which I always felt pleasure and had a lot to say. But now I was afraid of having meetings and didn’t know what to say. Especially when I thought of the look in their eyes when they looked at Sister Kemu, I thought now everyone didn’t like me anymore and I felt more and more uncomfortable, being passive in whatever I did. Those days, I was always absent-minded and always made mistakes during the work. I felt very distressed for this and my heart felt so heavy as if there was a big stone inside. So I came before God and prayed: “O God, recently I haven’t gotten any light when I communicated about Your words and my work didn’t go smoothly either. I don’t know why I meet with these things. O God, may You enlighten me and let me find new light and get some understanding when communicating about Your words in meetings.” At this time, Brother Xiaoyong sent a message to me to ask about my recent situation. Being afraid that he would look down upon me if I was open about my expression of corruption, I just replied to him with a sentence perfunctorily. Then I continued to read God’s words and learn hymns as usual. Also, I copied the words of praising God, summed them up together and memorized them. I thought: Last time I didn’t pray for others well, and I must do well next time.

Accepting the Judgment of God’s Words and Knowing My Own Corruption

A week later, it was time for the meeting again. I thought: If this time I’m asked to pray for others again, I’ll have something to say, using all the God’s words I have memorized. But unexpectedly, at the beginning of the meeting, Sister Kemu raised a question about how to pray. Then Brother Xiaoyong played a hymn “How to Enter Into True Player”: “Whilst praying, your heart must be at peace before God, and it must be sincere. You are truly communing and praying with God; you must not deceive God using nice-sounding words. … and bring your actual state and troubles before God to pray, and make resolution before God. Prayer is not the following of procedure, but the seeking of God using your true heart. Ask that God protect your heart, making it able to often be at peace before God, making you able to know yourself, and despise yourself, and forsake yourself in the environment that God has set for you, thus allowing you to have a normal relationship with God and making you someone who truly loves God.” Hearing this hymn, with tears pooling up in my eyes at that time, I felt guilty inside: God asks us to say our real situations, commune with God and establish a normal relationship with Him in prayer, does not asks us to say nice-sounding words or offer blind praise to deceive God. But these days my preparations were all for gaining my brothers and sisters’ approval and praise after their hearing my prayer, not for communing with God and sharing my innermost thoughts and real situation with Him. Isn’t my prayer a religious one? Knowing God’s will, I knew that I should say what I really thought inside to God, so then I prayed to God about these actions. After prayers, Sister Liu said to me: “Your desire for status is very strong.” At that time I couldn’t understand it. I thought: How come she say that?

In the evening, Sister Liu sent a video The Heart’s Deliverance to me. After watching the movie I cried, thinking that the protagonist was exactly the same as me. Especially when I saw God’s words: “As soon as it involves position, face, or reputation, everyone’s heart leaps in anticipation, and you always want to stand out, to be famous, to be glorified. You are unwilling to yield, always wanting to contend, although contending is embarrassing. However, you are not content not to contend. When you see someone stand out, you are jealous, feel hatred, complain, and feel it is unfair. ‘Why can’t I stand out? Why is it never me? Why is it always he who gets to stand out and it’s never my turn?’ There is some resentment. You try to repress the resentment, but you can’t, so you pray. After praying, you feel better for a little while, but later when you encounter the matter again you cannot overcome it. Is this not a case of immature stature? Is not a person’s falling into these conditions a trap? This is the bondage of a satanically corrupted nature.” Seeing the sister’s experience and God’s words, I realized that I cared too much about my face and status. Under the domination of the competitive nature, I always wanted to compete with others and get admiration and praise whatever I did. In order to be highly thought of by brothers and sisters, I racked my brain all day to memorize God’s words and listen to the fellowship. Even in the meeting I scrambled to communicate first. Weren’t these all for showing off myself? When I saw the sister’s strengths I didn’t learn from her humbly but pondered all the time how to show off myself. When my desire couldn’t be satisfied, I became negative and started to complain about everything. When faced with the fact I saw I was so corrupted by Satan that I was truly inhuman, arrogant and fragile. Thank God for letting me have a little knowledge of my corrupt dispositions. Meanwhile, from the sister’s experience, I found the path of practice—I should dissect and expose my corrupt dispositions and have a heart-to-heart fellowship with my brothers and sisters honestly. Then I came before God and prayed to God, resolving to practice the truth. Later I wrote my experience down and sent it to the messaging group and in the meeting I also opened up my heart to the brothers and sisters, saying all my own real thoughts and expression of corruptions. When I did like this, they didn’t look down on me, but instead, they shared their own experiences with me.

Finding the Path of Practice and Getting Released in My Heart

Later, the sister sent me another passage of God’s words to me: “Ponder this: What kind of changes must a person make if he wants to refrain from falling into these conditions and wants to be able to cast off these conditions and free himself of the vexations of these things? What must a person obtain before he can free himself of the vexations of these things, loosen the bonds of these things, and be able truly to be free and liberated? On one hand, a person must see through things: These fame and fortune and positions are tools and methods for Satan to corrupt people, to entrap them, to harm them, and to cause their degeneration. You must first see clearly this aspect in theory. … You must learn to give up and set aside these things, to yield, to recommend others, to allow them to stand out. Do not struggle furiously and rush to take advantage as soon as you encounter an opportunity to stand out or obtain honor. Learn to back off, but do not delay the performing of your duty. Be a person who performs his duty out of the public eye, and who does not show off before others. The more you give up and set aside, the more peaceful your heart will be and the more space will open up within it, and the more your condition will improve. The more you struggle and compete, the darker will be your condition; try it if you don’t believe it. If you want to turn around this kind of condition, if you want not to be controlled by these things, then you must first set them aside and give them up.”

The sister said to me in fellowship: “From God’s words we can see that it’s our common feature to pursue face and status as the corrupt mankind, and it is also one of the chronic diseases in our corrupt dispositions, which can’t be solved for a while. But as long as we read God’s words more, accept the judgment and chastisement of God’s words and see through the damage and results of pursuing face and status according to the exposure of God’s words, we won’t be bound by it anymore. For example, if we live by the thoughts and viewpoints ‘A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation’ and ‘A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face,’ then we will put our face, dignity and image above all else and we care too much about others’ opinions of us and our images in others’ hearts. We always hope that we can have position in others’ hearts and can be adored by others. In substance, we are competing for status against God.”

Through the sister’s fellowship I knew that Satan uses all kinds of thoughts and viewpoints to corrupt us, which makes us pursue face and status so that we distance ourselves from God and compete for status against God. I thought of God’s words: “I decide the destination of each person not on the basis of age, seniority, amount of suffering, and least of all, the degree to which they invite pity, but according to whether they possess the truth. There is no other choice but this. You must realize that all those who do not follow the will of God will be punished. This is an immutable fact.” Right, God decides our destination according to whether we have the truth. As believers, only through pursuing the truth and the changes of dispositions can we be in line with God’s will. It’s vain to pursue reputation, status and the admiration from others. Others’ admiration can’t mean the approval of God. Understanding God’s intention, I felt released in my heart.

Later I saw God’s words: “Do not do things before men; you should do them before God. By accepting God’s observation and inspection, your heart is set aright. If you are always concerned with acting for people to see, then your heart will never be set aright.” God’s words pointed out the path of practice for me. That is, we should conduct ourselves and do things before God and often accept God’s scrutiny. I should not always live for my own face and status or care about others’ opinions. Later I started to consciously practice God’s words. In the meeting, I prayed to God so that my heart could be at peace before God. Then my heart wasn’t so impetuous anymore, and I could calm down to contemplate God’s words and patiently listened to others’ fellowship. When I did like this, even if sometimes the light which I had gotten was said first by others, I would contemplate it again and then I found that I could get new light on the basis of others’ fellowship. Gradually, I felt closer to God and relied on God more and also I didn’t have so much desire to compete with others anymore. Now every meeting is enjoyable and I feel released in my heart.

Thank God for His guidance. Through the little experience during this period, I understood the inner meaning of God’s work of judgment. Just as God’s words say: “What the work of judgment brings about is man’s understanding of the true face of God and the truth about his own rebelliousness. The work of judgment allows man to gain much understanding of the will of God, of the purpose of God’s work, and of the mysteries that are incomprehensible to him. It also allows man to recognize and know his corrupt substance and the roots of his corruption, as well as to discover the ugliness of man. These effects are all brought about by the work of judgment, for the substance of this work is actually the work of opening up the truth, the way, and the life of God to all those who have faith in Him. This work is the work of judgment done by God.” In the last days God does the work of judgment and chastisement through setting up practical situations to prune and deal with us so that our corruption can be revealed. In these people, events and objects, God also uses His words to lead us to understand the truth and His will so that our corrupt dispositions can be cleansed. Recalling my recent experience, when I lived by the opinions “A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation” and “A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face” and pursued face and status, then God turned His face away from me and also used the people, matters and things around me to deal with me and aroused brothers and sisters to communicate the truth with me. In this way, I could know my corrupt dispositions and the substance of face and status and also know how to pursue is in line with God’s intentions. These were all the results of God’s work of judgment in the last days. During the judgment of God’s words, I have understood God’s righteous and holy substance and at the same time I felt the earnest intention of God’s salvation which is comprised in God’s judgment and chastisement. Thank God, all the glory be to Almighty God!

[retroreaderr]

It’s Called a Riff. [Sherlock/Reader]

This is my first non-disney post on this blog woo boy but oh well. I felt like my homeboy Sherlock needed some love tbh. Also I listened to too much Nirvana while writing this. my kink is reader being musically talented so don’t be surprised when it comes up a lot in my fics ~🕷️💋

You tuned your guitar once more, then strummed the strings. Satisfied, you looked raised the volume of your headphones then attempted to play.

Let’s see…Open D, open D, first fret D, second fret D, open G, back to second D, open G, two second Ds - you paused to listen to the song - first fret D, open D, second G, and finish it off with two open Ds. That sounded about right. You paused the song and scribbled the notes down onto your notepad, which sat nearby. You then played the riff a few times more in a weak attempt to get your hands to memorize the muscle movements.

“Are you going to play anything else other than that insufferable amalgamation of notes you call a song?”

“It’s not a song, it’s a riff. If you’re going to insult my choice of music, at least get the terms right.”

“I don’t care that much to, honestly.”

“Well then don’t be an asshole.”

“Well then don’t assault my ears in my own flat and I won’t have to. Where’s John?”

You shot a glare at Sherlock before answering, “Don’t know.”

“If you’re going to be annoying as well as unpleasant, you may as well just leave now.”

You huffed, “You started it.”

There was a small moment of silence before Sherlock glanced towards you. Seeing your upset expression caused a twinge of regret somewhere deep in him, and his anger faltered.

“What riff is that, anyways?” he attempted to sound annoyed but you caught the slight remorse. It wasn’t unusual for Sherlock to attempt to make up for his actions in such a way, though he never actually said ‘sorry.’ It was alright, however - you’d accepted his over-egotistical ways years ago when you’d become his friend in the first place.

“It’s from one of the best songs in existence, of course,” you eagerly jumped off of the couch and, guitar still in hand, you entered the kitchen where he stood.

“Doesn’t ring a bell with me, so it can’t be all that great.”

You scoffed then turned and walked back into the den. You approached the table, which was littered already with piles of miscellaneous junk - mostly yours. You sifted through a box of vinyl records before pulling out a particular album and, in one swift motion, placed it on the nearby record player and turned it on, letting the needle slowly make its way down to a particular spot.

Though you lived downstairs in 221c, you often visited your neighbors after much begging from the landlady - “The boys need some company, you’d be perfect for that!” Her insistent ways payed off too, and over time you found yourself spending more time in 221b than you did at your own flat. As a result, some of your more mobile possessions had also moved their way upstairs.

The song started as the needle touched down, and the song you had been playing earlier rang out. You closed your eyes and bobbed to the music as you moved back to the couch and sat, mouthing the words as they were sang. It took only a few seconds before the music stopped, and you opened your eyes to see Sherlock holding the needle in the air in disgust, preventing the music from playing any longer.

“What is this garbage? Is this really the stuff you listen to?”

“Hey, the crap you play is no better,” your eyes flickered to the violin resting in the corner of the room.

“I play classical music, which I suppose is just too complex for your tiny mind,” he flicked the switch on the gramophone and turned away, practically sticking his nose into the air.

His overconfident expression was wiped off as the pillow connected with his face. He looked at you, surprised, and you raised your arm, another pillow already in hand as a warning.

“Well maybe my music is too emotionally​ charged for you. I forgot you don’t really get the whole concept of feelings,” you say condescendingly.

He seemed taken aback at how defensive you had gotten over something as small as a song. Your last sentence in particular made him think. Perhaps he was being insensitive. But it had never bothered him before, so why now?

He looked towards you again.

You had set the pillow down and had picked up your guitar. You played the riff once again, but Sherlock did not protest this time. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and picked up his unfinished mug of coffee. It was cold by now, but he didn’t care. He stared at the cluttered table, various types of microscopes and flasks were strewn about with the occasional paper with his own sloppy handwriting scrawled across it.

He thought of the many times he had come home from a case to find you organizing his things, and usually his response was rather harsh, now that he thought about it. He would snap at you, telling you he had his things organized in a particular way, and you had just ruined hours of work. In reality, he was just stubborn and hated that he relied on you to keep his own flat neat. Not to say he didn’t often enjoy when you were around, in fact many a time as he worked on his newest case you would chime in with a rather clever remark or two. He could always count on you to bring a new perspective to a case - he had book smarts, but you had the street smarts.

He focused back on your playing, which had become more confident.

“Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be -”

He stood closer to the doorway to hear your soft singing over the blaring music of your instrument.

“- As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy, take your time, hurry up, choice is yours…”

He quietly looked into the den, you sat looking down at your hands on the guitar as you played, slightly moving with the beat of the song.

You stopped and put your headphones in again and waited a few seconds before mimicking the next part of the music on your guitar, this time strumming chords for what he assumed the chorus would be. You struggled slightly, and a confused look made its way onto your face. He found it rather adorable, in all honesty, and a smile crept its way onto his face.

You wrote something down then played the chords again.

“Memoria. Mem - Augh,” your hands fumbled as you hit the wrong fret.

“Memoria, memoria, mem - shit.”

He let out a soft chuckle, but you didn’t seem to notice. You let out a frustrated sigh as you gave up, tearing out your headphones and tossing them to the side.

You sprawled out onto the couch, half laying, half sitting, one leg draped over the edge hanging, the other pulled up close to your chest, and your guitar comfortably in your lap. You absentmindedly strummed a few notes as you laid your head back and closed your eyes.

Sherlock took the opportunity to approach you, and sat next you you on the couch.

You opened your eyes at the feeling of his weight on the couch, but you didn’t look at him.

“Play something for me.”

“I thought my music was too empty-minded for you.”

“Well I changed my mind. Play something for me. Please?”

You raised your head to look at him suspiciously, did he just say please?

You strummed, and then tuned your guitar appropriately. You then started again, still extremely unsure of his motives. Soon enough, however you found yourself lost in the music.

“I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel���”

Sherlock found himself focused on how easily you moved from fret to fret, how simple you made playing look. It was mesmerizing in a way.

“And you could have it all, my empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt,” you paused, “I wear this crown of thorns -”

At this point Sherlock had found himself leaning in towards you subconsciously.

“���my sweetest friend -”

He suddenly realized how close he was to you. He didn’t pull away.

“- I would keep myself, I would find a way.”

You finished and looked up. Sherlock’s face couldn’t be more than a few inches from yours. His arm was rested against the back cushion of the couch simply to stop himself from falling onto you.

“I…” you were at a loss for words. He seemed to be in some sort of trance, he seemed so fascinated with you.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, he closed the gap between the two of you, pressing a sweet and soft kiss to your lips. You were surprised, but not disappointed. He quickly pulled away from you and got up, however, making his way back to the kitchen. You could hear him fumble around with various glass objects.

As calm and collected as he may have seemed, the kiss had shaken him as much as it did you. You smiled at the thought.

You started another song, certainly he had heard it before - everyone had, right?

“I said one, two, three, take my hand and come with me ‘cause ya look so fine and I really wanna make you mine.”

[hookedonbooks22]

An Open Book

Summary: Emma Swan moved to Storybrooke in search of the sense of peace she’d always longed for. She hadn’t realized that she might find it between the pages of a book. Or in the person who wrote it.

Rated: M

Word Count: 23,059

A/N: This was the first fan fiction I ever started. However, it’s been sitting in my drafts unfinished for months with only a couple thousand words written. I never intended for it to end up being this long but inspiration grabbed ahold of me and wouldn’t let go. It’s a bit of a marrying of my two favorite things: books and Captain Swan. Also, I dipped my toe into the shallowest end of the smut writing pool so I rated it M just to be safe.

ao3

Emma Swan sat at the front desk devouring the words of the final book in her favorite series at Storybrooke Public Library during her Friday evening shift.

This shift had become her favorite one to work since surprisingly to her (unsurprisingly in reality), the library was not quite the hot spot on Friday nights. The kids in town were having sleepovers or preparing for the high school football game or seeing a movie, having just finished a week of school. Most adults were at Granny’s Diner or The Rabbit Hole destressing from the work week and the other adults were with the aforementioned kids.

But, Emma didn’t have school or a stressful work week (her work was very unstressful) or any children. No, Emma Swan was a loner who had finally found peace among a bunch of shelves of books and surrounded by the scent of musty old pages mixing with the scent of freshly printed paper. She still hadn’t decided which scent she liked better (and had been given countless weird looks for shoving her nose into the crease of the novel she was reading to give it a good sniff).

When she arrived in Storybrooke a year ago, she hadn’t planned to stay. She just wanted a vacation in a quaint town with a small population of nice people. She wanted a break from chasing down perps so she could give her body (and mind) some recovery time. Emma was tired of being sore and angry all the time and she didn’t realize just how tired she really was until she laid down on the bed in her room at Granny’s and fell into a deep slumber to almost complete silence out her window instead of the honking and screeching and yelling she experienced from the window of her Boston apartment. Her jaw dropped to the floor when she woke up and realized she had slept for twelve hours.

She had finally felt like she could think straight that day. It had been years since her mind had felt so clear, serene. And because she had no idea what one was supposed to do on a vacation in a place like Storybrooke, she decided she would get some coffee (because, let’s be honest, even though she was plenty rested, she had an extreme addiction) and stroll around town, go with the flow.

And she didn’t mind at first, getting stopped along the street to be chatted to. Apparently Storybrooke didn’t get many new faces. She figured this was what people of small towns did. They wanted to have conversations because the people actually cared for each other (go figure). But, when the eleventh person began to wave and stop her in front of the town library, she felt her anger start to well back up and she really just wanted to be left to her own thoughts again. So she dodged the red-headed man she would later know as the town psychiatrist, Archie, and ducked inside the doors.

Emma had always loved the comfort a book could give her. Being in a world that wasn’t her own was always a considerably desirable place to be. And she had been inside many libraries across many states but this one seemed to immediately just seep inside her and fill a tiny part of her shell of a heart. It was smaller than any library she had been to and there was only one librarian who introduced herself as Belle as soon as she caught sight of Emma. And the quiet surrounded her here, except of course for the tiny voices of the novels on the shelves that seemed to be whispering to her, “Read me, Emma. Read me!”

She began wandering through the shelves and discovered that she felt like they were forming walls around her and Emma was very fond of walls (the emotional ones mostly, but a good, solid set of four walls giving her shelter was something she was extremely grateful for too). So as she plucked a fantasy novel (because she wasn’t kidding about liking to be in other worlds) called Sailing the Skies by a one Killian Jones off of the Library’s “Top Picks” shelf, she felt as if Storybrooke had plucked her right out of her life in Boston for good instead of just for a vacation.

Emma registered for a library card before she actually made the decision to move to Storybrooke for good.

Emma checked out Sailing the Skies before she actually made the decision to move to Storybrooke for good.

Emma asked Belle if she could use another librarian and accepted the job as said librarian before she actually made the decision to move to Storybrooke for good.

She didn’t actually make the decision to move to Storybrooke for good until Belle had asked her, “So, you’ll be staying in town then?” and she couldn’t even fathom answering her inquiry with a “no”.

So, she found a small apartment, quit her bail bonds job, moved all her stuff from her place in Boston, and was working her first shift at the library by the following week. Emma was big on saving up the money she earned because she knew her itch to run usually flared up unexpectedly, so the move wasn’t too difficult. And, she was never someone who needed a lot (growing up in the foster system taught her how to survive on very little) so the money she made at the library was enough for now but she knew it would be a good idea to take the town sheriff up on his part-time job offer (she was just afraid to upset the perfect balance she had going).

The past year had been spent reading almost every book they owned (mostly during her shift, because, okay, the library wasn’t really a hot spot any day) and hanging out with Mary Margaret and David Nolan, her overly but so amazingly friendly neighbors that took her in the minute they saw her carrying her suitcase and boxes from her yellow bug up the stairs to her apartment.

The couple, made up of a tall, broad, blonde man and a petite, pixie-cut brunette woman, was walking hand-in-hand up the sidewalk toward her when David offered to help her and Mary Margaret rushed over to their apartment to begin making a home-cooked meal that Emma was told she must join them for. And even though she didn’t like the idea of people taking care of her, she didn’t have much choice when it came to the Nolans and she had to admit it felt kind of nice to not feel so alone. She wanted to start over, to be a different Emma but old habits die hard. Protecting herself (her heart) was always her first priority.

They were only a few years older than her twenty-eight but they were the type of friends (yes, she let herself accept them as friends, two friends as nice as the Nolans couldn’t hurt, right?) that acted like parents. And since she had never had parents, she liked being fussed over by them but at times it got to be too much and she wished they would just have their own baby already.

It took a while for the town to settle down after Emma’s arrival, mostly because Mary Margaret insisted on parading her around town to meet everyone. But she was finally accepted as a normal part Storybrooke, knew everyone’s name, and she hadn’t seen any new faces since (she understood now, a year later, why she caused such a huge fuss back then).

Until now.

Emma had been so hunched over Finally Taking to Land, the fifth and final installment of the Sailing the Skies series, that her face was only inches away from being pressed against the fresh pages and when the door opened she startled herself almost completely out of her leather desk chair, coming too close to smashing her head through the screen of the library’s ancient computer that sat to her right. Seriously, it had been months since someone had come in on a Friday. Looking towards the doors to see who disrupted her from her designated reading time, Emma experienced what it was like to be a Storybrooker (Storybrookian? What the hell was she supposed to call herself?) seeing a fresh face. And damn, was it a fresh face.  

It was a feat to take her attention away from a Sailing the Skies novel, but this guy achieved it. He was tall and built a little more muscular than David. He was wearing a dark grey henley with the buttons undone, exposing a chest of dark hair, a black and grey flannel hanging loosely over it, tight dark jeans, and clunky black boots. Emma was met with a pair of cool blue eyes under long eyelashes and a flop of almost jet-black hair as the mysterious new man walked past her towards the shelves, throwing her a smirk framed by red-tinged stubble as he went, somehow looking sheepish and confident at the same time.

She diverted her eyes after realizing she was exceptionally slack-jawed. Probably because she hadn’t seen a new face in a year (ok, it was mostly because he was just really hot). Returning to the comfort of her favorite author’s writing, she did her best to ignore the man meticulously exploring the shelves she kept beautifully organized. It was easy falling back into her book, the story action-packed with just a hint of romance and the words feeling like they came from her own mind. She really needed to hunt this guy down and beg him for more books because surly this wouldn’t be enough. The only description the book gave said that he resided in Ireland and used his sailing adventures with his brother as inspiration for his stories but Emma did have a knack for finding people.

She was more than halfway through the book and had just finished chapter fourteen when she allowed herself to check out the man again. He held a stack of four books, but seemed to be looking for something else, something specific, eyes scanning shelves closely, over and over and definitely not finding what he was looking for. She decided to speak up and see if she could help him, it was the least she could do after gawking at him and, of course, it was her job.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked from her seat, re-tucking her long, blonde waves behind her ears and shooting him a friendly smile.

He met her green eyes, walked a few steps toward the desk, and replied with a lilting British accent, “Yes, actually. I know it is a fairly new novel, but would you happen to have Finally Taking to Land by Killian Jones?”

At his reply, Emma’s eyes shot down to her hands where she cradled said book and her cheeks flushed a bit. Meeting his curious gaze, she slowly brought the book up towards her chest, showing him the cover. He flashed her a large grin and she realized the stack of books he was holding were the first four of the series.

“Um, yeah, the copy I ordered for myself hasn’t arrived yet but the library’s copy was delivered today and I couldn’t wait another second to start reading it. We usually aren’t busy on Fridays and I usually never have anyone come in looking for the book I’m reading,” Emma told him.

“Ah, so you’re a fan of the series then?” the man asked her, stepping up to the counter so he was now directly across from it (and making her feel all kinds of flustered). Up close, she glimpsed a tattoo under his rolled-up sleeve, a name that began with an M just barely peeking out.

“Oh, I love it! This author speaks to me. I can’t get enough of him!” She usually didn’t talk about the series to anyone (barely talked to anyone about anything with how private she was), wanting to keep it as her own secret gem but he obviously already knew about it so she felt like she could gush a little bit.

Giving her another smirk, he inquired, “Is that so?”

“Yeah…” Emma replied with a nervous chuckle and reluctantly added, “but, um, if you want to check it out, I can just wait for mine to get here.”

“Oh no, no, no, lass. You go ahead and finish it. You had it first. I’ll check it out when you’re done.”

She let out a small breath of relief.

He had the rest of the books to read first anyways, but Emma still felt a little bad, like she was putting him out. “Well, in all honesty, I’ll be finished by my shift tomorrow morning if you want to come by then and get it. I can get you a card set up now though, seeing as you’re new in town, and you can check out those first four,” she offered.

“That’s very kind, love, but I already have one. And I’m not new in town, I just haven’t lived here in a few years,” he informed Emma, making her flush with embarrassment. You’re still the new one, Emma.

“Right, sorry. I just moved here a year ago so I’m not quite caught up with all the town history yet,” she said, diverting her eyes to her book. If she tried hard enough, could she jump onto the pages and be sucked into them?

“Well, I should introduce myself then. We’ll catch you up a bit. I’m-”

Before he could reveal his name, Belle was opening the door, distracted by rifling through her purse, and walking towards them in a flowing blue dress and six-inch black heels. Emma absolutely did not understand how that woman dressed like that every day. Emma was more of a dress for comfort type of girl, usually in a sweater, jeans, and her reliable, knee-high brown boots. She and the man watched Belle until she finally reached the desk and looked up. Belle met Emma’s eyes first with a small smile, but when she met the man’s eyes, her whole face was active in grinning with excitement at him. Then she was flinging herself into his arms.

“Killian, you finally made it!” Belle was squealing.

I’m sorry, did she say Killian? Has to be a coincidence.

“I thought I’d never see Killian Jones back in Storybrooke until you called Monday!” Belle said, pulling back to look at him while she spoke.

I’m sorry, WHAT?! Emma thought, sitting back in her chair to stare at the computer’s keyboard while she wondered what exactly just happened to her. Surly it was just a coincidence. He couldn’t be that Killian Jones, could he?

She was pulled from her thoughts when Belle spoke her name. “Emma, this is Killian Jones. Famous author, too-good-for-Storybrooke, Killian Jones,” she confirmed Emma’s wildest dream and most embarrassing nightmare, nudging Killian (her favorite author that she “can’t get enough of” ugh she actually said that to him) in the side. “Also, one of my best friends from high school.”

Oh, and Killian was enjoying the situation immensely, his smug grin just shining all over her existence. Holding out his right hand for her to shake, he spoke because obviously she wasn’t going to with her mouth hanging open like it was. “Nice to meet you, Emma..?”

Emma closed her mouth and swallowed once before sitting up and taking his hand. “Swan. Emma Swan. Um, nice to meet you too.” She wouldn’t dare look him in his eyes. How had she not known that she was speaking to her favorite author (and maybe even her favorite person)? But, to be fair there wasn’t a picture of him included in the books or on his fan site she sometimes visited and googling him too extensively made her feel like she was looking for clues to track down a perp so she didn’t do it. Plus, she kind of liked not knowing what he looked like. It left her only with his words to identify him and she was confident that if someone read her a piece of his writing without telling her what it was, she would be able recognize it as Killian’s.

Turning to Belle, he said, “Emma here is reading Finally Taking to Land, so I can only check out the first four today.”

“You’re fond of his series, Emma? Did you know Killian was from here?” Belle asked her.

“I had no idea,” Emma replied and while she pretended not to be freaking out inside, she asked the last question on her mind. Or maybe the first. Somewhere in the middle? She really needed to get ahold of herself. Emma Swan was always in control (except, apparently, when it came to Killian Jones). “Why exactly are you checking out your own books?”

“Well, I used to spend almost every day inside this library as a lad and it is much of the reason I decided to try to make something of my writing. Belle insisted that it would be a nice addition to the books if I were to write a small dedication inside each of them to inspire more of the young readers of Storybrooke,” Killian explained to Emma, scratching behind his ear sheepishly.

“Don’t you think that would be a cool idea, Emma?” Belle wondered.

“Yeah, that sounds awesome,” Emma tried to sound enthusiastic, but was sure her voice sounded as stiff as cardboard, saying what she should say instead of shrieking.

Belle noticed. “Emma, are you alright? You seem off. You can head home for the night if you want. I was going to stay here and catch up with Killian and then close up.”

Usually when Belle offered to let her off early, Emma refused but she really just wanted to go home and regroup. It wasn’t often that Emma was taken so off guard and she hated how she was feeling right now. This wasn’t how she had imagined meeting the man and it was a little upsetting (but it wasn’t totally terrible).

“Uh, yeah okay,” she agreed while gathering her phone and book from the desk, sticking her post-it note grocery list inside the pages to hold her spot. Braving one last look at Killian as she walked out from behind the desk, she told him, “I’ll bring this for you tomorrow morning,” gesturing toward the book in her right hand.

And of course, he didn’t miss the opportunity to show her another one of his smirks, this one paired with a waggling eyebrow and said, “Looking forward to it, Swan.”

With a half-assed attempt at “see you tomorrow”, she shot a mumbled “seeyamorrow” towards Belle and was throwing herself out the door and down the sidewalk to her yellow bug.

Mary Margaret and David had her over every Friday night for dinner so when Emma got home, she focused all of her energy on changing into comfier clothes and tossing together the salad she promised she’d bring so she wouldn’t have to think about the awful encounter she had with the person closest to what could be considered her celebrity crush. But, often, trying not to think about something only makes you think about it harder.

The thing that most bothered her about her meeting with Killian Jones is that she was caught off guard. Emma did her best to shelter herself from anything that could shake her up so the fact that she didn’t recognize someone who was so important to her made her feel stupid. She hated feeling stupid (mostly because it reminded her of the naivety she possessed when she thought Neal would actually stick around and not, you know, throw her under the bus for his crimes).

And what made it worse was that Killian was there to witness her being caught off guard and now that she thought about it, he had sort of egged her on with his probing question about whether she enjoyed the series that he wrote.

So, no, Emma was not going to feel embarrassed or shocked anymore. She was going to board her walls back up and be angry because it wasn’t her fault Killian Jones decided not to include a picture in his book and it wasn’t her fault that no one told her he used to live in Storybrooke.

She was stewing by the time she made it up the flight of stairs to the Nolan loft, white knuckling the neck of a wine bottle and balancing the salad bowl between her chest and arm as she knocked on the door with her free hand. She could hear David’s booming laughter trailing closer and as soon as he opened to door, she charged in and started in on him (she was good at taking her anger out on others).

“Hey, why the hell didn’t you tell me my favorite author used to live here?” Setting the wine and salad on the kitchen counter, she turned around to face him and vaguely wondered why Mary Margaret wasn’t fussing over the lasagna she could smell in the oven. David coughed and darted his eyes toward the living room in a suspicious manner. When she followed his gaze, she found out why. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Catching her off guard again, Killian Jones made his way into the dining room, followed by David’s wife. He had a weird twinkle in his eye like he couldn’t believe his luck. Yeah, well, she couldn’t believe hers either.

“Emma, this is Killi-,” Mary Margaret started before Emma cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know who he is.” She waved her hand around and watched as Killian’s grin tipped down a bit at her lack of happiness to see him again.

“Nice to see you again too, love,” was his response, smirk sliding back onto his face.

David cut in, wondering how they knew each other. “So, you two have met?”

“Just a couple of hours ago at the library. I stumbled upon her enjoying my newest novel actually.”

“And he kindly let me believe I was talking to a complete stranger and not the author of the book I was reading,” Shooting him a fake grin, she crossed her arms and assumed her defense pose. She wasn’t really angry; she was just annoyed with this day.

“Well to be fair, even though I wrote the book you were reading, I was still a complete stranger.”

What he replied irked her because he just genuinely didn’t feel like a stranger, not after all the things she read in his books made her feel like somebody finally understood her. But he was right. She didn’t really know him and maybe it was better that way anyways. Emma could feel her face turning red and was about to tell him just how much she wished he was a stranger (if only to push him away) when the oven timer beeped and Mary Margaret dashed between them towards the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!” Emma heard her cheerful announcement and she slumped down at her usual seat at the table.

As everyone dished up their plates, Emma wondered how Killian and the Nolans met, but made the definitive decision not to ask. Besides, David and Mary Margaret invited everyone to dinner no matter what, practically the King and Queen of Storybrooke.

“So, Killian, have you been back to the old house yet?” Mary Margaret was the first to speak once everyone had filled their plates. Emma and David took simultaneous first bites of their breadsticks (always more of the eat first, talk later kind of people).

“I dropped my luggage off when I first got to town but didn’t stick around for long. Felt really lonely without Liam.” Killian’s voice took on a sad tone and Emma felt implored to look across the table at him. He was looking down at his plate and flicking lettuce around with his fork. She wondered who Liam was but didn’t ask. She could always ask David later.

“Well I’m sure it will get better once you get all your stuff moved in.” Her friend’s statement was followed by a reassuring pat to Killian’s arm.

Oh God, he was moving here and not just visiting? Emma could feel his gaze on her like he was gauging her reaction. She promptly shoved a large bite of lasagna in her mouth and avoided eye contact.

“Emma, Killian owns that house down by the docks with the big porch and the picket fence. Do you know the one?” Oh, Emma, knew exactly the house she was talking about. She loved that house. It was basically the epitome of the home she used to dream about having as a kid. Sometimes when she walked past it, she’d stop and lean against the fence and wonder why whoever owned it wasn’t enjoying it. She’d even thought about using her old lock picks to sneak inside and experience living in it for a night but she wasn’t sure if there were any alarms (it was a pretty large house) and she didn’t want to have to explain to David what she was doing when he showed up in his police car. Emma didn’t share any of this, only nodded while she continued to chew.

Seeing she wasn’t getting anywhere with Emma, Mary Margaret switched her attention back to Killian, who had just begun to eat. David’s plate was halfway empty and Emma wondered how Mary Margaret always ended dinner with an empty plate with all the talking she did.

“Tell us about Ireland!” Begrudgingly, Emma slowed her eating to listen. She was interested in hearing what it was like to visit another country, had always wanted to go on that adventure.

So, Killian regaled them with stories about visiting his cousins, Will and Robin (he seemed exasperated explaining how he had to drag Will out of a bar after he tried to start a fight with a man twice his size and got punched by the man’s girlfriend instead), and about travelling through different towns (she could see how much he loved experiencing new places and meeting different people through the faraway wonder that took over his eyes) and it turned out his author’s description wasn’t completely accurate because it seemed he spent at least half the time he was in Ireland sailing rather than living anywhere. And all the while, Killian wrote a five-book series. She couldn’t imagine writing five books in six years (he seemed completely taken aback when she actually opened her mouth to ask him how long he was in Ireland) but she supposed he had a lot of experiences to draw upon. If she wrote a book, it would probably just be super angsty with a lot of people getting punched in the face for not-good-enough reasons, far from the beautiful world he created.

By the time he wrapped up his final story of the night, Emma found she hadn’t eaten much more of her food but was instead enraptured by his words, her head propped up on her hands with her elbows on the table. It seemed she could get just as lost in his spoken words as his written ones. She took a few more bites before David could stand up and begin collecting plates but didn’t need much more to fill her belly as she already felt full on the wistful feeling Killian’s voice wove into her.

“Have you thought anymore about taking that job at the station?” David asked her as he gathered up their wine glasses. Killian’s eyebrow was so expressive she could see it quirk up from the corner of her eye as she looked up at her friend.

“Are you really sure you want a former cri-,” Emma stopped herself, remembering the presence of the man across from her. “Are you really sure you want me working for you?”

“I wouldn’t have offered you the job if I didn’t.” David gave her shoulder a squeeze as he walked to the kitchen. “I think it would be really great for you and with a lot of opportunity for promotion.”

That was her problem. The job would start with her just filing and dealing with calls but she knew David didn’t plan to let her stay in that position for long. He wanted her to train to become a deputy (they’d spoken about her past and he mentioned that it might be a gratifying role for her to step into) (she couldn’t disagree) and while thinking about that made Emma feel excited at the prospect of feeling purposeful, it was the feeling of permanence that held her back. She didn’t want to work towards such an important role only to run away when she got it. She knew she needed to give David an answer soon (he’d been bugging her for three weeks) but every time her mouth formed the word “yes”, her doubts wouldn’t let her push it out.

“Um… I think… Just give me a little more time.” Turns out Emma Swan was stubborn even when she didn’t want to be. She gave David her best reassuring smile.

“Of course.”

Mary Margaret followed her husband into the kitchen with the salad bowl, knowing not to start into Emma about the job (knowing the prodding only made her shut down more). Left alone with only Killian’s curious gaze as company, she began to rise from her seat and make a lame excuse about having to use the bathroom but before she could open her mouth, Killian was reaching across the table to lie his hand atop hers, his blue eyes searching to meet her green ones.

“Swan, I’m truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable during our first meeting. I simply wanted to know how a reader of the series, such as yourself, felt about the books objectively, without feeling like they had to be nice just because they were speaking to the person who wrote it. I never intended any harm.” She found honesty in his face and looked down at his hand covering hers, not minding it much.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I was just embarrassed. You should know that I really do enjoy your books. You’re an incredible author.” Her praise caused him to scratch nervously behind his ear. Emma wanted to tell him about the peace his writing brought her, about the way she sometimes felt he’d plucked some of his words right out of her brain, about how she sometimes wished she grew up inside his books where she could have felt the freedom of the wind flowing through her hair as she explored the world on a magical ship. But all those thoughts were a little too personal and when she met his eyes again, he almost looked as if he already knew.

And because she knew she’d already forgiven him (hadn’t even been truly angry with him because he was a stranger) Emma slipped her hand out from underneath his and held it out for a shake. “How about we start over? I’m Emma Swan, an avid reader of yours.”

Her favorite author grinned and placed his hand in hers. “A pleasure to meet you, Swan. Killian Jones.” And because the moment felt too fragile to end it, she allowed her hand to linger in his. That is, until David interrupted.

“You know, I did tell you about Killian living here. But now that I’m thinking about it, you were pretty wrapped up in reading one of those books and probably weren’t paying much attention to me. I think the only response I got was a ‘huh’ and a page turn,” David informed her with a knowing smile. Emma felt heat rush to her cheeks and Killian waggled his eyebrows at her, causing her to chuckle.

“Okay, we get it, I’m a crazy fangirl! You probably shouldn’t have let Mary Margaret tell me where you live because I’ll probably show up at your house at 2 in the morning demanding more books!” She threw up her hands and headed for the sink to help Mary Margaret with the dishes.

“Darling, you don’t need to use the pretense of wanting more books to ask for my company in the early hours of the morning.” Emma looked over her shoulder in time to see his over-exaggerated wink and David punching his arm with a “hey, watch it!” (ever the big brother figure).

–

After finishing the dishes (it was almost uncomfortable with Mary Margaret smiling so hard at her like she knew something about Emma that she didn’t, which she usually did), Emma grabbed her empty salad bowl and went to hug David goodbye where he and Killian were seated at the kitchen island looking through pictures on Killian’s phone. She hugged his wife next and was left to say goodbye to Killian.

He shuffled to his feet and tugged at his red-tinged ear. “Would you allow me to escort you home, Emma?” If it was a further walk, she probably would have said no but it was only down a flight of stairs and obviously on his way.

“Sure,” Emma affirmed and took the lead after he opened the door, both calling farewells over their shoulders. They took to the stairs and by the time he had decided what he wanted to say to her, they had reached her floor. To be fair, Emma did try to keep her steps slow.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” she told him, turning towards him to smile graciously.

“Wait, you live here?” He seemed disappointed. Had he wanted to spend more time with her? Then she recalled him saying his house seemed lonely. He probably just wanted to spend as little time as possible there.

“Yeah, it’s how I met Mary Margaret and David actually.”

“Well, Swan, it was lovely seeing you again. I’ll see you at the library in the morning?”

As Killian turned to leave, she caught his arm. She knew what a lonely house felt like and didn’t see a reason why she couldn’t offer him a small reprieve (though a part of her brain was shouting a million reasons at her why she shouldn’t), especially since she’d acted a little unfairly towards him earlier.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of hot cocoa before you go? We could even spike it if you want.” His smile caused dimples to crease his stubble.

“I’d love to.”

And so Emma went to work on the hot chocolate (which she would have drank whether Killian was here or not) while he explored her apartment and if he noticed there were very few personal items and pictures, he didn’t comment on it (she had a feeling he understood). When she finished, she placed the two mismatched mugs on the counter and held up a bottle of rum towards him in question. He nodded and she poured a bit in each cup then topped them with whipped cream and cinnamon.

“Just try it. It’s good,” she said at his questioning eyebrow. His tentative sip caused some of the whipped topping to get caught in the stubble of his upper lip and she felt the urge to wipe it away with her thumb as his tongue darted out to get it and at that thought, she swiftly turned on her heel to go sit on the couch. “Good, right?”

“Too right, Swan.” Killian took the opposite end of her couch and smiled thoughtfully when he spotted Finally Taking to Land resting on her coffee table, the neon orange post-it jutting out of the pages and revealing she only had about a quarter of the book left to read.

“What made you start writing?” Even though it kind of felt like she was just talking to a regular man she’d just met, this was her favorite author so she had to pick his brain a little bit and the memories her question brought forth in his mind caused him to look both sad and happy at the same time.

“My mother used to tell my older brother and me stories when she put us to bed. Each night was a completely new story she’d create. I was too young to remember much but after she passed, Liam picked it up for me. It was the only way I was able to fall asleep. Writing seemed like a way I could grant that solace to someone else.” He smiled knowingly at her at his last sentence.

“You know, the first book I ever read and enjoyed was Peter Pan. That’s probably why I’m such a fan of Sailing the Skies. It reminded me of one of the few happy moments of my childhood. It was the first time a foster parent had ever given me a gift and even better, it was something they thought I’d like. I still have it on the bookshelf in my room.” With a shrug, Emma tried to brush off the fact that she so easily shared something personal with him.

Killian’s face was open and he was leaned forward, interested in what she was telling him, like he really cared and she could see he did. It made her want to shovel the words up with her hands and cram them back into her mouth. She switched to a lighter topic. The subject of parents reminded her of the inkling she had about Mary Margaret (The woman had drunk water the past two Fridays at dinner even when Emma specifically brought her favorite wine and gave her shifty eyes when Emma commented on it)

“So, have you known Mary Margaret and David your whole life?” Killian sat back, acknowledging that that was the deepest personal information he would be receiving from her this evening.

“Erm, no. I was born in London and lived there until I was thirteen. By then, Liam was old enough to become my guardian and he moved us to America. More specifically, Storybrooke. Our father owned the house down by the docks and left it to us after he passed,” Killian informed her and she was sure she heard him add, “The only good thing he did for us,” under his breath. “David was in my class in school and I was pretty angry with the world, never particularly wanting to take part in Storybrooke festivities. I’m sure you know how they are.” Emma smiled knowingly, rolling her eyes. “But David kept pestering me about it, trying to take me under his wing. He eventually went to my older brother and then I just didn’t have a choice. So, I went and surprisingly had a good time. Been best friends ever since. No one has ever cared for me like David does except Liam.” He was smiling fondly, staring at a spot above her right shoulder like he was only just realizing the truth of his final statement.

“Yeah, David’s a good guy. I experienced the pestering too. Only mine mostly came from Mary Margaret. But now they’re like the older siblings I never had.” Emma twirled her finger around the rim of her mug, she too having a realization about just how much she’d allowed these two people to come to mean to her. A silence eased in and settled over them for a few moments and it was enough for the rum to catch up with her.

A yawn overtook her (she’d finished her hot cocoa and the spiked drink made her feel sleepy) and as her eyes caught on the object on her coffee table, an idea came to her (seriously that rum was in full effect, it was the only excuse for what came out of her mouth next).

“Would it be weird if I asked you to read your book to me?”

Killian’s breath seemed to catch at the idea but he obliged, swiping the book off of the table and settling in to read. Nothing else needed to be spoken except the lines of his fantastical story as it slowly flowed towards its final chapters.

“Charlie knew that the Captain was expecting him below deck but he couldn’t bear to pull his gaze from the way the sun was sparkling across the water that day. It seemed too beautiful to exist on a day that was sure to be filled with such danger. But that thought only gave him more reason to reach out his hand and let it run through the mist, the water droplets sticking to his fingers the same way the hope he had to soon find Layna stuck to his heart,” he began to read. Emma closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the couch, allowing herself to drift away on his voice, into his story.

When she woke, Killian was gone but her book was returned to its place (the bookmark placed even closer to the end) and there was a blanket lying across her. Emma decided she should probably move to her bed but when she collapsed onto her fluffy mattress, she struggled to fall back asleep which caused her to wonder if, like Killian, she would never be able to fall asleep without the lull of his voice as he told her a story there to pull her under.

And that thought kept her awake for a whole other terrifying reason.

After dozing in and out of consciousness for a few hours, Emma accepted her fate and lugged her body out of bed at 5 am. Her Saturday morning shift began at eight so she would have just enough time to get ready and finish the last bit of her book before going in.

She had just taken a long pull of her coffee when she read the last sentence left in the series, “And though the skies definitely had their appeal, land could be home too when you walked it with the right people,” the drink and a sense of deep satisfaction warming her belly.

And while she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from expressing her gratitude for such a perfect ending to Killian, Emma resigned herself to pushing him away. Last night couldn’t happen again. She’d seen too much of herself in him, felt too akin to the abandonment she’d seen in his eyes when he mentioned his father.

She picked up the book and gave it a little squeeze against her chest (as she tended to do when she finished a particularly good book), gathering her keys and leaving with enough spare time to stop at Granny’s for a bear claw to eat on the way.

Killian was already standing at the reception desk deep in conversation with Belle when Emma arrived, like he’d been there as early as Belle had (he must’ve really disliked being alone in that house). However, when he heard the clattering of the door opening, his gaze shot towards her almost as if he’d been anxiously waiting for someone to get there and when she saw an excited smile form in that stubble of his, she knew it was her.

Belle noticed too. With a mischievous look, she took off towards her office, telling Killian, “We’ll finish up this conversation later.” He didn’t seem too phased by her departure or the abrupt halt he put to their conversation, already drawing closer to Emma as she made her way to the desk, rubbing her eyes as she went (coffee and a sugary donut couldn’t even cure the effects of her insomnia).

“Good morning, Swan. Late night?” Guess he noticed her tiredness too. “Did a certain dashing rapscallion keep you up last night?” He smirked and leaned his elbows onto the desk in front of her, simultaneously raising his eyebrow. “I’m speaking of Charlie, of course.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Charlie, her ass. “Right.” She quickly shuffled through her bag for the library’s copy of Finally Taking to Land, just wanting to get this over with before she did something stupid like flirt back with him. Handing him the book, she recited the speech she’d practiced on the way there. “I finished it this morning. And the ending was perfect, everything I could have hoped for. I just wanted to say thank you for writing this story and ending it on a hopeful note because I connected to it in a way I’ve never connected to anything before. And it was great meeting my favorite author.”

He looked adorably humble and confused as the words rapidly spewed from her lips and then downright baffled when she immediately turned on her heel and left him there to put away the books delivered from the elementary school (and to quickly shut down any idea he had about whatever it was they had going further).

“Erm, that’s it?” Killian asked as he followed her to the biography shelves.

“What, do you want me to ask for a signed copy too?” Emma began shoveling books into their correct spots.

“No, though I’d be happy to give you one, I meant that’s all there is between you and I?”

“Do you attempt to form personal relationships with all of your readers because that seems a little high-main—“

“Of course not! Honestly, I don’t even meet many of them. But last night didn’t feel like I was just being polite to a fan. It felt like I was forming a connection with Emma Swan, a woman who happens to also like my writing.” She could hear the frustration in his voice but she still didn’t look at him.

“Well that’s not what it was for me.” She really hated lying but she hated heartbreak more.

“I don’t believe that. I just think you’ve suffered abandonment too many times and you’re pushing me away because I’ve already snuck my way past a few of those walls of yours.” At this, Emma whipped her head around with a furrowed brow, furious he’d figured her out so easily. He gave her a sad smile, those ocean eyes showing no pity, just understanding. “You’re an open book to me, love.”

She couldn’t help the snort she let out despite her anger. He was just too good at putting her at ease. “Cute metaphor choice.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma.” She fingered a peeling label on the spine of a book in front of her.

“I can’t know that for sure.” He already knew he’d figured her out, there was no sense in trying to deny it. With a small step closer, Killian drew her gaze to his so she could see the honesty on his face.

“Try something new darling. It’s called trust.” She stepped back. Trust would have to be built up to. He sensed this and took on a lighter tone. “Oh, and when I said I wasn’t going anywhere, I meant it literally. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to sit down and read something I hadn’t slaved over. I’d like to return to my old haven. If it didn’t bother you, of course.” His sincerity just tugged and tugged at her.

“It’s a public library.” Her reliance on sarcasm tugged and tugged at her too.

“Indeed.” This time he was the one to turn and leave, giving her some much-needed space.

Emma opened up the next book in her bucket and leafed through the pages, their musty smell wafting up to her nostrils and giving her a sense of calm but her heart stuttered when she heard Killian’s booming laughter coming from the direction of Belle’s office.

She stuck her nose right into the binding of it and inhaled deeply.

(Can you get high off of book smell?)

And so for the following two weeks Killian was in every day for most of the day. He mostly sat and read in one of the old cushioned chairs they had interspersed through the space, the ugly orange looking putrid against his dark clothing.

But sometimes he’d ask her seemingly harmless questions relevant to the books he’d come across while she worked, taking any bit of herself she would offer him. And without her being aware of it, Emma shared things with him she never meant to.

But he shared just as much as she did. Always keeping them on equal ground.

“This was my favorite as a boy. Did you read it?”

(No, she hadn’t really gotten into reading until that Peter Pan novel she’d told him about.)

“I hear this new murder-mystery is supposed to be addicting. Might be good research for the job David is offering you.”

(She still hadn’t decided if she was taking it or not.)

(Liam used to be a deputy. He loved the work he did.)

“Do you fancy romance novels, Swan?”

(Not the particularly mushy gushy ones. Too unrealistic.)

(Surly a little romance couldn’t be all that bad. You just have to find the right person.)

(Weren’t we talking about fictional romance?)

“Please tell me you at least read The Ugly Duckling as a child, what with the name and all.”

(It was actually where she had chosen the name Swan. A boy she’d met on the streets had reminded her that she didn’t have to be the ugly duckling forever, urging her to return to her group home.)

(Sometimes he wished he could have taken his mother’s maiden name so he didn’t have that connection to his father who abandoned them when he was only six and shortly before his mother passed from the sickness she’d been fighting for years.)

“If you could only choose one book to read for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

(Like he didn’t know she’d pick Sailing the Skies.)

(His would probably be the book of fairytales Mary Margaret bought him for graduation.)

“This one’s about travelling. Have you ever been out of the country?”

(The only travelling she could manage was state to state but she’d been all over the U.S. She would love to go overseas somewhere though.)

(He did have a boat she was welcome to come take a spin on. Wasn’t quite overseas but it was over the sea.)

“’A gripping tale loaded with betrayal and surprises that will leave you questioning every thought you had about these characters.’ Sounds interesting, eh Swan?”

(She’d already had her fair share of betrayal. She didn’t need to read about it too.)

(He’d learned surprises weren’t so great either.)

And when he travelled the shelves with her on that last Friday afternoon, an opportunity arose that she could tell he’d probably been anxiously waiting for. The wheels of her book trolley squeaked as she pulled it to a stop at the farthest corner of the library where they stored old yearbooks and copies of their local newspaper, Storybrooke Daily Mirror. Someone had browsed a yearbook from 1992 and left it in their chair. She couldn’t really blame them. She avoided this spot as much as she could too and she’d seen the young couple that had shuffled off to this area earlier in the day.

She was squatted down trying to see the numbers on the spines on a lower shelf through the dim lighting (something wasn’t right with the wiring of the light fixture in this section so changing the bulb never made it brighter), when Killian leaned against a higher shelf in a nonchalant manner and tried his luck.

“You know, this used to be the secret make out spot for kids when I was in school.” After placing the yearbook in the correct spot, Emma looked up at him to find him suspiciously not making eye-contact, choosing instead to glare at the light like it offended him for not shining as bright as the others.

She stood up, her right hand going to the handle of the now empty cart. “Trust me, it still is. This is the least visited, least visible spot, and Belle and I still seem to catch them every single time.” The last time it’d happened, a girl’s shirt was halfway undone and her partner’s lips were pressed to her neck. She’d only given a gruff, “Out!” and stared at the floor until they’d fixed themselves up enough to rush toward the exit. She didn’t understand the appeal when they could be using a car or hell, even a bedroom (she knew from experience how sneaky a kid with strict guardians could be) instead of the creepiest corner of the local library where they were likely to be caught by an elderly person or innocent kid.

Killian’s gaze swept to hers, connecting intently. “Well perhaps they’re just too young to use it correctly. Maybe it takes a pair who are a little more… experienced,” he pondered and pushed off the shelf, leading with his hips to take a step toward her. The volume of his voice went lower as he leaned his head closer to hers and issued a challenge. “Care to test the theory?”

It was then that Emma finally understood the desire to kiss someone in this little nook. The narrow shelves and darkness made her feel like she was already pressed completely up against him. And she felt such a powerful intimacy with the shadows casting over their faces, like no one could possibly exist in this dark place but them. Usually this intense a feeling would have her sprinting for the nearest door, knocking things over in her wake so she couldn’t be followed but the comforting smell of the pages around her (and maybe even the comforting smell of Killian’s leather jacket and musk) only had her wanting to bury her feet in the floor she stood upon.

But she also couldn’t let him know that. Emma flexed the fingers that itched to run through his hair while she thought about who would surge forward first. “So you’re saying you’re experienced enough to handle it?” Her heart thumped wildly when she saw his tongue flick out to wet his lips.

“I’m willing to let you be the judge of that. Are you experienced enough to handle it?” Killian popped his final “t” and waited for her to make the move. It made her grow even fonder of him, knowing he’d always let her set the pace, knowing he was always aware of how far he should push.

Her hands grabbed at him before her mouth could catch up (like if she had him in her grasp before she kissed him she wouldn’t allow herself to let go of what they had between them so easily when the kiss ended), one at his lapel and the other gripping at the soft strands of inky hair on the back of his head. Emma felt his harsh exhale against her lips before she was kissing him.

At first he was completely pliant under her ministrations, letting her lead in every movement, the tilt of their heads, the opening of their lips, but as soon as she began to let up to take in some air, he was pushing back and taking his turn. She allowed him to walk her towards the wall and press her back gently against it, allowed him the control for a little while.

Killian’s fingers lightly threaded through her blonde tresses and her heart soured right up and over its walls. Because while the slide of their lips was passionate and the exhales of their breaths were rough and the thumping in their chests was practically audible, Emma had never felt safer than she did crammed back in this dark, secluded alcove with her entire body pressed against the man she’d felt more kindred to than anyone else she’d met in her life. Usually a thought like that would shock her straight to her core, but maybe this shrouded moment deflected feelings like that or, more likely, she’d changed by coming to this town, laying down her guns, picking up his book. Killian made her better without even seeing her face.

Words have the power to change you, and they don’t have to be spoken to do it.

But then the faulty light dimmed lower (as it often did) and the shift woke her brain up enough for her to remember that whatever they did back here was something she’d have to face in the light of day and if she took it much further, she might find herself avoiding that responsibility completely.

When she pulled back for air, he shifted on his feet to chase her lips again but bumped the cart, causing it to let out an obnoxious squawk (the old rusty thing was like a century old) and she pressed her palms flat against his chest to put more space between them (and stop herself from diving back in). In a sweet, gentle manner Killian pressed his forehead against hers like he would have been more than happy with this kind of touch too if she hadn’t granted him a kiss.

“That was-,” he began.

“Probably pushing our luck,” she finished as she stepped around him and reached for the cart, noticing her hand was beginning to shake a little. Apparently, that dark corner was keeping out at least some of her panic because the more steps she took toward the brighter front of the building, the faster her pace became (and she was thankful returning that book was her last task of the day so she could go home). He still hadn’t moved though. It was predictable. Killian was always the one steadily there while Emma was too flighty to stay in place.

Right before she could turn the corner and make for the door, he quietly called out to her. “Well we didn’t get caught, Swan. Guess we handled it pretty well.” She could tell he was trying to make the situation feel lighter and get her to stay but she knew there was no changing the intensity of the incomparable weight that moment had held and by the breathlessness of his voice, he knew it too. But Emma still didn’t stop her gate, that is, until she’d stepped around the shelf and ran right into Belle, watching the woman take in her appearance which she was sure included rosy cheeks, swollen lips, and messy hair. Belle raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, “Seriously, you too?”.

And to make the situation worse, Killian, who either thought he’d given her enough time to make her escape or decided to chase after her, rushed up behind her and came to an abrupt halt. Her boss smiled cheekily at the pair but before she could say a word, Emma was on the move again, immaturely deciding to let Killian deal with the woman. Now someone else knew that they had kissed and she still couldn’t even deal with the fact that she herself knew.

Turned out, Killian was wrong on both counts. They did get caught and she apparently couldn’t handle it (and she suspected he couldn’t either).

She accepted David’s job offer that night if only so she would spend less time with the man who’d become pretty talented at chiseling away at her walls. But also because her future felt more grounded in Storybrooke now than ever before (and she didn’t let herself dwell on why that was).

(The tiny part of her brain that wasn’t too afraid to make itself aware of the things that were hard to accept recognized the irony of simultaneously distancing herself from Killian and essentially solidifying a future that was likely to have him in it.)

Emma hadn’t even planned on saying yes. She opened her mouth expecting to hear her usual excuses and then the affirmative just slipped right off her tongue. But when it was out, she finally felt right. She was upsetting the easy routine that was her life in Storybrooke but it didn’t feel as scary anymore (perhaps because Killian had already upset it and it hadn’t turned out so bad… at least not yet). Feeling excited at the prospect of change wasn’t something she was familiar with, the only changes in her life before being born out of fear.

Her married friends broke out in big grins, David exclaiming, “You’ll start on Monday!” (which will probably be fine since she’d informed Belle of this possibility a couple weeks ago and her boss had someone on the wings to start part-time) and Mary Margaret getting excited enough to ask David if they could share their big news too.

“I’m pregnant!” Mary Margaret confirmed Emma’s previous suspicions after getting David’s approval. “We’re waiting to tell everyone but with you accepting David’s offer, it just felt like you were saying yes to being a part of our family too. Sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense and is totally sappy but-,” she took a breath, wiping at her teary eyes and was interrupted by Emma’s hug before she could continue.

Mary Margaret had told her she felt like Emma was family and while she was very excited by the couple’s baby news, this news held even more meaning to her. “I’m so happy!” she said and, for the first time in her life, really meant it.

(And then David ruined the moment by making some lame joke about the baby calling her “Auntie Em” like in The Wizard of Oz.)

(He was going to be a really good dad.)

As she walked the stairs back down to her apartment, she debated whether or not she should walk to Killian’s house to tell him she took the job but she was too afraid to make it into a huge deal, too afraid she’d psych herself out about it.

When she reached the last stair, she unlocked her door and then locked it (and something else) right back up behind her.

Unable to sleep that night (she hadn’t slept all that well since that night with Killian), she ran her eyes across the small shelf that that held all of her favorite books, stopping on his and thinking about the fact that she’d kissed the man that had written them. But the Killian Jones on the spines didn’t feel like the same Killian Jones emblazoning its way across her heart.

And yet it did.

Emma knew that her decision to not tell Killian upset him because on Monday when David walked her past Graham (Storybrooke’s only deputy) to her own desk (nameplate and all), she found a to-go cup from Granny’s (she deducted it as hot chocolate after a sniff), a single pink flower, and a small card that read, ‘Belle told me the good news. I’m glad you decided to take the job and I’m proud of you, Swan. You’ll be great,’ lying atop it right in the center.

And while that might not have sounded like something an upset person would have done, Emma knew that if Killian wasn’t at least a little disappointed, he probably would have shown right up to her door to congratulate her in person with the hot chocolate and flower.

Belle had given her the weekend off as a little rest before they began the new schedule on Monday (an older lady who wanted something to occupy her time would take the morning shift and then Emma would take the afternoon after she finished at the station) (she wasn’t ready to fully let go of her daily refuge yet) so Killian must have gone in on Saturday expecting to see her and received the news from Belle instead.

But she didn’t have time to worry about how she’d made Killian feel because David was excitedly pulling files out of cabinets and showing her how to log them into the station’s new computer system. And she was tap tap tapping away on the clunky keyboard on her desk and answering calls from Leroy about a missing garden hose.

So she couldn’t switch her focus back to the man until she’d clocked out, left the building, and caught sight of him from down the road leaving the library and heading towards the docks.

Emma thought maybe she would have apologized to him with the excuse that it was such a small deal that she didn’t want to make a fuss about it but now she’d seen that he still went to the library (which she was glad about, didn’t want to be the only reason he had gone) and had left just before she was due to be there.

Killian was really avoiding her. And even though she had done the same to him first, it still felt like a betrayal, like it wasn’t hard to let what they had go, let her go.

Her heart was just wired like that.

Working in the library that day didn’t feel as comforting as it once did.

After that, she didn’t see him for a couple of weeks, but she knew he was still around, knew he had opportunities to visit her but chose not to because she’d see him walking to or from the library with the collar of his leather jacket pulled up to ward off the wind and David sometimes walked her out of the building at the end of her shift with plans to go meet Killian for lunch.

She would wonder why he wouldn’t just bring lunch to the station and eat with David in his office like Mary Margaret sometimes did. Figured it was probably because of her. If he couldn’t even bear to see her for a minute at the beginning of her shift at the library, why would he have gone to the station?

Either she was hiding her emotions well or Mary Margaret and David were too wrapped up in their happy secret that they didn’t notice that something wasn’t right with her because they never said anything.

Emma barely stopped thinking about their kiss. She swore her lips still tingled a little bit if she thought about it hard enough.

(Most of the time she tricked herself into believing it was better this way, better for the stability of the life she’d built here, better for the protection of her heart and other times, well… let’s just say she started rereading his series at night to feel closer to him again and she hated herself a little bit for it.)

It wasn’t until she finally unstuck the bottom drawer of her desk and found a picture of a teenage-looking Killian and a man with his same blue eyes and a couple years on him that she realized she sat at Liam Jones’ former desk and that it was probably pretty painful for Killian to walk in here and not find his brother.

And it wasn’t until she was reshelving a book about ship repair that she found out Killian hadn’t been in the library in the afternoons because he’d gotten a job down at the shipyard that same weekend she’d taken David’s job offer.

(“Killian needed to brush up on a couple repairs this morning. I think he missed working on the ships,” Belle had said and, at Emma’s confused look, added, “Didn’t he tell you he had gotten his old job back at the shipyard? I thought he was going to see you on that Saturday you had off.”)

So he hadn’t told her about his job because she hadn’t told him about hers. But it still hurt that he just let her believe he didn’t want to see her. And yet she knew he still cared because if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have sent her that flower and note. Except, she had only assumed those things were from him because the sender would have addressed her as ‘Swan’. It hadn’t been signed ‘Killian’. At least she didn’t think so.

When she got home, Emma flipped open Sailing the Skies (where she’d stashed the card for safe keeping) to inspect it and found that no, it hadn’t been signed but then she flipped it over and gave herself a big old facepalm. She hadn’t realized he had finished his note on the back, hadn’t realized the punctuation after “You’ll be great” was a comma and not a period.

The back of the card read, ‘I’m sure of it. I’m sorry we won’t see as much of each other, as I’ve gotten a job down at the shipyard in the afternoons. But here’s my number and you know where I live. Killian.’

So it was all some huge misunderstanding and he probably thought she was avoiding him as much as she thought he was avoiding her.

And yet she still didn’t go see him, still didn’t call him even though she had his number now.

She was too afraid she had hurt him, that he wouldn’t want to see her after all this time.

It wasn’t until his fan site sent her that article (she’d forgotten she’d subscribed, the last time they’d sent her something was to announce the release of Finally Taking to Land) that she went to see him.

Killian had begun to feel like just her favorite author again, like those two weeks were just some fantasy she had dreamt up.

But after reading that article, she remembered that he was an author she could yell at, that he was a man she knew personally who hadn’t told her this incredible news.

It was 1:30 am on a Thursday when she’d thrown on a sweater over her sweatshirt and leggings and stomped her way down to his house, forgetting she had a car she could have driven in her haste. But she thought it was worth warding off the early spring chill to hear the angry clacks her flip flops made on the sidewalk.

When she reached Killian’s fence she’d thrown her shoulders back and walked confidently up the stairs of his wraparound porch and just as she’d been about to bring her hand down into a hard pound on his door, his voice cut through the night.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?” Emma whipped her head to the right and found him gently swaying in the center of his porch swing. He was barefoot and wearing loose sweatpants and an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt (in his usual dark color scheme), balancing a beer on his knee, and he would look totally relaxed if not for the look on his face, a look that made him seem like he was desperately holding himself back from hoping.

She almost lost her nerve at that look but caught herself. “Sailing the Skies is being adapted into a movie?” Her voice was loud enough to cause the crickets to halt their chirping.

“Ah, this is one of those ‘fangirl’ appearances you warned me about,” he said, dropping his eyes. She hadn’t even realized how late it was. Or actually how early. It made her wonder why he was out here and not in bed. Oh God, this was the first she’d spoken to him and weeks and she was about to wake him up and drag him out of bed just to yell at him. Why was she like this?

“Sorry. I hadn’t… I didn’t realize…” her stunted apologies just kept coming so she got right to the reason she was here, wanted to make this short so she was out of his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Killian let out a bitter chuckle at that, started scraping at the edges of the top label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail. “Sorry, I should have known you would have wanted to be the first fan to know.”

That stung. But she kind of deserved it for how she’d treated him, unintentionally or not. And he had his walls too. It wasn’t fair of her to expect him to welcome her back without a little defense at first. It was why they understood each other so well.

Emma sighed and walked toward him, raising her eyebrows at him to silently ask his permission to sit. He scooted over. “I didn’t expect to be the first person to know. But I did want to be one of the first you told. Because it’s a huge deal for you and I thought maybe you would have wanted to share that with me. Someone who is proud of what you’ve accomplished, someone who cares about you.”

“Like you told me about taking the job at the station? Like you told me you didn’t want to speak to me again?” Killian was looking at her with wide eyes and a whole lot of hurt.

He deserved the truth. She trusted him with it. Trusted him to understand.

“I was too afraid that I would tell you and you would be really happy for me. I was afraid that you would really care and that I would like how that would feel,” Emma told him in a wobbly voice. His face softened a bit, his frown didn’t look as tight. “And I was avoiding you because I thought you were avoiding me. I didn’t know you’d written on the back of that card. I was too focused on realizing how much it probably upset you that I hadn’t told you. And when I finally discovered my mistake, I figured I had screwed everything up too badly already.”

She couldn’t face him confirming her last statement so she shifted her eyes down toward her hands where they were picking at a loose thread on the hem of her green sweater. But then Killian’s hand came into view too as he placed it gently over her wrist.

“Of course I was happy for you. I am happy for you. And I do care. Whether you say these things to my face or not, I will always care. I know you, Emma. And I can’t unknow you. I can’t uncare. So you didn’t screw everything up. I should have found a bigger card or drew a little arrow or something.”

The thought of a tiny arrow fixing weeks’ worth of misunderstanding made her let out a short laugh and meet his eyes again where she could see the edges of his smile crinkling their corners. “Yeah, an arrow probably would have been helpful.”

It was quiet for a few moments before he confessed, “You know, I haven’t told anyone about the movie yet.”

“Not even David?” He was Killian’s best friend. She thought for sure he’d told David on one of their lunch trips and passing the news onto her had just slipped the man’s mind.

“Not even David. When I first got the call a few days ago, the first thing I did was run home, ready to tell Liam. But then I got here and the house was empty. Being back in this town, working down at the shipyard like I did when I first graduated high school, hanging out with the Nolans again, getting to know you has just made me feel so much like the person I was before I lost him that for a moment I’d forgotten that he wasn’t here. And after I remembered that I couldn’t tell him, it hurt too much to tell anyone else.” His eyes had gone watery so she snatched up his hand and held it tight within hers and as they swung in the breeze, he shared the story of how he’d lost his older brother.

Nobody liked to talk about it, but Storybrooke wasn’t always as boring and peaceful as it was now. There was a period of time when Killian was in his late teens to early twenties when the town was being led by a corrupt mayor (the current mayor’s mother) (Regina was very different from Cora, Killian assured her). Liam was a deputy at this time and discovered the citizens’ tax dollars were lining someone’s pockets and suspected Cora. When he got too close to outing her, the woman set up a trap. Called the station and said she’d seen someone lurking in the woods surrounding her home. When Liam arrived, she shot him and then claimed she thought he was the person she’d seen outside, that he hadn’t announced himself.

But that “wasn’t bloody likely” because Liam was incredible at his job and wouldn’t have forgotten something so important. And more than that, Killian knew about the contents of the secret copies of all of Liam’s evidence he kept in a locked drawer in his home office. And it was a good thing because when another cop went looking for the files at the station, they had miraculously disappeared. And since the woman hadn’t known about the secret copies or the secret help Liam had gotten from his fellow deputy or that he had recorded the exchange at Cora’s house that night, they were able to lock the woman up. She was in a state penitentiary a few hours out of town now.

Killian had been training with David to become deputies between his shifts at the shipyard-

(“Why did you start working at the shipyard again? Shouldn’t you be writing or something?”)

(“You sound like my agent. I missed being around the ships and the water. It’s where most of my inspiration comes from anyways.”)

-at the time but after he lost his brother, he couldn’t bear living in Storybrooke without Liam, let alone walk into the station and not see him hunched over his desk, determination in his brow. Upon later reflection, he realized he never really wanted to become a cop anyways, just wanted to be like his older brother.

(“So that’s why you never came in when you had lunch plans with David? Not because you didn’t want to see me?”)

(“Have you been keeping tabs on me, love?… Aye. When I dropped those gifts off on your first day, I went early and waited outside the building for David to get there. But I almost went in. Looked through the window first. Everything was just much too unchanged. It looks exactly the same. Even the desks haven’t moved an inch.”)

(“Which reminds me. I think I have Liam’s old desk. I found a picture of the two of you in one of the drawers. I can bring it to you if you’d like.”)

(“I’d love that, Swan. Thank you.”)

So, he’d left town for Ireland (even with David and Mary Margaret begging him to stay), a thirst for revenge sitting heavy on his tongue, anger gritting his teeth.

And when he’d gotten drunk one night about a year later and began typing on his laptop about a boy, and a flying ship, and an adventure (the first time he’d written since Liam’s passing), he’d realized that writing was the only thing that would get him over those emotions (his characters took on all his fight).

(“Liam had always instilled in me the idea that the pen was mightier than the sword.”)

And when he finished his tale, Emma didn’t apologize for his loss or share a sad story of her own because she knew that wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was the company of someone who understood on this lonely porch of this even lonelier house.

So she entwined their fingers and laid her head against his shoulder, sat in the cool night until her eyelids began to droop and goosebumps formed on her skin.

At her yawn, Killian shifted and told her she should head back to her apartment and get some sleep. And when she asked if he ever slept, he replied, “I usually sit out here until I can’t keep my eyes open and then go straight to bed.”

That sounded so incredibly heartbreaking to her that she almost offered to stay with him. But she wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

Instead, she let him walk her to his front gate and when he offered to walk her home, she turned him down, wanting the solitude to give her some space to think. She had a lot to think about.

“Again, I’m sorry for all the weird avoidance. And for charging up to your door in the middle of the night like a crazy person,” Emma apologized with a small laugh, shuffling her feet and crossing her arms so she wouldn’t wrap them around him.

Killian looked ethereal in the moonlight shining down on them through the clear sky, maybe even like a dark fairy with his slightly pointed ears. When he shot her a genuine smile, she swore it was a little magical. “It was sort of a group effort, love, so don’t worry yourself over it. And feel free to stop by in the middle of the night anytime, whatever your motive is,” he gave her a wink. Then took on a more serious tone. “I mean it. As you can see, I’m usually up anyways.”

“Okay.” She turned to leave but then stopped to look back at him and add, “Seriously, congratulations on the movie. I’m glad more people are going to be able to experience the story you created. And you know I’m going to be one of the first to see it.”

“Thank you, Emma.” She nodded and took a step toward town but stopped again at his voice. “And there won’t be any more avoiding? Or did you want to try to start over again?”

His question made Emma think of his words from earlier and how much he’d opened up to her. “No more avoiding,” she confirmed. “And we can’t start over because we can’t unknow each other. Besides, I don’t want to start over. I think I like where we are right now.”

Killian ducked his head and looked up at her through his eyelashes, seemingly in an attempt to hide the excited smile she could just catch the edges of.

That’s when she finally took her leave.

And while she walked, she found that her steps were more steady and solid than they’d ever been the past year, because that “walking on eggshells” feeling she’d always had in Storybrooke had weakened after her time with Killian.

Emma had been trying desperately to hold on to the serenity of the perfection of this town but after hearing Killian’s story, she’d learned that it was never perfect to begin with and that every place, every person, everything had at least a little darkness in them.

And if she could find the closest thing she’d ever felt to security, peace, a home in a place like this, finding something similar in Killian (hypothetically, of course) couldn’t be so bad. Right?

Emma’s life became a whole lot busier than she was used to after that night, mostly by her choice.

She’d finished with the new filing system so her shifts at the station slowly became more training oriented. She’d ride with Graham out on patrol or listen to David as he explained different protocols or sit with both of them as they went through the arrest process and complained about the worst ones they’d had to deal with.

Her shifts at the library were basically the same, but her brain was filled with so many more prospects and plans that loading books on and off of shelves seemed weirdly hectic.

She’d spend most of her evenings with Killian (always making her worry that she was keeping him from his writing) (It was his career after all.), either reading together at the library after they got off work, or having dinner while watching TV at her place.

On one of those nights, when none of their shows were on and he was looking at her particularly intensely over his Chinese in the quiet of her apartment, she decided it was time to share a piece of herself with him.

She showed him an article from twenty-eight years ago that detailed a story of a baby found abandoned on the side of a road in Maine wrapped only in a baby blanket stitched with the name Emma. An article that detailed her beginning, detailed the reason her abandonment issues began.

And when she showed him the blanket that she’d kept all these years, he held it gently and traced his pointer finger reverently over each letter of her name. Emma swore she could almost feel that finger tracing over her heart.

But they were friends, even though she always felt that kiss sitting heavy between them, neither one mentioning it. Not once. Maybe they both just needed time.

Or maybe Emma was just far too stubborn to be the one to broach the subject. Things were good how they were. She would need to ease into a change like that.

That didn’t mean she didn’t care for Killian more than she usually cared about friends (even though she tried to deny it with all she had).

In fact, she cared so much that the nights she wasn’t with him, she was down at the station redecorating. Redecorating. She couldn’t believe it either.

While she couldn’t do a whole lot with her budget and specific regulations, she repainted the white walls a soft, pale yellow, cleaned off all the bulletin boards (there were seriously flyers from years ago), moved all of the filing cabinets so they sat together on one wall, rearranged the desks in a much less crammed fashioned and, most importantly in her mind (and the most nerve-wracking), she had a bigger, nicer plaque (apparently the station already had one but it was small and half-hidden behind a tall stack of boxes in the main room) made for Liam Jones and hung it on the wall beside the front windows right where his desk used to sit.

But Emma never told Killian what she’d been doing because she didn’t want to make him feel obligated to come in and see it if he wasn’t ready. She just wanted to make the space feel different and less daunting if he ever had a reason to stop by the station.

David loved the idea and loved the results of her project, and when Mary Margaret came to see it, she got so excited she made Emma promise to help paint and decorate their baby’s nursery even though she’d already roped her into helping decorate for their party at that week where they planned to announce their pregnancy.

And apparently one of them loved it enough to spill the beans (probably Mary Margaret) to Killian because the next morning when David was out on patrol and Graham was out on a call, she heard apprehensive footsteps rounding the corner and looked up to find him standing there taking in the room with a disbelieving eye. He hadn’t quite entered the room completely, like he wanted to be able to escape as soon as possible if it became too much (that made a lot of sense to her).

When Killian finally finished scanning the room, he turned his gaze on her. It made her flush and shoot nervously up to her feet.

“You did this?” he asked her, gesturing around the room with his hand. And now that he was here, she was second-guessing herself. Maybe she made it worse for him to see this place.

“Yeah. I can change it back if you ha-,” He stopped her before she could finish.

“No, no, no,” Killian took quick steps toward her in time with his words. “It’s incredible, Emma. It looks really nice. It’s completely different.” At her panicked eyes, he laid his hands against her upper arms and continued. “That’s a good thing. I don’t feel like I want to shove my fist through the wall. And I hope no one else ever does. That’s a gorgeous color.”

She sees him glance towards her hair and knows he’s noticing the shade isn’t too far off from it.

“I just thought that if there was ever a day where you had an emergency or wanted to come in to see David-,” Emma stopped when Killian cut in.

“Or you.” He added with confidence. She had to finish her sentence through a smile.

“-or me, a new setup might make it easier. But I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come see it if you weren’t ready.”

“Aye, well, as you probably know, Mary Margaret is pretty bloody terrible at keeping secrets. Plus, I’ve been trying to build up the courage to visit the place, anyways. I figured the redecoration had to have made it somewhat easier, that and you being here.” He shifted his eyes downward to watch as his hands slid down her arms to clasp her hands, but her eyes were firmly glued to the plaque on the wall behind him.

Emma was still nervous about his reaction to that, wasn’t sure if he’d noticed it during his first once-over.

Killian followed her gaze when he caught her. And then she followed him as he took slow steps toward that picture of his brother.

He was quiet and still for a while, only moving to lift his hand and run a finger down the edge of it, and she was sure he hated it, so she tried to explain herself. “The other plaque wasn’t in the best shape and I thought he deserved a much nicer one. Hanging it over the place he used to sit seemed like the right placement for it. But I can take it down or move it or you can have it. I just want to do the best thing here.”

(She wanted to lift some of that pain off of his shoulders.)

There were tears pooling in his eyes when he half-turned to look back at her. “Swan, it’s perfect. You’re correct. This is indeed where it should be. Of course, Liam would have bloody well hated the attention it brought to him, but he deserves to be honored in some way. Thank you. Truly.” A tear slipped loose at his final word and Killian quickly whipped back around to hide it from her.

Crying was a vulnerable thing to do in front of someone and Emma wanted him to know that he could trust her with his tears so she stepped up beside him and took his hand.

She’d never had so much appreciation and adoration aimed at her than she did when he turned toward her and swept her into a hug, one arm over her shoulder and the other around her waist. After a moment and a deep, steadying breath, she returned his embrace.

Gently, his fingers began threading through the hair hanging down her back and she relaxed even more, angling her face into his collar and breathing in the scent that had become so familiar, so comforting to her.

They held each other for what seemed like ages and yet when he began to pull back, she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Perhaps Killian wasn’t either because he didn’t remove his arms from around her, only arched backward enough to meet her eyes.

In Killian’s third book, there was a part where he described this feeling a person gets when they sense a big shift coming, a turning point. He said that even if there isn’t a huge catalyst of a warning, your body just knows, you can feel a humming in your bones, your feet itch to round the corner and figure out what this change will be, your eyes strain to notice anything different. But most prominent of all, your heart seems to pound quicker and slower at the same time.

Emma had related to that feeling when she first read that book, but she had never experienced it as strongly as she had in this moment.

He hadn’t warned her that it could be so overwhelming that she’d lose her breath.

Perhaps that was the reason she ducked her head when she was positive he was going to kiss her. It certainly wasn’t because she didn’t want him to kiss her.

Somehow, she sort of believed he knew what was going on in her mind, could read the words she was thinking of through the crown of her head because he took a step backward, not leaving, just giving space. (She really didn’t want him to leave.)

A ray of sunlight slipped low enough to poke perfectly through the branches of the tree in the yard to glare into the window and over the spot where they were standing.

“It’s a beautiful day for sailing. I was thinking about taking the boat out this evening if you’d care to join me?” Looking at Killian, she could see that he hadn’t really been thinking about it before but she was glad he was now.

Maybe it was because she felt a little bit like she was going to be living out a part of her favorite books or, more likely, it was because she craved the experience of another side of him, craved his presence beside her, craved the shift she sensed, but she was excited at the idea.

“I’d like that. Will Charlie be there?”

Emma stared in her mirror and contemplated taking the necklace off. Bringing her fingers up to touch it, she felt the ridges of the upraised swan rubbing against the pad of her pointer.

It had started as a keychain when Neal bought it for her all those years ago but after he abandoned her with the watch he stole to be arrested, she removed the pendant and slid it onto a chain that would fit around her neck.

She wore it every day (usually tucked under her shirt so no one would ask about it) to serve as a reminder. A reminder of what placing her trust, her heart, into the hands of another person could do.

Tonight was the first time she’d felt inclined to remove it. And it wasn’t just because of the lower neckline of the flowy, powder blue dress she’d decided to wear for her outing with Killian.

It was because she almost felt like maybe she didn’t have to worry about what it stood for when she was with him.

But still. She hesitated. And that moment of hesitation was long enough for a soft rap to sound at the door of her apartment.

So Emma left the necklace resting in the center of her chest, floofed her curled locks over her shoulders, slipped on her strappy sandals, and made her way toward the noise.

By the time she opened the door, the man on the other side was poised to knock again so his fist hung in the air between them as they took in the appearance of one another.

Killian was wearing a dark button down (that she could see had a paisley print in a certain light) rolled to his elbows, straight, dark jeans, a shiny pair of black dress shoes, and an awestruck expression.

His fist lowered down to his side, now giving her a view of the chest he always had exposed (though tonight it wasn’t on display as much as it usually was, there weren’t as many buttons undone), the light dusting of dark hair there, and his other hand pushed into the space separating them holding the same kind of pink flower he’d given her that first day at the station.

“You’re a vision, Swan,” he breathed as she plucked the flower from his grip.

Emma delicately placed it into the vase that rested upon the table beside her door, making a note to add some water when she got home. “You look pretty dashing yourself.”

Her appraisal brought a big smirk to his mouth, as they’d had a few conversations about how he fancied himself a pirate and descriptors like dashing, charming, rapscallion (she found it ridiculous but endearing all the same, seeing that his main character inherited quite of few of the author’s traits).

The walk toward the docks was quiet but exciting, shy smiles, quick footsteps, and hand brushes filling up the silence. For the first time in a long time, Emma felt the thrill of nerves she used to get around a crush when she was a kid. But, upon reflection, she realized she wasn’t nervous that she would do something embarrassing and lose his attention, she was nervous he would let her kiss him, nervous her feelings for him would grow even deeper and take root, nervous those things would freak her out and make her run.

In the time she’d known him, Killian had never shown her his boat, so it was a little magical when they came upon it. Because it had always been docked here. She was familiar with the name painted on the side (though now the letters of The Jewel seemed to be repainted) and the towering mass of it, had seen them on the walks she sometimes took down to the water, admired the way the waves and sun reflected off of the shiny body.

“This will be my first time on the old girl since… well. I’ve missed her. She’s a marvel, isn’t she?” Killian sounded passionate as he helped her up onto the deck and strode around readying it for sail, his short hair flipping a little on the breeze. She stood on the edge out of the way and watched, the words he’d written about a boy who loved being out on open water ringing in her head.

Charlie traveled the deck toward the wheel, a confidence in his step that hadn’t been there before the Captain took him under his wing. He only wished the man who had become his closest friend was here to see him now. Although, he probably would have teased him for the way his eyes never seemed to stray too long from the woman standing near the prow and the way her long, red waves flew wildly with the wind. It seemed he was partial toward waves, whether they were the ocean’s or Layna’s.

“Not to worry though, Swan. I’m not out of practice. The Jewel is just far superior to the others I sailed the last few years. You never forget your first,” he said, stopping in front of her just so she could catch his wink.

“Well, this is my first time on a boat so I hope it’s pretty memorable.”

It’s not often that a reader gets to experience what it’s like to live inside their favorite story for a moment, besides only picturing it inside their mind. Sometimes it almost comes close if an author’s words are descriptive and transporting enough, but even then you can’t see the real thing with your eyes or feel it on your skin.

So Emma was going to enjoy this.

She sat at the front of the deck with her head tilted back and her arms propping up her upper body and she used all of her senses to soak up the moment.

Her eyes took in the view of rippling water being met with sky at the farthest point out, an oranging sunset meeting dark teal ocean and if she turned around, she could see the town that had begun to change her as they hadn’t travelled too far out.

The scents of seawater and fresh spring wind mixed with the greasy smell of the grilled cheese, hamburgers, onion rings, and french fries whose wrappers sat on the blanket beside her to fill her nostrils.

The taste of those favorite foods of hers rested on her tongue.

Emma could hear the sloshing of waves and the quieter sound of the sails billowing gently in the air above her.

Her skin seemed to experience the most. The palms of her hands pressed into smooth wood. Her exposed legs bathed in the last tendrils of warmth the evening had to offer. The scalp of Emma’s head was tugged every so often with her flowing locks getting caught on a stray breeze. A long-lasting smile pulled her cheeks taut. Most prominent of all, she could feel Killian’s eyes on every inch of her, causing goosebumps to rise.

“Are you enjoying yourself, love?” He asked her after many minutes of silence. She really, really was.

“I am. I feel like I’m Charlie relaxing after a big adventure. Or maybe it would be before. He’s always in between them, isn’t he?”

“Does that make me Layna, then?” He raised a teasing eyebrow at her.

“I don’t think your hair’s long enough.” Her reply nudged forth sweet chuckles from them both and Emma felt a piece of this night click right into her heart. But she hadn’t realized her walls were down enough for that to be possible. That thought brought her hand unbidden to the pendant around her neck.

Apparently that brought his attention to it.

“I always wondered what was on the chain you wear. A swan for a swan, eh?” Emma could only smile in return, hadn’t figured out how to voice the Neal story. At her silence, he continued, “I wear one too. A chain. Mine has a ring on it. Liam called it his lucky sailing ring. Said it brought good weather.”

He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a silver band with a circular ruby gem. She hadn’t noticed the chain before with his shirt buttoned more than it usually was. Killian held it out so she could see but kept his gaze out toward the open water.

“I took up his habit of wearing it sailing after he passed. I sometimes even wear it when I need a bit of confidence. Gods know I need all the bloody luck I can get.” At his last sentence, his tone took on a sad, dark note and when she brought her eyes to his face, she could see he was remembering something terrible, something other than his brother’s death. Emma wondered what else he could have possibly endured.

“He told me he got it from our mother when our father took them sailing before I was born. The man himself never extended that kindness to me. Liam fell in love with sailing during that single trip so he learned and then passed that love onto me when I was old enough. I suppose it runs in our blood.” She couldn’t tell if he was proud of that or hated it, probably a little of both. “We got a lot of use out of this thing when we moved here and found this lovely lass,” he finished with a loving pat to the deck beneath them.

“Mine isn’t exactly lucky. The reason I have it certainly isn’t at least,” Emma began. “It started off as a keychain. A stolen keychain.”

She told him that it wasn’t the only stolen thing she owned. The first time she’d seen the little yellow car she drove, she had to have it. Not just because she needed a convenient object in which she could both travel and sleep. It was because its bright color almost seemed to symbolize its ability to take her somewhere better, somewhere without the darkness she felt bogging her down in Portland.

So she attempted to steal it. The only problem was that someone had already stolen it. The man who popped up from the backseat and almost caused her to swerve off the road. She’d found it romantic at the time, so she didn’t mind very much that she’d have to share her find.

Neal wasn’t exactly charming, but Emma related to him in so many ways (both orphans, both running away, both stealing to get by) that she quickly formed a strong bond with him that developed into the only kind of love she’d felt in her eighteen years.

They did all of their stealing together after that, even snuck into musty motel rooms so they could have more room than the back seat of the bug. And while she and Neal enjoyed referring to themselves as Bonnie and Clyde sometimes, she never thought about the tragic ending they were bound to face if that was who they were.

Neal stole the keychain for Emma from a small shop not long before their relationship ended, not long before he abandoned her just like the rest of the people who were supposed to love her. Only his abandonment was worse because it came with a betrayal, a jail sentence for his stolen watches that were supposed to take them to Tallahassee for a new beginning.

After she was released, she discovered that Neal had felt guilty enough to leave her the car at least, had found the swan keychain hanging off of the keyring.

The pendant followed her through her long period of anger. The period in which she stole risky things for fun instead of out of necessity and skipped court dates and sped down highways (which was probably why her car didn’t make the prettiest noises anymore).

It followed her through her self-retribution stage when she’d spend her nights at the bar trying to trap bail skippers and spend her days chasing down bail skippers and use up her free time searching for bail skippers. Emma craved the ache in her legs when she ran in her heals, the twinge in her heart that came after a skip threw her hurt in her face, the bone-deep exhaustion that weighed her down after a difficult chase, the loneliness she forced herself to feel as she sipped a beer in a corner by herself.

It followed her when she worked herself so hard for so long that the very thought of looking up the name of her next skip made her collapse into a fit of Is this it? and How much longer will I have to fight until I find what I’ve always been searching for?.

Lastly, it followed her in her search to find the peace she’d been longing for, the healing and quiet her heart had always needed. It followed her to Storybrooke, to the library, to his books, to Granny’s Diner.

All the while, it reminded her of the risk she would be taking if she ever tried to find those things in another person.

“Sometimes I wonder if falling in love with him was even worth it. Wouldn’t things be better if I hadn’t met him?” Emma finished her story with questions she didn’t expect Killian to answer. But he did.

“I felt that same way after I lost Milah.” His hand reached over to rub at the tattoo on his right forearm. The pain in his voice told her that this was that other terrible thing. Emma sat up straighter and placed her hand over his like she did that night on his porch.

“I met her in a pub four years ago while I was travelling. She had this excited sense of adventure just waiting to escape. She took me all over that town showing me around. We went sailing a few times too but she didn’t really enjoy it as much as I did. Milah wanted to do the moving, not sit on something else while it did it for her.” Killian’s teeth just barely snuck through his lips when he smiled and looked toward the darkening sky.

“I didn’t find out she was married until a few weeks after the affair started. Said she resented her husband for his cowardice at work, that he wouldn’t take any chances even if it meant making a better life for them. She’d long before fallen out of love with him. And she told me she waited to tell me until she was ready to leave him, had divorce papers drawn up and everything. So we planned to leave town together the following week but when the day came, her husband called and said he’d finally asked for a promotion at work and had gotten it and would be home early to celebrate.

“So Milah called me and frantically explained while she finished packing her bag. She was in a rush because she didn’t want to be there when he saw the papers. The skies were dumping rain that day and I could hear the thunder rumbling over the receiver when she got into her car. I made her hang up so she wouldn’t be even more distracted while she drove to meet me. Told her to be careful, that I loved her. But she never made it. Her car slipped off the road.

“All I could think about afterward was how much I wished I’d given her Liam’s ring. I couldn’t even go to the funeral because I wouldn’t be able to explain who I was to her loved ones. And I blamed myself for her death. If she hadn’t have met me, she wouldn’t have been leaving her husband and she wouldn’t have been driving that night. I left town a few days later. I’d been there for five months, the longest I’d ever stayed anywhere during the time. I poured myself even more into my writing, started calling David twice a week to talk.

“Even though I feel incredibly guilty for it, I can’t bring myself to regret loving her. My love for her got her through tough times with her husband and made her feel free again. And her love for me healed parts of me and made me feel happy again. We couldn’t have known how it would end. We both needed to feel that love at that time in our lives so I don’t regret it. I only regret how we went about our plans to leave.

“So, while I hate that Neal abandoned you like that and I’m sure you do too, wouldn’t you say you needed that love at that time?” At that, Emma nodded while hating that he’d had to lose another person he’d loved. “You learned from it and it eventually brought you here to this beautiful night under a clear sky out on a calm sea,” Killian told her while lying back on the blanket to look up at said sky. “Regret how it ended but never regret feeling love, being loved. Love is far too rare.”

Hearing him speak like that reminded her why she’d felt so comforted in his books. It reminded her that he understood the different forms pain presented itself in and the difficult things it made us feel and do.

She slowly laid down next to him to remind him that she understood too.

Killian seemed to want to lighten the mood a touch so he pointed out a few constellations in the sky as the stars began popping through the darkness. Hazy moonlight shone over his face when Emma turned her head to watch him.

“Thank you for tonight,” she whispered to him after he’d finished speaking. She wasn’t prepared for him to turn his face to look at her and the close proximity of their noses made her a little flustered. “Even though the talk was a little heavy for a first date.” She cringed before the final word could even leave her lips.

“A date? This is a date?” Killian asked, but his shit-eating grin said a date was exactly what he had hoped this was. Her cheeks tinged slightly red and she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Come now, Swan, it’s alright. I consider that first night at your place with the spiked hot chocolate our first date anyways.” That, and the poke he gave her waist made her let out a giggle, surprising them both. She had to have been a child the last time she’d let out a sound like that.

Killian shifted so his whole body faced her and propped his head up in his hand with his elbow to the deck. When he looked down at her, his face became her clear sky, his eyes her stars, his mouth her moon. “I wish I could capture that sound in words.”

“Would you settle for capturing it with your lips?” Her giggle this time was shy, quieter, mostly caused by the fact that she couldn’t believe she’d said something like that. It was corny. It was something he’d say.

So naturally, he loved it.

“Aye, I think that could work quite well.”

Even with the invitation, he waited. Just smiled gently at Emma until she brought her hands up to cup his face. Killian’s stubble poked at her palms as she pulled his face down to her.

Their kiss wasn’t fiery like the last one, wasn’t fueled by the tension of a challenge. This one was gentle, a slow slide of lips that made her feel the little tingles at the base her chest that Charlie felt after he first kissed Layna.

His hand came up to wrap one of her curls around his finger and in return, all of her fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head.

The hair there felt so soft that she brought her other hand up to push through the longer strands on the top of his head. And though Killian’s hands were calloused from years of sailing, the pad of his thumb felt incredibly soft too when he thumbed at her chin. His sleeves were soft as they brushed against the bare skin of her arms and the skin on tip of his nose was soft when it nudged the tip of hers.

Everything was just so soft. Calming. Peaceful.

And though the blanket and the ocean were both underneath her, she felt as if she was wrapped up and floating in warm waves.

Peaceful.

The sail back to the docks was peaceful too. And the walk to his house.

What happened when they got inside was also peaceful just in a more exciting way.

All it had taken was a single question and reply to make the shift.

The question was Emma’s, asked after she’d spotted the typewriter (because of course he had one) sitting on a desk in his living room.

“Have you been writing anything new?”

Killian’s answer came from close behind her, swift and sincere.

“I was waiting to see how this story played out first.”

In a moment, Emma was turned around, her lips crashing a little wildly against Killian’s, her legs pushing them toward the couch. When they reached it, she nudged him down onto it and pulled the hem of her dress a few inches up her thighs to straddle his legs.

His lips, a smidge chapped from their earlier kiss, were parted in a surprised ‘o’ when she dove back in. These kisses were wet and open-mouthed, definitely fiery but in a more passionate way.

It felt right to sit in Killian’s lap and press down gently against him with her hips, right to grab at the collar of his shirt to keep him right where she wanted him, right to slip her tongue just slightly past his lips.

But it also felt like Emma could forget about protecting her heart and worrying over her urge to run.

So she moved her fingers down to pop open the buttons of his shirt.

Killian seemed almost reluctant as he pulled back from her, their separating lips making a noise that had her squirming a little and pushing her fingers to work faster.

He pressed his hand over both of hers to halt their movement. When she looked up at him with an eyebrow raised in question, he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” It made her stop and think and, wow, she usually never had to be reminded of that. “Not that I don’t want to do this with you. I just want you to be ready. And to do it for the right reasons. It’s been an emotional night.”

Yeah, Emma had changed enough that she wouldn’t panic over the kisses they’d been sharing, but she couldn’t be positive she wouldn’t freak out and skip town immediately if she slept with him tonight.

Dropping her hands, she maneuvered herself to get up. “You’re probably right.”

Hands shot out to grab at her waist right before she went to flip her leg off of him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. It’s late and I don’t want to say goodbye. So… stay?”

Turned out that Emma’s clothes did come off that night, but only so she could change into a pair of his baggy sweats and a t-shirt that had been worn soft.

Killian offered her his bed, saying he’d take Liam’s old room. But she knew he really didn’t want to do that and would wind up with a sore back from sleeping on his couch downstairs. His bed was king-sized and she didn’t want to say goodbye either, even to move to another room.

“No. We’ll share. I know you’re a gentleman. I promise to be one too.” Emma wiggled her fingers at him and crawled into her side of the bed, noticing how much more comfortable it was than her own.

With a final look at her, as if to say, “You’re positive?”, he crawled in next to her. Knowing she wouldn’t fall asleep with the excited nerves that came with lying next to him, she had an idea.

“Will you read to me again?” Killian propped placed his hands behind his head and settled in with a little wiggle.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time…”

Waking usually came with a little nausea and a lot of drowsiness for Emma, but it had been a while since she’d woken with a familiar urge stuck in her gut. She hadn’t missed it but before she’d even opened her eyes, she could feel it.

However, it was merely tickling at her and it wasn’t intense enough to vacate the warm comfort she was surrounded by. It wasn’t until she blearily blinked her eyes open that she realized why it was there.

The first thing she saw was Killian facing her from across his bed. A smile pulled at her lips at the slackness of his jaw and the soft snores emanating from his throat, but never reached its full size due to the tickle giving her a little twinge. It was telling her to get her ass up and run.

Grabbing her phone to check the time, she remembered that she hadn’t set her alarm and had to go if she didn’t want to be late.

Quickly and quietly, she slipped into his bathroom and changed, left his clothes folded back up on his bed, made sure she shut the front door quietly enough not to wake him (partly because she didn’t know how to handle speaking to him right now but mostly because she wasn’t positive how long it had been since he’d slept so deeply like that).

Only then did she run. Just to her apartment though. Not out of town. Not for the hills.

She could push through it, she knew it.

Especially since she hadn’t even really worried about having forgotten her necklace on Killian’s bedside table (she started taking it off at nights after she woke up one morning with an ugly indent in her cheek). In fact, Emma almost felt like she didn’t need it anymore, didn’t plan to ask Killian to bring it to her.

She could handle this change.

As the day progressed, Emma became less sure.

When she walked into the station right on time and without a coffee in her hand (which should have been a sign that her day would be stressful), David was standing at her desk with an excited smile on his face, reminding her that his and Mary Margaret’s baby announcement party was tonight and that she took the day off from the library to help prepare.

“Excited for your party tonight, David? You usually can’t manage more than a scowl until after lunch.” He was much like her in this way.

“No. Well, yes, I’m excited but that’s not why I’m smiling.” For a second, Emma worried that he’d found out about her night with Killian, though she wasn’t sure if he would be happy about it or not. But she would face this head on. She walked towards him until she stood right in front of him.

David reached for his back pocket, “Emma, I’d like to offer you a deputy position,” and held a badge out between them.

She knew this was coming sometime, had been training for the job and yet she was still shocked that it had happened. Her mouth was hanging open and her hand hovered over top of his.

The thing was, she wanted this promotion, had found a passion for the work she did the past few weeks, didn’t fear the permanency like she used to.

However, at his offer, her tickle progressed into a dull ache.

“So, do you want to be a deputy?” There was so much hope in his eyes at his question that she pushed through the feeling again.

Laying her hand over the badge in his told him she accepted, but she needed the words too. “Absolutely.”

Mary Margaret was so ecstatic that she cried so Emma accepted her hugs and excited praise while they decorated town hall with gold streamers, set out tables and chairs, and made bright fruit salad and punch. It was a lot of work since they’d of course invited practically everyone in town.

When the guests arrived and Emma discovered she could greet them all by name, it freaked her out and caused that urge to start bubbling.

Almost everyone was present by the time Killian showed up, but almost like magic, the crowd seemed to part and he was heading right toward her. Seeing him calmed her, centered her, helped her breathe around the feeling that seemed to be filling her up.

The expression on his face screamed relieved, like maybe he’d been afraid she ran. Emma figured he probably called or texted but her phone had been dead since 9:30 that morning.

Killian held her hands and it felt pretty perfect. “You look radiant, darling,” he complimented her, his eyes never leaving her face even though she’d thought he’d meant the dress. It was long sleeved and black with spring-colored flowers printed all over it, probably the prettiest thing she owned, purchased specifically for this party. Her hair was even in an intricate braid that she’d woven to put her mind on something else.

“Yeah, this dress is pretty great. You can thank Mary Margaret for forcing me to buy it.”

“Aye, the dress is great. Though I meant you.” Killian’s compliment brought her eyes up from where she’d been staring at the hem near her knees. “I would have enjoyed waking up to the sight of you this morning.”

“Sorry. Duty called.”

“Indeed. It does that,” he said with a chuckle.

And because she hadn’t shared her news last time and he really deserved to know, “Speaking of duty, David promo-,” Emma was cut off by Leroy’s booming voice telling everyone to “shut their pieholes”. He was a brusque man, that one.

Dragging Killian by the hand toward their table up front, Emma listened as the Nolans announced their special news from the small stage.

“We have an announcement everyone!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

“Are we getting another bench put in at the park?” A man’s voice. Probably one of Leroy’s gang.

It wouldn’t be surprising, Emma thought as she and Killian sat, if the woman had thrown a party for that purpose.

Mary Margaret ignored the comment. “David and I are having a baby!” The crowd went up in cheers and while Emma smiled happily, apparently she’d forgotten to feign surprise because Killian leaned over and nudged her arm.

“Did you already know, Swan?” She wondered why he’d even been looking at her anyways.

“Of course not,” she lied, her right shoulder shrugging in the tell he’d discovered the week prior.

“That’s not very fair. I’ll be having a long talk with David after this.” Emma patted his arm and laughed.

“There’s one other thing. Regarding the baby,” David quieted the crowd and looked to his wife. Were there two babies? That would be a surprise to both her and Killian at least.

Mary Margaret took over again, her eyes searching the crowd until they landed on her and the man sitting beside her. “Emma, Killian, will you come up here please?”

Confusion pushing at her brows, Emma looked toward Killian but he seemed to be in the same boat. They stood together and made the trek to the stage. Her face heated. She’d always hated being in front of crowds, especially when she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing. Killian’s hand at her lower back helped a bit but drew David’s attention, his eyes snapping back and forth between them.

They stood in front of their best friends as Mary Margaret announced, “We’d love for you to be the baby’s godparents!”

Woah, woah, woah. The deputy job was permanent in a sense but this was permanent. How could they spring this on her in front of everyone? Maybe they’d thought she was ready to be a part of their family for real and if she was honest, she couldn’t imagine not saying yes but now she felt like she had to say yes.

Of course the offer made her happy, but that feeling in her belly was bubbling now, distracting enough to keep her in her shocked stance until she saw Killian move to pull David into a back-slapping hug. Emma pulled Mary Margaret into a far gentler one (she was carrying her god baby after all).

“Of course.”

Killian still didn’t find out her news from her, much to her dismay.

After David told everyone to go eat, the couple spoke to them at the front of the room for a bit.

“Two promotions in one day, Emma! You’re moving on up!” Mary Margaret’s voice was loud enough to draw Killian’s attention.

“Don’t be mad. I tried to tell you about the deputy promotion when you first came in, but-,” Emma’s statement cut off in a grunt as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’m not mad, Emma. This is bloody fantastic news!” She wondered if he knew the implications of her acceptance while she pressed her face to the side of his neck. Everything always seemed to quiet when they touched.

The embrace didn’t last as long as she would’ve preferred though because she quickly pulled out of it after catching the way David was watching the back of Killian’s head, arms crossed, lips pursed, brow furrowed.

“Is there something I should know about?” Yeah, he was definitely ready to be a dad.

“Not sure what you mean, Davey.”

“I thought we settled the ‘Davey’ thing years ago… mate.”

“Perhaps not.”

Before Emma could blink, David had Killian in a playful headlock with his free fist mussing up his styled hair.

So maybe he still had a little work to do.

“So I can break the rules as long as I’m with the deputy?” Killian whispered near her ear while he watched her insert her key into the door of the library.

Emma had dragged him (was it considered dragging if he was very willing?) there after two hours of nervous fidgeting and attempts at choking down small bites of food. She needed to be close to him, to touch him, to be comforted by him and she figured doing so between those familiar shelves wouldn’t hurt.

She turned the key and pushed the door open, trusting him to close it and follow her to that dark corner in the back. “As long as you don’t mind the risk of getting handcuffed,” she called over her shoulder. His footsteps quickened behind her so she sped up a little to reach the spot before he got there.

She’d just pressed her back to the wall when she saw him round the shelf. “Darling, don’t tease!”

Arms outstretched and mouth upturned, she welcomed him eagerly. This entanglement was hungry, him looking to celebrate good news, her chasing that peaceful feeling moments like this had come to offer her.

The entire library was dark rather than solely this spot, since she hadn’t turned on the lights in hopes that they wouldn’t be caught, but the streetlights shining through the cracks in the blinds were enough.

All she could think was yes, this is exactly what I needed as he pressed his hips into hers and licked into her mouth, he makes things better as he grabbed at the thigh she’d hiked around his waist.

And still she craved more of it, finally had a peace she could wrap herself around and greedily pulled at it. Her hands found his shoulders, her blunt nails digging into the leather there and she used the leverage to hop up and wind her legs around his waist. Killian growled when their hips made contact.

He was to her giggle as she was to his growl.

Now as they kissed, she ground down against the hardness forming below his belt and relished in the feeling of it rubbing against the most sensitive part of her. She wanted his hands on her breasts but she also liked where they pressed against her ass to prop her up.

The breaths Emma took through her nostrils were deep and smelled like a candle made personally to her liking with hints of fruity breath, Killian, and book pages.

At a particularly aggressive push of her hips, he pulled back to breathe an, “Emma,” against her lips and all she could think was I love him. I love him, I love him…

“I lo-,” slipped from her freed mouth. She’d caught herself before she could finish, but still not nearly soon enough. Oh God, she loved him. She couldn’t handle another big change like that today. It was too much. “I left my necklace at your house this morning. Can we get it before you walk me back to my apartment?”

So affected by her ministrations, he could only nod in return and tilt his head back in for more. She pulled back enough to press her head flat against the wall so he’d look at her.

When he did, he was quick to understand. “Oh, now? Sure, love.” Killian placed her gently back on her feet but she was nowhere near steady.

In any sense of the word.

“Bad things come in threes,” one of her foster mothers had said after Emma and two of her foster siblings had come home bloody from a fight with the neighbor kids.

That saying was running on a loop through her mind as she walked beside Killian, her shoulders draped in the jacket she hadn’t even realized he’d placed over her.

Three huge changes that she was terrified of were handed to her today so that had to mean they were bad, right?

She could have handled the first two but that last one made it three and completed the saying.

The urge that presented itself to her that morning was now sizzling hot and wild right beneath her skin. She couldn’t ignore it or push through it anymore. Her only choice was to give in to it.

Her plan was to get her necklace, place it permanently around her neck, pack her meager belongings and go. No goodbyes. They would hurt too much this time.

Killian had to be able to sense that she was in a rush, always having to quicken his gait to catch up to her. She regretted that he was probably wondering if she wanted to go somewhere more private to continue what they’d started, wished that was what she was doing.

Rooting her feet to the floor of the foyer only a few steps inside the door after they finally entered, she waited as ran up the stairs to retrieve her necklace. When he returned a few moments later and handed it over, she turned and grabbed the door handle before he caught at her arm.

“Hey, you can stay for a while. We can watch a movie or something.”

“I’m actually kind of tired.” She didn’t stop her lying shrug in time, but he didn’t comment on it so maybe he hadn’t noticed.

Stepping around Emma, he pulled the door open for her. “Okay, let’s go then.”

If she didn’t actually look at him, she could sell her lies, control her tells. “Don’t worry about it. You’re already home. I’ll be fine on my own.” 

“Alright. I was thinking about bringing lunch to the station tomorrow. Would you like anything special?” The thought of him feeling comfortable enough to spend time with her at the station now distracted her as she told her next lie.

The shrug that accompanied this one was too big to miss. “That sounds nice, but I’ll probably be pretty busy with my new deputy duties so maybe another time.”

A disappointed sigh rang through the quiet house and his hands moved to his hips. “You’re going to go home and pack your bags, aren’t you?”

She knew he read her better than anyone but that was kind of impressive. When her surprised gaze pushed back up to his face, it was met by the top of his head as he stared at his shoes.

“I’m sorry, Killian. I’m not someone who can stay in one place for too long. It’s time for me to go.” Emma couldn’t stop lying and shrugging, shrugging and lying.

“Would you please stop lying to me? Don’t I deserve the truth?” She didn’t answer, only turned her back on him to leave. “I think the real problem is that you’ve realized that this past year has only been what you thought peace was supposed to feel like. But now you’ve found true peace, and happiness, and a home but in other people. And people haven’t always been too kind to you, have they?”

Her deepest truth spoken in his voice brought tears to her eyes. He knew all of the words of the book that lived inside of her without her ever having to read it to him.

“No. And how do I know this time will be any different?” she asked as she turned back around, desperately demanding an answer, begging as he begged her to stay.

“Mary Margaret and David love you enough to entrust you with their child. I never thought my heart would be capable of love again until I met you. They won’t leave you. I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I wouldn’t be able to bear you leaving me either. I found my peace in you too.”

A single tear dripped down her cheek as she finally told the truth. “I don’t know how to be brave enough to stay.”

Killian placed his hands on both sides of her face, swiped the tear’s wet track away with his thumb. “Do you remember when Charlie was about to enter into his final battle? He held on to the things he knew and he stood side by side with Layna and he clung to the belief in his prophesy. You hold on to the things that make you happy and you stand side by side with me or Mary Margaret or David and you believe that you deserve to feel loved.”

More of her tears slipped out onto his fingers. “But that’s fictional.” They both knew that story was so much more than that, but her fear was grasping at straws.

“It’s real. It can be your reality.” Emma nodded, believing him now, trusting in the fight he was putting up to keep her from making a terrible mistake. “Don’t regret our ending. Don’t make us have one.”

She kicked the door firmly shut behind her and tasted salt on her lips as she pressed up on her toes to kiss him.

They laid in Killian’s bed for the second night in a row. Though there were several differences from that first night.

This time they were unclothed and tangled deliciously around each other, the sweat on their skin making them slightly sticky as it dried.

She had just experienced the truest sense of peace she’d ever felt.

It came after they’d removed their clothes and read the reactions of each other’s bodies with each touch. It washed right over her as he’d slid inside her, was amplified as sparks shot behind her closed eyelids and down her spine.

All the while, Killian’s spoken words and the ones he’d written that started this whole thing floated around in her mind.

He’d broken the peace she thought she had and rebuilt a stronger one that she’d never be able to live without.

It made her wonder what else his words could do.

“Will you write me another book now?”

“As you wish.”

Emma finally received a new novel written by her favorite author on a Friday three years later.

She found Broken Peaces on the dining room table of the Jones household when she got home from the station, setting her badge and keys on the table and promptly snatching it up.

It was as advanced a copy could get but she was impatient because Killian refused to let her have a single peek at any draft he’d written (“Sorry. No spoilers, Swan.”)

Not willing to wait any longer, she practically skipped over to the living room couch to sit down and read until Killian came home from the docks for their weekly dinner with Mary Margaret, David, and Leo.

She reached the dedication page and tears sprang to her eyes.

“For my wife, Emma. Our story is my favorite.”

After running her fingers across the words and rereading them an embarrassing amount of times, she flipped the page to Chapter 1 and made herself more comfortable by kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and propping the book up on her slightly swollen belly.

They’d soon be adding another character to their story.

[tangirinez]

On a day-to-day basis, separate from, or concurrently with therapy or medication, we all have our own methods for getting through the worst times as best we can. The following comments and ideas on what to do during depression were solicited from people in the alt.support.depression newsgroup. Sometimes these things work, sometimes they don’t. Just keep trying them until you find some techniques that work for you.

Write. Keep a journal. Somehow writing everything down helps keep the misery from running around in circles.

Listen to your favorite “help” songs (a bunch of songs that have strong positive meaning for you).

Read (anything and everything) Go to the library and check out fiction you’ve wanted to read for a long time; books about depression, spirituality, morality; biographies about people who suffered from depression but still did well with their lives (Winston Churchill and Martin Luther, to name two).

Sleep for a while.

Even when busy, remember to sleep. Notice if what you do before sleeping changes how you sleep.

If you might be a danger to yourself, don’t be alone. Find people. If that is not practical, call them up on the phone. If there is no one you feel you can call, suicide hotlines can be helpful, even if you’re not quite that badly off yet.

Hug someone or have someone hug you.

Remember to eat. Notice if eating certain things (e.g. sugar or coffee) changes how you feel.

Make yourself a fancy dinner, maybe invite someone over.

Take a bath or a perfumed bubble bath.

Mess around on the computer.

Rent comedy videos.

Go for a long walk.

Dancing. Alone in your house or out with a friend.

Eat well. Try to alternate foods you like (maybe junk foods) with the stuff you know you should be eating.

Spend some time playing with a child.

Buy yourself a gift.

Phone a friend.

Read the newspaper comics page.

Do something unexpectedly nice for someone.

Do something unexpectedly nice for yourself.

Go outside and look at the sky.

Get some exercise while you’re out, but don’t take it too seriously.

Pulling weeds is nice, and so is digging in the dirt.

Sing. If you are worried about responses from critical neighbors, go for a drive and sing as loud as you want in the car. There’s something about the physical act of singing old favorites that’s very soothing. Maybe the rhythmic breathing that singing enforces does something for you too. Lullabies are especially good.

Pick a small easy task, like sweeping the floor, and do it.

If you can meditate, it’s really helpful. But when you’re really down you may not be able to meditate. Your ability to meditate will return when the depression lifts. If you are unable to meditate, find some comforting reading and read it out loud.

Feed yourself nourishing food.

Bring in some flowers and look at them.

Exercise, Sports. It is amazing how well some people can play sports even when feeling very miserable.

Pick some action that is so small and specific you know you can do it in the present. This helps you feel better because you actually accomplish something, instead of getting caught up in abstract worries and huge ideas for change. For example say “hi” to someone new if you are trying to be more sociable. Or, clean up one side of a room if you are trying to regain control over your home.

If you’re anxious about something you’re avoiding, try to get some support to face it.

Getting Up. Many depressions are characterized by guilt, and lots of it. Many of the things that depressed people want to do because of their depressions (staying in bed, not going out) wind up making the depression worse because they end up causing depressed people to feel like they are screwing things up more and more. So if you’ve had six or seven hours of sleep, try to make yourself get out of bed the moment you wake up ... you may not always succeed, but when you do, it’s nice to have gotten a head start on the day.

Cleaning the house. This worked for some people me in a big way. When depressions are at their worst, you may find yourself unable to do brain work, but you probably can do body things. One depressed person wrote, “So I spent two weeks cleaning my house, and I mean CLEANING: cupboards scrubbed, walls washed, stuff given away... throughout the two weeks, I kept on thinking ‘I’m not cleaning it right, this looks terrible, I don’t even know how to clean properly’, but at the end, I had this sparkling beautiful house!”

Volunteer work. Doing volunteer work on a regular basis seems to keep the demons at bay, somewhat... it can help take the focus off of yourself and put it on people who may have larger problems (even though it doesn’t always feel that way).

In general, It is extremely important to try to understand if something you can’t seem to accomplish is something you simply CAN’T do because you’re depressed (write a computer program, be charming on a date), or whether its something you CAN do, but it’s going to be hell (cleaning the house, going for a walk with a friend, getting out of bed). If it turns out to be something you can do, but don’t want to, try to do it anyway. You will not always succeed, but try. And when you succeed, it will always amaze you to look back on it afterwards and say “I felt like such shit, but look how well I managed to...!” This last technique, by the way, usually works for body stuff only (cleaning, cooking, etc.). The brain stuff often winds up getting put off until after the depression lifts.

Do not set yourself difficult goals or take on a great deal of responsibility.

Break large tasks into many smaller ones, set some priorities, and do what you can, as you can.

Do not expect too much from yourself. Unrealistic expectations will only increase feelings of failure, as they are impossible to meet.

Perfectionism leads to increased depression.

Try to be with other people, it is usually better than being alone.

Participate in activities that may make you feel better. You might try mild exercise, going to a movie, a ball game, or participating in religious or social activities. Don’t overdo it or get upset if your mood does not greatly improve right away. Feeling better takes time.

Do not make any major life decisions, such as quitting your job or getting married or separated while depressed. The negative thinking that accompanies depression may lead to horribly wrong decisions. If pressured to make such a decision, explain that you will make the decision as soon as possible after the depression lifts. Remember you are not seeing yourself, the world, or the future in an objective way when you are depressed.

While people may tell you to “snap out” of your depression, that is not possible. The recovery from depression usually requires antidepressant therapy and/or psychotherapy. You cannot simple make yourself “snap out” of the depression. Asking you to “snap out” of a depression makes as much sense as asking someone to “snap out” of diabetes or an under-active thyroid gland.

Remember: Depression makes you have negative thoughts about yourself, about the world, the people in your life, and about the future.

Remember that your negative thoughts are not a rational way to think of things. It is as if you are seeing yourself, the world, and the future through a fog of negativity. Do not accept your negative thinking as being true. It is part of the depression and will disappear as your depression responds to treatment. If your negative (hopeless) view of the future leads you to seriously consider suicide, be sure to tell your doctor about this and ask for help. Suicide would be an irreversible act based on your unrealistically hopeless thoughts. Remember that the feeling that nothing can make depression better is part of the illness of depression. Things are probably not nearly as hopeless as you think they are.

If you are on medication:

Take the medication as directed. Keep taking it as directed for as long as directed.

Discuss with the doctor ahead of time what happens in case of unacceptable side-effects.

Don’t stop taking medication or change dosage without discussing it with your doctor, unless you discussed it ahead of time.

Remember to check about mixing other things with medication. Ask the prescribing doctor, and/or the pharmacist and/or look it up in the Physician’s Desk Reference. Redundancy is good.

Except in emergencies, it is a good idea to check what your insurance covers before receiving treatment.

Do not rely on your doctor or therapist to know everything. Do some reading yourself. Some of what is available to read yourself may be wrong, but much of it will shed light on your disorder.

Talk to your doctor if you think your medication is giving undesirable side-effects.

Do ask them if you think an alternative treatment might be more appropriate for you.

Do tell them anything you think it is important to know.

Do feel free to seek out a second opinion from a different qualified medical professional if you feel that you cannot get what you need from the one you have.

Skipping appointments, because you are “too sick to go to the doctor” is generally a bad idea.

If you procrastinate, don’t try to get everything done. Start by getting one thing done. Then get the next thing done. Handle one crisis at a time.

If you are trying to remember too many things to do, it is okay to write them down. If you make lists of tasks, work on only one task at a time. Trying to do too many things can be too much. It can be helpful to have a short list of things to do “now” and a longer list of things you have decided not to worry about just yet. When you finish writing the long list, try to forget about it for a while.

If you have a list of things to do, also keep a list of what you have accomplished too, and congratulate yourself each time you get something done. Don’t take completed tasks off your to-do list. If you do, you will only have a list of uncompleted tasks. It’s useful to have the crossed-off items visible so you can see what you have accomplished

In general, drinking alcohol makes depression worse. Many cold remedies contain alcohol. Read the label. Being on medication may change how alcohol affects you.

Books on the topic of “What to do during Depression”: “A Reason to Live”, Melody Beattie, Tyndale House Publishers, Wheaton, IL.167 pages. This book focuses on reasons to choose life over suicide, but is still useful even if suicide isn’t on your mind. In fact, it reads a lot like this portion of the FAQ. An excerpt: Do two things each day. In times of severe crisis, when you don’t want to do anything, do two things each day. Depending on your physical and emotional condition, the two things could be taking a shower and making a phone call, or writing a letter and painting a room.