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shinjukuspiritcommittee · 3 years

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Top 20 2021

My Favorites (updated)

Hello my readers, it’s been a while since I just posted something not related to a headcanon and I am doing one right now. I just wanted to take a bit of a break to just get SOMETHING on here on my days off work. Plus I’m just trying to find my groove when it comes to writing again so hopefully this helps me just get back into the mood of making a post more often lol. I wanted to revisit this topic for a while just because we’ve had a lot more events and a lot more alts in the game were added. And I know for a fact LifeWonders reads these posts in some capacity because I have meme’d an AR into the game with my top picks from the last list I did for Christmas 2019. No I didn’t. I’m just joking around and I know LifeWonders doesn’t read this.

Anyways rather than just make up a list on the spot like last year I decided to use the Housamo Sortmaker (Link: https://club.housamo.xyz/sortmaker/ ) to try and make a list that’s more revealing to what I was thinking at the time. Since I talked about 20 characters ish last time I’m just gonna read from my 20th place to my 1st place spots and try to justify whatever I was thinking at the time. Anyways-

20: Marchosias and Susan: This one was a surprise for me if I’m being honest but I’m just gonna blame the fact on Shukou’s recent involvement with LifeWonders in the form of Live A Hero and how Ryekie and Mokdai live in my headspace rent free whenever I think about the characters in that game. Maybe we can see about getting some LAH headcanons since that’s a LifeWonders property too). So out of all the characters Shukou drew for Housamo why did I pick Marchosias? Easy, it’s been 4 years and this poor man has yet to receive a proper alt or any kind of skin for that matter and I think that it’s a crime. Sure he’s not my favorite but he’s definitely grown on me because he’s just a gentle dad kind of character and his design has grown on me over the years. I just hope he doesn’t get left behind since he has a lot of really interesting and potential things to look forward to in the future given how the main story has unfolded.

19: Shiva/Algernon: The helmet heads are together because DAI XT quickly became my favorite artist for Fire Emblem Heroes and I really just like their designs. DAI XT just knows how to draw robots, armor and muscles well. Also Chapter 11 with Shiva you can read into some interesting perspectives. I don’t want to spoil any of the untranslated content for anyone who’s waiting for the official english translation. But if you are curious Roureem has a blogspot where he posts summaries of the newly released events.

Link: https://housamosummaries.blogspot.com/

18: Cthugha: I love this goober so much. He’d constantly try to act super sentai just trying say good morning everyday. He may not be very bright but that just adds to his charm and honestly I enjoy how he always tries to play the hero in a lot of scenarios because it’s refreshing when they implement him after a bunch of heavy hitting story stuff. I’m not gonna spoil too much about it but I will say he’s more than welcome after everything Chapter 10 and 11 put the reader through.

17: Mineaki: I’ve made a post about him being one of my least favorites way back when I first started this blog and let me just say how times have changed and I’ve learned the value of not judging a book by it’s cover. I still think there’s something a bit off about Kowmei’s style for his characters, but Mineaki has definitely grown on me. He’s a caring instructor who does watch out for his students even if it’s not always in the most direct way possible. Not to get into too many spoilers he’s got a lot of intrigue around him as well and I am curious to see his role get expanded down the line.

16: Ded: Housamo is the reason I really like christmas. The Christmas stories despite following a similar structure to each other do tend to be my favorite stories. Ded himself is also just another good dad character. He’s also two guys for the price of one, so I mean… you know… you’ve got the forever ask your other dad situation. There wasn’t much thought put into this choice I just like santa as a concept because I think the outfits are cute, it’s always nice to get something for people you care about on Christmas and Ded is the perfect embodiment of both sides to Christmas.

15: Shinya: Everyone we need to manifest buff Shinya for 2021, this is not a drill. This is legitimate. We must make Taromati’s and my wish come true. To be more serious again he’s just a sweet and gentle character. He’s also drawn by my favorite Housamo artist. Their characters always just look so naturally good. I’m just surprised he hasn’t gotten much of an alt given he’s perfect material for Valentine’s day. He’s just a soft boy and I would love for him to be in more things because I just enjoy seeing him.

14: Jacob: I have to be honest Jacob is on here because every time I look at him he just gets more handsome to me. I wasn’t all that impressed with his introduction and we don’t know much about his background but I’ve just been drawn to him more and more. Maybe it’s just because he’s drawn by GomTang? I just like looking at him and I can’t help it. To speak a bit less crass he’s another gentleman kind of guy and those are always nice.

13: Shennong: Yeah I like the doc a lot. Firstly, I’m a huge sucker for big bulls and Shennong fits the bill. The white fur really adds to his appeal visually and the purple horns give off a bit of an unnatural appearance. Shen feels like someone who’s been touch starved and alone for a long time given how he acts as a character and when we actually hug him I just lost it. He always has others well being on his mind so he’s not afraid to jump in and help, or give a much needed lecture about when you need to take better care of yourself. He just comes across as very well balanced overall.

12: Heracles: I won’t lie- at first he didn’t interest me much. He looked incredibly plain when among the rest of the cast and he seemed like the typical “bait” character since the banner had Echo, Barguest, Gyumao and Snow. But after reading the translation for Valentine Time Slip I was taken aback at how much of a gentle giant he turned out to be and I just really liked his interactions with the others in that event. And honestly his special quest from that year was one of the more unique ones given the slower pace and more romantic vibe it had. After the event warmed my heart I did a complete 180 and I just knew I really liked him.

11. Yasuyori: Before I start praising him I feel I have to justify why he didn’t quite make top 10 and it will have some mild Chapter 10 spoilers. To be as vague as possible his resolution just didn’t vibe with me at the end of Chapter 10. Like it wasn’t a bad resolution and it was the right choice to make but in my opinion there really wasn’t a moment I felt was clear where he made a choice for himself. Everything just sort of happened around him and it felt like he didn’t really do much to improve his situation. To an extent I kind of see that being the idea given his origins and the story he’s based on and there is some semblance of him coming to terms with himself alongside his isolation being portrayed pretty well, but I just wasn’t satisfied with it as much as I would like to be. With that out of the way, oh my god I just want this boy to never stop smiling and I just want to give him hugs constantly please he just deserves to be happy!!! Yasuyori is a character who’s got a lot of baggage and he’s just trying to find ways to properly cope with his trauma and not repeat past mistakes and I just really like that idea. His role in Xmas 2020 (sorry I just forgot the name of that event, but its when he gets his alt) was a much better representation for his character in my eyes. I’m not gonna spoil anything like I keep saying but he isn’t one to disappoint in future appearances and I just hope this lovable lug keeps getting the support he deserves.

10: Hephaestus: A spicy way to start the latter half of the list. I just want to give this lad a hug and tell him he is worthy of love. But at the same time he is a little shit… and I love that. I can’t fully explain why I grow a paternal instinct in me seeing this grown man sob about his mother but I just do. I want to keep him safe and give him all the affection he wants. Though I am aware a lot of Hephaestus’s interest in his parental figure is… questionable. I am just gonna say I would accept his love for what it is and he just wants approval.

9. Shuten: I’ll be honest I have no proper reason for why I like Shuten so much. He’s just a cool and reliable guy. He just seems like a go with the flow kind of person most of the time and he’s a bit more direct than most of the characters which I always appreciate. Plus I have an unspoken bias for naop guys in Housamo.

8. Durga: While not number 1 on this list, I still really like Durga. She’s quirky but not to an annoying degree, she’s determined and definitely very confident in her own abilities. Her growing to be more sociable throughout her events is something I enjoy seeing because it really creates this sense of growth.

7. Kyuma: I get a lot of people don’t like Kowmei’s art but I really think we should look past it because Kyuma is one of the sweeter picks. He’s someone who just wants to prove himself for his own worth and not what David can provide, but David is part of him and it just creates the potential for a good arc. Plus this boy is unintentionally smooth and will just take your heart when possible. I honestly want to see Kyuma more in events because he’s honestly the jock that carries 3 of the 4 brain cells. He’s also the last one without an alt so I’m just hoping he gets one in 2021 because he really deserves one in my opinion. (Also fan art makes him really cute).

6. Tomte: Tomte is relatively new but honestly his event in 2019 really endeared me to him. I’m trying to be spoiler free because the best way to enjoy these stories is for yourselves but let me just say his arc in the event was really endearing to me and much more than I was expecting. His fan service is also incredibly hammy and I love it. Visually Tomte is one of my favorites, I love his multi colored hair and starlit pupils cuz it makes his otherwise more generic look have some flare. I knew I liked him out the box and when I read about him in the summaries and can’t wait to read the official translation for him. I was just very endeared.

5. Tetsuya: Tetsuya fucks. Moving on…

Jokes aside this one’s a bit simple. I have no shame in admitting I think he’s attractive and his whole resistance towards wanting a relationship is cute in a weird roundabout way. When he says no I just want it MORE. I just really like duo haired tsunderes.

4. Kengo: Kengo 3rd alt 2021. Please LifeWonders I need my favorite Summoner. He’s a bro and that’s what counts. Kengo has got your back, not afraid to rely on you, a very fun and dynamic guy. Sure he’s not that bright when it comes to making plans or any book smart, but there are times where he’s the best at being able to read the room or just understand what someone needs to hear even if it isn’t always what someone wants to hear. His bullheaded nature is actually one of his redeeming qualities because it’s nice to just not overcomplicate things and just understand what’s actually going on. Yes the early story didn’t do many favors for him but to me the events, especially the later ones, do much more work for his character. To me, at least.

3. Ashigara: Ashigara is best bear, and I will defend that stance in 2021. The main thing that draws me to Ashigara is that I can see a bit of myself in him. He gets very emotional when he gets left alone, he’s very loud when with his friends, has a tendency of speaking his mind- just someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. I also appreciate that in spite of the negative he isn’t someone who backs down when the going gets tough and in a few instances he’s able to hold his ground physically at least.

2. Wakan Tanka: Love at first sight. This ray of sunshine still persists as the number 1 husband, but number 2 character. Firstly I am a huge fan of the partial beast aesthetic. The buffalo ears and the horns are absolutely adorable. Secondly he’s a perfect body type; he’s not too muscular but not exactly flabby. Third he is just so positive and I love that. He’s someone I admire and wanna hug.

1. Taurus Mask: The more things change the more they stay the same. I’m still a big Taurus Mask fan for all the same reasons as last time. I just… relate to this boy. He is an incredibly shy boy who uses his public persona for confidence. Maybe I’m reading too much into it but it’s like we’re soul bros!

So yeah, my tastes haven’t changed in a year and a half.

#tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #Just Thoughts #qna #sfw

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seaweedsawyou · 3 years

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i dont follow you, but i saw your reply on the eskew post with the haunting of hillhouse quote and its been making me WILD. they are honestly so similiar if you get down to it in such fascinating ways.. brilliant n groundbreaking! id love to hear more thoughts on the matter if you had any more. i hope you have a nice day regardless :)

Glad to see someone who understands!! They are integral parts of each other, Eskew being an almost spiritual successor/continuation of Hill House! Down below I try to give my thoughts on it, which start as an essay and end as abstract poetry - thank you for the opportunity.

In the Haunting of Hill House, Eleanor is trying to change the direction of her life by spending time in an insane house, which can survive under conditions of absolute reality (unlike living beings). In Jackson’s context, “absolute reality” is the constant bombardment of realism into our psyche, the only sane escape from which is to dream.

Both Eleanor and David are dreamers at heart, where David’s old notebooks are filled with spirals of an impossible place, and Eleanor invents 3 different magical scenarios of a life she could never have on the way to the House. Why are they so attracted to the places that are devoid of the need to dream, to escape from reality?

It’s- it's about pretending again. Eskew and the Hill House see them for what they are, which is a tragedy. More on that later.

It’s hard to make friends as an adult. Eleanor sets out to Hill House in hope to find companionship, and through it - attention she’s been absolutely starved for. At first she tries to be nice and friendly, but can’t survive an evening without getting extremely self-conscious. Human attention is exhausting. Unkind thoughts about herself and others creep into Eleanor’s mind. After sharing that she is without a job and plans for the future, she can’t let them know she is homeless and friendless as well.

We don’t see David pre-Eskew, but we can assume that he was a lot like Nell. No prospects, no connections, troubled relationship with his mother. However, he chooses to run away from his home and his mother, in desperation for somewhere, anywhere different. His emotional investment in Eskew has no rivals, and the city is willing to reciprocate. Promise itself to one human.

Words often betray Eleanor when she is trying to tell the truth, especially about herself.

She doesn’t value them much.

David does not trust himself with words - either to convey or understand important topics. He avoids bringing up the elephant in the room even with Allegra - probably wise, since the question he wants to ask her the most is about how she would define her relationship with Eskew.

Thankfully, Hill House and Eskew operate on a deeper level. More primal, and without the need for pesky verbalization that breeds confusion. Desires are absolute reality. You want a soulmate that understands your pain, even if you never told her about it? Please! You would like to feel the comfort of your mother’s womb and the ultimate sense of belonging it brought with it? Can do! Want to commit suicide? Sure, here's a nice welcoming bridge right next to your house.

David lives in fear of being noticed by the city, of failing to follow one of the unspoken rules he never learned (he’s a foreigner, after all) and incurring its wrath, and simultaneously - of playing right into its hand. Thought crimes are still crimes. At the same time, he can’t announce his plans out loud for they will be heard. Also, and he seems to sincerely believe this at times, Eskew can be swayed with a convincing enough performance.

Eleanor, soon, slips. Her hunger and self-hatred begin to haunt the House, terrorizing its inhabitants at night, and some of them even start to notice the source (before she does). The sudden shift from a member of the group to an outsider is jarring, and can only be rectified by more fabrications.

Places become extensions of will - or, rather, minute desires that cannot be put into words. They don’t need to be told, they simply change. Control is a curious thing: on one hand, your surroundings morph according to your whims, on the other hand, you cannot control your feelings and mental illness, which often causes knee-jerk reactions leading to external catastrophes. Simultaneously all powerful, and nothing goes according to your wishes.

People give up on Eleanor. They cannot provide as much patience and compassion as she needs. She needs so, so much attention, and is not willing to give anything in return.

The House has all the time in the world and no social needs to speak of. Eternally welcoming, waiting for the one.

Eskew never gives up on David. Time and time again, it offers him new starts, different circumstances, alternate lives. Their parting is just one among the myriad of previous reinventions.

A place so real it feels like a dream. A portrait of a person so true it seems fictional. A creature so small it can be swallowed whole by a monster, to feel its every tiny movement on a personal level and respond in turn. A loving embrace.

#i am in eskew #people should definitely read hill house #the writing is so strong (in both)#looking up quotes is what caused the poetry #the haunting of hill house #pod heaven #c:#journeys end in lovers meeting

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antique-teacups · 4 years

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sunshine in L.A.

A/N: kind of an original character piece but also not entirely. i just was having a great time writing! hope you folks enjoy!

word count: 3k

There was something about her twenties that never felt quite right, worn like a sweater a size to large. She watched as her friends floated from relationships and friendships seamlessly, while she felt caught. In what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Part of her hoped with time that feeling would fade, become background static instead of pumping along with her heartbeat. Going with the current, she did exactly what was expected of her. Attended college, albeit a community college, but college none the less. Part time work covered what financial aid wouldn’t, even scraping enough together to buy a beater car.

Time drifted on and the feeling stayed, haunting and hollow. Avoiding the problem didn’t lessen its size but it never grew. In the back of her mind constantly. Social media was the worst part, watching her friends flourish and flower, while it took everything in her to remain sane and present. Two years flew by in the blink of an eye and she were left with a tiny degree she was not sure she really wanted. When the opportunity did present itself, she knew it was one she could not possibly pass up.

She knew that even in L.A these demons could surface but maybe the constant sun could choke them out. Packing her meager belongings into the back of her car, she pointed it in the direction of L.A. Whether she actually ended up in the sunshine state wasn’t the point, but rather, it was to get out. Stop the cycle before it became the only focal point of her life. It took longer than it should’ve, she passed the days slowly. Each spent behind the wheel simply heading west.

L.A. was a zoo. She worked your way through the city with fascination and hopefulness. She was certain of one thing and uncertain of many. She hoped to write but was willing to do just about anything to make money. Well, just about anything, she still harbored some self-respect.

L.A. had of a way of worming its way into your heart, no matter how shitty people made it seem. Each self-respecting L.A citizen hated the city as much as they loved it. She found a decent studio apartment, managed to get a job as a barista quickly, and spent the first month slinging caffeine in the daytime and writing into the wee hours of the morning. Cash was always tight, considering she did live in one of the most expensive cities, but there was semblance of happiness. It was clawing it’s way in on the edges of her life.

The customers were not particularly strange, at least not always. There were a couple of memorable moments, but most days passed by in monotony. She knew customers by their orders, not names. These small moments between the register and picking up their coffee offered she a small window into their world. These hints they dropped left her wondering about their lives outside their order and these four walls. Who were these people who flocked to the shop like cattle to slaughter?

She certainly played favorites, every barista did, with both customers and coworkers. There were those who made the days a little brighter. The first was her coworker James. Somewhere in his twenties like her but an old soul. He came to work in sweaters, cooper rimmed circular glasses, and disheveled hair on the daily. He was welcoming and warm and chased away some of the darkness.

The two of them became instant friends. He would wait after work to hang out, get drinks on the weekend, and spend Sunday brunch complaining about his hangover. At first, she was confronted with the concern that maybe he was worming into her life in hopes of it ending in a relationship, but as soon as she met his boyfriend Scott, that fear was put to rest. In a way, she chose the two of them as family. She spent countless hours with them, at ease with the way things were.

In James, she confided most of her fears and a lot of her guilt. The backstory of her life surprising him but explaining the front she put up. Tragedy often bores the strongest soldiers. In the year she had been in L.A, James helped her pick up the pieces and put herself together, an unrepayable favor. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and she were destined to spend it with James and Scott.

“James, I’m running to the grocery store after work and if you play your cards right there might just be a bottle of Prosecco with your name on it.” she joked over the espresso machine, a sly smile on her lips. James and her always bantered at work, often to the amusement of the customers and other coworkers.

James matches her smile, “Oh honey, you act like I would actually need to play my cards to get it, I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He chuckles and turns back to the drawer. The day was getting late, closing time just mere hours away. She was practically counting down the hours till she could curl up on his couch and binge “New Girl”, the new obsession for the two of them.

“I like to pretend it’s the other way around, but I would admit you are right, James. But besides that, anything else?” she asked, hardly looking at him. There was unspoken communication between you two most days, a glance could tell a story. “I was thinking pizza this fine Wednesday night. But I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

“And break the Wednesday night pizza tradition, how absurd!” James feigns hurt, a hand over his heart and concerned expression painting his face. “The table is already set, we can’t go making changes now, silly girl.”

“Then pizza and prosecco it is. Perfect.” She giggled and sent a curt nod in his direction. The entire conversation was an open invitation for him to change the plans, but he never did. Wednesday night was always reserved for the two of them. They devoured pizza and whatever show they were working on. It was sacred to them both.

The rest of the day passed quickly, the sun just barely setting when she and James locked the shop doors. A brief hug and a quick exchange of words and the two of them were off in opposite directions. A pit stop at the grocery store and then to James’ place. He would order the pizza in, as per tradition. Tasked with grabbing the drinks and whatever bits she needed, she would be to his place shortly.

Her car sat tucked in the back lot, warm from sitting in the sun. Cranking the window open once she had climbed inside, turning on the radio, she set off to the grocery store. It was smaller than most that scattered around L.A, which is why it was her favorite. She did not have to fight the yoga obsessed mothers to get through the aisles or hope the hipsters didn’t pick through the all the good stuff before she got a chance to be there. The old man, who she assumed owned it, knew her by name. Often, he would gift products just a day out of date to her. He did save your ass more than once.

“Charles, what’s the good word for today?” She asked, swinging the door open and nabbing a basket.

Smiling, he gushed, “I beat the finalist in Jeopardy today, but I’m here and he’s there,” shrugging he went on, “I put some of those cookies you like in the back, they went out of date yesterday, Dandelion.” Charles had been using the nickname since she had started coming here. She was totally convinced he had to be her guardian angel. When she asked him where it came from, his response surprised her. “Like the weed, you always come back. You are full of fire and strong. I can see it.” She felt partial to this grocery store. She ended up here for a reason.

“Great, I was craving something sweet all day. Remind me, I have got something for you in my bag before I go. Don’t worry, nothing poisonous.” Jokingly she added.

Charles had a love for Jim Harrison. Often when she was browsing at old bookstores or garage sale’s she would stumble across one for him. He probably owned nearly every single book published by Harrison, but always acted thankful and surprised when she presented him with another. She wanted to make sure he knew how much she appreciated him in a way of more than just saying thank you.

She scanned the aisles looking for the familiar packaging of her favorites. She hardly noticed the boy till she had practically run into his back.

“Another one in Charles good graces, a rare species.” He teased.

Chuckling, “That must mean there are people on Charles bad side, which I highly doubt.” He was home strung, as far as she could tell. Clean cut and not looking for a lot of attention, judging by his all black attire. “I’m assuming you’re one of the lucky ones, too.” She implored.

“Thankfully, I have managed to make my way into one of his chosen few. Even without it, I would still come here. This is the only grocery store where I don’t have to cross my fingers and hope all the good stuff isn’t picked over. Charles seems to have a force field to keep this place hidden. Certainly, the best kept secret of L.A.,” he pauses, searching your face, “you work at the coffee shop on Sunset, Eight-Fold Coffee, right?”

“Guiltily is charged, Mr. iced latte with almond milk,” tapping your temple, “steel trap. I only know people’s drinks, not their names, sorry. I was wondering if you looked familiar or if it was just the lighting.”

Extending a hand, cheekily responding, “David. The name’s David Dobrik, or iced latte if you please.” His smile was easy and charming, you couldn’t help but stare. His entire posture oozed ease, you couldn’t quite decide if he was trying to flirt or simply be friendly. Of course, that wonderful friend called self-doubt started to crawl its way into your chest, so it was time to go.

Flashing him what you hoped was a friendly parting smile, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It was nice finally meeting in more than just an ‘iced latte with almond milk’ kind of way. I’ll see you around. I have promised the roommate a night in and if I don’t come through, the world might stop turning.” Turning on her heel, tossing David a small wave, she headed for the register. All the things she needed forgotten.

She set the single bottle on the counter and wait for Charles to ring it up. Silence elapses, you lost entirely in your own thoughts.

“Dandelion?”

“Huh, what?” she missed what he asked, cheeks flushing at him catching her in dreamland.

“Lots on your mind today?” Charles inquired, a knowing look on his face.

Smiling and rolling her eyes, “I respect the fishing for a morsel of mind but maybe when inquiring minds aren’t near.” she winks. Digging in your bag, she pulls the book for him, Returning to Earth, out. “I found it at a garage sale this weekend and thought you could add to your collection. But this one, is to expand your horizons.” She pulls The Pleasures of the Damned by Charles Bukowski out. “I’ll need it back but keep it as long as you need, I know where to find you. See you around Charles.” She pays and get ready to go, sneaking one last glance in David’s direction. Grabbing onto her bag with the prosecco and cookies tucked in, she heads for the doors. One last look to the aisles and she can see David still tucked amongst them, scouring for something in the sea. A shake of her head and she is out the doors.

Tossing the bag in the passenger seat, she meanders down the streets towards James. A stampede of thoughts about David comes and goes. It was just mutual acknowledgement that the two of them did in fact kind of know each other. Yet, she found herself wondering if she should tell James about him, see if he had any insight on the guy. The thought felt foolish considering it was just a run in at the grocery store, nothing more.

Charles knew more about her then he let on. He knew her heart was kind but had been through a lot, he knew you were loyal and strong, but he knew also knew when her heart would tell you who to let in. David did not need much from that grocery store, mostly some alone time. His inquiring mind also wanted some more information on the barista who stole his breath away. As he left that day, Charles told him something he would carry with him for a while. “People like her, they guard their hearts, but hers is golden. It won’t always be shut.”

Opening the door to James and Scott’s apartment, she could smell the pizza. Her mouth was already watering. James rounded the corner into view between the small kitchen and living.

“I was beginning to wonder if you bailed.” He poked.

“On you, never.” Rolling her eyes.

“I am almost flattered.” He made for the bag in her hand, noticing the cookies right away. “Charles treats you like your one of his own grand kids. One of the people placed on that golden list.”

“About Charles coveted list, I ran into a guy from the coffee shop. David? Iced latte with almond milk, dresses like an unemployed ninja. Do you know anything about him?” She asked trying to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

James searches her face before continuing. “A sudden interest in a customer, more like prominent interest. I’ve noticed the favorites you play with him.” He flashes you a joking grin. “I don’t know much about him honestly. I’ve heard whisperings from the other baristas that he has some youtube channel, not much else. He seems nice.” Bumping his shoulder with hers, “It wouldn’t hurt if you tried to be friends with him. It’s not a crime to branch out. I would not be insulted if you did. I worry that maybe you don’t because I take up a lot of your time.”

“Certainly not, you take up a perfect amount of my time. I just, remember how hard it is for me to be friends with people, I guess. I am a lifelong hermit. Plus, if he’s doing that whole ‘social media career’, he might not be the kind of friend I want.” Socializing was never her strong suit and if David’s preferred choice was blasting his life across the platforms, maybe she would take a pass.

The two of you vegged out on the couch way past what was a reasonable time, both scheduled to open tomorrow. He was on her mind all night, the little she knew about him had her mind doing circles. He seemed innocent enough, a good guy if Charles liked him.

The sun shown through the windows all morning, bringing a warming light to the coffee shop. All day you hoped he would pop in, yet, it went unanswered. Clocking out, she nabbed her notebook and a mug of coffee, making her way to the bank of windows along the window. She tried to keep her mind from wandering, yet it seemed impossible. Perhaps she scared him off.

“I figured you were a writer. Nobody suggests poetry books, Bukowski especially, unless they are a writer. Or terribly sad, but judging by the notebook, I’d say the first.” David said, standing next to you bathed in the afternoon sun. He looked as though he just woke up but in a delicious way. His hair was messy and his eyes warm. She could not help but bath in the light emanating from him.

A small smile spread on her lips, “You’re a fan?”

“I saw it on Charles counter on my out yesterday. A simple Google Search did the trick. Guy seems kind of dark for you.” A blush plays on David’s cheeks. “I was hoping to run into you today. Listen, me and my friends are going to this party tonight, would you be interested?”

“Uh,” glancing behind the counter you see James shaking his yes vigorous, “sure, why not?” It seemed in David’s presence, the hole in her chest seemed to lessen some.

#david x reader #david dobrik #davids vlogs #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik x reader #vlog squad #vlog sqaud #i mostly write vlog squad

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years

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A Little Stevie Nicks

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I didn’t really know what to call this one but it’s the request for Dwayne x a vampire girlfriend who is a lot like him and dresses sort of like Stevie Nicks.)(+Sorry for the long intro if you just wanted dating headcanons)

- Okay so I like the idea of the reader being older then Dwayne or rather was turned into a vampire before him. I’m not quite sure exactly when Dwayne was turned (it could have been in the 80s which would explain why they wear the things they do) but I do think that you’d most likely be turned in the 60s/70s explaining your fondness for the fashion.

- The first time he saw you he thought he died and went to heaven, with all the sheer fabric, the lace and the flowing dresses he thought you looked downright angelic. It took him a good few minutes to recover, you quite literally took his breath away.

- Paul had to snap him back into reality because he’d fully stopped in his tracks to watch you. All he could get out when the blonde clapped him on the shoulder was “her” as his eyes remained fixated on you.

- You were just wandering the boardwalk by yourself when you noticed two pairs of eyes on you, when you briefly turned to look you noticed Dwayne and Paul standing and watching you.

- Dwayne is handsome (which he’s aware of) and when you first saw him he reminded you of one of those “ideal men” who are painted on the front of a romance novel. Long haired, shirtless, and chiseled, it’s hard not to stare especially when you catch a guy like that watching you with the most intense gaze you’ve ever seen.

- You turn away and stalk off after you have your little staring contest, which immediately makes him follow after you even if he knows it’s a little odd himself. He doesn’t want to lose you in the crowd but you want to lose him, not wanting to get involved and inevitably fall for someone you can’t have (not knowing you could have him since he’s a vampire as well).

- You play a little game of cat and mouse with him while you walk along the boardwalk. You’re quite aware he’s following you even though he thinks you don’t know. Finally you decide to sit on the railing of the boardwalk, watching the ocean and the night sky while you waited.

“Your following me.” You said quietly once you heard him approach, lurking behind you.

“Maybe I am.” He replied softly.

“Why?”

“There’s something about you.” He seemed almost confused.

- Neither of you said anything else after that and it was then you realized you couldn’t hear his heartbeat. You were sure he realized the same when he came and sat beside you on the railing.

- Since that night you sort of just found each other everytime the both of you were out. Sometimes you’d talk, othertimes you wouldn’t but you always ended up spending some kind of time together. You started a sort of nighttime fling, nothing really romantic yet but sort of just affectionate. Like old friends navigating their way around each other again while they fall in love with the new version of their previous pal.

“Who are those boys you hang around?” You asked, braiding your hair as he laid between your legs on the sand of the beach.

“David, Paul and Marko, they’re like us.” He replied, toying your sleeve as it swayed above him.

“They seem fun.” You murmur.

“You want to meet them?”

- And you do. They immediately take a liking to you because you’re basically the female equivalent of Dwayne with a little more flowers and frills. You enjoy watching them mess around, it does help that they seem to be trying to flatter you and get you to stick around.

- After you meet the gang you and Dwayne have your first kiss and start your relationship. Soon enough you end up indoctrinated into the vampire crew and can consider yourself a part of the “family”.

- Whenever you’re on the boardwalk with him he always makes sure to have your hand in his.

- He used to think the frog brothers antics were sort of amusing but now that they’re a possible threat to you he’s much less keen on them lurking around.

- The both of you are well aware that it’s pretty difficult for someone or something to kill you but that doesn’t stop him from being very protective of you. He rarely lets you out of his sight and the both of you make sure to always have each other’s backs.

- Everytime the two of you kiss it feels like you’re floating on a cloud. He has this way of kissing you that’s so soft and dreamy that you grow weak in the knees and can hardly stop yourself from swooning.

- Even though the gang likes you and you like them he knows that he himself would sometimes just like to get away from them for a quiet night so he makes sure to bring you on dates at least every week.

- He likes watching you get ready because it’s such a different routine from everyone else in the cave. Like the boys go wild and put on whatever clothes they pick up but you actually coordinate your outfits and do your makeup really pretty.

- You and Laddie take turns riding with Dwayne on his bike. Although Laddie doesn’t mind riding with Paul so you don’t have to feel bad for taking his usual seat.

- He likes his style just fine but he wonders what he’d look like if he dressed “like you”. It’s definitely a much softer look than his and wouldn’t look nearly as threatening as his usual clothes.

- If you want to go with the idea that the reader is older than Dwayne then the boys would definitely tease Dwayne about having a thing for older women.

- He picks you little flowers to put in your hair or wear in your pockets. Your room probably always has at least one vase full of them even though they wilt pretty quickly in the darkness.

- I feel like you would really get along with Star and hang out with her while the boys mess around on the boardwalk. I also feel like Dwayne probably wasn’t really that fond of Star before he met you and saw her treat you with so much kindness.

- Even though he likes you haveing a friend in the gang he does get jealous when you “blow him off” for girls night (although he’ll never say anything to you). When you’re not around he gets into little tiffs with Star for “hogging his girlfriend”.

- He likes that you’re quiet, the two of you get along well because of it. The both of you agree that there’s no need to fill all your time together with useless conversation. But because you rarely talk or at least rarely talk around others many people don’t realize your a couple at first or don’t think your a good one when they find out.

- The more ballsier of guys have tried to flirt with you right in front of him thinking he’s just your friend and have almost gotten their faces on a missing poster because of it. It takes a while but after some time pretty much all of the boardwalk knows you’re off limits and it’s an unspoken rule of the town not to try anything with you.

- Of course Laddie has Star as a mother figure but you are definitely his back up mom. Dwayne thinks it’s adorable to watch you hang out with the little boy and loves when you help him take care of him.

- You definitely have a bright and long future ahead of you two.

#80s movies #80s imagine #80s movie #80s movie imagine #80s imagines #80s movie headcanon #80s movie headcanons #the lost boys headcanon #the lost boys headcanons #the lost boys imagine #dwayne the lost boys imagine #dwayne the lost boys headcanons #dwayne headcanons #dwayne the lost boys x reader #dwayne headcanon #dwayne imagine

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benditlikepress · 4 years

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watch you sleep

ok hi @coffeedepablo this post was the first thing i saw when i woke up and it’s literally haunted me all day

also available to read on ao3

Tali didn't sleep for the first week after Ziva got home.

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, but she certainly hadn't fallen asleep at night and woken up in the morning.

Tony wasn't wholly surprised - he was used to it, even. She didn't sleep in her own bed for the first month after she began living with him, only passing out in his bed after hours of crying and tantrums. Though his knowledge of children at that point had been alarmingly limited, he knew struggling to get them to sleep in their own bed was something a lot of parents had to deal with. He supposed that most of those parents would have months or years to get their head wrapped around the idea of having to deal with it, though, rather than the length of a conversation with Orli Elbaz. That, along with the weight of everything else that had happened, was probably the reason why he had spent those first few weeks trying not to wake Tali up by crying as she finally dozed off next to him.

The guilt on Ziva's face when Tony told her this was seemingly onto second to the guilt she felt for keeping Tony and Tali apart for as long as she had, a choice which she herself seemed to find impossible to explain.

Tony and Ziva, too, had barely slept a wink in the past week. They found themselves waiting until Tali had passed out from exhaustion before they could have the many serious conversations that they had been constructing in their heads for the past six years, and their own sleep schedules were seemingly a thing of a past.

The conversations were sincere, and honest, and while they were a little cold at moments they were never argumentative or angry. Tony was determined to make it clear that he had no patience or energy to hold five-year-old grudges, and Ziva seemed to slowly be accepting this rather than using it as a stick to beat herself with.

She'd also been open about having been ill, about panic attacks and hallucinations and depressive episodes. Though it was clear this was something she suffered much more with since sending Tali to the US, Tony wondered if this might have played a role in why she did what she did - the weight of the world on her shoulders when he saw her in Israel, the guilt, the fear she explained having about telling Tony about Tali after she'd been born. She'd never spoken to him about that kind of stuff before.

It was strange to talk properly again after so long. Ziva had called two years ago to inform Tony of the situation and he had found himself surprised that he still trusted her, blindly, after everything that had happened. He had proved right to when she had shown up on their doorstep a week ago, teary smile on her face and bags under her eyes.

She looked older now, but it was difficult to tell how much of that was ageing and how much was the fact that she, too, didn't seem to have slept since the day she sent Tali away.

They’d barely had time to sit down all week. Tali had decided to show Ziva all of her favourite places: restaurants, the zoo, museums, parks. Ziva found it hard to say no in the circumstances, and Tony had always hated playing the bad cop but especially now when she was so innocently delighted to be the centre of attention.

Tony's first day back at work tomorrow (and Tali's first day back at school) was an added source of anxiety for all of them. They managed to get Tali down in her own bed just past midnight, and Tony was feeling positive until he and Ziva had been in bed for about 40 minutes and he heard her door opening down the hall.

"Aba," the familiar sound of her voice calling from behind the bedroom door had him running his hands over his face. Ziva watched him.

"You need to sleep. Go onto the couch, I will deal with her tonight."

They had dealt with her together every night, as a team, and Tony had usually taken the lead as understandably Tali sought him out first when she was upset.

"You sure?"

"I can sleep while you are both out tomorrow. You need to sleep." She repeated, using her own hand to pull his off his face. He sighed and sat up.

"If you get her to sleep just come sleep out here."

Tony squeezed Ziva’s hand in a gesture of thanks as he stood up wearily. He opened the wardrobe and bent down to retrieve the spare bedding, hearing his knee click at the tired movement. When he opened the bedroom door Tali was stood rubbing her eye with Kelev in her other hand, looking much younger than her 5 years.

“Can’t sleep.” Tali mumbled, looking at Tony and the pillow and blankets in his hand quizzically.

“You hop into bed with Ima, ok, baby?” He ran a hand through her unruly hair. She nodded, now using Kelev’s paw to rub at her eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“Aba is going to sleep because he has work tomorrow. You and me can stay in here.”

Tali accepted this readily, her mood suddenly lifting as she jumped onto the bed beside Ziva. Tony turned back to give Ziva a reassuring smile as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Try as he might to get to sleep, Tony found himself lying awake on the pull-out wondering what was going on in his bedroom. His and Ziva's bedroom, he corrected himself, (an unspoken decision when they ended up falling asleep side by side after talking until the early hours), though it still seemed strange to think of it that way and stranger still seeing as he hadn't kissed her since the one filled in equal parts with relief and disbelief when they were first reunited.

They hadn’t spent much time apart since being reunited, but the time he had gotten to himself Tony had spent thinking about that. Analysing his feelings, trying to get a grasp on what it was he wanted. He had spent a lot of time after Ziva rang two years ago questioning how things would be between them, whether he still felt for her the way he always had. The answer was a resounding yes, it was safe to say, but everything was different now. The individual priorities and conflicts that had got in the way in the past weren’t an issue anymore. There was a new priority – a living, breathing, shared one that took up all of their time. Whether this would make it easier remained to be seen (Tony wasn’t sure if crossing Tali or Gibbs was the scarier prospect), but it was an incentive to try even harder. There was no room to run away now, for either of them.

Unable to stop thinking about the quiet behind the door and the distinct lack of Ziva on the pull-out, Tony stood up and made his way back to the bedroom. The door creaked a little as he opened it and he lifted his hand to control the movement, pausing in the doorway to look at the scene.

The bedside light on his side of the bed was still on. Tali was lying on her back on that side, one hand raised on the pillow next to her. Ziva was curled into her, head in the gap between the pillows, hand resting protectively on her daughter's stomach.

Tony wondered how many times they had fallen asleep like this before he had been introduced into Tali's life.

He’d spent much of the past week watching them like this – curiously examining their interactions, the expressions on their faces as they talked. Ziva had been tentative by her standards at first, though that was understandable. Watching them now, you wouldn’t know that. The way she surrounded her was so natural and loving, something special between them. The physical evidence that there was someone else in the world who loved Tali as much as he did, who was as much a part of her as he was, still made Tony’s heart stop.

Of all the things he and Ziva had shared over the years (had it really been 15?), this was the most special.

Tony crossed the room quietly, trying carefully to not disturb either of them as he approached the bed. He placed himself behind Ziva, one of his hands instinctively landing over her waist. Tali didn't stir on the other side of the bed, but after a few moments he felt eyes on him.

"She OK?" he mumbled into the pillow as he burrowed his head down.

"Good. It only took one story. I must have fallen asleep myself." Ziva whispered groggily, and Tony opened his eyes again to meet hers where her head had turned over her shoulder towards him. She seemed a little confused. "I told you to stay out there."

"Couldn't sleep. Wondered where you were."

“I think I was more tired than I realised.”

Ziva turned her head back towards Tali, and Tony lifted the top half of his body a little so he could look at the little girl over Ziva's shoulder. She was still sleeping soundly, brow slightly furrowed. Ziva's fingers that had been on her stomach had moved to her necklace, and she started stroking the Star of David slowly.

"I used to try to take that off her before she went to bed. Didn’t go down well."

"She can be stubborn."

"I think it reminded her of yours." Tony signalled the necklace around Ziva's own neck, and her other hand instinctively raised to the pendant.

"It will get easier." She said quietly, sensing Tony's thoughts. He lowered himself back down to the bed behind her.

"I know." He burrowed his head into the side of her neck a little. "Straight to sleep after 1 story, that's progress."

"We used to fall asleep like this a lot. I wonder if on some level she remembers."

That answered his question from earlier, when he had stood watching them in the doorway. "What stories did you used to tell her?"

"Ones about you, mainly."

The silence that followed was loaded, as Ziva clearly waited expectant of a reply. "Oh yeah?"

"She had that picture by her bed, the one from Paris. She would get into bed and I would pick it up and lie beside her and talk about you."

"Did she ever ask where I was?"

"No," Ziva answered after a beat, "she was still too young. It was a deadline I had set myself. If I had not already done so, the first time she asked where you were, I was going to call you. Every time I roostered out of calling I reminded myself of that."

Tony's smile was instinctive. "Chickened."

"I am out of practice."

"What was your excuse before?"

Tony heard Ziva chuckle a little to herself. She was still watching Tali, head turned away from him.

"If you want to come with me to drop Tali off at school tomorrow, you'll have to walk home. I won't have time to circle back. That OK? It's only 20 minutes."

"Is that alright?"

"Is it alright that you come?" Tony studied the profile of Ziva's expression carefully, a hint of nerves evident. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Of course it is. She's your daughter, and she'd love you to be there. I would love you to be there."

"Tony, I..."

"What?"

"Thank you. Again."

"I've told you, you don't owe me anything. It's my job to take care of her."

Tony wondered if the weight of the similarity between those words and ones he had said to Ziva all those years ago was on her mind like they were his.

"You are right. Sorry."

"Ziva.." Tony challenged, amusement now hinting in his voice. She turned her head back towards him and he caught her eye as he smiled, their faces close together.

“I know. Stop apologising.” She echoed the words he’d been repeating with a roll of her eyes. “It is just a natural reaction in the circumstances.”

“Well, make new habits.” Tony’s voice got even quieter than the whispers they had been using, as he breathed in the gap between them. Ziva looked down at his lips briefly, and then back at his eyes in a silent question.

Tony lifted himself so he hovered above Ziva, and didn’t pause before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. It was lazy, and sleepy, and somehow both achingly familiar and entirely foreign as Tony felt Ziva’s lips quirk upwards. They separated after a few seconds and Tony stayed above her, watching as she opened her eyes and a smile played on her lips, before settling back down in bed behind her.

“If that is going to be your solution to everything..”

“Shh. Go to sleep.” Tony playfully dismissed her, burying his face into the space between her shoulder-blades. Ziva grabbed his hand from her stomach and lifted it to her lips, pressing a kiss against his palm before dropping it again.

“Goodnight, Tony.”

#ncis #tiva #ziva david #tony dinozzo #tiva fanfiction #tali #i havent proofread this in any way i literally just wrote it and immediately posted #i'm not kidding when i say i couldn't stop thinking about it lmao #if you're asking yourself #jess dont you have an assignment due in that you havent written?#the answer is yes. yes i do #but i decided to spend all my time before and after work on this instead #fanfiction #mine #my fanfiction

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hillbillyhippiemusicreview · 4 years

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Post #63, MarDe Brooks--Running Out of Time

Reviewed by Lyssa Culbertson

“Way back on the radio dial The fire got lit inside a bright-eyed child Every note just wrapped around his soul From steel guitars, to Memphis, all the way to rock and roll” -Eli Young Band

Every time I hear “Even If It Breaks Your Heart” by the Eli Young Band pass through my playlist, my mind cannot help but wander to the trajectory HHMR alum MarDe Brooks has had over the past couple of years. It is impressive what an ample amount of hard work, determination, faith, and if we are honest, an iota of craziness will manifest when it comes to chasing dreams. If you are unfamiliar with MarDe’s story, let me fill you in:

The Alabama born and bred singer-songwriter recently released his debut album, Running Out of Time, after a lifetime of desire to share his musical gifts with the world. Perhaps the album title is a nod to the notion of growing older and time slipping away, leaving you with no choice but to shelve your dreams or take a chance and live them with all you’ve got—but MarDe need not worry. With the impeccable artistry he possesses and a knack for heartfelt, honest songwriting, we’ll be hearing more out of him for years to come. With an practically permanent smile as wide as the Rio Grande and an electric energy radiating from him every time he steps on stage, he possesses an often unmatched zeal for his work that will surely keep him on everyone’s radar. His sound is as eclectic as he is, and that is the utmost compliment in my book. As I said in the review of his first single, “Memories,” MarDe cannot be caged by a genre, for this powerhouse of a songbird sings to the tune of whatever is in his heart—whether that’s a slow sentimental ballad about life on the road, or a rockin’ up-tempo song about love gone wrong. Running Out of Time has something to love for everyone, but odds are you’ll love it from the beginning of the “Memories” you’ll make whilst listening, to the last “Curtain Call.” Answering the desires of his soul to create his own original music, the collection of ten songs were written and composed in just under a year, and within the next year the record was recorded and MarDe hit the highway sharing his stories with anyone who would listen. On September 11, 2020, he added fuel to the fire that got lit inside the bright-eyed child of his youth when he debuted his first album to the world.

When listening to this record both as a whole and dissecting each individual song, it’s quite easy to hear the various musical influences that have helped shape MarDe into the artist he is. However, he infuses those notes of blues, old time rock-and-roll, country, southern rock, folk, and more into sound all his own. The first track on the record, “Memories,” incorporates all of these styles in a up-beat tune set against a bit of a dark subject matter. A failed relationship takes its toll and leads to self-destruction, but if you only listen to the melody, you wouldn’t have a clue. I love how MarDe plays a lyrical and musical trick on the listener’s ear on this one, and it was a solid first choice for a single release, as it showcases both his songwriting ability and musicality. Heading to the opposite end of the romantic spectrum, the next track, “Slow Time,” is a beautiful ballad that will transport you back to a time to when life ran at a slower pace, perhaps on the riverbank next to a loved one watching the summer clouds roll in, where nothing but the love you were in mattered. Speaking of rolling in, “I’ve Got Memphis” is one of the standouts on the record, as it details the feelings of a traveling musician counting the miles wearing on both the road and his soul. As a music lover with a heavy dose of Gypsy in my soul, when MarDe sings “Oklahoma calls out to me, and I miss that Kentucky high, I’d love to stay in Alabama, but I’ve got Memphis tomorrow night,” it resonates with me on a spiritual level. I love the sound of four wheels spinning down an open highway, but occasionally every mile marker makes me weary and I just want to be home, though there’s always another show down the road and work to be done. It’s a sentimental tune about the highs and lows of this life and is just so powerful. Track number four, “Down the Road,” happens to be one of my favorites off the record—it’s a total jam with an infectious groove that just won’t let go, much like how he bemuses the difficulty of letting go of his beloved and moving on in the tune. The way he once again juxtaposes an upbeat melody with a somewhat somber subject matter intrigued me from the first verse of the song, and I was hooked. We’ve all been there—in love with someone that it kills us to let go of, though we know we’re better off leaving them in our rearview. I admire how MarDe can write about real life situations with such clarity and cleverness.

As evidenced by the previous tracks mentioned, MarDe has such a versatile voice where one moment he can have you high on life singing along and the next morose and feeling every bit of heartache his vocals are seeped with on a song like “Home,” one of the most compelling works on the album. The imagery is quite vivid, as you can easily picture the man in the song with his “hands on the sink, face down to the floor” ruminating over his life. As I’ve listened to this song, it dawned on me that the character in the song was not simply speaking to a lost lover, but to the man in the mirror as well, because all too often we can break our own hearts by our choices with the aid of the demons we face. For many, alcohol can be one of those demons; however, as shown by MarDe’s joyful vibes in “Fifth by Noon,” sometimes it can be just the cure a man needs to patch up a broken heart. This tune is my favorite to see performed live because of the energy MarDe harnesses as he brings the song to life. A little ditty about the healing powers found in a fifth of your favorite whisky and good friends, the line “everything will be alright if I down a fifth by noon” has the possibility to become an adage for centuries to come. Likely not the wisest piece of advice, but one most can certainly empathize with if we’re honest. When he sings “I used to lay you down like Conway at night, but now you’re out there girl and you’re making different music tonight, so here’s an idea, why don’t you stay, yeah that’s where you made you made your bed and that’s where you can lay” it’s loud and clear how he feels about the woman in question—and I’m absolutely here for it. Such a killer, feisty verse that makes me cackle as I belt it out every time! The guitar solo prefacing the semi-acapella portion of the song backed by a chorus of voices and a drumline are my favorite parts of the song because it drives the point home and is so fun to jam out to.

Reflecting back on the record to this point, it’s easy to see the thematic presence of sorrow woven throughout the lyrics. Despite the best efforts we tend to put into anything in life, what we deserve is not always what the universe sends our way. Track number seven, “Earned,” is a prime lyrical example of that fact, especially in relation to futile relationships we may feel that we got the short end of the stick in, so to speak, because “even if you do things the right way, you don’t always get what is earned.” A heart is a fragile thing, and love is even more delicate, as heard in “On My Way.” MarDe croons “rules are made to be broken, but hearts aren’t the same, so many words left unspoken, could have silenced the pain” to a lover he’s leaving behind—and that is such a poignant line about the importance of communication. Quite frequently, it’s the words we do not say that could salvage important connections or bring closure to difficult goodbyes. His voice is soft and melodic on this tune, highlighting every bit of emotion involved, notably when he sings in the bridge “I couldn’t see through the flames when I promised my life, but all that smoke cleared just in time.” Every time I hear that particular lyric a single tear escapes my eye because I’ve lived that line and the emotions connected are just so painful—It hurts so good.

Although words sometimes possess the power to save relationships, they also have the power to destroy them. In the case of “Liar,” MarDe appears to be addressing a friend or mentor, rather than a past lover. “Your lies won’t let you tell the truth, you looked down on me, I looked up to you, you dig your hole try to pull me in the ground, you had your chance but it’s all over now”—WOW. In spite of the rather calm melody, the anger and disappointment boils over in every verse of this good riddance themed song, as he’s “on [his] way to the top now, and you can’t slow [him] down.” I often lightheartedly—but seriously—joke that people should not do wrong by a songwriter, because a song will inevitably be written about the offense, and “Liar” is a prime example of that, tying into the seemingly autobiographical journey MarDe details in the final song on the record, aptly titled “Curtain Call.” It’s a beautiful summation of his ride from the aforementioned bright-eyed dreamer of his youth to the man he is now, steadily achieving lifelong goals—while the highs and lows ebbed and flowed and it wasn’t always easy, the journey was without a doubt worth it, as evidenced by the quality and ultimate success of his first release.

MarDe either wrote or co-wrote every song on Running Out of Time and rounded up a group of gifted musicians to record the album at Rose City Recording in Charleston, WV with producer Greg McGowan. With a heavy dose of the keys, the lead/rhythm guitar, mandolin, violin, bass, drums, and pedal steel played by (in no particular order) musicians Jerimiah Hatfield, Joey Lafferty, Mark Cline Bates, Jeremy “Wood” Roberts, Eric Robbins, David McGuire, Molly Lynn Page, Travis Egnor, and MarDe himself, this record is a unique work of art, reflective of the array of musical styles that encompass the artist MarDe Brooks is. The support from background vocalists Ritch Henderson, Eric Robbins, Jerimiah Hatfield, and Mark Cline Bates adds a spark to each track they are featured on. My only critique of the record is that you cannot truly hear the extent of the passion and range MarDe possesses behind his vocals, as that essence can only be captured live—which is why you must catch him a live show, soon! You can find tour dates, merch, and other important info at www.mardebrooks.com, or you can follow him on Facebook at MarDe Brooks and on Instagram at @mardebrooksmusic.

Peace, love, & music,

Lyssa

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*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

*These images are not ours, nor do we claim them in any way. They are copyrighted by MarDe Brooks & Jimbo Valentine of Amalgam United.

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Betting on the Bullseye (Part 12)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Happy Wednesday! Or Galentine’s Day if you so choose to celebrate all of the awesome friends in your life (you should)! Here’s a happy little chapter! I feel like you guys are getting quite a few of those :D

On AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91@branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer

His thighs and calves ache as he moves, soreness hitting him before the runner’s high does. He’s one of those weird people who actually enjoys running, but some mornings he just doesn’t feel like it, his body screaming in protest when he pushes through the pain. This is one of those mornings.

But Emma had wanted to go running, said something about not wanting to get too out of the groove of exercise even while he was in town, so he’d stupidly agreed, even when he tried to coax her back into bed with him this morning instead of getting dressed and venturing outside to run. They’re out here now, though, running along the pavement next to the Charles river while sweat beads at his forehead despite the breeze and cool early morning temperatures. He’s just glad that they’re doing this now instead of in the middle of the afternoon.

Not that they could do this during the afternoon. They’re going to David and Mary Margaret’s house today, something he’s excited about yet absolutely terrified to do. Emma doesn’t have a biological family, but from what he can tell, the Nolans and Ruby are family for her. They’re her support system, so while he may not be meeting the parents, he sure as hell feels like he is.

He hopes it goes better than it did for Ben Stiller.

He’s pretty sure it can’t go worse.

“You are slacking, KJ,” Emma teases, slowing down her run to fall back into step with him. She’s got a bright smile on her face, amusement dancing across her eyes. She might as well not even be running. It’s ridiculous. At least she’s sweating. If she wasn’t sweating he would swear that he’s dating some kind of mythical being.

“I was not the one who wanted to go running this morning,” he huffs, taking in a breath to try to regulate his breathing, “and I’m pretty sure we’ve on mile five.”

“Six.”

“Well damn, we might as well go inside now.”

“No,” Emma groans, scrunching her face up in a way that he’s really come to love, “We can do two more, and then we’ll go get breakfast, okay?”

“You’re killing me, Swan.”

She winks before she sprints forward, and he’s not sure if he’s loving this view of her arse in her leggings or hating it because he’s got to catch up with her and keep up with her for the next two miles. Today just isn’t his day for running, but he’s not going to let Emma think that she’s this much faster than him.

He might kill himself in the process, but he’s not going to let her have bragging rights of the unspoken race that they’re competing in.

When they finally finish, Emma collapses down onto a bench, her chest heaving up and down while she catches her breath, and she immediately takes down her ponytail only to pull it back up again and wipe away the sweat into her hair. Her cheeks are red, her face a little pale, and if she looks like that much of a mess when she looked fine three (“it was supposed to be two, Swan”) miles ago, he can’t begin to imagine what he looks like. Not that he really cares. He honestly just wants to be able to breathe again.

“I hate you,” he groans as his joints scream at him while he settles down on the bench next to her. The river is right in front of him, trees shading them, and if he didn’t feel like he was dying, he’d probably love this view. He misses the view of the ocean from his bedroom, but he’s gladly traded it to get to feel like he’s dying while running with Emma.

A fair trade.

“I know,” she soothes, reaching over and patting his inner thigh, keeping her hand there, “but you’ll recover from this. Don’t you run on the beach? How is this worse?”

“I had two glasses of rum last night...which I’m pretty sure was actually early this morning.”

“Wow, lightweight.”

She pinches his bare thigh, his shorts have ridden up when he sat down, and he slaps away her hand only to lean down and lightly bite her earlobe like the mature adult he is. He likes the little noise she makes when he does that. It’s like a yelp and a squeal, and he wants to hear it all of the time. “I had two glasses of rum and some very heavy food followed by a lack of sleep because we got caught up watching reruns of The Office.”

“This is a good point.” Emma leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, stretching out her legs and flexing her ankles around, her calves flexing with the movement. “We can go at a later time tomorrow. Or you can sit on your ass while I go to the gym. But I really can’t go another week without exercising.”

“Aye, I know. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you have to change your routine. You should go to the gym if you want. You don’t have to just run with me.”

“Nah,” she sighs, gently squeezing his thigh again while her stray hairs manage to get caught in his mouth, “this is fine. I kind of like running with you. I think we can just do it a few times next week, and I’ll be all good. I don’t need to go every day. I think my limbs might fall off.”

“What a shame. I do rather like your limbs.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Your left leg is my favorite.”

Emma chuckles next to him, quickly turning her head to kiss his cheek all while she raises her left leg a little higher in the air, running her hands along it while she teasingly shows it off. He likes when she’s playful like this, loves it really. It’s refreshing for her to be so happy.

It’s refreshing to get to see it in person.

His phone buzzes several times in his pocket, and he takes it out, untangling the headphones that are wrapped around it so he can read the messages. Robin: Will you be back by the sixth?

Killian: Yep. My flight is that morning.

Robin: Okay, good. They need you to reshoot one more scene for HW. There was apparently a problem with the lighting, and they can’t fix it in editing.

Killian: Just email me the info.

Killian: I can only film late afternoon on the sixth or on the morning of the seventh.

Robin: We have the contract negotiations for Yours Truly on the seventh, so you’ve got to film the night of the sixth.

Killian: Okay. But I already said I was leaning away from that one.

Robin: Yeah, I know, but it’s not a definite no. So we at least have to go in for it. Maybe you’ll change your mind.

Killian: Fine. Just send me the emails. I’ll look at everything tomorrow.

“You okay?” Emma asks, reaching behind his back and rubbing her hand into his spine, hard enough to work out some of the tenseness that’s gathered.

“Yeah, yeah,” he promises, turning his phone screen off and stuffing it in his pocket. “Just work stuff, love. I’ve apparently got to do one more reshoot for Highland Waters. And Rob’s reminding me of a meeting we’ve got.”

She hums next to him before standing, stretching out her legs a little bit more, and grabbing onto his hands, lacing their fingers together and pulling them up to rest against her chest. “It is Saturday. We do not work on Saturdays, okay?”

“I work on Saturdays all of the time.”

“Not today, babe. Not today.”

-/-

“What should I wear?”

“Hmm?”

He turns around to face Emma, who’s stretched out on her bed looking at her phone while her hair dries, the long strands falling over the edge of the mattress and hitting the floor.

“What should I wear to the Nolans?”

“Whatever strikes your fancy.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping the button down he was holding and walking the few steps over to the bed, crawling up onto it and placing his knees on both sides of Emma’s legs and using his elbows to keep him propped up over her so that his face hovers just above her, the scent of her body wash invading him. But Emma hasn’t moved her phone, is still looking at it, so he has to snake his hand up and take it out of her hand, tossing it on the bed so she’ll pay attention.

“Hey, I was doing something.”

“What were you doing, Swan?” he nudges, quickly dipping his head and sliding his lips over hers, nibbling a bit before pulling back. “Because I’m pretty sure you were playing that damn numbers game on your phone when I was talking to you.”

“I was listening,” she protests, running her hands up his chest until she’s got her fingers locked behind his neck, “but I was also about to beat the level I was on. All of your talk about clothes was distracting me.”

“You are such a kind,” he leans down to press a kiss against her cheek, “considerate,” another one against her nose, “loving,” a kiss against her jaw, “woman.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Aye, obviously.”

She rolls her eyes at him, even if he should be the one rolling his eyes at her. “You should wear your jeans, the dark ones, and the dark plaid shirt, one of your t-shirts underneath. It’s casual, and they keep their house cold.” “Thank you.” He quickly pecks her lips before flipping off of her. “That’s all I asked.”

After they’re dressed, Emma taking a hell of a lot less time than him, they load up into Emma’s bug, which he thinks he finds more charming by the day. He has absolutely no idea how the thing is still running, but he’s pretty sure it’s fueled by Emma’s willpower. No, he’s absolutely sure that’s how it’s fueled. But Emma and her trusty bug drive him the twenty minutes to the Nolans’ neighborhood that’s just outside of the city, close enough that the houses are all packed in there but backyards are still a thing. They have a kid and a dog, plus the other little one on the way, so apartment living like Emma is obviously not for them.

From what he’s heard, they’re pretty much the poster family for suburban families.

And his suspicions and ideas are pretty much confirmed when they walk up the front steps and are greeted by every single member of the family, all of them smiling (kind of creepily if he’s honest) at he and Emma as they wait on the small porch after ringing the doorbell.

“You guys have got to work on your casual smiles because wow,” Emma whistles, taking a step closer and picking Leo up before the kid loses his mind talking to her, “you are not at all smooth.”

“Emma, who’s that?”

He’s got a toddler’s finger in his face before he can move out of the way, confusion and a little bit of concern painted over Leo’s features. “That, buddy, is Killian. You want to say hi?”

Leo slants his green eyes, his suspicion really obvious, and Killian has never felt so intimidated by someone under the age of three before in his entire life. Okay, so maybe when Aiden was born he was a little intimidated, or really terrified that he’d do something like drop him. He was so damn small. It was insane. But now he’s terrified that he’s being judged by a toddler.

“Hi, Leo,” he waves, bending his knees so he can be on Leo’s level in Emma’s arms. “I like your shirt.”

Leo shyly waves back before looking down at his shirt, pulling it off of his body. “It’s Superman,” he tells him, his voice small and a bit broken, the words not too clear.

“You know, Leo, Killian knows Superman.”

Oh, thank you, Emma, he thinks. Leo’s eyes immediately light up, his love for Superman obvious even with his young age. His parents must have him watch the cartoon. Usually kids under three don’t know too many superheroes, the movies too mature for them, but there are a few children’s cartoons out there that usually make the Halloween costumes popular.

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” he assures Leo, “he’s very nice. And brave. And I know he would like you.” He reaches down to tug at Leo’s hair, ruffling it the slightest bit before turning to face David and Mary Margaret and sticking his hand out until David takes it. “It’s nice to meet you, David. You too, Mary Margaret. Thanks for having us over today.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” Mary Margaret squeals, her entire face full with her smile. “I have heard so much about you! And I’ve been absolutely dying to meet you! Obviously, we’re big fans of your work too!”

His cheeks flush, and he briefly wonders if he can go hide out in the car for a minute until he isn’t blushing. “Thank you, lass. I’ve heard so much about you two as well.”

David doesn’t really say much, just smiling and nodding his head, before they’re all ushered inside. Their house is exactly how he thought it would be, warm colors and inviting furniture, toys scattered everywhere even though he’s sure they likely tried to straighten up beforehand. But if he’s learned anything from Liam and Elsa, when you have a child, all bets are off for having a clean house.

When you have an Emma, pretty much all bets are off for having a clean house too.

But he doesn’t mind, following Mary Margaret into the house and into the kitchen where she’s got food scattered across all of her countertops. He asks her what she’s cooking, and it’s apparently some kind of baked potato casserole.

(Maybe it’s a good thing that he and Emma went running this morning.)

He offers to help, telling Mary Margaret that he loves to cook when she protests and says he’s a guest, and with that, Emma and David excuse themselves to go sit in the living room and hang out with Leo. For a minute he’s anxious about Emma leaving him alone with Mary Margaret, but the woman is so sweet that she immediately starts talking to him, asking him about his favorite recipes and go-to meals. It’s a conversation that’s easy to fall into, and before he knows it, there’s no silences between the two of them. The food talk fades into talk of Mary Margaret’s job, and he lets her tell him all about her students, which is a subject she’s extremely passionate about.

He’s pretty sure by the time the casserole is in the oven and he’s chopping up carrots for the salad, he can repeat each of her students’ names and their favorite subject in school as well as the subject they actually excel at. But he doesn’t mind learning about someone else’s job, especially if they’re passionate about it. He enjoys it.

Plus, Mary Margaret is oddly entertaining, the way she flits in and out of being someone who’s as soft and sweet as candy but then can mutter the word “fuck” underneath her breath when she nearly burns the rolls she’s cooking.

He likes her. He can see why Emma does too, and he’s glad that they all found each other at university.

“Hey,” Emma greets, walking into the kitchen and squeezing his hip before she reaches into a cabinet and grabs a glass, filling it with water from the fridge, “it smells fantastic in here. You guys doing good?”

“Great, love.”

“Oh, Emma, Killian is just fantastic. He’s been telling me all about what it was like living in Australia for a few months. You know how I’ve always wanted to go.”

“So he’s schmoozing you with his worldly ways, Marg?”

“Oh completely.” Emma comes to stand next to him, resting her hips against the edge of counter, while Mary Margaret continues to talk. “I mean, we talked about food forever, but then somehow we got off on this tangent. Makes me feel so…untraveled.”

“Marg, you and David went to France for your honeymoon. I know because when you came back you were always saying things like ‘when I was abroad’ or ‘you know in France.’”

“I did not.”

“You definitely did. I thought Ruby was going lose her mind from holding back her tongue.”

“Oh God,” Ruby groans, walking into the room with someone who must be Victor standing behind her, a bottle of wine in his hand. Talk about weird timing. He didn’t even hear the door open. “Mary Margaret you were the actual worst. And David wasn’t much better.”

“David was worse,” Emma adds in before taking a sip of her water.

“Hello, lover boy,” Ruby greets, nodding her head at him.

All he can do is chuckle in response as he shakes his head back and forth. The lass has the personality of about five different people combined, and she’s always keeping him on his toes when she’s around. Mostly because he has no idea what outrageous thing she’s going to say to embarrass the hell out of him. He didn’t think that he became embarrassed easily, but he was apparently wrong.

“Hi, Ruby. Nice to see you again.”

“Well, it’s always nice to see you, Jones.” Emma laughs beside him, and he looks down to see her rolling her eyes into her cup, so he wraps his arm around her waist and thumbs at the strip of skin between her jeans and her shirt. “Vic, this is Killian, Emma’s boyfriend.”

“The actor, right?”

“Aye,” he nods, reaching across the kitchen island to shake Victor’s hand, smiling at him and feeling a bit of relief that he’s now met most of the people in Emma’s life without total disaster. “You work at Mass Gen, right?”

“For two years now, yeah. It’s great. And I really like being back home after living in Atlanta for so long.”

“I can imagine.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, all of the words he knows dying on the tip of his tongue, but luckily David comes back into the kitchen with a squirming Leo who absolutely just has to show Killian his Superman toys, so with little coaxing, he moves his hand off of Emma’s waist and follows Leo into the living room, settling down on the carpet while Leo unpacks an entire basket of toys. One by one Leo places stuffed animals and plastic figures over his lap, making his jeans disappear from sight.

Leo is only a year and a half older than Aiden is, and he absolutely cannot believe the difference that time makes. He’s like his own little man, talking in broken sentences and describing to him the names of each of his toys. He doesn’t know what it means that the only man in this house that he’s truly gotten along with is a toddler, but he’s chalking it up to this being their first meeting. It’s not like they’ve known each other for months or years. It’s a few hours, so he’s not expecting to make any new best friends.

He was just kind of hoping that he wouldn’t be fumbling around like an idiot in front of everyone.

Emma finds him after he’s been with Leo for a few minutes, settling down next to him and idly moving the toys on his legs over to hers. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect. Why?”

“You’re just a little quiet is all.”

“David and Victor…they, uh, intimidate me.”

“What? Babe, that’s ridiculous.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, relaxing his back against the couch, his arse starting to hurt from sitting on the floor. “I just…I don’t know what to say. I talk with people I don’t know all of the time, but I feel like they don’t like me.”

“First of all, they like you. Victor doesn’t even know anything about you, and as good as he is for Ruby, he’s never been much of a conversationalist. And David is…he’s David. I think he’s trying to play the role of my father when that is exactly what I told him not to do.”

“That’s kind of what I figured by all of the stares and crossed arms.”

“He’ll warm up to you.” She reaches over and squeezes his hand, interlacing their fingers before bringing them up to her lips and kissing his knuckles. “I promise. And if he doesn’t, I can kick his a-s-s.”

“Ah, ah, Swan. Here I thought that I was the spelling bee champion in this relationship.”

“Well, it looks like we are just hitting it out of the ballpark on every level. Those people in the kitchen can’t compare to us.”

“Wasn’t aware it was a competition.”

She nudges his shoulder. “Always.”

“Food’s ready,” David yells from the kitchen, his voice loudly echoing throughout the house. “Make sure to remember to bring my kid back, Emma.”

-/-

Emma slides down onto his lap, easily settling her arse onto his thighs while his arm wraps around her waist and he pats against her stomach, David continuing to tell him about the improvements around the house. He hasn’t decided if David is just really into home improvement or if he’s awkwardly searching for things to talk about with him and that’s the first thing that came to mind. It’s still a bit awkward, the dinner they all ate together making things the slightest bit better, and he’s glad that Emma’s returned from the bathroom. She was gone for what felt like hours, and he feels like he formulated about ten different ways to excuse himself to go outside where Ruby and Victor are arguing over Victor’s coworker. He’s only known the man for a few hours, and he knows that Victor definitely should not have mentioned that he was dating one of his coworkers before he got back together with Ruby. In front of all of Ruby’s friends, at least. Maybe when he was alone with Ruby.

Especially since Ruby didn’t know about it.

Yeah, that’s what he would find preferable to talk about over the new faucet David installed in their guest bathroom. Maybe that’s why Emma was gone for so long. She couldn’t get the water to turn on or was too damn fascinated by the faucet.

“Where’s Marg?” she whispers in his ear, placing her hands over his on her stomach.

“She took Leo upstairs to get ready for bed, said that Dave and I should talk.”

“How’s that going?”

“I can hear you two,” David groans, cutting a glance over at them that makes Emma lean her cheek against his.

“I know” she laughs. “I was expecting you to. Why are you boring Killian with home improvement stuff? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do any of his own stuff.”

“Oi, I know how to do some things, but honestly I do just call Will if it gets a little more complex than following an instruction manual.”

“Exactly. Talking about the different types of screwdrivers is not a great conversation topic. You could have just talked about all of the murder you see at work or something. That’s a fun thing.”

“I could always ask him what his intentions are with you.”

He feels Emma almost lunge off of his lap, his forearm holding her back, and he chuckles into her hair while she grits out, “We talked about that. You’re supposed to be nice and also not someone out of the, like, 1800s. No one says things like that anymore.”

So maybe Emma was right earlier. Maybe David is just a bit stilted with him because he’s trying to fill some kind of role. He’s like Liam, Killian realizes, more ease settling into him than he’s felt all night. He’s just protective, cautious, and if anything, he’s doing a hell of a lot better job than Liam did when he met Emma.

“Well, I’m just curious. I can’t remember the last time you let us meet a boyfriend. I think it was Walsh.”

“And that went so well.”

“What happened when David met Walsh, love?”

“Oh, Walsh’s first words when I was out of the room were about my ass. And then he asked David if he had ever ‘hit that.’”

“Wow,” Killian whistles, disbelief settling in his stomach, “he sounds like a wanker.”

“He was,” David answers, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall against his sides. “You seem like less of one.”

Ah, so things aren’t going too badly then. He leans his head forward, flashing David the brightest smile that he can muster. “Aw, Dave, I knew you’d warm up to me.”

“Don’t push things,” David growls, his lips twitching the slightest bit, almost into a smile.

“Anyways,” Emma begins, adjusting herself so that she rubs herself into him (which is definitely not a good thing for where they are) as a Bruins commercial plays on the television, “someone explain to me how Gritty is still around. I saw a commercial with him last night, and I am still disturbed.” “I think that’s why, love. Good marketing.”

“Yeah, but it’s, like, aren’t kids just going to be terrified of him?”

“I’m terrified of him,” David adds. “And then those people who have a fear of mascots…this probably just proves their point.”

“Is that a real thing? Just being scared of all mascots. Like, are people scared of Mickey Mouse?”

“Aye,” he confirms. “Elsa’s sister is bloody terrified of all of them. I think it’s related to the whole clown thing we were talking about the other day.”

“Isn’t she a costume designer? Doesn’t she, you know, dress people up as other things for a living?”

“Ironic, I know.”

“And Elsa is?”

“My brother’s wife,” Killian explains, looking to the side when he hears the front door open and close, Ruby and Victor walking in side by side with smiles on their faces and Ruby’s shirt hanging off her shoulder and Victor’s hair sticking up all over the place. He’s not going to ask about that. At all. Even if he wonders where the hell they could have fooled around when all of the houses out here are practically on top of each other. “They have a son, Aiden, who’s one.”

“And this is the brother who threatened to call the cops on Emma?” “David,” Emma chastises, her chest heaving and body flinching under his touch, “we worked that out. It’s not a thing anymore.”

“But you haven’t even talked to Liam.”

“I haven’t seen him. I’ll talk to him when I see him. Killian and I are good. There’s no need to bring up the shitty stuff.”

“Exactly,” Ruby huffs, obviously still a bit frustrated with Victor from what he can tell. “Can we have beer now that your mini me is asleep?”

“You could have had it before.”

“You did have it before, honey. I can taste it on your tongue.”

At that, Victor pretty much licks into Ruby’s mouth, his tongue visible to everyone in the room, and Killian almost gags. He’s all about showing the woman you love that you love her, but not necessarily like that…in front of people. But Emma’s told him how well Ruby and Victor work together, and while he doesn’t see that quite yet, he’s beginning to understand a bit. They’re like two fiery personalities who somehow don’t consistently crash...despite earlier. Maybe he just needs to spend time with them. He liked Ruby the night they met at the gala, but he can definitely understand how having a friend like her would be an adjustment. She’s like Will on steroids.

“You guys are disgusting,” Emma groans, moving his arm off of her stomach so that she can get up, the loss of heat immediate. “What movie are we watching tonight?”

“Infinity War.”

“The Princess Bride.”

“Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Okay, so that’s not a consensus at all,” Emma sighs as she pulls her jeans up. “You guys figure something out while I go make popcorn and get the drinks or Mary Margaret gets to decide on the movie.”

“No,” everyone but him yells at once, and that’s the moment he learns to never let Mary Margaret pick out a movie.

“Exactly. Decide.”

It’s more difficult than he would expect to pick out a movie, but he doesn’t often sit around and watch movies with his mates. They usually only come over for a football match or two, and they always know exactly which game to watch. But while Emma’s gone, they scroll through Netflix, hurrying along when Mary Margaret comes back downstairs and settles down next to David, immediately pointing to a romantic comedy that looks as if it was made in a high school...by middle schoolers.

“Oooh, we could watch Hush,”Ruby suggests, looking at him. “Aren’t you shirtless in a scene in that movie?”

He blushes, not being able to help himself. Yeah, so that’s another reason why he doesn’t watch a lot of movies with his mates. They always tease him about everything. Emma’s friends have seemed to catch onto that quickly.

“Yeah, let’s not watch that,” Victor adds in.

“I agree, Vic. That’s not something I really want to see. No offense, Jones.”

“None taken. I agree with both of you. A hell of a lot, actually.”

They do eventually end up settling on one of the Thor movies. Ruby and Victor have somehow never seen it, even if it’s over a year old at this point, and he in David couldn’t let that slide. He also makes a note that he can talk about movies with David if their conversation ever gets stilted again. He feels like it eventually has to get better. This is just a first meeting, and those aren’t exactly known for being the smoothest things in the world. Plus, he thinks he’s doing great getting on with Mary Margaret and Ruby. He likes them a lot, and he hopes they like him. It’s been awhile since he had to meet the friends of a girlfriend, and he’s been downplaying how much he hopes they all like him ever since Emma told him they were all hanging out today.

Because he really wants them to like him. It’s important to him, and he knows it’s important to Emma even if she’s downplaying it too. This is like her family. These are her people, the ones she’s allowed into her life, and he understands the significance of her allowing him to be a part of the group too. It’s one thing for it to just be the two of them. It’s another for her to want him to be in more aspects of her life.

While they’re trying to get the speaker the Nolans just installed (another one of David’s handyman projects), he gets up to head to the kitchen where Emma is padding back and forth on her feet while popcorn cooks in the microwave, several other bowls already filled up.

“You,” he begins stepping up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist while he presses a kiss against her cheek. “are cooking popcorn for the masses, love. We just ate dinner.”

“Hmm, doesn’t mean there’s not room in our stomachs for popcorn. What are we watching?”

“Ragnarok. Ruby and Victor have never seen it somehow.”

“That’s because Victor barely leaves the hospital and Ruby’s pop culture kryptonite is movies. It’s the one thing she isn’t an expert in.”

“Why’s that?”

“She has issues sitting through an entire movie.” The microwave beeps and Emma moves herself out of his arms to open the door and grab the bag, shaking it around before pouring it in a large bowl. “Do you want candy mixed in with this, KJ?”

“If I say no is that going to change anything?”

“Nope. You want to see what they have to drink? I know they don’t have rum, but they usually have some pretty good stuff.”

“I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight. One of us has to drive home.”

Emma opens her mouth, almost like she’s going to say something, but then her lips close and he sees the slightest shake of her head. Whatever it was, she’s obviously changed her mind. “I honestly was just going to devour the lemonade Marg made. It’s full of sugar, but it’s so damn good. So you can drink if you want to. I don’t mind driving. I mean, I drove us here.”

He nods, still not really wanting anything, but he does grab the beers for everyone else as well as picking up a bowl of popcorn so Emma’s not carrying all three of them back into the living room. When he gets back, Victor and Ruby have settled themselves onto his spot, Mary Margaret and David taking up the other couch, so he puts the food and drinks on the coffee table before reclaiming the large recliner, figuring he and Emma can share even if her knows it’ll likely kill their thighs after a few hours. But that’s what they do, Emma joining him not a minute later, handing him her bowl of popcorn that he’s pretty sure is filled with gummy candies while she squeezes into the small sliver of space next to him, one arse cheek propped up on him while the other rests on the cushion. She’s definitely not going to last long like that.

“You eat like a child,” he tells her when she takes her first big handful of popcorn, stuffing it in her face all at once.

“Hush,” she shushes, leaning over and brushing a kiss against the side of his jaw. “I know you like gummy candies. They’re sour too. I got them out of Marg’s not-so-secret stash.”

“Stealing and bribery? A regular pirate.”

“Well, I figured Loki would be proud since that’s what we’re watching. Keeping in the theme and all.”

“Aye, I imagine he would be. What kind of candy did everyone else get?”

“Nothing. Then Marg would know I went through her stash.”

He has to bite his tongue to keep his laughter from being too loud, even if Chris Hemsworth is spinning around in chains on screen, as well as biting it so he doesn’t tell Emma he loves her then and there. He’s been tempted to so many times in the past week, their proximity making it more difficult to hide how he feels, but he told himself he’d wait for her, let her take the lead. At least on this.

“You are sneaky, Swan.”

“I know. I have nimble fingers.” He waggles his eyebrows at her, kissing her temple and adjusting his arm around her shoulder before turning back and actually paying attention to the movie.

Sometime later, he wakes with a crick in his neck and a pain in his thigh, the muscles twitching the slightest bit. It takes several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness so that he can understand where exactly he is. Bloody hell, he fell asleep during the movie, and considering the only person left in the room is Emma, everyone else must have gone off to bed or gone home.

He feels Emma twitch on top of him, her legs stretching out in front of him while her entire body lifts off the seat. “What time is it?” she mumbles, burying her face in his shoulder.

He fumbles around for his phone, pulling it out of the pocket and trying not to cringe at the brightness of the screen. “A little past two in the morning.”

“Shit. That’s late. We should go home.”

“I’m sure David and Mary Margaret wouldn’t mind if we stayed here.”

“My back minds.” Slowly, Emma gets up from the seat, immediately stretching her hands up over her head, her shirt lifting to show the muscles of her stomach. “I’m not sleeping in a chair or on a couch when I have a perfectly good bed at home.”

“But we’ll have to move.”

“Uh huh,” she sighs, reaching up and rubbing her fists over her eyes to rub out the sleep. “Come on. There won’t be any traffic. We’ll be back in, like, ten minutes. Let me just leave a note for Marg.”

True to her word, he and Emma are back in her apartment in ten minutes (he thinks it might have been eight and that she broke several traffic laws), and even though he thinks he’s going to fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, he doesn’t. Instead he’s wide awake, likely in that hazy period where you’re so tired that you can’t sleep, so tired that you actually have energy.

Bloody hell. He always hates this.

When he goes home, he seriously has to get back on a normal sleeping schedule. Filming for so long at such weird hours was like hell. Not to mention Emma being in a different time zone, even if that isn’t too bad. Not for him at least. He knows he must keep her up late.

Speak of the devil, she flops down on the mattress, her jeans and blouse gone and replaced with the pajamas he’s discovered that she prefers, before crawling under the covers and pulling them up to her neck like she’s forming some kind of human burrito. She’s also a blanket hog. Like, a serious blanket hog.

He’s just about to tug the comforter back over to him when she rolls over, landing right next to him and sticking her socked feet in between his calves. He’s glad she’s got on socks. She’s a blanket hog and has cold feet.

He loves her.

“So, you survived the meeting of the friends. How does it feel?”

“Like, a bloody relief.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she laughs, reaching over and rubbing her hand over his collarbone, making a shiver run down his spine. “I will admit that everyone wasn’t exactly their best selves tonight. Except for your new biggest fan Leo. Mary Margaret totally put him in that shirt on purpose.”

“I figured,” he chuckles, finding her waist under the comforter and pulling her closer. “I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed.”

“Both, I think. You’re literally his hero.”

He scrunches up his nose, clicking his tongue but not protesting. He wants to, but he won’t. “So do you think I passed the imaginary test I was taking?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Oh you don’t know?” “Well, David is a tough grader. Ruby can be a bit finicky.”

“Technically, Ruby set us up, so really, she should be my biggest fan. Not Leo.”

“Shh,” she laughs, gently slapping his shoulder. “Don’t give Ruby any credit. She already lets her head get big every time we’re together. We don’t need more of that.” “She can’t hear us, love.”

“She has her ways.”

He snickers underneath his breath, the laugh beginning to rumble in his stomach. He doesn’t doubt it. Ruby does seem like she has her ways to do everything.

“Well, I look forward to my report card.” “If it matters, I’ll give you an ‘s’ for satisfactory.”

“Bloody hell, all I get is satisfactory?”

“Well, that’s how your sex is, so I figured that’s just how you’d get graded for everything.”

She squeals as he rolls over on top of her, caging her into the mattress and rubbing his scruff against her cheeks all the while his fingers move against her sides, knowing that she hates when anyone does this. “Satisfactory,” he gruffs, kissing along her jawline while she continues to laugh, her breath catching with each movement, “I’ll show you damn satisfactory.”

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff

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onestowatch · 5 years

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HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! 7 LGBTQ+ Artists On Their Journeys In The Music Industry

We love their music. We adore their personalities. And yet, we don’t know much about their path to success. Their songs illustrate major moments in their lives, and we feel as if we know everything about them, but truthfully we don’t. We can’t begin to put ourselves in their shoes, but we can listen to their stories.

In honor of Pride Month, we asked some of our favorite rising LGBTQ+ artists to share their experiences being so unapologetically themselves in the public’s scrutinizing eye. These seven artists opened up about their inspiring journeys maneuvering through the complicated music industry, and how they eventually came out on top.

Calum Scott

youtube

Being exposed to the music industry genuinely helped me accept myself and my sexuality. When I was younger, I had a pretty traumatic coming out experience at 14 years old after telling my best friends I was gay and being totally abandoned for it. That made me suppress who I was for basically the rest of my life.

Many years later when I signed with my manager and my record label, I was terrified to tell them too, scared that they might drop me. That comes from a very real fear - fear that you are not going to be accepted for something that is out of your control which I know is felt by many across the LBGTQ+ community.

It wasn’t until I started writing my own music that I used my experiences and my stories to create painfully honest songs that could be relatable and would remind people that you aren’t the first and won’t be the last, that there is a lot of love and support out there for you. Writing songs like “If Our Love Is Wrong” and my latest single, “No Matter What” gave me a huge sense of closure and empowerment, but not only that, it gave me a new sense of purpose - to create music that people could soundtrack to their lives.

So far I have received messages by the thousand thanking me for helping people with their struggles and their successes. It’s the most gratifying thing I could ask for in this job and is what keeps me making the music I make.

Greyson Chance

youtube

When I think about my time in the music industry and how it relates back to my sexuality, I can’t help but feel blessed and lucky. Throughout my career, I have been surrounded by people who have truly cared for my well-being and have encouraged me to be myself, and to be happy. Though, I think I do not exactly owe my luck to these people, but rather to the countless creatives and trailblazers who have come before me and challenged the way our society views LGBTQ+ artists. It is to them, Elton John, David Bowie, Lady Gaga, Grace Jones, Robert Mapplethorpe, and so many others, that I give my thanks. Because of them, I have always been supported to be honest and to create authentically. Happy Pride Month xx.

Lauren Ruth Ward

youtube

When I go to/play a show, I see a "door man," "sound guy," "monitor guy," and if I'm playing a show, 9.5/10 times I will be paid by, you guessed it, a man. While I don't have factual research on whether or not a man was chosen over a women for the job or if there's just a shortage of women applying for these positions, I do have first hand experiences of peers (both men and women) telling me in confidence that they'd prefer a man over a women in these positions. Of course I ask “WHY?” And most of their reasons: "because of lack of experience." *Confusion emoji* Consequently, I've had female peers (who've aced the same sound engineering programs as male peers) tell me they constantly lose job opportunities to men in these positions as well as production, FOH, tour management, merch, etc. How does this effect me? Where do I begin? Not only is it uncomfortable being sized up by every "sound guy" as soon as I walk on stage for soundcheck, hear them talk differently to my male bandmate, occasionally make a joke to my female drummer about "actually hitting the drums" (not funny), and then of course treat me slightly better but in that "oh! you're a useful object" kinda-way after I've slayed (duh). It's clear the music entertainment industry is a patriarchal mess. For a long time, I was under the illusion that people in this freeing, artistic field couldn't possibly think men are superior to women. Then I pulled the wool from my eyes and slowing saw the wolves dressed in sheep's hippie clothing. Most lineups I see are equally if not predominately female fronted. Sometimes this is a conscious decision because I need to experience relatable art in order to understand myself as an artist. My ideal archetype would be an equal balance of sexes (and races!) because I am both feminine and masculine. Obviously there are men working in these positions who try to not see gender and work on rewiring their brains from the patriarchal wash we're all spun from. But unfortunately, as a female in the music industry, there are obstacles to jump through just to create and be. (And I've only just scraped the indy surface.)

Leland

More pop songs about gay sex in 2019🏳️‍🌈

— Leland (@LelandOfficial)

December 31, 2018

My experience being an openly gay artist and songwriter in the music industry (and I can only speak from my own perspective) has been refreshingly positive, surrounded by support and shown me that at the end of the day, the best songs still tends to win. The road to accepting myself and my sexuality, has paralleled with my music, specifically how it has grown and evolved. When I finally sat down with myself and said “it’s time to be who you are and be happy with who you are,” it felt like I wrote my most authentic songs to date.

youtube

Being gay has definitely been a challenge in that people in the industry can sometimes think that defines you. Their scope tends to become even narrower than just being a woman in the business in general. I feel that it has made me sharp though and forced me to really try to become my own special thing and create my universe. I would never trade my path for anything it’s given me invaluable perspective.

Morgan Saint

youtube

I think the most refreshing lesson I’ve learned over the past few years is that people will really surprise you. The music industry is a bizarre, messy world, but I’ve been met with acceptance by pretty much everyone that I’ve met or worked with.

Beyond that, I have been pleasantly surprised by the amount of support and love that I have received from strangers for being unforgivingly, exactly myself. The support that I feel from my “fans” is more than just acceptance, it feels like an unspoken deep understanding. It’s a support system that gives me so much comfort, as well as a space to continue to constantly learn about myself, grow, and evolve as an artist and human.

Coming to terms with my sexuality has been a confusing, often scary journey, but I’ve found the most confident and fearless version of myself— a huge part due to the connection that I’ve found with likeminded people through doing music. Everyone’s process of self-discovery and learning to love themselves is unique, but I hope that being honest and open in my music and online naturally creates a space that encourages people to be themselves and be fearless. It’s way fucking cooler to be yourself than to be anyone else!!

Wrabel

youtube

i came out after i’d entered the “industry.” i was terrified. i had a mentor of mine once make a statement asking me “you’re not gay, right?” after i’d come back from a treatment center for alcoholism and he didn’t know where i had been. that stuck with me for years. but i came out and found so many queer artists and writers. and so so many allies in this industry. i’ve tried to be more and more open and honest in my work. i’ve learned that one voice or one song can really make a difference. i’m trying to do just that.

Celebrate Pride Month with us and check out these artists and more of our favorite LGBTQ+ artists down below:

#calum scott #greyson chance #lauren ruth ward #leland #LP #morgan saint #wrabel #pride month #pride #lgbtq #lgbt

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taetae-tea · 6 years

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Romanticism

⋙Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, College!au

⋙Paring: JinXreader

⋙Word-count: 5.9K

⋙Warnings: abusive childhood (bullies), praise-kink, grinding, cum play, slight impregnate-kink, moaning, groaning, growling, dirty-talk, oral, unprotected-sex, aftercare

⋙Summary: You played someone to survive, you weren’t yourself. You’ve never been able to really do whatever you want to do, until Jin came along one day.

⋙Request: Hi, This is my first request ever and I would like to ask if you can do NSFW smut on them getting grinding on and what they would do afterwards

⋙A/N: Okay so this was first based on this, but I changed my ways and now it turned into a full story, buT I STILL PUT IN THE GRINDING So no need to hate hihi ly xx

You look out of the window of your apartment, sighing to yourself as long strives of rain made their way down your windows, blocking the great few of the city. You’ve always liked the sight and scent of rain. It calmed you in all the right ways. relaxation you certainly need once in a while.

A sudden noise dragged you back into reality, interrupting the oasis that landed into your body just moments ago. The noise came from your phone, which was located on the coffee table right in front of your half-naked figure. You let out another sigh, this time in a rather irritating manner. But, whatever the message might’ve been, you didn’t have much of a choice but to look at it. Socializing, they call it. Yeah sure, but for you it’s a way to survive.

Park: I’ve planned a party tomorrow evening. It begins at 8 pm and ends at whatever time you plan to leave😉 It’s at the BT dorms. Notify me when you bring more people with you!

You sigh for the third time this fine evening. Though parties aren’t that bad and sometimes they are actually quite enjoyable, it’s still not your ideal night.

You: Will be there😘

You throw your phone somewhere randomly on the couch. You close your eyes for a small second, trying to find back the calming vibes you had picked up minutes ago, but it’s hard to find them back when the only thing you can think of is: what am I going to wear tomorrow?

‘So you’re coming tonight? Not that I’m surprised.’ Jimin says excitingly to you as he sat down on the seat besides you. You nod and flashed him a smile, fake, I should add. He grinned back before unpacking his textbook for this subject, which happens to be Art History.

This class never really interested you, well not as the fake you then. The real you loves the subject, but not like it’s something you would ever show to the world. But, this era in the art books does seem to be one of your favorite times in the history of art. It’s the time of Romanticism, right in the middle of the industrialization, ironically enough. It’s when society looked for a better place, to forget the ‘now’, to forget the horribleness of the reality. The is rain to you is just like the paintings in those times, an escape from the ‘now’ and to create your own world.

‘Y/N, what aspects from Romanticism can you find back in this painting?’ Your art-class teacher asked you. She ripped you from your thoughts right on that moment and you felt caught for not listening. But, since you understand this epoch in the art-history quite well, your answer came out as an reflection.

‘By the mysterious theme and nature that is almost overpowering, you can clearly tell it’s from The Romantic era.’

‘Can you go deeper into your answer?’ Your teacher asks and you can see the frown of surprise, not used to you being so knowledgeable. You can see how she thinks you just be reading something out of the book and somewhere, it boosted you to tell her your knowledge.

‘Yes of course miss. Because they wanted to escape reality, nature came into few pretty fast. Nature has nothing to do with the reality of the humans, it goes its own beautiful way. Mystery was also a way to express the beautifulness of the unknown. The known in that time was something like the industry, the so called reality which they were so desperate to not see.’

The class was shocked and you heard a few people whisper. Even Jimin didn’t point out a remark. You weren’t popular for your smart remarks, you were actually popular for your dumb remarks. So, hearing you speak something that could define intelligence was aught to be the gossip of the school. It almost made you roll your eyes, almost. But you correct yourself and you smile in a shy manner.

‘My mother used to be a fan of this era, that’s why.’ You immediately try to explain and your teacher nods slowly, but she knew that wasn’t true, since your mother wasn’t even there when you were young. But to be faire, your teacher isn’t the most normal pall in this school, like all other art-teachers.

‘Well, you were entirely correct. Well done!’ She smiles and you nod as you return the gesture.

The class went by slowly, like every class does. Your little outburst of knowledge was soon to be forgotten besides a few complements of your classmates while leaving the class. Jimin didn’t know how to react, so he parted ways quite fast when you were just out of the classroom.

‘I have to go plan some stuff y/n, see you tonight! He had yelled before disappearing into the crowd. You just shrug before making your way to your locker.

But just as you were going to make a turn left, someone grabbed your wrist and stopped you mid-tracks.

You frown and spin yourself around to see the intruder. It’s someone you don’t recognize, but he should be someone you would recognize. Plumb lips, soft skin, handsome features, tall and incredibly build. As an instinct, you put on a flirtatious voice.

‘How may I help you mister handsome?’ You say as you winked at him, something that always does the trick with boys. It looks like he didn’t give one damn about your doings and just began to talk himself.

‘There is an exhibition tonight of a famous Romanticism-artist. The person who I ment to go with bailed on me, so do you want to come with me?’ He held up two tickets and when you look closer, big letters ‘Casper David Friedrich’ your eyes went wide and a smile crept up your face out of excitement.

‘Fuck how did you get these? I’ve been trying to get tickets for months already-.’ You stopped yourself before you could go on further. You shake your head no, reminding yourself you shouldn’t get too excited. That’s not who you are, your identity, or who you’re trying to be.

‘I would love to, I mean,’ you correct yourself and the handsome guy looks at you with a frown. He didn’t understand the change in your behavior and to his surprise, he felt drawn to you because of that. What are you hiding?

‘Wait, fuck, until how late is the exhibition?’

‘Uhm, until 10 I think, it’s at the city nearby.’ He explains and you nod to yourself. You could still make it to Jimin’s party after that, some people come 2 hours late, casually. Right?

But then again, what happens when they find out? You can’t have your whole reputation thrown away by just one extraordinary night with an handsome guy. There with, you don’t know this guy, what if they will think you’re easy? That will ruin you, just like it did many years ago.

‘I-I don’t know.’ You sigh, scratching your head as you look around you, trying to see any people whispering about you already. ‘I barely know you and I have a party this evening too...’

‘You did seem to be pretty serious about this art style, I really thought you were interested.’ He said, leaning against the wall besides the both of you. His face taunts you, he knew you were lying and not to him, to yourself. It feels like he could see right through the popular barrier.

‘I-... I mean yes, but I don’t know if I’ll make it to the party and-.’

‘Here.’ He grabs your hand softly and places one of the tickets in your hand. He closes your fingers around it and showed you a small smile. ‘I’ll be there at 7, if you aren’t there around that time, I’ll walk in myself.’ He tells you and you nod, enchanted by his movements and you could feel your heart skip a beat when he touched your hands.

‘I do hope to see you tonight y/n.’

Those were his last words before disappearing into the crowd of walking college students. You clench your jaw as you didn’t knew what to do. To take a risk, or to stay in your comfort-zone, somewhere you knew everything was going to be as planned.

That day didn’t went any better after the handsome beauty had visited you. You didn’t knew what to do, what would be the best plan. Frankly, you can’t ask anyone for help, not a single person who knew your real identity. Not a simple person who knew that you weren’t outgoing, happy and refreshing. Under this skin of popularity, you were scarred of the past.

The fact that you loved different things, made life an hell. You never wanted to go out, you didn’t feel the need to. You never made friends, simply because you knew they weren’t right for you. But all those things made you fragile and an easy target for those who bullied.

Those memories were there everyday to remind you. It reminded you to this time make friends, go out and do what every college student does. It’s surviving and there with the best option you have.

Namjoon: Heard you’ll be going to the party tonight😏

Namjoon: Why don’t we finish what we started at the last one hm?

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what Namjoon is going for. You look at the clock, reading 6 pm. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you felt frustrated. You still haven’t made your choice this 6 hours you’ve gotten it. Your heart longed for the exhibition and the mystery guy, while your mind knew that the party was your best option.

It’s something you couldn’t make up, couldn’t reason. Why did you feel the urge to be popular? Why is it that you can’t actually enjoy life simply because of this unspoken thing inside of you? The answer is simple, but something you won’t admit. Fear. It’s fear that drove you to do the things you don’t want to do.

You: sounds perfect😉

Namjoon: That’s my baby girl😘

You shudder by the gross feeling. Sure, Namjoon is handsome and has a good set of brains, but he isn’t your lover. And the fact you’ll maybe sure a bed with him tonight, made you sick. Really, what are you doing with your life?

You look back at the clock again and 5 minutes have past.

Namjoon: Fuck I’m already hard thinking about you😩💦 can you maybe show me some pics of your outfit tonight bby?😏

You stared at the screen and it’s at that point you knew you didn’t want this. It’s like your mind and heart finally sinked for a slight moment and before you knew, you were dressing yourself up. Your put on black jeans with a turtle neck, a coat and some boots. You got your camera out of a shell, somewhere you haven’t been for years and you even had to un-dust the thing before pulling the string around your neck.

Them you left and went on your way to the exhibition, no doubts and thoughts to hold you back. For once, you follow the path your heart leads you.

‘y/n! You’re here!’ The handsome anonymous approached you and you gave him a nod, smiling shyly. His features really is something to take in every time, and you can say anything about him, but his lips do look kissable.

‘Yes of course! How can I not.’ You exclaim as you both made your way to the entrance. You gave your tickets to the guard, which approves and lets you in with a smile.

‘Well, you have a party tonight remember?’ He reminds you, but you shrug. ‘I guess that has to wait for once.’ You say before turning around and blocking him for walking further. ‘But before we continue, handsome stranger, what is your name?’

He laughs at your cute act and he holds himself back to ruffle your hair. ‘Isn’t some mystery funny? We’re at a romantic exhibition anyways, it’s what the era stands for. But you’d know right?’ He says with a little smirk and you scoff, now folding your arms over one another. ‘Look, we aren’t in the 19th century sister. You better give me a name before I will just call you dickhead.’ His laugh that followed couldn’t be any more beautiful and he shook his head slightly, not believing the words that left your mouth.

‘My name in Kim Seokjin, but you can just call me Jin.’ He introduces himself and you nod with an happy smile. You turn around again and excitingly called for him to follow you, because oh my god, you just caught a glimpse of a painting that is worth at least a million. Of course you have to take photo’s of it.

The night went on like a train, something you haven’t felt in years. It’s so pure and gentle, the kind of pleasurable feeling you’re receiving from this evening. It feels addicting. Addicted to your own likings, your own thoughts and addicted to him. He is the reason for you to feel this free is such a long time already, it almost feels like magic.

But, magic has to stay magic and shouldn’t interfere with reality. This has to be a one night thing, something to look back on.

‘Ahh, that was amazing’ Jin says as he stretches his arms above him, noting you it was quite tiring too. You’ve walked a lot, taken a lot of pictures and the conversation you had were too good. You talked about anything that came up into your minds and surprisingly, the way you both thought was quite similar. Jin is different than any man you’ve met in the past few years and you don’t want to lose him just yet. You want to savor this feeling for just a bit longer before you return into the real world you’ve escaped tonight.

‘You still going to that party?’ He asks you as you arrived at a nearby busstation. You shake your head no. If there is anything you don’t want, it must be to ruin your mood.

‘So you’re free for the rest of the night?’ His face lit up like a child given its candy. You chuckled before giving him and answer. ‘Yes you’re right about that.’

He hums into the quiet evening air, not a single car driving on the road since it’s just a little side track no one takes except this very bus.

‘How about we get some pizza and some drinks, get to your place and have a relaxing night?’ He asks and you couldn’t decline. The way his eyes tingle and his big smile was very much visible under the dim lights, you felt your heart ache in all the good ways.

‘Great.’

‘Indeed great.’

[8:46pm]Namjoon: y/n where are you?

[8:51pm]Namjoon: you’re hiding aren’t ya😏

[8:53pm]Namjoon: I don’t mind to play a game anyways💦💦

[9:30pm]Park: where u at?

[9:45pm]Park: y/n?

[9:47pm]Namjoon: yo, are you really not coming?

[10:15pm]Namjoon: whatever, I’ll just fuck some other chick

[10:30pm]Park: Namjoon is really looking for you, you know. Kinda a dick move to bail on him like that.

The messages stream in when you turn on your phone again, just when you arrived home. Jin was just setting up the coffee table as you sighed because of the messages.

‘Who are they?’ Jin asked as he had read a few names on your screen before settling down beside you. ‘My real life.’ You sigh, putting away your phone as you chose to ignore the two names in your phone. Jin frowns before grabbing a pizza slice and sitting back, waiting for you to explain.

When you didn’t react any further, he decides to ask you the question himself. ‘Then what am I?’

‘A dream.’ You answer and you stare outside the window again, hoping for drips to fall down, to calm you. You hate confrontation, it’s the one thing you’re bad at. Really bad at. You always try to escape the room, but you knew you couldn’t do this with Jin, he deserves your time, your explanation. He had send you the best day of your life and thereby you are very thankful.

‘And I can’t be your reality?’ He asks, voice softer and caring. He wasn’t hurt, he knew something was up with you. You are broken and in need of help, to be healed. He is happy to help you with that.

‘No, you can’t. You must be a dream.’ You feel yourself tear up as you still didn’t see any water drips falling out of the sky. You try to hold yourself hard, but when you feel a hand on your back making circles in your skin and a voice telling you it’s okay to cry, you began crying your eyes out.

All the stress, all the bullshit just came streaming out of your body as tears. Jin didn’t embrace you and just kept making little circles in your skin as he praised you.

‘Good job, let it all out sweetheart.’

It must’ve taken you at least half an hour until there were no tears left and you had leaned your head against his shoulder. He didn’t force you to tell, why you were so broken. He didn’t thought it was his business. The only thing he cared about, was your future and if he was going to be in it.

‘I’m sorry for my outburst.’ You whisper and he chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t mind. But the food is cold now though.’ He remarks and you huff, slapping his chest for ruining the mood. ‘Jesus, give me a sec, I’ll warm it up-.’

‘No, don’t. I want to stay like this.’ He stops your movements and held you close to his body. If it wasn’t for him, you would’ve bolded out of that situation. You don’t like it when guys are too touchy too fast. But, Jin is different. He feels like home to you, someone you can trust. So needless to say that you staid in his arms.

You ended up cuddling on the couch, you being between his legs as he had put on the tv, eating cold pizza because the both of you still felt hungry.

‘You know that I never went to a public school when I was younger?’ Jin suddenly said and you frown, shaking your had.

‘I went to private schools and had to do what people told me to do. I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t allowed to be too.’ His arms tighten around your waist, tensing as he exposed his own story. You place your hand on his arms to sooth him as you urge him to go on.

‘I ran away 2 years ago and went to different colleges to pursue my own dreams, which is to be an art-teacher.’ He told you and you smile. You could see him teaching Youngers his own love and passion and you felt so intrigued in that. You yourself never thought of your dream career, it’s still to be found out.

‘The sadness of being forced to be someone else is the same sadness I felt with you. I don’t know if I’m right or wrong, but I think I understand you.’ And just like that, he had figured you out. You widen your eyes as everything suddenly became too real and you had to create some distance between the both of you. You didn’t know what to do, you can’t let him into your reality, you will only drag him down with you.

But what if you really escaped everything, like the the artists did on their paintings. Go away like Jin once did, begin a new life, again, but then the right way? To begin as yourself and not to pretend to be someone else.

‘Jin, should we run away together?’

The question left your mouth before you could really think twice about it. Jin only stared at you for a long time, looking for any dishonesty, but when he couldn’t find it, he grabbed your cheek and brought you closer to him. His lips were in an instant on yours as his lips softly massaged against yours and you responded vastly, grabbing his neck to bring him closer. The kiss was slow and sensual, something so perfect in this situation.

‘Hell yeah.’ He sighs against your lips, a smile on his face as he pulled you back again. You giggle slightly, feeling so happy in his arms.

It didn’t take him long before he pulled you on his lap, you grinding against his crotch as the kiss grew hotter. His hands dig into the skin of your hips, guiding you over his half-hard cock and making you moan in the process. The kiss escalated into a sloppy one, tongues massaging against each other and teeth colliding.

‘Fuck y/n, are you sure? Do you have any condoms?’ He shots questions at you as he halts you. But lucky for him, you are on the pill and with a rock of you hips you let him know him, smirk visible on your lips.

‘Fuck.’ He curses under his breath as he threw his head back, his delicious neck visible and ready to be marked.

You immediately dive down to plant your lips on the crook of his neck and sucked purple marks all over the place and he grabbed your waist by your action.

‘We’re not doing this here.’ He groans and you look up at him questionable, but he was already lifting you up and walking you to the bedroom you guided him to. He let you fall on the un-made bed and you giggle as you bounce slightly, making him flash a smile too.

‘You’re so beautiful y/n, just like you. Not like anyone else but you.’ He tells you while looking down at you in aw and you give him a smile in response. ‘You aren’t that bad too, handsome.’ You tease and he huffs, shaking his head as he places himself between your legs.

‘Let’s first get rid of these.’ He murmurs when undoing your jeans and pulling them down and off. He did the same with your turtle neck sweater. He groans when he sees the matching lacy black underwear you choose to wear this morning. You smirk at him, loving his reaction and seeing how his erection seems a little more painful in his own jeans.

‘You like it?’

‘A little bit too much I might add.’ He winks at you and you couldn’t hold yourself back but to pull him closer to you again.

This feels so different. All this time you had to fake your interrest, to fake your feelings for another guy. But now, with Jin, you felt different. You want him to fuck you, you want him to love you and spend time with you. First, you thought he might be just a dream, but slowly he is becoming a real dream. A dream what is getting more and more addicting and maybe, hopefully, will be your reality some day.

When the kiss grows hot again and he starts the grind his hips down against your entrance, you moaned loudly and reached down for his dipper. He helped you vastly and undid his trousers, pulling them down and letting them fall off the bed. When you then reach down agin, you felt his boxers and then outline of his heavy cock in your hand. He groans into the kis and jerks his hips up for more friction.

‘So needy, aren’t we.’ You whisper into his ear and you got a light smack on your ass in return. ‘Oh shut up.’ He returns and smiles down at you after disconnecting again.

Your hand now sneaks into his boxers and pulled them down slightly to expose his throbbing cock, pre-cum already leaking. You hum in content, drooling by the sight and sending waves of warmth straight down to your centre.

‘You like what you see?’ He now returns the question with a cocky smirk and you just nod. ‘A bit too much I might add.’

He got his hands on the edge of his shirt and pulled it up and off, revealing his toned figure and you couldn’t resist but to touch. You finger traced the lines of his abs and it awakened cute little goosebumps.

‘You’re so beautiful, Jin.’ You sigh and he smiles back at you, now also getting rid of his boxers, being fully exposed to you. You pull him down back on the bed with you as you just needed him to be close to you, to feel his warmth.

He slides his cock against your clothed slit, making you squirm on your place. He chuckles against your hair, making you shiver only more and you moaned for him to touch you.

‘Can I take this off?’ He asks when his hands hook around your underwear and you nod, telling him to go on. He does so and the moment also your bra was located on the ground, he just stared at your naked body right in front of him. He literally didn’t know where to look and touch.

‘Fuck... I could get used to this.’ He groans. He leans down between your thighs, hooking your legs around his shoulders and immediately licked his way up your slit, tasting you for the first time. You moan loudly as you finally felt some relieve between your legs.

‘So delicious, baby girl.’ He growls and before you knew, he was eating you out. His lips working against your slit like he is kissing you and hand making circling around your clit to make you completely lose your mind. Your hips rock against his hand as you chased his movements and before you could register, the familiar heath began to form into your belly.

‘Omg, Jin. You’re so good.’ You whine and he groans in response as he swore your moans are the most beautiful things he ever heard. He then added a finger into your entrance as it followed the pace of his other hand on your clit.

‘You want to be stretched out good baby?’ He asks and you nod furiously, head thrown back as he adds another finger into you.

‘You want to be stretched out good for me right? For my cock to fill you up just nicely.’ He says and it was then that your climax approached very fast. His words, his movements, his fingers and his tongue. It all got you to the edge pretty fast and when he groaned loudly against your slit upon seeing you vulnerable like this, you climaxed.

You almost saw blurry as the cum flew out of you and you felt dizzy of the intensity. Jin bumped his fingers for a short while further before letting go and sitting up right, looking at your fucked-out figure. It was a sin to witness, but still oh so delicious.

When you look up, you couldn’t help but to moan slightly as you see Jin’s face slightly covered under your juices and lips swollen. His eyes are dark and when you look down, you see his hand guiding itself over his hard cock.

‘Jin, fuck me already.’ You whine and like that was the que, he opened your legs wide apart for him to fit in between. He lined himself in front of your entrance, giving you a last few glances before finally pushing inside.

Your arms reach around him as you push him close against you, moaning as he stretched you out further than you had expected. You throw your head back as the stretch was somewhat burning and painful, but by the soothing words of Jin, you managed to calm down.

‘Tell me if it’s too much, or if you’re uncomfortable. We’ll stop if so.’ He managed to tell through groans, created by his own waves of pleasure he is feeling by your tightness. You nod slightly as you just hug your body close to his, knowing that you will eventually grow used to the feeling.

You connect your lips again, slowly moving against one another to distract you from the pain. He slips a few praises through the kiss, telling you you’re doing great and that you’re so tight around him.

‘J-Jin, you can move.’ You tell him and he didn’t wait a second longer and pushed out of you slightly before pushing back in, making a little pace onto you as he groans against your ear.

‘Fuck y/n... So fucking tight for me.’ He growls and honestly, that’s the most sexy thing you’ve ever heard one speak to you. Your nails dig into his back as he finally made harder and deeper thrusts.

The way he breathes loudly against your ear and how your could feel every inch of him constantly entering you, made you slightly dizzy as the familiar warmth returned into your belly.

Jin eventually began to rock his hips into yours and his balls slapped against your bottom by the force. He held himself up on his arms, which were located beside your head as he looked down at you, seeing your breasts bounce and moans leaving your throat.

‘So beautiful.’ He whispers out and right on that moment he found your g-spot, sending you right into heaven. You throw back your head and arched yourself into his body, calling for him to go on, fuck you harder and harder.

He grabbed your legs and pushed them forward, your knees right beside your head as he speeds up his pace more, now having more room to hit that one special spot within you. You could only make out short and high-pitched moans as the pleasure almost became unbearable.

‘You’re gonna cum baby?’ Jin asks as he feels you clench around his cock and when you nod, he places his fingers on your clit, triggering your climax right then and you let out a long cry in respons.

Jin kept is pace, chasing his own high as he felt your cum around his dick as well as your clenching walls. It only took him a few more hard thrusts until he came into your pussy, sperm coating your walls and thrusting them deeper into you.

If the climax wasn’t enough, the added feeling of his cock inside of you and cum spurting onto your walls made you cringe from the overstimulation. You had to grab his hips to halt them before you really were going to feel uncomfortable and of course he immediately halted his moves.

‘Are you okay baby?’ He asks out of concern, hands now letting go of your legs and letting them back down on the bed. He grabbed your waist and made soothing circles into the skin, making you smile up at him.

‘Yeah, just got overstimulated for a second.’ You confess and he pouts, telling you to react quicker when that happens. You just shake your head and push him back down and the both of you groan when you feel him slide further into you again. He can’t resist but to thrusts a few times more, burrying his cum deeper inside of you and making sure it wont spill out.

‘Are you trying to impregnate me mister Kim?’ You tease him and he just shrugs. ‘It just feels right, having you all filled with my cum.’ He murmurs against your neck. You slap his back with your hand as you feel embarrassed by his words.

‘Shut up.’ You murmur back and he huffs, now slowly sliding out of you and giving a little peck on your nose when you hissed of the feeling.

‘I’ll get you cleaned, wait.’ He says before rushing off outside. You laugh as you hear him walking around, knowing he is looking for your bathroom.

‘At the end of the hall, left.’ You say loudly and you hear him stand still before thanking you and walking to his destination.

When he returned, he had a warm towel in his hand and asked you to open your legs again. You did say and to be completely honest, this has never happened to you. All the guys you’ve been aren’t didn’t do cleaning afterwards, they most likely fall asleep.

‘Your face is still red, ore is that because I’m doing this for you right now?’ He asks, a cocky smirk back on his lips. You just look away as his cleans up your cum-coated slit and inner thighs.

‘Nobody ever did this to me.’ You murmur and he let out an irritated sigh. ‘Clearly you haven’t met a real gentleman yet.’ He said as he finished up and got rid of the towel.

‘Until today of course.’ You remark at him and he chuckles at that. ‘Well, I simply know it must not feel all that nice to have dried-up cum between your legs the next morning.’ And he surely is right, that shit sucks balls.

He laid himself beside you as he tucked the both of you under the blankets. He pulled you close as you rest your head against his chest, your limbs tangled up in one another. His heartbeat is slow and soothing, letting you feel calm and peaceful, something you never felt in a company with a guy before.

‘Do you really want to run away? With me?’ He suddenly asks and you nod. You are one hundred procent sure. Your heart and head both knew that this was the best option. You weren’t happy in your current life, it was almost just as bad as you life before college. With this beautiful stranger you only met today, you felt comfortable and yourself. That was what you wanted all along, to be yourself and to feel happy. Jin gave you the opportunity to be that someone.

‘I have never felt this happy before in my life, I don’t feel happy in this place. I want to run away with you and start a better life.’

And there with, it was decided.

The next morning you both packed your stuff, only the most needed things in life to travel. You signed off of your campus and said goodbye on all your social media account.

[5:49pm]Park: So basically, you’ve pretended to be someone because of your horrible past? I’ve many questions but I don’t want the answers simply because I don’t care. The only thing I care for is your happiness and I hope you will find it. Sorry for the things I’ve put you through, only if I’d known... we’ve all loved you, just so you know! Goodbye y/n☺️🌸

‘Who are you texting? i thought you deleted everyone?’

‘Jealous already?’ You smirk at Jin, who is driving you towards another place. Somewhere far away and far from reality. He is driving you to a dream you will be living and a dream you always hoped to live one day.

‘How about in-n-out?’

‘Hell yeah.’

287 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

folie á trois

Or, the world sucks, let’s write more smut. Garcyatt (Flynn/Lucy/Wyatt) and yes, it goes all ways. Because angst and reasons and I will always hold onto these idiots being an OT3 in my heart. For @extasiswings, @onlymorelove, @gwennieliz, and @frankfreakincastle.

Rated E.

AO3.

With Lucy and Wyatt, it’s one thing.

They started out a little rocky, sure, but that didn’t last very long. When you’re thrown together in the circumstances that they are, you learn overnight how to trust each other, and let everything else come later. More or less, anyway. Wyatt helps Lucy face her fears in Nazi Germany; she does the same thing for him during the siege of the Alamo. They’re teammates, of course, but there’s something there that isn’t between them and Rufus. Wyatt has unresolved issues over Jessica’s death, to say the least, but he can’t help but be drawn to Lucy. She’s bright and beautiful and strong as hell, they are literally crashing through time and space at each other’s side, and Wyatt’s pragmatism balances Lucy’s compassion. They just work well together. They can turn to each other with questions that nobody else in the world has. Their attraction is not unexpected, and it blooms quickly, even if unacknowledged by both of them. They are both too focused on this ludicrous job to do much with it.

Still, though. You can only ignore something like this for so long before it will find ways to pop up when you least expect (or frankly, want) it. They have been orbiting around each other, drawn by the other’s gravity, the promise of comfort and safety and solace among the burning ruin of their old world. Why wouldn’t they want it, even if (much as they promise themselves) only for one night?

The kiss to put Bonnie and Clyde off the scent was a pretense, even if they both realized fairly quickly that they’d have to insist on it. The one in old Hollywood is less so.

Wyatt’s hands on Lucy’s hips, her arms around her neck, the lingering whiff of perfume and cigarette smoke in the air, the way they both stop breathing momentarily, the way even their endlessly spinning, upturned world seems to halt around them – neither of them can forget this one, or brush it off, or think less of it. Can’t ignore the half-tender, half-hungry ache where their hands touch, their eyes linger, the way they would give anything for Rittenhouse to cut it out for half a goddamn minute so they could even have a chance to see what might happen. Possibilities. It hangs over them, it’s always been something they’ve been latently aware of, but this is when it feels like more than that.

If it was that simple (ha, simple) it might have been, despite everything, straightforward. A man, a woman, and a mutual attraction. Most ordinary stories start out that way.

This, however, is – as well noted – anything but ordinary.

With Lucy and Flynn, it’s altogether different.

They start out as sworn enemies, and things don’t necessarily become any smoother from there. He tells her she’s more important than she knows while they’re standing by the burning Hindenburg, and follows it up by shooting Abraham Lincoln in front of her. And yet, complicated and fraught and dangerous as it is, there is clearly an attraction between them. It is everything her bond with Wyatt is not: raw, rough, uncontrolled, dark – and more than a little off limits, for more than one reason. To look at Flynn is to know what a bad idea it is to get closer. Even when Lucy is stealing glances at him under her eyelashes in 1780, when she’s watching him water the horses and he’s telling her about wanting to be a cowboy, that he can’t go back to his wife and daughter even if he succeeds, it’s not an intimacy that invites sustainability. Especially when Flynn, naturally, follows it up by kidnapping her. Lucy would be perfectly justified to tell him to get lost and never look back.

Except the next time they see each other, in 1927, she orders him to make his minion let go of her, and he does. And in 1954, she talks him out of his long-conceived revenge plot in just a few minutes, when she asks if God brought them together. And when they meet in 2017 for the first time, when their enmity has turned almost totally into an easy familiarity, bordering on flirtatiousness, when he tells her that she herself gave him the journal –

(Of course that crashes and burns and goes terribly to hell.)

Even after they fish Flynn out of jail and make him part of the team, he seems hell-bent on continuing to punish them as much as Rittenhouse, Lucy in particular. Yet there’s a reflexivity to his lashing out, a terrible sadness, that makes it clear he’s doing it only because he has no idea how else to live anymore. Lucy keeps trying, but she also can’t hold his hand if he’s going to throw a temper tantrum while they’re attempting to save the world as we know it. Flynn is undoubtedly effective, even if he takes just as few prisoners as before. The rational, sane part of Lucy knows that she should forget about this attraction, even more than she needs to put aside her draw to Wyatt. Really. Garcia Flynn. Garcia Flynn.

The rest of Lucy – especially after he saves her in Salem, punches his way through pretty much every Puritan in the damn town to get to her – wants nothing more than to tell Rittenhouse where to stick it, by having Flynn stick it somewhere else.

And then with Flynn and Wyatt – oh God, where do you even start?

They start out trying to kill each other, and it stays pretty much exactly the same from there. After multiple rounds of fistfights, gun battles, wrestling matches, snark-fests, staredowns, and other repeated and explicit expressions of how much they just cannot fuckin’ stand each other, anyone would be justified in taking them exactly at their word. For Flynn and Wyatt to exist in the same space is for them to be fighting, in low-or-high-level ways. Excepting the three seconds they fought back to back in David Rittenhouse’s parlor of nightmares, and the time Lucy forced them to work together in 1954, this has been the rule.

And yet. Even in the middle of that, in bits and pieces, they have become slowly aware the other isn’t entirely what they thought. Flynn told Wyatt what happened to his wife and daughter, and – albeit with ulterior motives up the butt – tried to help Wyatt save Jessica. They have tussled and tugged and twisted each other, physically and mentally, and Wyatt – bless his five-foot-ten heart – tends to come up on the literally short end of the stick. By all appearances, he’s completely relieved when Flynn finally gets thrown in the slammer, even if he knows it’s hard for Lucy. Finally. That’s gotten rid of that guy. Took long enough.

Of course, it only takes one disastrous mission for Wyatt to be the one to suggest getting Flynn out of there after all, even if he knows this will once more be a living hell for him. And of course, as noted, it is. Would it kill Flynn, would it actually, physically kill him, not to exceed maximum dickpacity at all times? Would it?

(And yet, there are moments when Wyatt becomes aware that Lucy isn’t the only one Flynn looks at with that tongue-in-the-mouth expression, the one that is clearly not far from picturing her without her clothes. Even more confusingly, he isn’t altogether sure he wants it to stop.)

(With all that bickering and fighting and fragile, unspoken kindred-spiritness, it would be more surprising if there wasn’t something, however much ignored.)

Ignoring it, after all, seems to be the attempted play for all of them. And hey, it works.

To a point.

It’s the night after Rittenhouse has come very close to destroying the Lifeboat – the one fragile metal eyeball that conveys various configurations of the unhappily-foursome Time Team through history after them, the one thing which they really can’t do without. The gang has made it back to 2018, but barely, and Rufus is shut up with it, trying to triage the damage and reboot the mainframe before the data loss becomes critical. Possibly Flynn, Wyatt, and Lucy should be helping him rather than sitting in the next room and drinking, but Wyatt and Lucy know bupkis about the delicate technical workings of the Lifeboat, and Rufus would be exactly as happy about Flynn trying to “help” him out as he would be to be sodomized with a cactus. They’re all in a weird mood anyway. There are moments when they actually click as a team, and moments – well, most of them – when they don’t. This misfortune, though, has pushed them briefly into more alignment than usual, and they’re almost enjoying each other’s company, maligning Rittenhouse and periodically suggesting they look in on Rufus, before agreeing once more he’s better off without them. There is a lot of booze, because frankly this shit is ridiculous, and they are not expected to suffer it totally sober.

After several drinks, the mood in the room is downright cordial – more than that, even. There’s an undeniable current that catches at them when they glance at each other, and in the way it does, alcohol has lowered everyone’s inhibitions, made them more sloppy about glancing away in time. Nobody has any clue what might be about to happen, but they seem to be aware that there’s a chance something might. As casually as possible, Wyatt drifts over to the door and turns the lock, as if Rittenhouse might come bursting in, when he’s actually trying to prevent Rufus from seeing something that might be burned into his brain. He’s still standing there when Lucy says, with the exaggerated precision of the rather drunk, “I think we should probably go home, shouldn’t we?”

Wyatt turns around with a raised eyebrow. “So someone’s calling a cab, then?”

There’s a pause as everyone considers that. It’s pretty obvious that they’re in no state to drive, and unless Connor Mason feels like using one of his doubtless several expensive supercars to ferry three-quarters of the plastered Time Team home to sleep it off, they can either Uber it or walk. Leaving Rufus behind to work late into the evening seems cheap – they might not be helping out much here, but at least they’re here. For, you know, moral support. So he can walk in and see them faithfully there, know they’ve got his back. It’s the principle of the thing.

Flynn, for his part, doesn’t say anything, until Wyatt unwillingly wonders where exactly home is for him, these days. He doesn’t have his super-secret villain lair or the Mothership. His previous accommodation used to be an undisclosed location. Did Mason Industries buy him a shitty apartment as part of the “sorry about that SWAT team” arrangement they swung with him? Does he just go to a motel room and stare at the wall until the next call comes?

“We can stay,” Wyatt says, almost impulsively. “Rufus might – ”

There’s a pause, and then his companions nod, earnestly and drunkenly. Of course, Rufus. That’s why they’re staying. It’s almost adorable.

“Well, we should – ” Trust Lucy to try to stay focused on the mission, even at the present moment. She gets up, then stumbles, and Flynn reflexively flashes out a hand, catching her elbow. It’s not a particularly compromising touch, and yet both of them freeze. They briefly both seem to have forgotten how to breathe.

Lucy is standing, yet she’s not much taller than Flynn is seated. She looks down into his face, and Flynn is the first to look away, look down, almost ashamed. What just passed between them, Wyatt can’t be entirely sure, but he has something of an idea. Something stirs in his stomach, dark and strange and hungry. The world twists sideways in a way it didn’t a moment ago.

Telling himself (oh, familiar refrain) to ignore it, Wyatt rationalizes that it’s the gentlemanly thing to assist a lady who might be light on her feet, even if Flynn already has that covered. He strides over in as straight a line as he can. “Lucy, you all right there?”

“Fine.” Lucy sounds oddly breathless, as Flynn is still holding her elbow (he seems to have forgotten how to let go) and now Wyatt is standing close as well. Her eyelashes flutter, her gaze flickers between them, until the energy is both strong and unmistakable. Both Wyatt and Flynn seem to be holding in check, waiting for Lucy to tell them if they’re mistaken or not. She is the connecting tissue, the hypotenuse that draws this triangle together, the star which both of them have followed. If she says jump, they’ll ask how high. It’s just how it is.

Lucy’s tongue unconsciously wets her lips. She shoots a glance at the door, as if judging the likelihood of a Rufus entrance. This isn’t exactly the prime setting for scenes of passionate romance – it’s just a generic waiting room, with uncomfortable laminate couches and beige area carpet, the table scattered with the booze bottles in various stages of empty. Sunset at a Tuscany villa, it is not. And yet. They’ve been plenty of strange and fabulous places by now. The sheer mundanity of the setting is, in a way, a gift in itself.

Slowly, Lucy’s fingers tighten on Wyatt’s sleeve, and on Flynn’s arm. For her part, she also isn’t sure what she’s asking for, only that now that she has, she doesn’t want to pretend she didn’t. Flynn slowly rises to his feet, towering over both of them, but his gaze is intent and silent and almost tangible, physical, on her skin. Lucy doesn’t want to decide which of them to kiss first, so she reaches up and puts a hand on each of their heads, pulling them down toward her. As if they can hash that out between themselves, but she needs it anyway.

Wyatt and Flynn each kiss half of her mouth, both of them uttering startled noises in the back of their throats, but it’s not as if they have any remote capacity to do anything but that. Flynn’s hand presses into her back, as Wyatt’s cups her head, and Lucy stands on her tiptoes, turning her head first toward one, then the other. Wyatt’s kiss is gentle and warm and tender, unspeakably sweet, a desperately needed balm for a bruised and weary soul. Flynn’s kiss is like lightning and thunder and a cloudburst over the desert, hot and bright and relentless as a falling star.

Lucy is the one to give a choked sigh this time, fisting her hands in their shirts, as their arms come around her and each other in a tangle. They go slowly to their knees, Flynn more or less on the bottom – he’s the largest, Lucy thinks, it’s only fair. He has her in one arm and Wyatt in the other, the latter two on hands and knees before they slide down closer. Lucy tucks herself into Flynn’s side, hand running along his chest, at the untucked edge of his shirt, the sharp line of his hipbone. He bucks inadvertently up into her, which has the effect of knocking Wyatt off balance. Because of course of all the people in the world, only Wyatt Logan and Garcia Flynn would trip and accidentally fall onto each other’s mouths, that is exactly what they do.

Both of them freeze again, for a split second. It’s not clear if either of them have ever kissed another man before, much less what they think about it being this one. They can be seen debating whether to pull away and go for the tired old “no homo” card, truthfully or not. But that likewise does not last very long. Wyatt pulls himself up, grips Flynn’s face in his hands, and kisses him altogether differently from how he kissed Lucy: hot, rough, biting, tasting, taunting. It’s not so much a kiss as a declaration of war and a proposal of a truce all at once. Flynn’s free hand comes up and grips the back of Wyatt’s neck, shifting him closer, their eyes half-closed. Even if it’s come in fighting, the two of them know each other’s bodies the best of anyone here. The tension is coiled and curled and unfurling, thighs pressed between the other’s, mouths opening, hands grabbing. For a moment, for two, they almost forget about Lucy altogether.

It’s a dazzled half a minute later when they finally, slowly pull apart, eyes opening to stare at each other, Wyatt’s hand alongside Flynn’s face, Flynn looking like he’s been hit with a speeding – well, pick your period vehicle. As if to check that they did not in fact just dream that, they duck heads and kiss again, slightly less bite-y this time, before recalling Lucy and turning toward her. They roll over on the floor, Wyatt kissing her mouth as Flynn slides down her, pressing kisses into the unbuttoned part of her blouse, undoing the other buttons, and making a leisurely exploration down her stomach. Lucy wriggles and sighs, one hand coming down to clutch hold of his dark head while her other pulls Wyatt closer. They keep kissing, Lucy’s back arching, which gives Flynn a better angle at her hips. He starts to tug at the zip of her jeans, then stops, as if coming to his senses. “Lucy,” he mutters. “Lucy, do you really want – ”

In answer, Lucy pulls him back between her legs, never breaking her kiss with Wyatt. Flynn hesitates, then fumbles at her jeans, probably less efficiently than he could, as if once more giving her a chance to change her mind. She pulls away from Wyatt long enough to utter a deprived little whimper. “Garcia – ”

It isn’t entirely the first time she’s called him by his first name, but it’s rare enough that it catches his attention. He looks up at her, waiting, and she lifts herself, angling herself toward him. With fingers that have turned to mud, he undoes the jeans, slides them down her slender hips, and hooks down the lace-edged panties. When a final questioning look has produced the same answer, he leans down and licks her very, very lightly.

Lucy makes a noise that is hell on his determination to do this – for once in his miserable life – carefully. He reaches up to grip one hip, thumb in the hollow of the bone, holding her in place as he makes a thorough exploration of her. She is wet and sweet and slippery on his tongue, as he curls it against her clit, then noses down to her entrance and ventures to taste inside her. She makes another of those maddening noises, grips his hair, and clearly does her utmost not to smash his face into her, but needing more friction, more pressure. Wyatt is kissing at her cleavage, her bra straps sliding down her arms, as he takes a nipple into his mouth and toys it. The dual sensation leaves Lucy flushed and gasping and prostrate, shivering, starving.

After a few more minutes at their respective places, Flynn and Wyatt switch, almost as if they actually planned this. But enjoyable as it is to be physically adored and intensely pleasured by two men who, let’s face it, nobody is kicking out of bed for eating crackers, Lucy has had enough of lying there like an objet d’arte to be passively admired. She sits up and pushes Flynn down onto his back, then climbs up to straddle him, grinding on him hard through his jeans, which have also managed to slide low on his hips. She lifts herself off long enough to slide them further, then settles squarely athwart him, pressing his hardness against her through his briefs. Flynn makes a noise as if he genuinely fears his heart might give out on the spot.

Wyatt, never one to resist needling Flynn, spots an opportunity. He slides up behind Lucy, kisses the back of her neck and runs a hand down her stomach, then shifts around and settles alongside Flynn, using one hand to grip Lucy’s thigh and intensify each of her movements. With the other, he gathers Flynn’s head up to his mouth and resumes kissing him like a straight uppercut to the jaw. It is clearly a revelation to both of them that they enjoy this almost as much as hitting each other – dare one even say, more. Wyatt works his slow way down Flynn’s neck as Lucy keeps up her grinding, the sort of teamwork they’ve always been good at, no matter the situation. If this now means making Flynn hot under the collar in an altogether different way than previously – well, it’s not too surprising.

Therefore, it’s Flynn’s turn to grab hold of both of them and try to roll back on top, but Wyatt and Lucy don’t let him do that. God forbid Flynn give up control for more than five minutes, and they’re not done with him yet. Lucy leans down atop him as he pulls one arm free, gets hold of her head with one hand, and they dive into a devouring and savage kiss. Wyatt slides around from behind and pushes Flynn almost upright (it takes a lot of pushing – he’s obnoxiously tall), wrapping his arms around his waist. Lucy wraps her legs around both of them, Flynn’s arms encircle her, and everyone loses track of their own boundaries just then. Wyatt kisses Flynn’s neck and shoulders, Flynn kisses Lucy’s mouth, Lucy leans over to kiss Wyatt as well, and distantly and vaguely, Wyatt hopes the Lifeboat is seriously gorked after all. Not fatally. Just enough to keep Rufus occupied for another, oh, forty minutes at least.

That scrap of rationality is, however, quickly eradicated in the ongoing distractions of the moment. They end up all together on the floor again (this cheap-ass carpet is going to leave rug burn, Wyatt thinks – Connor Mason is a damn billionaire, why couldn’t he upholster his waiting rooms more comfortably for the event of his employees having an impromptu ménage a trois?) and their legs get tangled together on all sides, their arms the same. Everything is kisses and hands and strokes and darting touches, Lucy’s leg hiked up as Wyatt’s chin rests on her stomach and Flynn’s chin on Wyatt’s back. At one point Flynn ends up on top, and has just enough time to look triumphant before Wyatt rolls him flat, slides down him, and discovers the best way of all to make Garcia Flynn shut the fuck up. (Also Wyatt, because his mouth is full, but never mind.)

Flynn swears in one of his multiple foreign languages, grabbing at Wyatt’s shoulder, but Lucy catches both of his wrists, pushes them over his head, and holds them there while she kisses him thoroughly. Flynn is actually almost whimpering. Poor Flynn. His predicament is terrible, after all, and Wyatt is catching onto this whole idea rather quickly. Maybe this isn’t his first time batting for the same team, or maybe he’s just a fast learner. Either way, the results are indisputable.

Flynn has just about lost his damn mind (and other things) entirely when Wyatt relinquishes him at the very edge of satisfaction, sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are hooded, cheeks flushed, shirt hanging off his shoulders. Hey, it’s the first time he’s decisively beaten Flynn in – well, possibly ever. You gotta let him enjoy the little things.

Lucy sits back on her heels too, thoroughly enjoying the sight they are presented with – if they knew that all they had to do to defeat the big bad time terrorist was to fuck him, they would have. . . well, probably not done it before now anyway. God, the lot of them are stubborn. Her pulse is hammering in her fingers and her throat and her chest, she has possibly never seen anything so incredibly arousing in her life, and one way or another, she wants the main event of this party. Flynn is still dazed and wheezing and probably seeing double, and the humane thing to do is let him have a moment, so Lucy moves, almost shyly, toward Wyatt. It’s not as if this is a likely moment for any of them to discover scruples, but still.

Wyatt reaches out for her, taking her by the hips, as she stops in front of him. Their eyes meet, and hesitant, timid half-smiles cross their faces. “You sure, Luce?” he murmurs, slurring his words just a bit, between alcohol and lust and late nights and wanting this probably forever, but never saying so. She can sense he’s asking himself as much as her. “You sure?”

In answer, Lucy moves up against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he catches his breath, gazing at her with that quiet, simple adoration. Her panties are already most of the way down her thigh, and it doesn’t take long for him to undo his belt and shuck his. He moves closer to her, between her legs, and nudges at her. Both of them turn halfway, as if inviting Flynn to watch, as Wyatt – slowly at first, carefully, reverentially, as if doing this too fast might make him wake up, and he wants to stay asleep just a little longer – slides into her.

Lucy bites a gasp, gripping his thighs, steadying herself. They stare into each other’s eyes, know that this has long been coming, as she moves her knees apart and he takes hold of her hips. He draws her onto him until he rests his chin on her shoulder, both of them breathing hard, coming to terms with this connection in the way they have with all their others. Flynn seems to have somewhat recovered himself by now, but he doesn’t move, watching them as if oddly unsure if he should interrupt. If this is what they want, he’ll stay out of it.

“You,” Wyatt manages, in one of the more considerable efforts for intelligible speech in his life. “Here.”

Flynn hesitates a final instant, then moves closer. Wyatt ventures a thrust, quick and slick and sweet, and both he and Lucy gasp. Then he pulls out of her, turns her, and holds her against him, her back pressed into his chest. He caresses her arm and shoulder and breast, kisses the nape of her neck, and lifts her slightly, as Lucy reaches out with her other arm to wrap around Flynn’s shoulder, drawing him against her, and then – after the finest and most minute of hesitations – into her.

Flynn does not enter her the same way Wyatt did, with that restrained softness and care. He comes in all at once, just like he always has, filling and stretching her to the point of a sweet burn, their foreheads brushing and their mouths open, as her fingers grip in his hair and his hands search for purchase somewhere, anywhere. They end up settling on Wyatt, the three of them swaying on the spot, Wyatt sliding between Lucy’s thighs from the back, as he and Flynn lean over her shoulder to kiss one more time. They might tell themselves it’ll just be tonight, but it will almost surely end up being just one more lie.

Flynn moves, strong and deep and thorough, sliding and rasping on Lucy, as Wyatt matches the pace from the other side. They grasp hold of each other, working – for once – in perfect harmony. You can almost hear the distant strains of Elton John in the background.

It’s a tumbled, messy, three-way thing, the end of it. They wind up on the floor again, losing track of who is who, what is what – it barely seems to matter, anyway. Flynn bites at Lucy’s shoulder, and Wyatt bites at Flynn’s, and Lucy is pressed into both of them, and they collapse in a total boneless tangle, heaving for breath, undone, unmade. The silence thunders, except for their hammering hearts.

It takes a long time to untangle, to badly and slowly draw apart, to chase down scattered clothing. Their fingers don’t work as they used to, and nobody can catch their breath. Their cheeks are flushed, their mouths bruised, their eyes shining, faces tracked with sweat, hair tousled and necks marked. Even if they don’t say a word, if Rufus walked in right now, he’d not be in a whole lot of doubt about what just happened.

Wyatt, Lucy, and Flynn get to their feet. Make a perfunctory effort at clearing up the booze bottles. Really hope Mason doesn’t have CCTV in his waiting rooms, because that would just be awkward. The world feels strange and unsettled and fragile as thin glass. As if, no matter the absurdity that is their real life, this is something else again.

They check. Rufus is still working, God bless his heart. Saving their asses while they are doing decidedly different things with them. None of them deserve Rufus.

(None of them want to tell him, either. Though they are, of course, less subtle than they think. It’s entirely possible he’ll guess anyway. Yet it almost sounds nice to have that kind of problem. A problem that ordinary people have, wondering whether a mutual friend will catch onto their romantic shenanigans, rather than the fear that any mistake could doom the entire world and all of time and space. One that, one day, they might even allow themselves to have.)

But not yet.

Not just yet.

They have to fight until the war’s done, and it isn’t.

#garcyatt #garcyatt ff #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #flogan #lyatt #lucy x flynn x wyatt #for reasons

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yessadirichards · 3 years

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Gary Oldman on finding the frequency of 'Mank' NEW YORK

The first time Gary Oldman and David Fincher met was in London 1990, when Fincher was looking to cast him in “Alien 3.”

“And he had the sense to say no,” Fincher recalls.

In the 30 years since then, they have never been far out of orbit from one another. They consider one another friends. They share an ex-wife, the mother of their children. But Fincher cast Oldman’s manager, Douglas Urbanski (as Larry Summers in ’The Social Network”), before he called up Oldman about another role.

“There are some directors who get stars in their eyes and say, ‘We must do something.’ Mainly you never hear from them again,” Oldman says, chuckling. “David’s the sort of director that if you’re right for something, he’ll cast you. And if you’re not, he won’t.”

While some have quibbled that Oldman, 62, is a little old to play Herman Mankiewicz — he wrote “Citizen Kane” more than a decade before drinking himself to death at the age of 55 -- Oldman is so tailored to the role that he wears it like the cocktail-soaked, day-old, rumpled suit Mank flops around in. Fincher’s “Mank” is such a dense and dazzling Hollywood time machine that all the conversation it’s spawned — on the authorship of “Citizen Kane,” on “auteur” directors, on its ‘30s political backdrop — has sometimes overlooked the incredible balancing act at its center. It’s a performance always teetering on the edge, poised between inebriation and lucidity, ’40s-style zip and modern-day naturalism.

“Mank, it’s in the eyes. It’s like a different head,” says Oldman speaking by phone from London. “It’s a different motor that’s moving. It’s what I call a character’s running condition. It's finding the frequency of the man.”

“Mank,” which debuted Friday on Netflix, is about a little-celebrated figure of Hollywood history: a sharped-tongued newspaperman turned studio hack who worked often without credit (the black-and-white to Technicolor switch of “The Wizard of Oz” was his idea). But despite a penchant for self-sabotage and liquor, Mankiewicz — relying on his own history with William Randolph Heart (Charles Dance in the film) as a kind of court jester to Hollywood's most powerful — turned in a draft for what's generally considered the greatest film of all time.

“It was never our intention to rectify some wrong. It’s just a character study of a man who was self-emulating and who did it in a rather witty way," says Fincher, whose father, Jack Fincher, wrote the script. “I’ve got nothing against Orson Welles. Orson Welles was a genius and if everybody doesn’t know that, I don’t know what to say.”

In crafting the portrait of Mankiewicz, Fincher wanted Oldman as himself. No wigs, no special costume. For Oldman — who had recently buried under prosthetics and make-up as Winston Churchill in “Darkest Hour,” winning him the best actor Oscar — that made him nervous.

“I am partial to a disguise. I like to hide. And David wanted no veil between me and the audience,” says Oldman. “He said: ‘I want you as naked as you’ve ever been.’ It wasn’t that I resisted that. I was just a little uneasy with it at first."

It’s a role that Oldman isn’t so terribly far from, in some respects. He's well acquainted with alcoholism. Oldman's brutally honest autobiographical film about his working-class London upbringing, “Nil By Mouth,” shot scenes in the very bar his hard-drinking father used to frequent. Oldman was himself once an alcoholic and, like Mank, prone to audacious gambles. Back when he was drinking, Oldman chose between two simultaneous offers — “Waterworld” and “The Scarlet Letter” — with a coin flip. (Rev. Dimmesdale won.)

For Oldman, it meant drawing on “muscle memory.”

“It’s a long time ago now. I’ve been sober almost 24 years. But you remember it, and I certainly brought that to the party,” says Oldman. “Mank said something that struck me to my heart. He said, ‘My critical faculty has prospered at the expense of my talent.’ There’s the longing to write the great play, to write the great novel, and there’s a fear involved there — the fear of trying and failing. I’ve known quite a few drunks who are like that. It’s like they have a critic on their shoulder.”

It was in Alcoholics Anonymous in 1996 that Oldman met his third wife, Donya Fiorentino, a year after she and Fincher had divorced. After five years of marriage, Oldman and Fiorentino also divorced. Oldman received full custody of their two sons, now in their early 20s. (Fincher also eventually gained full custody of his daughter with Fiorentino.) In a court filing in 2001, Fiorentino alleged that Oldman hit her with a telephone, a charge that Oldman strongly denies. Their shared painful past, both actor and director say, went unspoken of during their collaboration.

Instead, their work together was of mutual meticulousness. Fincher, long renowned for his obsessive exactitude, found in Oldman a highly detailed actor of deep research capable of subtly manipulating his performance. No director is able to have a whole movie in his head, Fincher says, but Oldman can mentally maintain the whole arc of his character.

“He’s the kind of person, you have the conversation once, and you literally watch his blue eyes click in. It gets stored away, and whatever that thing was magically becomes part of the fabric of everything he does afterward. It’s osmosis," says Fincher. “He’s a sort of behavioral vacuum. You give him data and then that data is processed and comes out as behavior.”

To match the black-and-white period atmosphere, Fincher wanted a style of acting with some of the spirit of the ’30s and ’40s. “Believable but ever so slightly heightened — imperceptible arch,” says Oldman. There’s barely any footage of Mankiewicz talking so Oldman, figuring the apple wouldn’t fall too far from the tree, relied on recordings of Mankiewicz's brother, the “All About Eve” director Joseph Mankiewicz.

Dance has previously suggested Oldman grew a little impatient with Fincher’s proclivity for a lot of takes. (Two scenes, each parties with sprawling conversation, took a week to shoot.) But Oldman says he relished the process — even if it did sometimes drag on.

“You can imagine being on the set and doing a scene for 30 takes and then saying to someone, ‘God, we’ve done this scene a hundred f---ing times.’ Then David with his cherubic smile says, ’Yeah, and we’re going to do it 101,” says Oldman. “Sometimes you feel like the director hasn’t walked away from a scene he hasn’t got. Sometimes you feel like you’re making the day, rather than making the movie. You would never feel that on a Fincher set.”

#sadirichards

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spartanguard · 7 years

Text

until the end of the line

there’s still a bit of Friday left for a Captain Charming fic (with some Snowing and CS). waaaaay future fic; warning: major character deaths...ish. (you’ll see). thank you to the Abed to my Troy @shipsxahoy for beta’ing!

AO3 | FF.net | ~5.5k words.

There was still something satisfying about relaxing on the porch after a full day of work, even after all these years. Killian basked in the glow of the setting sun, a pleasant ache in his aged muscles as he settled into the weatherworn wooden chair he’d claimed as his own some fifty years back.

(How odd that such a timespan would be considered the majority of most people’s lives and was only a fraction of his—yet was, by far, the best and richest, putting all his previous decades to shame.)

He never thought he’d have such a full life to reflect on. As he sat overlooking the backyard of their home, where a sheepdog was currently chasing after butterflies, he got so lost in the memories of children (and later, grandchildren) playing there that he didn't notice when someone took a seat next to him; not until the thunk of a beer bottle on the arm of the chair pulled him out of the past.

“What were you thinking about, Hook?” David asked, sinking his old bones onto an equally weathered chair and taking a sip from his own bottle.

“All the things this yard has seen. Remember when my cunning daugthers tried to throw a kegger back here?”

“And instead of busting them, you joined right in, and called everyone over,” Dave finished with a chuckle, deepening the already thick lines around his eyes. “I think we embarrassed them into never trying that again.”

“Whatever works, right?”

“I'll drink to that.” He held his bottle to Killian, who clinked his own against it, and they both settled back to reminisce, as they did most evenings while watching the sun’s descent.

He hadn't noticed it the first time around, but the red sky made for an exceptionally beautiful sunset in the Underworld.

They sat in companionable silence, watching Wilby play in the yard, as they had for countless nights over the past few years. Time was a bit fuzzy—they liked to blame it on old age, but both knew it was just part of “life” down here. By his estimate, Killian had been in the Underworld for about three years; David, five. Actually, his father-in-law was the first to greet him upon arrival, waiting in the marina once he’d docked the Jolly Roger. He was surprised to see David at all, but when he realized that they were both in the Underworld rather than moving on, he figured they were there for the same reason.

For Killian, at least, he knew he had once promised to not let Emma be his unfinished business; but he later promised to always, always be at her side, for all eternity. He'd obviously broken the first part and he'd be damned—literally—if he wasn't there to escort her into the second.

He could still feel her, too, just like the first time here. Some days, it was stronger than others—maybe because one was missing the other more than the usual constant amount—but he always seemed to be aware of her, despite the distance, and he knew it was the same for Dave.

And so, the two silver-haired mates filled the ensuing years waiting for their True Loves in a variety of ways. Despite being the land of the dead, the Nolan farm was still flourishing and there was always something to do. Today had been repairing the barn door; last week, it had been mending fences; and there was always the day-to-day work of milking the cows, collecting eggs, herding the sheep with Wilby’s help, and shearing the wool periodically—the products of all going to Granny, who appreciated and used them in various ways.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Killian asked as the stars began to show overhead. (At least those were no different from the land of the living; there was some comfort in knowing that his loved ones were looking at the same lights in the sky.)

“There’s probably some painting to do, and Arthur had asked if we could take a look at the garden outside his office, but neither are urgent. I say we take a day off to sail; you?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

It was so unlike the Underworld he’d found himself in all those years ago. No longer was it a land of hopelessness and depression, but a peaceful place to resolve any unfinished business before moving on. Arthur wasn’t the power-mad king this world had known previously, or even the one he’d been when they met him in Camelot—he’d truly fixed this broken kingdom, and did all he could to see souls on their way.

Consequently, the Underworld was rather quiet. In the time they’d been down there, they’d seen many friends arrive, reunited with the ones who were already there, and seen nearly all to the afterlife. It left them free to do whatever they wished, and it wasn’t an entirely lonely existence, but it was almost too relaxing sometimes.

He wasn’t unhappy, but he was anxious for the next thing; he’d never been good at staying in one place long without some form of adventure. But he was ultimately a patient man, and willing to wait as long as it took for Emma to join him.

Beers finished and the moon out, David slowly rose from his chair and called for Wilby to come. He offered a hand to Killian and pulled him up, too; Killian hadn’t realized how sore he was until just now.

“Breakfast at Granny’s?” David didn’t really need to ask; it was how they started nearly every day.

“Of course, mate.”

They hugged each other tight, and then David headed off into the night towards home, Wilby at his side, while Killian went about his nightly routine. He went in the house, took off his shoes by the front door, hung his leather jacket on the same hook he always had, and made sure the front porch light was turned on (just in case). Then he headed upstairs to the master suite, carefully placed his brace on the bedside table, and washed the day’s dust away in the shower.

Like every night, he took stock of his reflection as he toweled dry. He was leaner than he had been as a young man, his ribs and cheekbones standing out more than he would like; the illness that finally claimed him did a number on his body, but he at least wasn’t in any pain down here. He imagined the arrogant pirate he had once been would have some nasty, vain words for the old man in the mirror, but Killian wouldn’t trade a single one of the many lines on his face or gray hairs on his head for the beautiful life he’d lived with Emma and their children.

All the old scars were still there, but faded with time: the lash marks on his back from a life in servitude; the jagged line from Excalibur that sent him here the first time; even the gnarled mess of his blunted wrist had smoothed over the years. He knew that was how it was supposed to be—time heals all wounds and all that—but he always liked to say that Emma's love had mended him, and in countless ways, it had.

A yawn overcame him, and suddenly he felt far more tired than he had a moment ago. (It truly was odd how his immortal soul fell victim to such mortal complaints.) Without further dawdling, he donned a shirt and sleep pants and collapsed into the too-large bed. Out of habit, he stuck to one side; he could never bring himself to sprawl across it and fill the empty half, knowing it belonged to someone else. But again, he was happy to wait as long as possible for her.

Across town, in an equally oversized bed, he knew David was doing the same. He was eternally grateful to have a friend down here who was in a similar position, and part of his unbeating heart went out to his father-in-law, knowing how he was alone the first couple years. Some nights, when the loneliness crept in, one of them would spend the night at the other’s house, just to make the echoing halls not so hollow. Dave’s pancakes the following morning would usually help chase away any lingering melancholy.

It wasn’t an altogether terrible existence; just an incomplete one. So, like every night, when Killian drifted off, he dreamed that Emma was in his arms.

“Morning, Captain; looking as old as ever.”

“Why, Lady Lucas, I've no clue what you're talking about. I'm hardly a day over 250.”

Killian and Granny’s banter had picked up right where it left off when she passed some 35 years ago and was still a part of their daily routine, almost as if the price of coffee and eggs was a witty retort.

He slid into his usual booth across from David, who was already working on a mug, and Granny followed shortly with one for Killian and their usual breakfast orders. Like every day, his was piled just a little too high.

“Love, you know I can't eat that much,” he teased.

“You're too skinny, Jones. Eat up.” Ever since he arrived, she’d tried to make up for what the cancer had done and put some more meat back on his bones; it hadn't worked and likely never would, but he appreciated her efforts nonetheless.

He and Dave just chuckled and dug in as she walked away, muttering under her breath. They did manage to catch her saying something about Ruby; it was common, though unspoken, knowledge that her granddaughter was her unfinished business. Not for a necessarily bad reason—she just worried too much, and wouldn't be at rest until Ruby was, at rest too. So she took out that excess concern on the restless souls who found their way to this realm in the meantime.

Restless was the word of the day, it seemed. Ever since he woke that morning, Killian had felt on edge, filled with the same kind of nervous energy that preceded a battle. And judging by the furrow in Dave’s brow, he was in a similar state.

“You feel that, too, mate?” he inquired between bites of bacon.

“Like something's about to happen, but you're not sure if it's good or bad?” David questioned in reply; Killian nodded. “Yeah, all day, and it just keeps getting worse.”

“What do you think it means?” There hadn't been any major problems down here in years—not since Hades left. “Perhaps we should check in with Arthur?”

“Yeah, let's do that before…” The tinkle of the bell on the door interrupted David, and he trailed off as he stared at whoever had just entered the diner. Despite all the years of knowing him and being able to read him nearly as well as Killian could his daughter, his expression was unreadable: somewhere between shock, horror, and elation. Killian could only think of one person who could elicit such a reaction, and turned in his seat to see if the newcomer was who he suspected.

It was: with a watery grin on her face, there stood Snow, a bit older than he last saw her, with hair the color of her name, but just as regal as ever.

No words needed to be spoken between the reunited True Loves. David simply stood, walked over to her in as few steps as possible, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

Other diners applauded, and he was pretty sure Granny wiped a tear from her eye. Killian too was elated to see the reunion, both for David and to have part of his family back, but deep down, he knew it would be bittersweet: they were likely to move on soon, and he would still be here. He knew that line of thinking was selfish, but it came unbidden, likely due to the unease that hadn’t abated at Snow’s arrival.

He stood from the booth as she reunited with Granny, joking that she was finally older than the old wolf, before letting David lead her back to the table.

“Snow,” he greeted warmly.

“Oh, Killian,” she answered in a motherly tone, pulling him into her always-warm embrace. “Has David been taking care of you?”

“Of course he has, milady,” he confirmed. “Though I think we both know he needs to be looked after much more than I do,” he added, winking at Dave, who chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, enough of that,” Dave attempted to rebuff, but the crinkled laugh lines around his eyes said otherwise.

They all settled back into the booth to catch up, and Snow promptly stole a piece of bacon off David’s plate. Killian smiled sadly at the memory of Emma always doing the same to him; suddenly, he didn't quite have the appetite for his meal anymore.

But he was hungry for information about his family, as was David. “So how is everyone?” Dave asked right away, barely letting her finish chewing.

“Well, I was kind of...out of it the last few months,” she started, a bit sadly. Both men just nodded—they’d both been through the same, so Killian blessedly less so. “But in the last couple years, everyone was great. Lucy had a baby!” she exclaimed, turning to Killian. “His name is Killian Henry.”

Killian glanced down, blushing; he and Lucy had always been particularly close, but he was still honored to hear the name. Snow continued on about the rest of their kids and grandkids, and it truly warmed his heart to hear that everyone was doing so well. But one name was noticeably absent.

“And Emma?” he finally asked, a bit more impatiently than intended.

Snow’s face fell a bit. “Well, like I said, I’ve been a bit out of it. She was fine before I got sick, and we were living next to each other in the retirement home, but I don’t know if anything has happened since then.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He’d wanted to hear that she was still thriving, giving their grandkids a run for their money and sneaking Pop Tarts whenever she could. Age would catch up with her, too, he knew, but he didn’t want that for her.

She needed fresh air, not to be cooped up in some home. And he needed some, too—right now, if he could. Quickly, he thought of a reason to leave; he knew they wouldn’t buy it, but he’d never want to seem rude. “Ah, I suppose I shouldn’t infringe on your reunion any longer. I’ll be seeing myself off. Until later,” he farewelled, starting to slide out of the booth.

“You sure? You’ve hardly touched your food; Granny will be mad.”

“I'll have to extend to her my apologies, then.” (In the background, he heard the woman in question shout, “Damn right you will! Remember who controls the rum around here!”)

“Still want to go sailing?” David asked once Killian stood. He was a bit surprised; he assumed they'd want to spend the day alone.

But he was hardly one to say no. “Absolutely. If you both want to.”

Snow answered, “I'd like that,” with a nostalgic smile; it had been some years since they'd been able to go out as a family.

“Then I'll ready the ship. ‘Til then.”

Without looking back, he left the diner, pausing only to give Granny a thankful nod, and headed down to the docks, where the Jolly Roger was bobbing happily. Even after all this time, setting foot on deck was still like greeting an old friend.

Before he went about readying the sails, he stood at the railing and gazed out at the ocean and horizon beyond. While the sky still tinted everything red, the sea at least no longer carried that garish green hue from the River of Lost Souls. Not long after he arrived, he helped Arthur free all those trapped in the River with the help of some casual research he and Belle had done over the years. It was Killian’s special privilege to see Milah off to her happy ending (finally), and he gladly bore her teasing about how old he was (also finally). David and James also reconciled at last, and while there was some ribbing there about David’s age, it was apparent that James was a bit jealous that he never got to do the same.

Now Killian was the jealous one, envious of those resting souls while his continued on waiting. His other reason for coming out alone was to see if the water would calm him like it always had, but whatever tenseness was agitating him ceased to go away. Maybe he'd talk to someone about it later...maybe. Or maybe he'd just find ways of distracting himself until David and Snow inevitably moved on.

He went with the latter, setting about pulling lines, checking sails—anything he could do by hand or that required focus, even though most of it was beyond muscle memory at this point. He was feeling a bit better by the time Snow and David arrived, but still unsettled. Even once they’d cast off and were in open waters—the place he’d most found solace for most of his life—unease still scratched at him. Snow asked if he was alright while they ate the picnic lunch she packed; he brushed it off as having slept at a weird angle. She and David exchanged a knowing glance he’d seen far too many times, but they knew not to prod so they didn’t.

He chided himself—he should be happy to be reunited with such a dear friend! The happy smiles on David’s face all day alone were definitely enough to warm his heart. But he couldn’t shake the bittersweetness of it all, especially when they all sat down to dinner at Granny’s like they had so many times in the past. As someone who’d once had no family at all, he had made sure to never take the one he’d found in Storybrooke for granted, and he certainly wouldn’t start now; he just selfishly wanted to hold onto it until it could be completed again.

They retired to the Nolan farmstead for a nightcap, like he and Dave did regualrly, and chatted about the old days as they watched the sunset paint shadows on the fields, until all that was left was the reddish glow of the moon.

“You wanna stay tonight?” David offered once they moved inside, but Killian couldn't bring himself to accept.

“No; I've intruded on your time with your wife enough. I'll just head back home.”

David nodded sadly; he too must have realized that his time in the Underworld was now limited. So he brought Killian in for a bruising hug, pouring all his unsaid words into it, and Killian held on tight.

“I love you, man,” David said softly.

“Love you too, mate,” Killian answered, hoping his voice didn't betray his hurt at the impending loss of his best friend. It was like facing David’s death all over again, even though he knew he'd probably see him again. He just wasn't sure how long it would be.

They eventually (reluctantly) broke apart, and Snow was quick to pull him into an equally tight hug. “Thank you for taking care of him for me,” she whispered, also aware of the impending separation.

“It was my pleasure, milady.” It truly was—though he couldn't be with his wife and children, his best mate had been excellent company.

He could feel tears pricking at his eyes and stepped back, glancing down to try to hide it. “Right then,” he said, swallowing. “I'll be off.”

His hand was barely on the door knob when David said, “Granny’s tomorrow?” ‘One last time’ was unsaid, but hung in the air.

“Aye, of course.” He wouldn't miss it for anything. “I'll see you then.” They said their farewells and he left, slowly walking back across Underbrooke toward home.

There, he went inside, took off his shoes by the front door, hung his leather jacket on the same hook he always did, and made sure the front porch light was turned on (just in case). Then he continued his nightly routine as always, washing off the salt this time, and again slipping into one side of that too-large bed by himself. A lone tear tracked down his face and he murmured “I miss you, Emma,” before drifting off.

Usually, he was awoken by the first morning light shining through the gauzy bedroom curtains. The red cast softened it a bit, but it was still enough to rouse him. Emma had always complained about his ability to rise with the sun, until near the end when he was too tired to do so—then she missed it.

He sighed at the memory as he slowly woke, still hazy as he regained consciousness. Last night’s dream of Emma had been especially vivid; he swore he could feel her soft skin under his fingers, still perfect to him despite the effects of time. He swore he could even smell her hair and feel her warmth pressed against him. So he forced himself to blink his eyes and shook his head as if to shake the dream away.

A sleepy groan accompanied his movement—but it hadn’t come from him. Something, or rather someone, was shifting next to him, tucked into his side.

A voice broke the silence. “‘Nother hour...go back to sleep.” And Killian’s breath hitched in his throat; it had been far too long since he heard that tired tone.

He glanced down at his chest, where their hands were intertwined and where her head was resting; he was always her favorite pillow. She was a bit older than he remembered, but still absolutely beautiful, especially in slumber. Her hair may be silver now, but it was still a riotous mess that he absolutely adored. Surely he was still dreaming, then—it couldn’t actually be her, could it?

Gingerly, he squeezed her hand and whispered hopefully, “Swan?”

Blearily, she blinked a few times and looked up at him, staring back with the same green eyes that had entranced him for so many decades, but now edged with deep lines as she softly smiled at him.

“Hey, beautiful,” she answered, with a slight smirk.

He reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek. She was real; she was here—warm and soft under his palm and at his side. Part of him couldn't believe it, but the rest of him was beginning to thrum in a way he hadn't since his death.

“Killian?” Her concerned voice cut into his thoughts, and her brow was furrowed to match. “Are you okay?”

He didn't even try to come up with a response; he just surged forward and claimed her lips in a long-overdue kiss. No other reply was needed, judging by the way she instantly responded in kind—she knew exactly what he was saying with it. All the I love yous and I miss yous that had been said from afar were poured into one single embrace. The desperation and joy in it reminded him of when he’d been resurrected, though this was quite the opposite. Wait, that meant—

He pulled back abruptly, nearly panicked now. “Emma! Are you—were you—”

“Shh,” she told him, placing a finger on his lips and knowing full well where his racing mind was going. “I wasn’t hurt, or sick, or in pain. I just...missed you all too much. It was just like Titanic,” she added with a smile.

“You died an old woman, warm in your bed?” he finished, smirking slightly. (They’d watched that movie many times over the years, and it had only reinforced his preference to wooden ships.)

She nodded. “After Mom passed, I was just...ready. I went to bed, and then I found myself here, right outside the house. Thanks for keeping the light on for me.”

“I never turned it off,” he murmured.

“I figured. You know, I could feel you the whole time, just like before. Didn’t I tell you once not to wait for me?”

“I never listen.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he teased, echoing a conversation that was now a distant memory. “I could feel you too, love, every day. And I think I realize now why I was an inexplicable nervous wreck yesterday.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, looking sheepish. “And sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

“Nonsense,” he quickly answered, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You were where you needed to be, with our family. How is everyone—Henry, the girls?”

For the next hour, Emma caught him up on the goings-on of their family and Storybrooke while they held each other tight—him taking every opportunity to pepper her with kisses—and he was overjoyed to hear that everyone was well (though he did go red again at hearing the name of their great-grandbaby). “What about yo—” she started, but was interrupted by the grumble of her stomach. “Sorry,” she winced. “Wow, I didn't know I could still get hungry.”

He just chuckled and glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for his regular breakfast date. “How about we head into town for some food? There are some people there that will probably be overjoyed to see you.”

“Hmm, I could probably go for some pancakes,” she mused with a saucy wink.

After another thorough kiss, they went about their morning routine just like always, as if they’d never been apart. They danced around each other—and with; Killian was hesitant to have her out of his embrace for very long—until they headed out the door in their matching leather jackets and made their way to breakfast wrapped in each other's arms.

Whatever quip Granny had prepped for that morning died on her lips when she saw Emma trail in behind him; she was just as surprised to see Emma as Emma was Granny. Despite being the same age, Granny fussed over Emma like she was still a girl, just as she had Snow, and quickly ushered her over to the booth where David and Snow waited.

Again, Killian stood by at the tearful reunion, but with none of the awkwardness or inner turmoil of the previous day’s; in fact, he too got misty-eyed watching his wife and her parents embrace and shout over each other, until David brought him into the group hug and the four of them huddled tight. While it was by no means his whole family, it was a core group of it and having them finally back together made his soul feel more peaceful than it had in ages.

Peaceful. He was at peace. His unfinished business was complete. Did that mean…? He glanced at David across the huddle; he too was wearing a calm but curious expression, and they exchanged a nod. They knew.

Granny ended up breaking apart the reunion to serve breakfast, so they took their seats as she slid mountains of food across the table; she knew what was coming, too, Killian guessed. His plate of eggs and bacon was comically large today.

“Haven't we been over this, Lady Lucas? You know I can't finish that.”

“Well, you better try. There's no sense in wasting food and you need it more than I do.”

“Does she always do this?” Emma whispered, scooting in closer to his side and wrapping an arm around him.

“Every morning.”

She squeezed her arm against his waist and her face fell. Somberly, she observed, “I forgot how much the cancer took out of you.” Without warning, she jumped out of the booth—incredibly spry for a woman her age—and engulfed Granny in a hug once the plates were set down. He could imagine the content of their brief, hushed conversation, based on the warm glance Granny threw his way and her response of “Someone had to.”

Emma gave her a peck on the cheek before sitting back down and digging into her pancakes (which were briefly interrupted by him placing a gentle kiss on her temple). Over the meal, she answered all the questions Snow hadn't been able to answer about the family.

“Oh, poor Henry,” Snow lamented. “Losing both of us so close?”

“I know, but he's strong. He’ll be okay, and Regina is there to help him, and vice versa.” There was no denying how tight knit their weird little family had become—the loss of both Emma and Snow would be deeply felt, he knew, but probably most of all by those two.

Before the conversation could restart, a voice cleared its throat at the end of the table. “Your Highnesses, it's so nice to see you again after so long.”

“Your Majesty,” Snow greeted Arthur with a nod. (Emma was understandably quiet, given their history.) “Looks like you've done quite well for yourself down here.”

The king blushed. “Well, I owe much of it to these two, especially recently. Their assistance here has been most valuable.”

“It was our pleasure, Arthur,” Killian quickly responded, and it truly had been.

“May as well do some good with our time down here, right?” David added, smiling.

“It's truly been an honor, men. And, if I may say so, I believe the winds are right today for a good sail.” He stared pointedly at David and Killian as he said it, imploring them to catch his deeper meaning.

They did. Since assuming the throne of the Underworld, Arthur had developed a kind of sixth sense regarding the direction of souls. Whether it was part of the position or developed from Arthur's own studious nature was up for debate, but he could always tell when a change was coming.

“You know, that does sound pretty good,” David agreed, sending a knowing glance to Killian.

“Even though we went yesterday?” Snow questioned, not quite catching what was going on.

“You can never spend too much time sailing, love,” Killian countered.

Emma leaned her head on his shoulder. “Sounds perfect to me.”

“Seems settled then,” Arthur observed. “I hope you have a pleasant day, friends. Take care.”

“You, too,” Killian and Dave answered, knowing it was more a farewell than anything, and Arthur excused himself.

“So what have you two been up to down here?” Emma wondered aloud, before taking a sip of her cocoa with cinnamon.

“Don’t tell me you’ve spent the last few years attached to each others hips,” Snow teased. Their so-called ‘bromance’ had long been a point of humor between the ladies—“adorable” seemed to be the prefered description—which was equally amusing to the guys. Why shouldn’t they be best friends? They’d certainly been through enough together.

Their silence seemed to answer the question. “Did you really?” Emma asked in a tone that was less mocking and more of genuine awe.

He started, “Well, there was lots to do on the farm—”

“—And he can’t quite sail by himself—” David jumped in.

“—And Arthur needed help—”

He was cut off by Emma and Snow’s laughter. “Some things just never change, do they?” Snow mused.

“I’m glad you had each other,” Emma added with a pat on his arm.

They continued to chat about what they’d been up to in the Underworld as they finished breakfast (Emma squeezed his hand tight when they told about freeing the souls from the river) and spent a fair amount of time saying goodbye to Granny when they left, with more than a few tears shed.

Arm in arm, they then made their way to the docks, Wilby at some point appearing and falling in step with them. At the harbor, the Jolly Roger bobbed in greeting, like it always did, as they boarded the ancient vessel.

Together, they equipped the ship for launch—a well-oiled crew at this point—and prepared to set sail.

“You ready?” David shouted at Killian from his place on the deck, holding tight to a line—and asking about far more than sailing.

“Aye,” he confidently answered from the helm, and they were off.

The sun was nearing its peak in the reddish sky, but the farther they cruised toward the horizon, the brighter the world around them got. It was not unlike another time in Killian’s memory, when a god had seen fit to send him back where he belonged.

Now, all these years later, he was again where he was supposed to be: at Emma’s side, and with his family and best friends.

And together, they sailed into the white light of eternity, at peace at last.

tagging some awesome peeps: @kat2609 @nfbagelperson @gusenitsaa @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture@wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones@whimsicallyenchantedrose @phiralovesloki

#captain charming ff #captain charming friday #cs ff #cs future fic #my ff

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years

Text

A Pirate’s Perfect Birthday

Short Post 6-B fic where Emma throws a party for Killian (and gives him the best possible gift). Also available on FF here.

A/N: Hello everyone! Surprise! I know I am on vacation AND to top it all off my laptop died earlier this week (so I am dealing with a whole lot of denial about the work I lost) BUT I could not let today come and go without some CS fluff. Because I have a number of readers with birthdays today (hi Jenn!) and coming up, it seemed fitting to write something new, and since last year I did a birthday for Emma, this year I’m making one for Killian. . Anyway hope you guys enjoy and thanks for reading!

Staring at the fully decorated and brightly lit living room within her and Killian's home, Emma had to admit that things were going better than she'd at first anticipated.

When she originally came up with the idea of a celebration in Killian's honor done in the style and with the purpose of a birthday, she'd had understandable concerns. After all her husband, fond as he was of celebrating her and the other members of their family and friends in town, wasn't usually predisposed to moments celebrating him or providing him with what he felt for were undue accolades. For a man who was so charming and who often played at roguish swagger Killian would rather not be the center of attention at the end of the day. But Emma knew in her heart that Killian more than deserved to be celebrated and that even if he resisted today's activities, she would be sharing a gift with him that would make it all worth it.

"Are you sure you don't want to go a little bigger with the decorations?" Her mother asked in a genuine tone, pulling Emma from her quiet musings as she did. "You know it's not too late for us to embellish the theme a little bit. We could do something with sailing or the ocean or anything really... Oh I know! Pirates of the Caribbean! Killian’s seen those movies, right?"

Emma smiled her mother's ideas knowing that Snow meant the best when she put forth plans for an extension of the party's merriment, but if she gave her mother too much leeway then Emma would run the risk of ruining the party before it even began. If they went too flashy or too big that simply wouldn't be a party for Killian and that would be a shame, especially when Emma believed that she had found the perfect balance that would make this party both enjoyable to Killian and to all of their eager guests as well. It was old world meets new world in many ways but there would be good food and music and even a cake with rum infused frosting for dessert.

"Everything looks perfect as is, Mom. You've already done such a wonderful job and you've been a big help."

That response allowed Emma with a way out that didn't hurt her mother’s feelings, and she hoped that her Mom would believe her praise because Emma meant every word. The truth was Emma wasn't exactly cut out for party planning and none of these little details and thoughts had ever mattered much to her or ever came naturally. In this marriage there was one partner who was predominantly the thoughtful one with grand gestures and big surprises aplenty and that was Killian, but now Emma was trying to take a cue from his playbook so to speak.

"I think this is incredibly sweet Emma," Belle said as she approached from the kitchen where she had been getting much of the food for the evening plated and ready to go. "And it’s also very symbolic. After all, this is the anniversary of when he came back to you, right?"

Emma nodded, unsurprised that her and Killian's friend had figured out Emma’s underlying intentions. One year ago today in the midst of some of the worst pain Emma had ever endured, where her heart has been broken and all hope seemed lost, light returned to her world once more when Killian was brought back to her through a magic too strong and too powerful to fully comprehend. That day had been the start of a whole new chance for both Emma and Killian to do this whole true love thing right and they had made the most of that opportunity living every day like it might be their last but hoping all the while that they would have the happily ever after that was promised to all heroes. In many ways both of them had been reborn on that day, and so it only seems fitting that a day like that should be cherished and remembered and that on this day Emma should try and make her husband see just how much he meant to her.

"It is, yeah. But it's crazy to think how different our lives are now. We might never be ‘normal’ but this whole not constantly fighting the forces of evil thing... Well it’s pretty amazing."

"It's nothing less than you both deserve," Emma's father quipped from the other end of the room. "I think this family and this town have had just about enough trouble to last a lifetime."

Everyone easily agreed with David's shrewd analysis and Emma felt a surge of warmth in her chest at the thought that everyone she loved and everyone she cared for truly had found peace in the aftermath of the final battle. Each person here had played a role in Emma’s being strong enough to overcome her fate, but the one person who had done the most and whose love had shown throughout every moment no matter how dark with unwavering strength was Killian. He had been her rock when times were hard and he had been her faith when all hope seemed lost, and Emma knew that he would always continue to be her biggest fan and most adamant supporter as long as they lived.

At that moment the front door flew open and in a rush that was unexpected Emma watched as Henry came clamoring through with an earnest look on his face. For a second fear overtook her and there was a return to the old worries of the past. A look like that might mean there was some big bad knocking on their door poised to wreak havoc or that someone might be in grave danger, but then Emma noticed that though Henry seemed frazzled he wasn't truly upset and her gut told her that whatever he was about to say she could handle.

"Henry what's wrong?" Snow asked quickly but Henry's eyes stayed on Emma.

"We've got a slight hiccup in our plan. I know I was supposed to bring Killian after we were finished sailing on the Jolly, but he wanted to stay behind and short of saying you were in trouble I don't think there was anything I could do to get him to come."

“Well this is typical. We throw the pirate a party and he’s too wrapped up in that precious boat of his to even come,” Regina said with attempted sarcasm that Emma could plainly see through. No matter what she said, Regina had grown to consider Killian a friend and she did care about him underneath all of that dry wit.

“I tried to get him here, I really did. I even floated the idea of letting him make that mackerel stuff he’s always talking about for dinner, but he didn’t bite.”

Hearing more of what had happened and just how much enticement Killian had denied to avoid coming home made Emma smile despite herself and she began to piece together parts of the puzzle that might escape the others in the room. If she had to guess Emma would say that Killian, smart and ever observant as he was, was likely onto them and trying to stall, but there was a way to get him here and Emma knew the time had come to make her move.

"That's all right kid I've got it from here," Emma promised as she gave Henry a hug before saying goodbye to the others and heading out the door in search of the docks. She chose to walk instead of using magic and the journey was quick and the weather outside was mild enough that it was more than pleasant, but the best part undoubtedly was when she was finally aboard the Jolly Roger and was reunited with the man she loved.

"So... where you planning on returning to us land bound folk any time soon, or is this your move to get the hell out of dodge?” Emma asked after quietly sneaking up to the deck and watching Killian for a few seconds where he stood at his perch at the ship’s edge. When her voice sounded out between them he turned immediately and Emma could see even through the clear intensity he was grappling with that he was relieved to be reunited with her again. It was just the way he always was, and that quiet but ever present concern was an amazing and unspoken reassurance that Emma was loved completely by her husband and that nothing would ever change that.

“You joke, love, but you know there’s no leaving for me. Not without you at least.” Emma let out a light laugh at the thought of them leaving every care and responsibility behind them for a life on the high seas before stepping forward to take the hand he offered willingly and feeling that spark of connection as soon as they were joined. “What do you say we set sail and go wherever the winds take us?”

“I say it sounds pretty perfect as long as I’m with you, but tonight’s not so good. We’ve got plans.”

"Aye, I know about the party, Swan,” Killian announced, as if somehow he’d been keeping that little fact secret when his awareness was written all over his face.

"I figured as much when you gave Henry the slip with no clear reason," Emma confessed, prompting a surprised look from Killian before understanding infiltrated his piercing blue eyes and a softness returned to his features once more. Instinctively he pulled her into his arms wrapping her up in his embrace, and Emma welcomed that, stepping into him and into the place that had come to feel most like home to her in the whole wide world.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, my love, because I do, and timing it so precisely with my coming back from the Underworld was brilliant on your part. As I’ve said before my life truly began anew when I was given another chance to be by your side, and it’s as good a day as any to be grateful for. I just... Well truth is I've never had one of these, at least not one I can remember."

Hearing that (even though Emma had anticipated that might be the case) stung in a painful way and her heart went out to Killian as she thought about the stories she had heard from his less than happy and wholesome childhood and the largely unfortunate years that followed. They were very alike in this, in how life had robbed them of so many simple pleasures a person should know, but now Emma was hoping to rectify some of those old wounds and also share new joys that would grant them more of those miraculous second chances their love was prone to creating.

"There's no better time to try it out than now," Emma offered as her hand came to cup his cheek and she smiled at him and the feelings of rightness only he could bring into her life.

"Oh really? And why is that?" Killian inquired, teasing a bit more as he did and allowing himself to leave behind his earlier worrying. It was a beautiful sight for Emma to see him do so too, for she knew how hard it was to battle ghosts of lives past and she was always in awe of Killian’s willingness to try even when the going was tough.

“Because I'm hoping we will have at least another sixty years together and it’s only fair that we both get a birthday to celebrate," Emma murmured, picturing in her mind’s eye where they would be ten, then twenty, and fifty years down the line. The visions were hazy of course, and they were open to changing since she couldn’t really see the future, but the one thing Emma was certain of was that she and Killian would be a team and they’d be happy. "And besides, this year I have the perfect gift to give you.”

“You needn’t have troubled yourself, Swan. You know the best thing in the world is you. What else could possibly compare to calling you mine?”

His words were touching and heartfelt and Emma let them wash over her skin as she felt the rumble of his lilted voice flow over her as well. Tears pricked at her eyes and she could feel the swell of emotion inside her brought not only by the good fortune she was about to share, but by this unique and remarkable man who loved her so. Killian didn’t try to be perfect by any means, and he was clear with her and with everyone that he was only human and that he would make mistakes, but for Emma he was every ideal made real. He loved her with everything in him, brought passion and joy into her world every single day, and he looked at her as he did now - like she was the rarest gem of all - so often that it was almost commonplace. But this feeling in her heart would never be common, and the magic they’d found together would never dull in any way, especially not in the sight of what she had to tell him now.

“Maybe finding out you’re going to be a father?” Emma whispered, her hand taking Killian’s in hers and bringing it over her tummy that hadn’t yet begun to show but was destined to do so soon since right now a little girl or boy was growing bigger and bigger with each passing day.

“I’m going to - a father – you mean – you’re – I mean we… Swan?!”

The mumbled words and incoherent babbling was so unlike Killian in every way, but to Emma it was beyond endearing, and watching the whole host of reactions that crossed his face was brilliant. He went through every phase she’d been in since finding out she was pregnant, excitement, glee, a little bit of trepidation, but mostly there was this love infused thankfulness that only someone who had lost everything before could know. The two of them had seen the darkest depths of what life could offer, and so it made this moment where things were so totally and completely good all the more wonderful.

“Yup. You and I have roughly six months to get ready for a new addition to the Jones family, and then you’ll get a new, slightly less ‘colorful’ moniker: Daddy.”

That was evidently the final straw for her husband, and the next thing Emma knew she was being pulled closer, her lips crashing against Killian’s as he kissed her with so much feeling and emotion that it superseded all other things. It was heated and yet sweet all at once, intimate but unabashed in its publicness, and truthfully Emma couldn’t tell where she ended and where Killian began because she was so wrapped up in him that she lost the ability to decipher anything but that she loved him and that she was really and gloriously happy.

The rest of the world faded away for a while then as one kiss turned to two and then three and then more than Emma could count, and all that remained in the meantime was the two of them, both thrilled and elated at the new adventure they had waiting for them and this next chapter of their lives that would be so worth all that hard work and fighting they’d put in the past few years. This was a part of that whole happy beginning they were after all along, and with Killian by her side Emma knew she was more than ready for this new challenge and this next step they would take together.

“Every day you give me more and more reason to love you, Emma, and today has been no different,” Killian said when they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against each other as Emma closed her eyes and just soaked in this perfect moment with her one true love. “I don’t know how a man can possibly be this blessed, but I swear to you this child will know just as you do that there is nothing and no one above our family to me. This, right here, is the most important thing, and it always, always will be.”

The power of those words for Emma, a woman who had at one time had considered herself to be nothing more than a lost little girl, was immense, and again those happy tears fell, spilling over her cheeks before they were wiped away by Killian as he whispered more words of affection and love. In response the only thing Emma could think to do was tell him that she loved him too and then kiss him senseless all over again, waiting party guests be damned.

Eventually, however, the two of them did face the music, arriving at the party and telling everyone the good news (because Killian couldn’t bear to keep the secret). There was, of course, the obvious hope and joy Emma had expected from their family and friends, and in the end the night was a great one that was more than worthy of remembering because of all the laughs and enjoyment that was had amongst them all. And every year from that point on when that same date rolled around, Emma didn’t hear any complaints from Killian about his ‘birthday,’ because he agreed that there was more than enough cause to celebrate and more than enough blessings to keep the Jones family happy and grateful forever more.

Post-Note: So there we have it, another fic where I give Emma and Killian more pieces of the happily ever after puzzle I am so hoping they manage to find. I truly don’t think I can write enough of these, but I will certainly try in the absence of seeing it on the show itself. Anyway I hope that this chapter found all of you in the midst of good days. Thank you all for reading and happy birthday to my lovely readers celebrating in the coming weeks!

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs married #pregnant cs #emma swan #killian jones #belle #regina #henry #snowing #ouat fic #it's raining cs fluff #a pirate's perfect birthday

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

Text

Of Children and Understandings

Notes: Once again, gotta thank @welllpthisishappening for listening, reading and encouraging my sorry ass to write this and others for my Little Pirates verse (By the Hook, Breakfast for Boys and Pirate Halloween). Without her encouragement and commentary, I am nothing. We were both a little mad with how the show brought up the Hook v Rumple rivalry and just did nothing with it, and even worse, put them at the same dinner table for a family meal and act like nothing is wrong. So, yeah, this is my way of dealing with that while also murdering people with Dad!Killian feels because that’s my jam. This will most definitely by jossed by the canon, but as they say on Mythbusters, “I reject your reality and substitute my own.” Not the friendliest take on Rumple. You can read it here on AO3: [LINK] Summary: Killian Jones and the Dark One have an understanding when it comes to cohabiting Storybrooke post-The Final Battle: do not enter each other’s space, do not speak, do not look and certainly do not touch. Things waver when kids enter the mix and things need to be clarified, especially when Killian’s daughter Beth has a disturbing nightmare. Rating: T Word Count: 7,600+ (I should have broken this into two parts, but I couldn’t bring my self to do it.)

There was a small fragile alliance between Killian Jones and the Dark One. No, alliance wasn’t the correct term. It assumed far too much civility than either men were willing to put into this…truce? No. Not truce. That was also too strong of a word. It was more of an…understanding between predators. They would ceasefire in the name of family, but they would remain on their own separate turfs. Killian would stick to one side of the room. Rumpelstiltskin would stay on the other. No words would be spoken. No looks would be shared. Only Belle and Henry could across between their territories and both were intelligent enough to not mention one in front of the other. It worked…for the most part at least.

And then, Killian and Emma brought three little ones into the world. His firstborn and spitting image Harrison Liam Jones came into the world almost exactly nine months after the Final Battle. (Neither are quite sure if their son was conceived in wedlock or out of it but Killian personally hoped it happened sometime during the honeymoon week they had locked themselves away in there home, completely enamored with each other and finally at peace.) They brought him to Granny’s nearly a week after he was born, ready to introduce the little lad to the world, and that was when everything in the past few months started to falter in this understanding between them.

Belle had immediately come over to their table to see the child, cooing and smiling over the babe while the Dark One lingered at the door, respecting the boundaries that had been unspoken but well established. Belle had brushed her hand against Harrison’s downy head and commented on his striking resemblance to his father. It was in that moment that Killian had peered up from his son to see the Dark One staring at the babe rather intensely with cold and glittering eyes. He made no movement nor did he offer any comment; he just stared at Killian’s son with an expression that could only be read as unnerving. Killian felt every hair on his body stand at attention and held the boy more fiercely to his chest, eliciting a cry of protest from his son. For the entire time the Golds were in the diner, Killian’s entire body was poised and ready for action - to defend his son from any possible attack. None came. The Dark One did not break the rules of their understanding, but something had wavered.

The staring continued on when the next boy, Westley Graham Jones, was born, and if anything the looks became uglier. Westley had been blessed with both Emma’s smile and pale blonde hair, but he had inherited his father’s eyes and nearly everyone commented on it, calling them Killian Blue. It seemed this inheritance were more bothersome than his eldest’s uncannily similar visage to the Dark One, and Wes and Gideon’s budding friendship only seemed to exacerbate the Dark One’s silent ire. (Killian could not help but wonder if his younger son enjoyed causing controversy and chaos. He always seemed to find ways to make them all anxious.) However, still he made no move and said not a word, but continued to stare. Harrison and Westley crawled, squirmed and threw crayons across the table while emitting cute little toddler giggles unaware that they were being watched under a crocodile’s gaze. However, Killian knew and he kept himself alert at all times, rarely allowing the boys to leave his sight while he alternated his wary attention between them and the Dark One. While the boys played and prattled unaware of the predator on the other side of the room, Killian stood as a silent sentry, waiting.

Their last child Elizabeth Alice Jones was not planned. (Surprise, surprise, they were one in three in the planning department; one in four if one counted Henry and Killian always did.) They had firmly decided that two small kids and a near-college student was enough for them, but fate had other designs when Emma fell pregnant with their little girl who came into the world with his raven hair, Emma’s eyes and cupid's bow lips. Killian was gone for her the moment that she opened her eyes when they placed her in his arms. They called her their Princess Elizabeth (and then Hurricane Elizabeth when she turned out to be colicky) until they decided it was a mouthful and that they needed to give this little one a nickname as they did with Wes. (For some reason, they never felt inclined to do this with Harrison, but Harrison so adeptly fit his eldest. It felt wrong to call him anything else, especially something like Harry.) It was Belle who gave their girl her true name after Killian vehemently protested against Lizzie - Beth after Belle’s favorite character from the novel Little Women.

“Because she's so sweet,” Belle had said before giving their daughter a delicate kiss upon the little mop of chocolate brown curls. The Dark One continued to stare with an odd gleam in his eyes as his wife doted upon Killian’s daughter and Emma proclaimed Beth was the winning nickname for the child. It made Killian more uneasy and the protectiveness that he felt towards his children increased tenfold.

Killian initially liked the nickname because Beth was perfect in the same way Harrison had been perfect for his firstborn and Wes had been perfect for their younger son. However, his enthusiasm was severely dimmed by the fact that Belle’s favorite character died in the novel and that all that excitement turned to ash. He struggled with that; naming his daughter after a character known for her poignant death. In the end, they ultimately decided to keep “Beth” for their daughter because it fit her better than anything else. However, Killian privately came to the decision to ensure that Beth Jones was nothing like Beth March. His daughter never left his side at Granny’s in the presence of the Dark One. He followed her even into the restroom, the instinct to protect even stronger with her than with his boys. There was something about the little girl that made him want to shield her in the same fashion that dragons guarded their most prized treasure. Emma called him a “bubble wrap dad” for it.

It was Beth who took notice of the Dark One and his stare where her brothers didn’t. His precious girl had been running after David and Snow’s latest addition Ruthie, both of them painfully adorable with matching dark hair and matching pink cupcakes; the two girls looking more like twins than aunt and niece. Where Ruthie had kept along her path to her parents, Beth had stopped in all motions, frozen in the same way a small deer stiffened at the sound of a snapping twig. Her head tilted, green eyes crossing over the invisible territory line. Every single part of Killian arose in alarm as he watched his little girl make eye contact with the Dark One. No one around them seemed to notice. The staredown between them was lasting uncomfortably long and it resembled too much of the held gaze between predator and prey before a final kill for Killian to stand around idly waiting for the Dark One any longer. He crossed the diner, scooping his little one into his arms and thus breaking the exchange. Beth’s tiny arms became an immediate vice grip around him and he felt a slight pain in his neck as his daughter’s fingers curled into a fist around his pirate’s luck and gave the chain a yank. He cradled his daughter’s head into his shoulder, placing a fevered kiss on Beth’s brow while turning his attention to the Dark One; blue eyes blazing with near uncontainable rage.

They may have stolen glances at each other over the near decade since the Final Battle, but they have never made eye contact; both painstakingly doing their best to avoid the other and upholding the understanding that they’ve had now for years. The Dark One may have never crossed into his territory or spoken to him and his immediate family, but this was a clear and unmistakable violation that Killian could no longer tolerate. Every fiber in Killian’s being wanted to rip out Rumpelstiltskin's spine with his bare hands, but the “peace” needed to be held for the family. He just hoped that the Dark One understood the message he was trying to convey: his children were off limits.

The Dark One seemed to get the message and scoffed lightly in response as if he couldn’t believe the silent threat he was receiving. However, he did almost immediately turn his attention to Belle and made some comment to her that Killian cared very little about. The only thing he cared about it at the moment was that the Dark One would stop staring at his children and frightening his precious little ones.

“Hello my sweetling. Granny’s made you some macaroni and cheese. Want to go get some of that, love?” Killian murmured softly to Beth, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he tried to banish the encounter between her and the Dark One away with her favorite food and comforting motions.

His normally loquacious child merely nodded her head in response and Killian felt his anger bubble under his skin in tenfold. He held her tighter against him as if he could fuse her to his person through sheer physical and mental will. He showered her forehead with kisses as he spun on his heel away from the invisible borderline and brought her back to their table, sitting her between himself and Emma. A smile returned to Beth’s face when a huge bowl of cheesy noodles was placed in front of her. Killian felt everything wash away under the force of his relief at that smile. It appeared his daughter had walked away from her first encounter with the Dark One unscathed.

Or so he thought.

Killian awoke to the unmistakable sound of crying a few days after the incident. His wife, completely exhausted from the day prior, didn’t even stir but Killian, whose hearing had always been acute, was out of their bed in seconds. He nearly sprinted down the hall, pausing only to put on a pair of sleep pants and his hook, in search of the disturbance. Once he was out of the room, the sound was no longer as muffled and he recognized the sound as belonging to his daughter.

He found Beth curled into a ball on her toddler bed, big eyes scrunched as fat tears rolled her baby cheeks when he entered her room. (She was five and should have been put in a regular bed by now like her brothers, but she was so tiny that they were pretty sure that they could squeeze another one or two years out of the toddler bed. The way she was curled up only seemed to emphasize this point.) Her entire face was bright red and it was more than apparent to him that she had been crying far longer than he had been awake.

“Daddy…” She whimpered. She sounded terrified and it broke him.

Killian was far too big to be laying in a toddler bed, but that didn’t stop him from climbing aboard and pulling his daughter on top of him so that her ear landed in the middle of his chest. His left shoulder was hanging off, and his feet as well as the majority of his legs below his knees were dangling in the air, but none of this mattered. When Beth was an infant, she (and her brothers before her) almost never slept unless she was laid across his chest while in the tub, lulled by the sound of water and his heartbeat. He wasn’t sure if a bath would help now that she was a big preschooler, but hopefully the sound of his heart was still a comfort to her. He made a motion to unclick his hook, but Beth reached out and grabbed it as it was her habit and curled her fingers around it like it was her lifeline until the skin of her knuckles grew white and taunt. A deep unnamable emotion lodged itself in his throat at the desperate action.

“I’m here, my little minnow, I’m here,” he murmured against her hair. His eyes squeezed shut as a little hiccup racked her small body. “Daddy’s got you.”

“He took my heart, Daddy,” she half-cried, half-whispered and everything inside Killian nearly shut down at her words. His blood went ice cold in his veins and a maelstrom of anger, hysteria and sheer terror wreaked havoc inside of him. He knew exactly who “he” that Beth had been referring to. Against his will, the violent memory of the Dark One taking Milah’s heart and crushing it before his eyes flashed in his mind. It was painfully followed by a similar scene, except now it was his daughter, his precious little one, and he was watching the light dim in those green eyes that were the exact same shape and color as Emma’s. His own predator, the one that lived deep inside of him since he had decided to set aside his revenge against Rumpelstiltskin, howled in outrage. This could not be. Almost immediately he placed his hand down on her chest and he thanked every star in the sky that her heart was still there, beating frantically against his palm. “It’s there, minnow,” he whispered back to her, his voice nearly hitching with emotion. He moved to bring the hand that was wrapped around his hook to her chest so she could feel her own heartbeat, but she steadily refused to let go. However, she was more amenable to letting go of the fist she had made around his pirate’s luck and he was able to place that hand in the middle of her chest instead. He placed his own hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. “See? It’s there. He didn’t take it. He can’t take it, my sweet thing. It’s safe.”

Beth’s crying slowed as she felt her own heartbeat and Killian’s hand moved to card itself into her hair as he kissed her forehead, just resting his lips on the patch of skin under her hairline. He sighed as her breathing became less labored, breathing in her scent to soothe his own emotional state.

“I’m scared…” Her voice wavered as the two words hung in the air.

“You shouldn’t be, little love,” he murmured against her forehead. “You have me, and you have Mommy…Grandpa David, Grandma Snow, Henry, Harrison, Wes...Neal, Ruthie...even Regina, Zelena and Bobbi...We’re all here to protect you…”

Beth was silent for a moment. The only sounds that could be heard in the room was the sounds of their breathing. Hers was still a bit more labored than his with the occasional hiccup passing her lips. She moved her body so she was lying on her side instead of the awkward contortion that she had going on before when she was too upset to be uncomfortable. She did however keep her head over his heart and had yet to let go of his hook, which of course led to her elbow being jabbed into his ribs as she moved. He had flinched a bit, but refused to let her know his discomfort.

“Mr. Gold wants to hurt me…” she said finally and Killian couldn’t breath when she did. His five-year old shouldn’t ever in a million years think that someone wanted to hurt her, let alone when they were supposed to be at peace. His intense anger returned in tenfold, a fire set ablaze in his stomach.

“Why do you think that, minnow?” He asked, closing his eyes and pulling her body closer to his.

“He stares at me...and it’s not nice. He scares me.”

It was when she said this that he knew that the understanding had to end as it was. This could not stand and he would be damned if he stood idly by while the Dark One scared his children. He knew what he had to do.

“That’s not going to happen anymore, Little Beth,” he declared, looking down at her with a tight smile. He was already mentally preparing himself for tomorrow. He was going to finally confront the Dark One and lay down the law; something he should have done the first go around when Emma and him had brought Harrison to Granny’s when he was only a week old.

“You promise?” She asked and again, Killian’s heart broke.

“I promise,” he replied firmly, before taking his hand out of his daughter’s hair to grab at the pirate’s luck that hung around his neck. Beth watched in fascination as he removed the chain and pulled it over his head. “You know how Mommy has Uncle Liam’s ring and that’s supposed to protect her right?”

Beth nodded mutely, her eyes completely focused on the clinking charms. Killian couldn’t help but chuckle. Along with her fascination with his hook, Beth had always loved playing with the charms of his pirate’s luck. She had constantly yanked on them when she was a babe and though it had been painful at times, he had always found it to be endearing.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“It’s your necklace,” she answered.

“You’re not wrong, but it’s more than that. It’s my pirate’s luck and it wards off angry sea monsters that want to hurt your Daddy. And that includes crocodiles,” he said with a chuckle and a wink before he slipped it over his head. “And tonight, it’s going to protect you. Is that okay?”

She nodded enthusiastically; this time she let go of his hook so that she could play with the charms with both hands. Killian couldn’t help but be amused as he watched her, a happy hum trilling in his chest. He gave her another kiss.

“You still scared?” he asked with a small smile.

Beth didn’t even look up at him, so completely focused on the dangling skull and sword. She just shook her head, slightly reminding him of Henry and Harrison's half-hearted responses whenever they were focused on their video games. He was already dreading the moment when Wes got his own games to play with and then Killian would have three zombie boys ignoring him instead of just two.

Killian gave her hair one last run through before he decided it was time to get up and return to his own bed. He hadn’t noticed until that moment how uncomfortably he was hanging off the toddler bed. His knees were starting to complain as both of his lower halves of his legs had been awkwardly dangling off the end of the bed for at least a good twenty minutes now. He tried to move Beth off his chest so he could lay her back in her bed, but she squeaked in protest. She dropped his pirate’s luck and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t leave…” She cried in an almost frantic voice. “I gotta go back to my own bed, minnow,” he replied with a patient sigh, giving her cheek an affectionate pat. “Stay, Daddy,” she pleaded, tears started to brim in the corners of her eyes and she gave him the world’s saddest looking pout. Gods above help him, he could not disappoint her when she gave him that look. He was grateful he only had one daughter. He wasn’t sure he or his heart could handle another one of Beth. “Alright, love, alright,” he sighed, laying back down and resigning himself to the fact that he was going to wake up sore as hell. Emma would not be pleased with him. He couldn’t bring himself to entirely regret the decision however when Beth snugged into his chest and looked up at him like he was the biggest hero in all of the realms. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered sleepily. “I love you too, my Little Beth,” he replied, giving her forehead one last kiss. "Now go to sleep."

Killian waited for her breath to even out before quietly unholstering his hook and allowing it to fall to the floor before bringing Beth’s sleeping body closer to his and pressing his nose into her wild hair. He allowed his eyes to droop and he fell asleep, lulled by the smell of citrus L’Oreal Kids shampoo and detangler, Emma’s sugar cookies (no doubt stolen and consumed after Beth’s tub) and Beth’s own earthy scent.

The next morning, Killian helped his wife prep their children for the day the same as he always did. However, instead of joining her in the Bug to go to the station, he told her that he had errands to run before work and would join her later. She naturally went through a line of inquiry into what was the nature of these errands and when Killian would only tell that it had something to do with easing Beth’s nightmares, she huffed but relented; kissing his cheek and sternly telling him to get to the station as soon as he could manage. Killian didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, before entering the territory of his mortal enemy. He strode into Gold’s Pawnshop fueled by the image of his daughter’s frightened face and his own righteous fury. The door slammed loudly behind him, rattling in its frame and Killian tried not to think about how it was a perfect metaphor for his mood. “Show yourself, Dark One,” Killian growled. He was in no state to wait for him to come as he pleased. This needed to be resolved now. Rumpelstiltskin appeared from one of the backrooms of his shop, his eyes cold as any reptile’s as he regarded Killian with a mixture of annoyance and blatant hatred. He was carrying a small leather black book in his hands, which Killian assumed was some sort of ledger. “The last time you said that coming into this shop, it didn’t bode well for you,” he replied. Though his tone was calm and measured, the sentence was punctuated with a loud snap as Rumpelstiltskin shut the book sharply as if he needed some way to express his ill temper without giving too much away. Killian knew the act well, mainly because he had performed it himself many times over his centuries of life. “Last time I was here, you aligned yourself with the bloody Black Fairy,” Killian responded tersely. Rumpelstiltskin stiffened at the mention of his mother. He turned away from Killian, opening the book in his arms again with a licked finger and proceeded to look for whatever page he had been on. Killian’s jaw clenched at the action. It was as good as a dismissal. “What do you want, pirate? I’m busy,” he asked in a bored tone, as if this exchange meant nothing to him. It was a good act, but Killian could very well see the tension in his shoulders. “Oh yes, you certainly look tied up at the moment,” Killian replied sarcastically, barely managing to keep from rolling his eyes. “I’m here because it seems we need some clarification on our understanding.” Rumpelstiltskin snapped the book shut again and placed it down on the counter with a solid thud. He leaned against it, his palms stretched out across the glass as he glowered at Killian; jaw working in irritation. “Obviously so,” he replied tightly, “because I thought the understanding was that we won’t eviscerate each other so long as we don’t talk, speak or look at each other...so please enlighten me on what needs to be clarified...”

Killian matched the Dark One’s pose, stretching his hand and hook across the countertop and looking him straight in the eye. Killian leaned forward until he was nearly on the verge of entering Rumpelstiltskin’s personal space, a habit he had picked up aboard the Jolly Roger when he was dealing with insolent crew members who had forgotten whose employ they were in. “Children.” “Children?” Rumpelstiltskin echoed with the raise of his eyebrows as if he had absolutely no clue as to what Killian could be referring to. “You know what I woke up to last night?” Killian asked, his fingers tapping against the glass tempestuously. Beth’s sobbing image still playing in his mind’s eye. It took everything inside of him to not punch the Dark One straight in the jaw. “My daughter crying.” There was a flicker of something in the Dark One’s eyes. It had happened in a fraction of a second, but it was something and though Killian wasn’t exactly sure what it was, he knew he didn’t like it. His hand moved to grip the corner of the glass, knuckles nearly turning white under the force. A part of him wanted to scratch the counter with his hook, to make some form of aggression to prove his point, but he had a mission and he had to stick to it. “I fail to see how this concerns me,” Rumpelstiltskin replied in a tone of indifference.

“She had a nightmare about you. You ripping her heart out!” Killian couldn’t help the snarl that emitted itself from his throat and he was sure if he hadn’t been gripping the countertop so hard, he would have smashed his fist against it. His brain kept altering between the images of Milah dying in his arms and his daughter fading as her heart was crushed; his first love and his last love, both black haired beauties, taken by the Dark One. No. Killian couldn’t stop Milah’s death, but as long as he breathed he would not allow any harm to come to Beth. He would not fail her too.

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes went wide a fraction and he shifted in his stance, putting some distance between them as if he could sense that Killian was on the verge of snapping and he was preparing himself for the attack. The Dark One regarded Killian with an unreadable expression as he brought up his hand to worry his jaw.

“Whatever horror stories you tell your daughter about me are your issues, not mine,” he responded in an almost dangerously soft voice that made the hairs on the back of Killian’s neck stand on edge. He nearly brought his hook at attention in preparation of striking the Dark One if necessary.

However at the same time, the Dark One had brought up an excellent point. Emma and himself had decided long ago not to tell their children about certain aspects of their lives until they were old enough to handle it. They had even sat Henry down and made him promise to do the same. Neither David, Snow, Emma and himself were in the habit of talking about their nasty past with the Dark One and Regina, so focused on keeping the peace. How had Beth found out about the heart ripping? Who had been insane enough to tell stories of that nature to his daughter?

“I have never breathed a word about you to my daughter,” Killian responded in a nearly offended growled, before leaning forward again and hissing, “if it were up to me, she wouldn’t know you exist and we would be as far away from you as we possibly could be.”

“Well someone obviously said something to her and it wasn’t me. So perhaps you and the Savior should run along and go find that person and leave me in peace,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped back at him and he now looked ready to throw his little black ledger at Killian’s head.

While Killian privately agreed that he needed to find whoever had told Beth about the Dark One’s habit for heart ripping (and to scare them within an inch of their lives because who the bloody fuck thought it was alright to tell a preschooler, much less Killian’s daughter, about such horrors needed someone to knock a little sense into them), there was still the main matter at hand: the Dark One, his habit for staring and how it was affecting his daughter.

“She’s afraid of you because you stare at her like the bloody crocodile you are,” Killian spat in displeasure, looking at Rumpelstiltskin in absolute fury. “And don’t deny it. I caught you looking at her the other night. I’ve seen you watch all of them with those eyes and whatever you’re thinking in that disgusting head of yours when you do, I’m sure I could kill you for.”

The two men, both predators in their own right, regarded each other silently for a moment. No sound could be heard in the shop except for the milling of pedestrians outside. Killian severely hoped that a curious onlooker didn’t happen to look through and see them talking then gossip to the entire town that the Dark One and Captain Hook were at it again. Emma would kill him. Hell, Belle would kill him too. The sad fact of life was that both women would probably hold him more accountable for this than the Dark One himself. He tried not to think of the unfairness of that situation.

“That’s a lot of assuming there,” Rumpelstiltskin replied after a moment, and the casual and indifferent way he said it nearly had Killian’s rage boiling over.

“There’s no assuming! I’ve seen with my own damn eyes that you do it!” Killian retorted as he felt his anger course through his veins like molten lava. He had never hated a man more than he had hated the Dark One. He wanted nothing more than to strangle him, but that would get him nowhere. He let out a heavy breath and Rumpelstiltskin looked at him with a shadow of amusement.

“I don’t trust you,” Killian began, taking his hand away from the glass to form a tight fist. “I never will. The only reason I even tolerate your presence is because you’re Henry’s grandfather, Belle loves you and for some reason unknown to all David and Snow have forgiven you for all of your past transgressions. But I won’t. What you have done is unforgivable, but I have things in my life that mean more to me than my vengeance against you. So, this is what I want...you are going to leave my children alone. Do not look at them. Do not touch them. Do not even say their names.”

The Dark One scoffed at his speech, a sound that was mixed with disbelief and a tinge of amusement that Killian did not appreciate.

“That’s quite a list of demands. And Elizabeth is a very common name,” Rumpelstiltskin replied, making sure to slowly over-enunciate each syllable of his daughter’s name. Killian nearly saw red when he did it.

“Do not test me!” Killian shouted, slamming his fist against the glass counter and he felt the sheet vibrate precariously under the force. His eyes blazed, and Killian made sure he kept eye contact with the Dark One for his next words. “If you so much as touch a hair on my daughter’s head, I swear on every single thing that matters to me, and to you, that I will end you. I do not care if I have to destroy myself and become the Dark One once again to do it. I will do anything and everything in my power to ensure my children’s safety…Think of what you would do for your own son...then triple it.”

As Killian said the words, he realized in that moment that he actually meant them. If it meant keeping his precious little ones safe, he would surrender to the darkness again regardless of the consequences. They were worth it. They were worth everything. Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes widened at the declaration and he looked nearly as startled as Killian felt.

“Does the Savior know this about you? That you’re willing to become the Dark One again?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, eyes glittering and a strange sort of cruel smile contorted itself across his face. It only served to enrage Killian more.

“Don’t twist my words! For my children, I would do anything,” Killian snapped, eyes flashing again. “I don’t want to be the Dark One. Only you seem to covet that title like it's a treasure, but if it means keeping my little ones from harm...there’s nothing I would not do.”

“So what do I get out of this new understanding? Do you intend to keep to the same rules with my son?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning back against an old dingy cabinet. His face was once again impassive.

“I have no ill will towards your son,” Killian replied with a swallow.

“Really?” the Dark One asked, raising his eyebrows at him in challenge. “Never once looked upon him and remembered how he nearly destroyed your precious Savior?”

Killian gave him a hard look, tightening his fist again. That was a ridiculous question and Rumpelstiltskin knew it. Of course there were times where Killian looked upon Gideon and remembered Emma’s near death at his hands and sometimes it had been hard to reconcile that man with the sweet and quiet boy that followed around Wes like a shadow, tugging on Wes’s sleeve like it was a security blanket.

“What happened in the past was not his fault and from what I understand he’s quite a sweet lad, not unlike his mother…” Killian replied, giving him a significant look. “If it means you’ll leave my children alone, I will promise the same for Gideon, but with that said, I refuse to end the friendship between Wes and Gideon. My boy is your son’s only friend.”

Killian watched as the corners of Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth tightened at the mention of Gideon and Wes’s friendship. No doubt the Dark One was not happy with the fact his son was so attached to Wes. He wondered for a moment if he would deny his son that friendship out of spite.

“Very well,” the Dark One said finally. “The Savior can handle my son when he is in your residence, but you may not unless his life is on the line, and I will not approach, look or speak to your little brats. I trust you are alright with Belle handling your son?”

“Aye,” Killian responded with a firm nod.

“Then we are in agreement and we’re done here,” Rumpelstiltskin replied with a stiff nod and a dramatic flourishing movement of his hand. He then picked up the black ledger on the counter and turned on his heel to return back into the depths of the building. “Now, get out of my shop.”

Killian nearly snorted in response. He didn’t want to be in the Dark One’s shop longer than was absolutely necessary. He turned, walked out the door and for the first time since he settled in Storybrooke, he left Gold’s Pawnshop with a good feeling in his chest.

Later that day after returning to the station and dealing with ridiculous complaints brought in by the dwarves, Killian joined his wife in helping pick up their children from school. They both waited outside, leaning against the Bug with coffee and hot chocolate in hand respectively.

“So, are you finally going to tell me exactly what this business you had going on was this morning?” His wife asked him with a gentle tilt of her head.

“Perhaps later,” Killian replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “All you need to know for the moment is that it was resolved and things are going to be better for now on.”

Emma frowned in response. Her eyebrows bunched together as she tried to understand what his vague response might mean and what exactly it was referring to.

“And they weren’t before…?”

“Things were absolutely fine, but this...this needed to be done as something more pre-emptive than proactive,” Killian struggled to explain, rubbing the pad of his thumb into her shoulder. He really didn’t want to tell Emma about his visit with the Dark One, at least not now while they were in public and about to see their children. Killian would rather Emma not be mad at him for the rest of the evening, stewing and thinking on ways to punish him.

“Daddy!” Beth came thundering out of the crowd of children, racing towards them at breakneck speed. Emma made a noise of amusement beside him as they watched her.

“How come I don't get that enthusiasm?” She asked wryly.

Killian only had time to give her a small shrug before Beth collided with his leg, tugging on his jeans in impatience. The corners of her big green eyes crinkled at him and the smile on her face made his heart grow a few sizes larger. It was the type of expression that made him not regret confronting the Dark One earlier that day. He picked her up and planted a kiss on the side of her head.

“I had a talk with Mr. Gold today, love. No more mean stares,” he whispered lowly into her ear as she nuzzled her face into his leather jacket.

“No more?” She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No more,” he replied, kissing her hair again to hide his expression from his wife, who was no doubt wondering what the hell was going on between the two of them. Not now. He would tell her later. It was better to explain it without their children milling about.

“What am I chopped liver?” Emma asked their daughter in mock outrage, placing her hands on her hips.

Beth giggled and Killian moved to put her down, giving her dark curls a quick parting ruffle as he did so. As Beth approached Emma, their boys came out of the fray of school kids. Harrison had his hand on Wes’s shoulder, an obvious sign he had been trying to weave them through the masses without Wes running off as he was custom to do. Wes smirked as he caught sight of his sister and a gleam of childish wickedness entered his blue eyes. It was in this moment Killian knew his son was up to no good.

“Hey Beth!” Wes called. His arm stretched out and made a grabbing motion. “Kali ma!!!”

Beth's reaction was immediate. Her eyes went wide with fear, all color leaving her rosy pink cheeks. She shrieked and frantically tried to climb up Emma’s body like a haggard squirrel from a hunting dog. Emma picked her up immediately and rubbed a hand down Beth's back in an attempt to soothe her while giving their son a reproachful frown. Killian watched the scene in confusion, not quite understanding what Wes was referring to and why it scared Beth so much.

“Kali ma, Beth, kali ma!” Wes cackled and Harrison gave his younger brother an almost reproachful whack on the head.

“Shut up!” His eldest hissed. “It's like you're trying to get in trouble. Do you even think?”

“What is going on?” Emma hissed, glaring daggers at their sons. Killian placed a hand of solidarity on Emma's shoulder and glared at them as well, waiting for an answer. He hated it whenever his children antagonized each other. They had no idea how lucky they were to have one another. What he would give to have Liam back alive again...

“They're trying to take my heart like Indy!!!” Beth cried, hiding her face in Emma’s neck. Killian froze at her words and he could see his wife stiffen out of the corner of his eye. They shared a look over their daughter’s head, both wide eyed and alarmed.

Emma looked positively murderous when she returned her attention to their sons, still rubbing little circles into Beth’s back. Killian shared the same sentiment. Both boys took a step backward at the intensity of the combined power of their parents’ anger.

“What's this about heart taking?” Killian hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits. The last people he suspected of this “heart taking” nonsense regarding Beth were his boys, mainly because he hadn't suspected them to have any knowledge on his past history with the Dark One. However, it seemed they had discovered a different story to terrorize their sister with. He was going to make them swab the Jolly stem to stern.

“It's just Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Dad. It's a joke. No big deal,” Wes replied with a wave of his hand, as if he hadn't just scared the living day lights out of his sister.

“That movie is PG-13, Westley Graham Jones, you have no business watching it,” Emma scolded. “That movie is far too graphic for you.”

“Henry and Harrison were watching it last weekend and I didn't want to be left out!” Wes half-replied, half-pouted. Harrison, who was also nowhere near thirteen-years old, widened his eyes in alarm as his younger brother ratted him out and he gave the boy another whack, but Wes kept talking. “It was cool! And the weird priest who took out the hearts looked like Mr. Gold!”

Killian, who had never seen the movie being referred to in this conversation, stared at Wes, the muscle in his cheek twitching at the mention of the Dark One and he glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye to see her reaction to the proclamation. She looked less than pleased.

“He did not look like Mr. Gold,” Harrison replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Yes he did!” Wes argued. “He was old and weird and creepy. But mainly old.”

Both Killian and Emma couldn’t help but snort at the Wes’s description, and sensing that he had amused his parents, their youngest son offered them a cheeky grin that was a little too similar to Killian’s own for his liking. He caught Emma’s expression and he could tell that she was thinking the same thing by the way she was shaking her head.

“I hope you didn’t tell Gideon you think that about his dad,” Harrison responded, sounding more like an exasperated parent than a nine-year old boy. Killian’s eldest son had the air of an old soul.

Wes was suspiciously silent, looking down at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his very few years old life. He scratched the back of his ear and worried the pavement with the toe of his shoe. Both of these were his son’s biggest tells whenever he was feeling guilty about something. Killian had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling at his son’s apparent rudeness. Of course, Wes would tell Gideon what he thought about his father. The boy had absolutely no filter and it was going to put him in a world of trouble someday. Killian was more than prepared to bail the boy out however.

“Oh my god! You’re the worst!” Harrison groaned in response and gave his younger brother a look that was caught between indignation and horrified; what any proper parent should give his son whenever his child was being insolent. However, Killian felt no inclination to yell at Wes for insulting the Dark One to his son’s face. That was a job for Emma.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Wes, whether you think they’re true or not, you shouldn’t say them because they hurt people’s feelings,” Emma sighed, still rubbing their daughter’s back. It was three o’clock and she already looked like she wanted to call it a day. “You’re going to apologize to Gideon tomorrow. No ifs, ands or buts about it. However, right now, you’re going to apologize to your sister and tell her how very sorry you are and that you are not going to take her heart.”

“Sorry Beth…” Wes half-stated, half-mumbled. “I’m sorry I scared you. And I’m not gonna take your heart.”

“Good. You’re both helping your dad clean up the Jolly this weekend, I hope you realize that,” Emma replied, catching Killian’s eye and offering him a grin. Killian grinned back at her. Sometimes it amazed him how well she could read his thoughts; almost as well as he could read hers. She then pressed a kiss to Beth’s forehead and turned her attention to her.

“No one is going to take your heart, Sweetheart,” she said gently. “No one. Not your brothers. Not the creepy priest from a movie you shouldn’t be watching. Not any bad guys. Not even Mr. Gold. Or Auntie Regina. Or the postman. Or the neighbor with the annoying cat across the street. Mommy and Daddy are gonna protect you from everything and everyone, including the stupid things your brothers do to scare you, got it?”

Beth nodded her head against Emma’s shoulder.

“I know, Mommy. Daddy told me last night. He also gave me his pirate necklace and told Mr. Gold not to look mean anymore.”

Killian closed his eyes at his daughter’s words. Now that was the betrayal that he really never saw coming; his daughter ratting him out to his wife. He opened his eyes and saw his wife staring at him. Her eyebrow was quirked and the corners of her lips were twitching, but more importantly than that, her eyes were trying to drill a hole into his head.

“Really now?” Emma asked their daughter facetiously. “I didn’t know Daddy did that. It looks like Daddy and I are going to be talking about a lot of things later…”

Killian sighed. Well, three centuries of life was a good enough run. He just hoped that Emma would be merciful later when she killed him. They could officially put on his new gravestone “Killian Jones, died officially trying to do right by his kids. Betrayed by said kids.”

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