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iruyuna · 4 years

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dream

‘’ Call it self-indulgent, egotistical, thoughtless and impulsive, but staying away from you is a burden too heavy for my heart to carry. ‘’ As the sun shone aggressively against the windows of Tsuki Academy, you struggled to keep your attention on the teacher speaking fondly of literature and nearly-forgotten history. Thoughts of a familiar tall silhouette formed in your mind, barely noticing you were slowly slipping into a feverish daydream. Weeks before entering the academy, you were roaming the empty streets of Takayama, hoping to familiarize yourself with the unknown area. Wandering through the mountainous region, a cheerful individual approached you, their footsteps forming a loud contrast against the brick road. ‘‘You seem lost!’‘ The joyful voice spoke, their eyes sparkling with unknown intent. ‘‘I’m Douma, I frequent a tea-house somewhere in this area. Want me to show you around?’‘ Perhaps the new town disoriented you, but you could only smile and nod in response to the offer. The walk was pleasant, the chill spring air moving your hair as you walked to the place Douma had suggested. You passed several areas he was excited to show you. Springs, flowers and even plain grass fields, he spoke animatedly about even the most mundane things, expelling a contagiously bubbly aura. ‘’So these flowers right,’’ He walked over to a field filled with purple plants, beckoning you to follow him, ‘’These are called wisteria. I always feel connected with these. They take a long time to bloom, but when they do, they’re gorgeous!’’ His rainbow eyes sparkled as he spoke, bearing a similarity to the creeks they had passed on the way. Sitting down to rest, you spoke softly; ‘’They’re really pretty, thank you for showing me this, Douma.’’ At the mention of his name, he perked up at once. ‘’Ah! How could I forget, you haven’t introduced yourself to me!’’ ‘‘I’m y/n, I moved here a few days ago and I’ve been trying to find my way around here since.’‘ Douma listened attentively as you spoke, nodding his head every once in a while. ‘‘I’m not really used to rural towns like these, although beautiful, it’s isolating in a way.’‘ Moving your head towards the wisteria, you noticed he delicately placed something into your hair as you spoke. ‘‘You look really pretty like that, check it out!’‘ Peering at your reflection in the nearby stream, you saw he had placed a lavender flower, similar to the wisteria you were viewing just a minute ago. Strangely, this moment filled you with nostalgia, a peaceful, wistful feeling lingering in the cool spring air. The day resumed, time slowly trickling away similar to honey, as the dreamy atmosphere stretched on into the night. Your anxiety had melted throughout the day, Douma’s light-hearted laughter inspiring smiles of your own. The cheerful smile that drew you in, left you longing for more as day turned into night, and spring turned into summer. As short meetings turned into longer ones, smiles turned into laughter and laughter turned into affection.

Once again roaming the streets, Douma spoke animatedly about his new part-time job. ‘’So the tea shop I work at, right? There’s this co-worker with really cool pink hair, and he’s fantastic at martial arts! Pretty sure he does taekwondo or something.’’ You loved the way he spoke with passion about everything he encountered, a child-like love for life itself. Listening to him speak became a beloved habit of yours, alike to relaxation or even meditation. He suddenly turned around, struck with what seems like a revolutionary revelation. ‘‘Y/N, you should totally work at the shop with me and ‘’martial-arts guy’’! We could see each other way more often.’‘ Although it was phrased like a light-hearted request, he tensed and his eyes appeared pleading. I sighed and nodded, ‘‘I can’t guarantee I won’t accidentally poison customers with my tea, but I would love to spend more time with you, Douma.’‘ He perked up and grabbed your hands, his aura joyful and eyes bright. ‘‘I can’t believe you said yes, let’s go right away!’‘ Before you had any time to protest, he dragged you along for miles to the Takayama shopping district. Your face flushed an uncharacteristic crimson, being this close to him had made you feel a strange feeling of warmth and comfort, along with an inkling of embarrassment. Although difficult to admit, you could feel yourself slowly becoming more fond of Douma; the sentiment stretching beyond ordinary friendship. Douma himself had been lonely at the start of spring. Being a long-term citizen of the mountainous town, his extroverted personality had attracted a large friend group. Although they were entertaining, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was imitation, parading around as friends without any emotion, warmth, or sentiment involved. Smiles and thunderous laughter was bountiful, whilst sadness or genuine conversation were not. He felt the same way about his parents, their marriage being wobbly and unreliable. In his life, pushing on like a pillar of hope and stability, meant that the people surrounding him disregarded any of his negative feelings. Meeting Y/N was a breath of fresh air. Shy, soft-spoken, almost voiceless, they effortlessly re-introduced the stability that he had longed for. Holding onto this feeling, he decided to spend as much time with them as humanly possible. Drinking tea, watching the sun rise and fade into the never-ending skies, every moment was a memory he cherished and refused to let go. He no longer felt any interest or need to interact with this previous ‘’friends’’, instead aspiring to seek out these joyful, almost euphoric moments. He wondered whether this was selfish, but it was the first time in years he had felt anything resembling true joy. Everything from the small mannerisms they had, the rare but sincere laughter that shook their shoulders, it filled his chest with pure, unfiltered warmth. The moon was a warm milky glow in the sky, he cast his eyes towards it as his face changed into that of relaxation and joy. ‘‘How could I ever let go?’‘ Night had fallen fast, as you and Douma walked amongst the colorful lights that illuminated the sky. Returning from the summer festival, you held a brilliantly colored lantern, the moving flames within reminding you of softly flickering candlelight. We finally came to a halt, overlooking one of Takayama’s many lakes as it stretched beyond the horizon. A feeling of tranquility overcame me as the brilliant light from the lantern reflected on Douma’s skin. He leaned on the bridge’s fencing, quietly staring into the foggy reflection shown in the pond, softly closing his multi-colored eyes. He appeared to be lost in thought, a small smile the only emotion shown. Although this was uncharacteristic, it felt wrong to interrupt the silence, and I allowed myself to lose myself in thought for a little longer. After what felt like centuries, Douma opened his eyes as if awakening from a deep sleep. He turned towards me, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘’Y/N, if you were to describe me, what would you say?’’ The unusually melancholic way he spoke caught me off guard, as I struggled to find my words. Finally, I placed my lantern down and turned towards his interrogative gaze. ‘’To begin with, you’re really kind, and enthusiastic about pretty much everything,’’ I spoke uncertainly and slowly as Douma’s gaze began to fall, ‘’You mean a lot to me, you’ve helped me a lot. However, I can’t help but feel I’m dragging you down in the process’’. It was true, I had noticed he had detached himself from his various cliques, he even spent less time with his co-workers and family-members. I regained my stance and met his gaze once more, ‘’I don’t want to change you, I know it sounds stupid, dramatic even, but I care more about you than you can imagine.’’ Despite the strong words I had just spoken, the embarrassment I had expected to feel was replaced by a feeling of melancholy. Douma turned around to face the lake once more, his face no different from what it had been a few moments earlier. After what appeared to be a century, his voice rang out across the lake, ‘’I haven’t changed, I really haven’t.’’ His voice broke, and he leaned over the railing once more as he spoke, ‘’I’ve been called selfish my entire life, impulsive, even rash for simply speaking my mind and doing what I feel is right.’’ He turned around to face me, his eyes burning with anger, sadness, and an emotion I once more couldn’t decipher. ‘’I realized being myself was a disadvantage, that positivity and opportunities flocked to those who expressed themselves to be worthy of praise,’’ Words left me as my breathing slowed, my mind was blank as I listened to his declaration. He adjusted his crimson yukata as he straightened his stance once more, his unruly hair moving ever-so-slightly in the wind. ‘’I distanced myself from those who made me feel, as even an emotion as simple as joy would remind me of my shortcomings.’’ Douma took both of my hands, unspoken words hanging in the air as the dying fires illuminated the sky once more. ‘‘Meeting you was like an instant connection, it hurt, it hurt so much, yet I am willing to repeat that over and over. A million times over if it means I’ll have you by my side.’‘ His eyes shone, they shone with unspoken promises, they shone and burned with the power of thousands of stars, I allowed myself to become hypnotized by the changing colors and passion that swirled around in his eyes. He spoke loud once more, the urgency leaving his voice, replaced by that of desire and yearning;

‘’ Call it self-indulgent, egotistical, thoughtless and impulsive, but staying away from you is a burden too heavy for my heart to carry. ‘’ For perhaps a split second it was completely silent, the surprise numbing me, rendering me unable to speak. All I was able to do was to open my arms, and envelop him in an embrace. I wanted nothing more than to hold him forever, I didn’t want to leave, one could only hope. Even in the darkest of skies, the light of millions of raging fires live on above us. A silent pledge, a vow that even during the loneliest of moments, millions of people will be illuminated by the same luminescence that has guided the generations before us. As the stars watched over us, Douma pulled me closer into the seemingly never-ending embrace. ‘‘If destiny is truly written, I promise you our story will only end at judgement day itself, I will follow you to the stars and back, even if fate brings its’ hand upon us unforgivingly. I vow to love you, with a passion stronger than doom itself.’‘ As Douma pulled me in, our lips connected and ignited like fire, a passionate blaze. A reminder, the promise of a future, enveloped us both in a ceaseless warmth, one that could fight the existence of time itself.

#kimetsu no yaiba #douma x reader #demon slayer douma #modern au #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral #they/them #they/them y/n #demon slayer #fluff??#first time writing anything sorry #i just really love douma #angst #if you guys want more please tell me #no clue how tumblr works #fanfiction #anime fanfiction #kimetsu no yaiba x reader

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trickstersteve · 4 years

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Flowers of Fate

Loki x Reader

Author: Mel @trickstersteve

This was written for the @captain-rogers-beard Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge

Prompt: June 1st (prompts used are in bold)

Summary: Loki finds himself back on Midgard.

Warnings: Angst, some fluff. Think that’s it but do let me know if I’ve missed any.

Words: 2367

A/N: Kjæresta is an old Norse term of endearment. While the literal translation means girlfriend, it can also mean “darling” or “beloved”. The other terms kjæren min, and kjære are variations that mean “my dear/my love”, and “dear” respectively.

Stepping uncertainly through the portal, Loki braced himself for what lay beyond. The instant he touched solid ground, the doorway behind him closed, sucking the air from around him and making his ears pop. Wincing, he looked around. Instead of bright lights and deafening sounds like the last place, he found himself in a sunny golden field with nothing but the sounds of birds in the distance.

Where have you brought me this time? he wondered, looking down at the Tesseract between his hands before sending it into his pocket dimension.

Such as it had been since he took the cube from under everyone’s noses and escaped. Since then, he’d traveled, wandering aimlessly wherever the Tesseract deemed fit, passing through distant planets and far off galaxies. Whether it had been only weeks or years was difficult to tell. He’d lost track of time somewhere along the way.

He just knew he was tired of running.

A croak drew him from his thoughts. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he looked towards the source of the sound. A crow was perched on one of the extended arms of some kind of effigy. Arching a brow, he studied the sight. It stood at least two heads taller than him - to be seen over the ears of corn beyond it, Loki gathered - and hung from a post protruding from the ground. The clothes were somewhat familiar, albeit ill fitting and worn judging by the straw exposed by a tear in the fabric.

Midgard.

I am back within the Nine.

That knowledge filled him both with dread and relief. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he transformed from his usual attire into something more appropriate for the realm.

A gasp drew his attention back to the straw effigy. Narrowing his eyes, he passed them over the mannequin until they landed on a small wide-eyed child partially hidden by the post. How had he managed to sneak up on him?

“Hello.”

“You glowed,” the child stated as pressed himself closer to the post. Loki frowned as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“I did.”

“With magic?” Loki nodded, a smirk pulling at his lips. The boy’s eyes sparkled as he gave Loki a tooth-gapped smile. “Are you a wizard?” he asked, his voice an awed whisper.

Loki chuckled softly at the Midgardian term. He took the few steps needed bridge the gap between them, kneeling so he could be level with the child. “I suppose I am,” he answered, draping an arm over his knee. “What is your name little one?”

“Manni,” the boy replied as he rubbed his nose, leaving behind a trace of dirt.

Loki looked around them, wondering why the child was alone. “What are you doing out here?”

The boy shrugged. “I live here.” He turned and pointed behind him at the cornfield. “That way. Mom says I can’t go past the scarecrow though,” he added as he looked up at the effigy.

“Scarecrow?”

“Yeah, you know, to scare birds and stuff,” Manni explained with a half-shrug.

Loki arched a brow as he observed a second crow land on the scarecrow’s head and begin pruning. “It does not seem to be working,” he stated making Manni giggle.

A voice called from not too far off and they both looked towards the source. Manni turned and faced Loki with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s my mom,” he said. “I have to go ‘cause my aunt Y/N’s coming over for supper.” He pushed himself away from the scarecrow and walked towards the cornfield. “Bye Mr. Wizard,” Manni added with a wave before disappearing between the stalks.

Loki remained kneeling, his mind reeling at the name the boy had uttered. A name he’d not heard for what felt like a lifetime. Surely that couldn’t be his Y/N. Could it?

He stood, brushing off the dirt from his knee. Closing his eyes, he summoned an object into his hand. Unclenching his fist after the green shimmer encompassing it vanished, Loki unwrapped a small fabric bundle, revealing a dried lily, its scent long gone from centuries hidden away.

A flower she had given him.

He could still remember her laugh, a melody that could rival any birdsong. Her rose and honeysuckle scented hair that tickled his face as she lay against him. He could still recall every inch of her skin as it shivered under his touch. How her fingers seared him with desire as she absently traced patterns on his chest afterwards. Her eyes, filled with such love only for him. His kjæresta.

Loki’s fingers ghosted over the faded petals as he choked back a sob threatening at the back of his throat.

“Forever and always,” she’d told him when she’d placed her token of affection in his hand.

A promise.

A lie.

The Allfather had seen to that.

A minor slight and Y/N’s father had been sentenced to death and she and her family banished. A slight that proved to be a misunderstanding.

Loki had bargained. Pleaded. Had all but begged his father to reconsider the banishment. All to bring her back.

In vain.

He’d gone to the Norns then. He wanted - no, needed - answers as to why they made it happen. Loki had demanded that of them. Why give him something so precious and tear it from him.

He’d expected them to send him away, to ignore him. To do anything other than what they did. With expressionless faces, they instead beckoned him closer. A silver light - a shimmer really - appeared between them, floating like a reflection on the waves, and they let him into their circle. He stood there among the Norns. One of them nodded and he reached out. He twisted his fate between his fingers. Not to manipulate or change. They would not allow that. Merely to see. To understand.

But he hadn’t then. The privilege had only led to more questions. Above all, would he ever see her again?

Wordlessly, they had taken it back and with a wave of a hand, dismissed him. The knowledge of his future and all that would happen, faded from his mind with every step he took away from those women. All but one image.

A glimpse. Nothing more.

A glimpse of light and of hope.

A glimpse that he’d clung to through everything thereafter.

A glimpse that taunted him. Mocked him every time he closed his eyes.

A glimpse that almost broke him when his life had become nothing more than darkness and despair.

Another lie. Just one more amidst of a lifetime of lies and betrayals.

Silently cursing the Norns, Loki stared down at the lily in his hand. Oh how he’d wanted above everything to be rid of it. To toss it into the void and be done clinging to false hopes and childish loves.

But he never could. Not when it was all he had left of her.

“Forever and always,” he whispered to the ancient token as he delicately wrapped it back in the worn fabric before placing it in his breast pocket.

He looked back towards where the child had disappeared. He hesitated. Dare he hope after all these years?

There was only one way to find out for sure.

Smoothing his hands over his suit, Loki took a deep breath, and followed after the boy. ------ “Auntie Y/N!” Manni greeted, running to wrap his little arms around her waist. Y/N laughed as she brushed back his hair, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“How is my favorite nephew?” she asked, then licked her thumb to clean the dirt from his nose. Manni scrunched up his face in protest making Y/N chuckle.

“I’m good.”

Y/N gently untangled Manni’s arms from around her torso, instead clasping his hand in hers as they made their way through the yard. Her sister came around the house, her worried face changing to relief when she spotted her son with his aunt.

“There you are,” she said as she strode towards them, stopping only a short distance, her hands on her hips. “Where did you disappear to?”

“Out there,” he answered, pointing to the fields.

“Manni.”

“I stopped at the scarecrow!” he protested. Manni looked up at Y/N. “I met a wizard! Like in your stories.”

“A wizard?” Y/N asked in mock surprise, shooting an amused glance at her sister who shook her head with a chuckle. “What did he look like?”

“Tall.” Manni lifted his arm over his head and jumped to emphasize his point.

“That tall?” his mother chimed in. “He must have been a giant.”

Manni giggled. “Nooo. Not that tall mom,” he replied, letting go of Y/N’s hand and running to his mother.

“My mistake,” she teased as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing his back to her. He looked up at her.

“He glowed too!”

Y/N arched a brow as a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Her nephew did have quite the imagination and she loved that of him.

“Where is he now?” she asked him, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

Manni shrugged. “Still by the scarecrow I guess.”

Y/N and her sister looked at each other and her sister rolled her eyes. Movement in behind them drew their attention to the man emerging from between the corn stalks.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she suddenly laid her eyes on a face she’d not seen in centuries. His raven hair was longer and he was paler than she remembered but it was the intensity in his eyes that drew her. Those piercing green eyes that stared at her as though he couldn’t believe she was there. Those were the same.

It can’t be!

“That’s him! That’s the wizard!” Manni exclaimed to his mother, pointing to the newcomer.

His eyes flitted to the boy before coming back to rest on her. “Y/N?”

The low, velvety voice, full of doubt and longing was unmistakeable. It was him! She blinked back the tears welling in her eyes because she couldn’t believe that the man standing before her was the same who had whispered in her ear, had teased her and had cherished her a lifetime ago.

But it couldn’t be him. Not after all those years she stopped searching for him in the crowds. Not after she’d abandoned her dreams of seeing him again. Of hearing her name spoken from his lips like she was his everything.

And yet, there he stood. In a suit that fit his lithe frame like a glove. A suit so black, it looked almost green the way the light hit it.

Her heart pounding in her chest, Y/N took a shaky breath lest her voice betray her.

“Loki?”

-----

Loki stood there frozen, his legs seemingly planted in the ground.She had not changed since the last time he saw her. She walked towards him. Slowly. Tentatively. When she was just a hair’s breath away, she lifted her hand. He tensed as his breathing became laboured, his gaze following her every movement. She cupped his face in her hand and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You’re real,” she whispered. “I never thought -”

He mirrored her gesture as his free hand came up and clasped hers still resting on his cheek. She was there. Centuries believing he would never see her again. Centuries losing hope of hearing his name on her lips once more.

“Kjæren min,” he breathed.

A sob escaped her lips at the old endearment. In that moment he wanted to crumbled to his knees, beg her forgiveness anything and everything. Instead, he wrapped her in a hug, burying his face in her hair, breathing in the faint smell of honeysuckle that was so familiar and yet not. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, each fearing that if they let go, the other would disappear. Loki’s hand came up and gently grasped Y/N’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing her face up to meet his. Leaning in, his lips brushed hers. Rising up on her toes, she met him, gently at first, then deepening the kiss with a desperation and a yearning neither anticipated.

“Does this mean the wizard is going to stay with Aunt Y/N now?” Manni asked his mother.

Breaking from the kiss with a laugh, Loki pressed his forehead to Y/N’s. “Only if she will have me little one,” he answered softly as he reached into his breast pocket. He unwrapped the small parcel and Y/N’s eyes widened when she saw what it contained.

“You kept it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she brushed the wilted flower with shaky fingers.

“Forever and always kjære.” She stared up at him, her eyes shining before looking away and wiping away a stray tear as she choked out a laugh.

“Forever and always,” she echoed turning back to him.

Loki let out a sigh of relief as he secured the flower back in his pocket and then claimed her lips once more. Breaking for air, she clung to him, resting her face against his chest. He held her, with one hand entwining in her hair as he kissed the top of her head.

He blinked back the tears brimming his eyes and that’s when he saw it. The glimpse of fate that had followed and haunted him for ages. Right there in front of him. And it was then that he realized.

It had not been a taunt, nor a mockery. It had not been some cruel joke by the Norns at his expense.

It had been the answer to his unspoken question.

It had been a beacon. A light in his darkness.

Leading him back to her.

Forever and always.

Y/N gently pushed herself away and stared up at him with softness in her eyes. “Come,” she said with a smile as she took his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Home. The Norns have led me home.

Loki chanced one last look as he and Y/N walked hand in hand towards the house before turning his attention to his kjæresta, leaving behind the lone sunflower to sway gently with the breeze in the light of the setting sun.

#flex your writing muscles challenge #loki x reader #loki one shot #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel #loki #marvel fanfiction

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omg-imagine · 4 years

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⊱ Forget Me Not (4/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: Angst, migraines

A/N: Sorry if there are any mistakes. I’m currently running on three hours of sleep today lol. Hope you enjoy!

Part 3

Home was supposed to be a place where one felt the most at peace. It was supposed to be filled with warmth and love, laughter and joy. Home was a place where you could be yourselves without judgment and where memories could be made to look back upon in the future, perhaps with a tear or a smile.

Keanu could look at any room inside the house, and recall almost everything that has happened in there. The talks and the fights. The kisses and the sex. The pranks and the tender moments. Like a movie, a memory would play in his head, reminding him of what home meant, what home truly was.

And to Keanu, home was you.

But ever since the night of your accident, home didn’t feel like home anymore. It was different, both in a physical and emotional sense. The house became a reflection of Keanu’s crumbling state of mind during those three agonizingly long weeks. It had become disarrayed the moment you had walked out of the front door, lacking the sense of comfort it usually had. Barren and cold, the house was also filled with the most unbearable silence, nearly deafening.

Keanu hated being there when all it did was remind him of you at happier times. He felt suffocated by the four walls surrounding him. Walls, which, aside from him, currently held secrets of the past. It knew every hurtful word and action that you had now forgotten. Keanu wasn’t sure whether or not he should be relieved that the walls couldn’t talk. Because if they did, he wouldn’t be ready for you to come home.

It would only tell you the truth. A painful truth that Keanu still had not shared.

For the last two days, Keanu did his best to tidy up around the house, getting it ready and clean in time for your return. He was running a bit late due to folding the laundry, but he wanted to make sure that the place was immaculate.

The floors had been vacuumed meticulously, leaving the hardwood gleaming under the recessed lights. The dishes were all washed and stored away. Every surface was dusted, every pillow was fluffed. Keanu had even ordered a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers as a surprise and had them displayed in a vase on the coffee table.

Looking around one last time, Keanu realized how more alive the house seemed to be, and he couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight of it.

Before leaving to pick you up from the hospital, Keanu quickly checked himself in front of the mirror, also wanting to look presentable for your homecoming. He had trimmed both his beard and his hair yesterday, the dark circles under his eyes were also beginning to brighten up. He was looking more like his usual self now than in the past weeks. It was as if seeing you awake and wanting to stay in Los Angeles with him brought life back to Keanu again.

As Keanu drove to the hospital, scenes from that late stormy evening invaded him. He could never forget the hurt in your eyes, the quivering of your lip as you stared at him in utter shock and disappointment. At times, he could still hear the sound of the front door slamming shut when you left the house, leaving him behind. Then, there was the immense fear and lack of certainty flooding his mind as he rushed to the emergency room after receiving the call.

He had never been so scared and so angry before, and if there was one memory Keanu wanted to forget, it would surely be of this.

Since you woke up, you had never really asked about the events of that night. You only knew bits and pieces from your parents, but not the entire story. There would come a time that you would be so inclined to learn the details of it, and Keanu dreaded for that day to come. He had almost lost you, and if you found out exactly what had happened, he might lose you forever.

And that was the reason why Keanu couldn’t tell you the truth just yet. He was afraid to lose you, despite believing that he didn’t deserve a second chance. Truth be told, he didn’t come back to the hospital after you woke up because he was at war with his own conscience. A part of him wanted to tell you everything and deal with the consequences. But there’s the other part of him that couldn’t handle the thought of letting you go. He wanted to make things right again, undo the damage that he had caused even though the guilt still crept up on him.

One day he would tell you, Keanu promised, but just not today nor the next. For now, he’s focused on bringing back all of the best memories, the ones he knew you both cherished the most.

Parking his car near the entrance, Keanu cursed under his breath when he saw five men lingering by the door with cameras in their hands, acting nonchalantly. He didn’t care that the paparazzi would take pictures of him dashing inside. However, he was more worried about you when it came time to walk out of the hospital. You hadn’t been exposed to this ugly side of fame, and something like this would feel overwhelming.

Putting on his shades, as soon as Keanu got out of his vehicle, he heard the familiar camera shutters around him. He hung his head low as he headed towards the front of the building at a brisk pace, ignoring the overlapping questions that were being shouted at him.

How’s Y/N doing, Keanu?

Keanu, are you still doing that thriller movie later this summer?

Can you update us on Y/N’s condition?

How do you feel about this situation, Keanu? This must be hard on you.

Why was Y/N out driving during that storm?

We thought you and Y/N broke up months ago. Did you two reconcile?

It was only until when Keanu reached the elevator and stepped inside did he finally experience some quietness. Pushing his shades up onto his head, he then pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep sigh simultaneously.

It was moments such as this when he would regret being a public figure. He was extremely grateful for being able to do something that he loved, but there were times when he would ask himself if it was all worth it. Keanu valued his and your privacy, and at a delicate situation like this, that’s what you would need.

The elevator doors opened, and swiftly he walked down the hall to where your room was. He stood by the door for a second, peering into the small window and seeing you laughing with your parents inside. It warmed Keanu’s heart noticing how happy you were because it had been a while since he last saw you that way.

You glanced his way by the door, catching his eyes before gesturing for him to come in.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Keanu began, stepping into the room and shutting the door close behind him. “Are you all set to go?”

“I’m super ready. I haven’t felt the sun on my face in literally weeks,” you announced, hopping off the bed with a grin. “Dad actually suggested if we could have a late lunch together before their flight. Is that okay with you, Keanu?”

“Of course. What are you guys in the mood for?”

“Oh, we could go to that amazing Italian place. I think it’s nearby,” Nancy suggested before turning to her husband. “Pete, what was that restaurant called again?”

“La Cucina,” your father answered. “The food there is the best! You and Keanu treat us there whenever we’re in town. I say, let’s keep up with tradition, shall we?”

“Sounds good,” you replied, reaching down for the set of luggage on the floor.

Keanu held his hand out, signaling for you to stop. “Don’t worry about that. You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things so soon. Here, let me help.”

“Son, it’s fine,” Peter swatted Keanu’s hand away and picked up the bags. “Nance, and I will handle them. They’re our bags after all. We decided to bring them now so that we could get dropped off the airport right after eating.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, can I just borrow your car keys so I could load them in the trunk?” Peter asked before inching closer to the actor, speaking in a voice low enough for only Keanu to hear. “I saw the men outside waiting. I’ll bring the car out in the front so that Y/N doesn’t have to go through them.”

Nodding, Keanu took out the keys from his pocket and handed them over to your father. “I drove the SUV today. It’s parked by the edge in the third row.”

“Great!” Peter said before turning to you. “Okay, sweetheart. Your mother and I will bring the car to the entrance. We’ll pick you two up from there so that you don’t have to be on your feet.”

“Dad, I can walk,” you told him with a slight giggle.

“I know you can, but I need you to take it easy for me, Y/N. You promised that, remember?”

Sighing, you pouted at him until eventually, a smile appeared once again. “Okay. I’ll see you and mom downstairs.”

Before your parents left the room with their bags, Peter shot Keanu a look, indicating to him that he needed to warn you about what might happen outside. Now alone in the room, Keanu approached you, a soft smile on his lips, mirroring your own. The sun streaming through the window illuminated your face, the light hitting your eyes in such a way that made them sparkle. You were simply stunning just standing there, your mere beauty causing all thoughts to elude him.

“You’re staring,” you pointed out, and Keanu felt the warmth of his blush as it crawled up his neck. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh, n-no,” he stuttered. “I, um… I’m just excited that you’re finally coming home.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as your gaze dropped, a common habit of yours whenever you felt nervous. “Me too. I still have several neurologist appointments in the upcoming weeks, but at least I’m out of here.”

“How are the migraines today?”

Smiling softly, you glanced back up at Keanu. “Haven’t had one since yesterday, actually.”

“That’s good,” Keanu whispered, sitting down on the mattress next to him and watched you do the same. “Your dad’s right. You should be taking it easy for the next couple of days to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m planning on doing. Just take one day at a time.”

Keanu stayed silent for a brief minute before his mouth opened to speak. “Y/N, I have to warn you that there are going to be cameras outside. They’ve been hounding by the entrance after word got out that you were in an accident.”

The smile on your face fell, your brows furrowing. Without hesitation, Keanu reached out to hold your hand, immediately intertwining his fingers with yours. He ran his thumb along the back of your hand in a soothing motion. He knew that it was something you enjoyed him doing whenever you were starting to feel stressed out. It never failed to bring you comfort, and based on your calm expression, it worked yet again.

“Sorry, I’m still not used to it… dating a celebrity, I mean. Who would have thought I’d fallen for Keanu Reeves?”

“It’s a crazy idea to wrap one’s mind around,” he joked, hoping that it would lighten the mood. “It’s nothing to worry about. We’ll only be out there for a quick few seconds.”

“Okay,” you could only say. “You must be tired of the paparazzi.”

“They’re just trying to make a living,” Keanu reasoned. “Still, it’s quite annoying, but you learned to ignore them over time.”

The two of you shared a small laugh together before getting back up on your feet, ready to leave the hospital for good. As Keanu walked down the corridor beside you, he couldn’t help but feel relieved. He would have never imagined being in this position almost four weeks ago. He was fortunate that the worst thing that could possibly happen didn’t occur, but instead he was left to face a serious challenge. So far, none of your memories have returned. Though he was hopeful that a miracle would happen somewhere along the way, he was reminded of the chance that this might turn out to be permanent.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Keanu,” you assured him as you took the elevator down to the ground floor. “The doctor said that it can take a while, and we have to be patient with this.”

“I know,” he said softly. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

You smiled when you heard Keanu echo your words from before. Once the elevator stopped, Keanu led you to the exit where he could see both his car parked out front and the group of men waiting nearby. He paused in his tracks and turned to you. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” you whispered tentatively.

Keanu grabbed the pair of sunglasses on his head and placed them over your eyes. “Better?”

You readjusted them a bit on your face before nodding. “Let’s get out there.”

True to his word, you and Keanu were outside for less than five seconds. The cameras clicked and flashed, taking pictures of the two of you quickly walking out of the hospital until you climbed inside the front passenger side. Meanwhile, Keanu took the driver’s seat while Peter joined Nancy at the back. The windows were darkly tinted, shielding you from the prying eyes of the people outside before the car finally pulled away from the curb.

“Are you okay?” Keanu questioned you as he drove further down the street, the sight of the hospital disappearing from the rearview mirror.

“Yes,” you responded, taking off the shades he had given you. “I’m okay.”

Sighing, Keanu knew you all too well. Even though you had said that you were okay, your eyes told an entirely different story.

This was going to be much more complicated than he had initially thought.

---

“How’s the food?” Keanu asked you once you finished chewing.

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you praised excitedly, twirling another forkful of pasta on your plate. “Best Italian restaurant, hands down.”

Nancy chuckled from across the table. “I told you it beats Mario’s from back home. Eating here is one of my highlights every time we visit California. Only coming in second after seeing you and Keanu, of course.”

“I remember the last time we came here, I had seven of their breadsticks!” Peter added jovially. “I couldn’t even eat half of my chicken marsala because I was too stuffed by then.”

Laughing, Keanu then turned to his side where you were sitting. “You know, Y/N, the first time I had brought you here, you used those exact words; ‘best Italian restaurant.’”

“Well, I have to thank you for introducing me to this place,” you replied, lifting your hand up to gently squeeze his arm. The touch was electrifying, and judging by the look on your face, you had felt it too.

For a moment, you and Keanu locked eyes, and he swore that it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room. A smile tugged on his lips, and he could sense his cheeks flushing as you stared at him with bright eyes. Seeing a splotch of red sauce on the corner of your mouth, he gingerly wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His hand lingered by the side of your face, nearly cupping it when Peter’s voice sounded, breaking the entrancement.

“I’m going to the restroom, be right back,” he spoke before excusing himself from the table. “Go order some dessert!”

Keanu heard you giggle as the heat rose to your face. Hearing it made his heart flutter, and suddenly, he felt like a giddy schoolboy around you. What he was feeling at the very second was similar to when you and he went on your first date. It was a sweet reminder of that special night nearly five years ago, and he could only wish that one day, you would remember it too.

“Shit,” you cursed, your eyes clamping shut, and you used the palm of your hand to cover your face. Your body tensed as your breathing grew heavy, an alarming sight to see.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Keanu inquired before glancing at a worried Nancy.

“My head…” you muttered, the pain too intense for you to elaborate.

“Where’s her pain meds?” Nancy wondered, checking her purse to see if she had them.

Keanu grabbed the car keys from his pocket and slid it across the table. “It’s in her bag. She left it under her seat.”

Quickly, Nancy left the restaurant to retrieve your pills as Keanu did all that he could to bring you some comfort. Shrugging off the jacket he wore, he placed it over your head so that the lights inside the restaurant wouldn’t hurt your eyes. He then called a waiter over, asking for a glass of ice.

“What’s happening?” Peter reappeared shortly after, kneeling down next to you, voice laced in concern.

“Migraine. Nancy’s getting her meds from the car.”

Peter nodded, standing up on his feet as the waiter came back with the ice. Keanu urged you to rest the cold glass against your head in hopes of easing the pain. Luckily, the tables around him were empty, and he wasn’t drawing too much attention to you.

“Shh, Y/N,” Keanu murmured softly, draping an around behind your shoulder with one hand resting on your upper arm. “It’s okay. Keep breathing for me, alright. That’s it, baby. Just relax, you’re going to be fine. You’re strong, you can fight this.”

Minutes later, Nancy returned with your medicine in her hand. Fortunately, the migraine was subsiding, and you swallowed two pills, which soon brought you much-needed relief. Eventually, you were able to sit up straight again. Once you convinced your parents that you were feeling better, they left the restaurant to drive the car up to the front as Keanu paid for everyone’s meals.

“Thanks, Keanu,” you said in a soft tone, your eyes showing that same sparkle from earlier. “I appreciate what you did back there.”

“It’s no problem,” he responded, not realizing that he was still holding you close in his arms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your space—”

“Don’t worry, no harm was done,” you assured him, reaching up to place your hand above the one on your arm, and you had yet to move away from him. “I’m just looking forward to coming home. I feel pretty exhausted all of a sudden.”

Keanu used his free hand to brush a loose lock of your hair from your face, his lips merely inches away from your delicate ones. He fought back the strong urge to lean down and capture them in a sweet kiss, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. Again, he was technically still a stranger to you.

“Well, once we drop off your parents at the airport, I’ll take you back home. To our home.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled softly at him before tilting your head up, pressing a brief kiss on his cheek, which made him feel warm all over.

Has it really been that long?

---

“Have a safe flight, guys,” you hugged both of your parents tightly as Keanu took their luggage out of the trunk, wheeling them to where you three stood in the airport terminal.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Nancy kissed your forehead, wiping the tears that were escaping your eyes. “Aww darling, don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

Shrugging, you then let out a little laugh. “Nothing, it’s just I’ve never been this far away from you and dad before.”

Peter sighed, putting his hands on your cheeks to cradle your face. “You’ll be okay. Remember, we’re one phone call away. If there’s anything that you need, call us. I don’t care if it’s at three in the morning or even if it’s for something you think might be ridiculous. We’re here for you even if we’re thousands of miles away.”

Wrapping your father up in a close embrace, Peter glanced at Keanu, who was standing behind you. He quickly kissed the side of your temple before pulling away. Keanu then watched as Peter leaned in to whisper into your ear, and he couldn’t make out what he was saying. Not long after, Nancy invited him to come over and join them in one last group hug.

“You take good care of our daughter,” Peter stated, lightly tapping on Keanu’s shoulder. “Update us if anything happens.”

Keanu nodded. “I will. You have my word.”

After your parents headed inside, you and Keanu got back into the car and drove out of the terminal. For a while, he noticed you staring out of the open window. You were wearing his sunglasses again, smiling at the way your hair flew into your face as the fresh breeze blew around you. From time to time, he would steal a glance as you bask in the warm sunlight hitting your skin. You seemed so peaceful and so happy as if nothing had happened and things were normal.

“Eyes on the road, Reeves,” you quipped when you caught him staring.

“I can’t help it,” he chuckled, his focus returning to what was in front of him. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I truly am,” came your reply, and moments later, you closed the window back up before turning your head to the side. “Hey, I know you’re wondering what my dad was whispering to me back at the airport.”

“You caught that, huh?”

You gave him a nod as you pushed Keanu’s shades on the top of your head. “He was just reminding me that you’re a good man, and you would take care of me. How you acted when we were at the restaurant was clear proof of it. That's why my parents aren’t worried about leaving me here behind.”

Keanu smiled softly at your words. “I’m really glad that you decided to stay with me.”

“Me too,” you returned. “You’re nothing like my last boyfriend, Eric, and I’m starting to see why I fell for you so soon.”

Eric. The sound of his name still made Keanu feel sick to this day. He would never understand how someone could treat you the way Eric did. But then again, how was Keanu any better for what he had done?

Minutes later, silence filled the car, and when Keanu glanced your way, he saw your eyes drifting close. It had been a long day that’s for sure, and you needed rest. Soon, you had fallen asleep in your seat, leaving Keanu with his wandering thoughts. For now, he cast them aside, choosing to deal with them some other time when he was ready.

With a deep breath, Keanu continued driving down the freeway as the sun began to set over the hills of Los Angeles. Finally, you were on your way home.

Part 5

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee @ringa-starr @iworshipkeanureeves

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #reader insert #my fics #rpf

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

Text

Feels Like This (Part 7)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone. I know that some of you must hate my guts after last week, and I couldn’t even begin to blame you for that, but I promise I will make things better this week. I hate to linger in the drama, and as such we get a resolution this chapter. That’s not saying the road will be easy, but hopefully it’ll pack some great feels and will end with a bit of forgiveness, not just for CS, but with us too. I’ll wait to see what you all think on that forgiveness part, but without further delay, here’s the next chapter of ‘Feels Like This.’

Agony. That was the emotion clinging to his body and soul through the rest of the processions. From the moment he saw Emma, and took in the range of emotions on her beautiful face, he realized she somehow hadn’t read his letter. Despite the assurances from Jefferson’s team that Emma had spoken with a member of the royal guard herself, had taken custody of the letter, and understood it was important, there was clearly a breakdown in that story. The shock in her eyes was too potent for her to have had any kind of heads up. She was torn apart and hurting, and it was all because of him.

This was a miserable and soul wrenching mistake, a slowly traveling crash in which he had been the operator, and the worst part was that he couldn’t go to her and try to explain himself. He tried to, stopped the horse, and was ready to go to her, consequences be damned, but Liam’s order was clear and he was bound to follow. As such, Killian had been in excruciating pain for hours. He spent the rest of the day imagine how hurt she must be. If he felt like this, undoubtedly her heart ached even more. And still, throughout all of this, there was no one to blame but himself. He alone was the one who had hurt Emma this way. His choice to be selfish and to wait in telling her had opened the doors to her heartbreak, and in all his life he’d never made a decision, or rather a series of decisions, he regretted so resolutely.

He would never, as long as he lived, and forever thereafter, forget the look in Emma’s eyes when she saw him from the crowd. The alarm of her expression was a knife to the chest, and then the waves of hurt and embarrassment and grief that came after laid all his sense of self respect to waste. He had done that to her. He had made her gorgeous face stain with disbelief and discomfort. He’d caused the anxiety and the sadness that were clear as day in her eyes. He’d undoubtedly ruined a day with her son, something that she cherished and had been excited about for weeks. And most importantly he shattered her trust in him and in herself. That part especially killed him. To see the moment where she came to believe that she’d been had, that he’d somehow meant for things to go so badly, that was the worst of all. Emma was brilliant and strong and sure of herself, and he’d diminished that by withholding who he was. He’d never forgive himself for that grave sin.

This wasn’t to say that his ire was limited. He was enraged with himself, but he was also furious with Liam. Keeping him from going to her in that moment may have been the ‘smart’ thing to do, but Killian couldn’t look past the fact that it was also the ‘proper’ thing as well. On a better day, and in a less tumultuous time, he would believe in his brother’s goodness. He’d give Liam the benefit of the doubt and imagine that the call to keep him in the procession was made to protect Emma and not to keep him from making a scene, but he was hardly rational right now. Instead, Killian was desperate, and as soon as the parade was over, he dismounted from his horse and rushed into the castle, disregarding all the staff who tried to help him. He stopped only to thank his grandmother for the distraction she’d provided and remained focused on his mission.

The only thing he could think right now was that he had to get to Emma. He’d go to her like this, dressed in this royal monkey suit, if that wouldn’t be yet another afront to her. She’d been slapped with the reality of who he was hours ago, and he would never try and throw that in her face again. He made it to his rooms in record time, and didn’t bother to even close the door as he went about changing, all the while brainstorming how he would get to her and make this right.

“I know you’re angry with me,” Liam said. Killian hadn’t even realized he was followed by his brother and he was even more angered by the lack of privacy. He bit back a snarl that was very unlike him but came naturally at this moment. “But there was no other way.”

“No other way?” Killian asked, a hollow laugh escaping as he shook his head at his brother’s words. “You might be the king, brother, but you’re a bloody fool if you believe that.”

“Killian I was only trying -,”

“Don’t!” Killian yelled, interrupting him before Liam could say something he didn’t want to hear. “I swear to you, Liam, if you so much as attempt to justify this, if you even think about bringing up my duty to this family, you will regret it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Well luckily for me I was going to do neither.”

Killian glared at his brother but then disregarded him. He had the change of clothes he needed and made quick work of removing the starched pants and suit jacket. In under a minute he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, more normal attire that Emma had seen him in at the center. But just the thought of it made a lump form in his throat. What if all of this was over? What if he’d ruined everything? What if she could never find a way to forgive him?

“Okay I lied. I was going to make excuses, forgive me.”

“Forgiveness from me means nothing,” Killian said, deadly serious. “When I myself am unforgivable.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of. You think I was just gallivanting around the globe all these years, brother? No – there is darkness in me, sins on my soul I’ll live with every day, and now the worst among them is what I’ve done to Emma. The nightmares and memories of war I could live with. It’s not easy, but it can be done,” Killian said, expelling his breath quickly and wanting to get off this topic that he purposefully never discussed with family. “But what I did today, and what you commanded me to do… it’s a bridge too far.”

“So this isn’t all about your title, then. That’s not the only thing you’re hiding from her.”

Ice ran through Killian’s veins at Liam’s assessment, but his brother wasn’t wrong. There was a lot he hadn’t yet revealed to Emma. He always made the excuse that their stolen moments together were too fleeting, or that it wasn’t the right time to discuss such heavy things, but the truth was he was kidding himself. He’d wanted to gloss over the bad parts, which wasn’t fair to Emma or to him.

“I’m not good enough for her. The things I’ve seen and done have stained me. They made me different – they’ll always haunt me. But this,” Killian said waving around his rooms, which were so ornate that the French aristocrats of old would gasp in the face of them, “She deserves so much more than I can give her. This world is too demanding with too little wiggle room. She’ll feel trapped here. She’ll resent it. But I can’t let her go. I’ve never…” he trailed off, trying to put into words how Emma made him feel. “I’ve never felt like I was exactly where I’m meant to be; not here, not abroad. But with her there is no question. I’m the man I wish I was, the man I want to be.”

Liam was quiet a long moment, looking at Killian with a mix of emotions on his familiar face. There was concern to be sure, and sadness for Killian which he did not want. He didn’t want sympathy. He knew he wasn’t normal, in the regular sense of the world, but he didn’t want pity for that. Yet beyond that there was also a warmth in Liam’s looks, and when his brother spoke, his tone was open and honest.

“I saw you two today. I watched the exchange you had out there. The things you feel are not one sided. She loves you too. That was clear.”

God Killian wished that that were true, but even if it was, he didn’t know if love could survive this moment. It was a cruel thing, to taste real hope and have it stolen from you by your own missteps, but he had a sinking feeling that was to be his fate.

“My choices and my actions have likely destroyed those feelings,” Killian said, the lump forming in his throat so tight it made it hard to speak.

“I’m not so certain. She’s clearly going to give you the chance to explain yourself, and that alone speaks volumes.”

“And what would I even say?” Killian asked, putting words to his great fear. “There’s nothing I can say that can make this okay. I didn’t lie to her, I made sure never to do so, but a lie of omission is just as bad.”

“Is it though? I mean you’re not a criminal, Killian.”

“No, I’m a prince!” he yelled, the word hanging around them long after he’d screamed it into the room. His chest heaved as he caught his breath and slowly he calmed but he never felt better. “You don’t know Emma as I do, Liam. She’s not the kind of woman who’s going to see this development as desirable. She has no fairytale ambitions, no dreams of the spotlight. She’s a woman trying to make a way in the world for her and her son. She wants a good life for her boy, a healthy and happy home, a decent chance at love, and a partner. She wants a man who can walk by her side and chart the path she’s built for them, she doesn’t want… this,” he said sadly gesturing at the grandeur around them. “And she certainly doesn’t want the scars of my past tossed in as well.”

“Well how can you know that if you’ve never even asked her?”

“I know.”

“Oh rubbish!”

The words from the doorway had both Killian and Liam turning and low and behold there was Gran and his mother. These two women, who had always been his fiercest advocates and caretakers looked upon him with such fierceness of emotion. His mother looked distressed but her love was still tangible. She also didn’t appear to be confused, and in her blue eyes he saw understanding even in her alarm. He was surprised that she was even aware of the situation, but then he turned to Gran and remembered how much the woman could say in a short amount of time. She’d no doubt told his mother, and now, despite her age and smaller stature, his Gran was poised for a fight and looked downright pissed. She was a force riled up this way, and he readied himself for a verbal lashing.

“All you know is that you made a mistake, a series of them if you want to get particular,” Gran said shaking her head. “But here’s a scary truth for you, my boy, we all make mistakes. There’s not a person in this room who has not wounded someone they love. Hurt them in a way they’ll regret to their last breath. It’s a terrible thing, but it is life. People are flawed and our time on this earth is messy. We can’t all be perfect. We can only try to be better.”

“I don’t deserve her forgiveness, Gran,” Killian said, not bothering to waste energy with diversions and denial. This was his great fear, and it slipped past his lips as if she’d forced he confess. “I’m not worth it.”

“Oh, Killian,” his mother said sadly, but his Gran held her hand out towards his mother, a silent show for her to wait. With purposeful steps, his grandmother approached him. She came in close, and he wanted to look anywhere but in the eyes of his family. She was uninterested in that avoidance though, and she put a dainty, wrinkled hand to his cheek. He looked up to her and watched as she took in a deep breath. Instinctively he did the same. Then they both let them go together. It was a remnant of his childhood, a tactic that helped calm him whenever he’d felt small and overwhelmed by their world. Gran always knew and she always helped, and even now, at this lowest point, it granted him a small comfort.

“My dear, I’ve always imagined you to be sensible and smart. Please, for the love of all that is good, do not prove me wrong,” Gran said, her voice softer but no less determined. “If you do not deserve her forgiveness, then you must earn it. You are not defined by a few bad choices you made, or by the scars that life has granted. You are more than the mistakes of your past and your present. You are a man, a complicated, loving, and ever-learning man. You have done wrong. You have caused pain. You have shielded the full truth. Now admit that, repent for that, and show her you will never make a mistake like this again. She’s a brilliant woman. A little guarded, but that’s to be expected with all that she’s known. Show her who you really are. Remind her why she took a chance in the first place.”

“I don’t even know where she is,” he admitted. He’d checked his phone and tried to call Emma as soon as the procession was far enough from public eyes, but she’d shut the bloody thing off, no surprise. God, he just hoped she was safe. He was worried about her, knowing that she must be fragile after the realizations she’d faced today.

“Go to the Center, darling,” his mother said softly, having made her own approach, and taking his hand and holding close. “There’s the party tonight that you mentioned.”

“More importantly her friends are there, that Elsa girl for one, as are the children she’s grown to love. No better place to start your search,” his Gran argued.

Killian knew they were right and without any more thought, and with only a few swift goodbyes, he headed out to find his Swan. It meant a lot to Killian to have the support of his family, and there was a tiny flickering of hope at their words and advice, but he had to get moving before he lost his nerve. He couldn’t keep talking about this, he had to do something. Only after he was out of his quarters and in the car headed for the institute did he realize something – his family knew way too much about Emma and her habits. Liam he understood, but his mother, and especially his grandmother. Something was afoot there, but he’d have to save that for another time. For right now all he could do was work to get to Emma.

The drive to the institute was faster than normal but it felt like it took an eternity. When he finally got there, he was greeted by playing children and general merriment. The festivities were starting soon, and Emma’s original plan had been to come by when she and Henry were done at the beach. Perhaps he’d get lucky and she’d already be here, he looked around and finally saw someone who might know.

“Elsa, have you seen Emma today?”

“She’s not coming,” Elsa said and Killian’s heart dropped. “She called to say she and Henry couldn’t make it.”

“All right, well do you know where she is, in the meantime? I’ve tried to call her and I really need to speak with her. It’s… well you see… something, um -,”

“She told me what happened,” Elsa said, filling him both with relief and dread all at once.

“Elsa, I -,”

“How could you not tell her?” Elsa asked, not yelling for the sake of any children who might hear, but clearly mad. In fact, Killian had never seen Elsa so much as cross before, so this anger was truly something to behold, unexpected as it was. “Do you know how upset she was? Do you know what it must feel like for her? She deserved to know that, and you should have told her.”

“Elsa, I’m sorry –“

“Don’t tell me that. Tell her!” Elsa said, exasperated but then she let out a sigh and Killian noticed her eyes were misting over. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get so mad. Realistically I know it must not be that simple. It’s just that Emma is my friend, and I never imagined that she didn’t know who you were. Marie told the rest of us what was going on. We were all briefed the day you came, I long assumed Emma was too. Then I began to wonder, but you two were so close, she had to know. When she called today, I could hear the sting of her betrayal. She really had no idea. She was blindsided.”

“I never meant for her to get hurt, Elsa.”

“But surely you must have known she would find out. It was only a matter of time, and you had weeks to break it to her, but you chose not to.”

“I tried, a hundred times, I really did. But we were always here. There were always things that needed doing and children underfoot. And even in the quiet moments… I could have found a way, Elsa, but I couldn’t bear the thought of her looking at me differently. I can’t explain what she means to me, what her seeing me for me has granted me.”

“Even if that’s true it doesn’t change the outcome,” Elsa said sadly. “She needed to know. When were you going to tell her?”

“I was going to tell her tomorrow on our date.”

“You were going on a date? Like an actual date?” Elsa squeaked out, seemingly surprised at the information. “Tomorrow? Oh my goodness, that’s why she wanted me to watch Henry.”

“Aye,” Killian said, curious as to why Emma hadn’t mentioned that part to Elsa.

“I can’t believe you finally asked her. So if you’re asking her on a date, are you serious about her?” He nodded, trying to silently convey the words he wanted to save for Emma. He regretted that it had slipped out with his family before. The first person to know that he loved Emma should be Emma, and despite his quiet non-response, Elsa began to understand that. “And you swear to me that you were going to tell her tomorrow?”

“I give you my word, Elsa. I even sent her a letter this morning before everything happened. It wasn’t enough but it was all I could do.”

“She didn’t mention a letter,” Elsa said shaking her head. “So chances are she never got it.” His heart bled at that confirmation.

“I take full responsibility for her pain, Elsa. I know I am in the wrong. The blame lies entirely with me. But please, believe me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to make it up to her. No matter what it takes. She’s the most important thing to me.”

Elsa looked him over, critically trying to assess whether or not he could be trusted. He hoped beyond hope that he would live up to Elsa’s scrutiny, because he was now relying on what else Elsa might know to find Emma and make amends. When she finally nodded, silently accepting his words as truth, he let out a shaky breath. He wanted to ask her where he could find Emma since she wasn’t coming by, but he didn’t have to, she imparted everything she knew on him. Where she was (which was home), what she was doing (making dinner for her and Henry after their beach day), and what he could bring to start to try and make amends (the special dessert that cook was making that both Emma and Henry were desperate for). Killian appreciated all the help, and as he stood in the back with Elsa, waiting on the sweet treats to be wrapped for delivery, he felt a tug at his hand. Looking down he saw Cecelia, who was offering him a shy smile.

“Hello, little love. How are you doing this evening?” Cecelia let out a giggle at his formalities, something he’d grown to learn that she liked over the past few weeks.

“We had dinner, and cake, and we are playing. Pirates and princesses!” she said excitedly. “Do you want to play, Killy?”

The name that Cecelia had begun to use for him, which only his family ever called him, made him happy, in spite of the circumstances. He smiled at the never-ending charm this little girl had, and at her sweet disposition and thoughtfulness.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay. I’m on a mission you see.”

“A mission?” She asked excitedly. “What kind of mission?”

“I did something that was not very nice, but I feel very badly about what I did. So I am going to say I’m sorry. And I am going to also bring this, as a token of my apology.”

“What’s a token?” Cecelia asked.

“It’s like a little symbol or present. I want to show I’m thinking of the person who I upset.”

“You should bring flowers,” Cecelia said immediately, dragging him as hard as a five-year-old could drag a full-grown man. “Here, these is my favorite.”

Killian followed the little girl to the meadow and watched as she plucked flower after flower until it made a perfectly imperfect bouquet. At one point she let out a little chirping sound of glee, he asked her what had made her so excited and she showed him the yellow flower she had found.

“These are my Emma’s favorites.”

“Well let’s get some more of those then.”

He thanked his lucky stars that Cecelia didn’t ask more about who he had offended. He could only imagine how sad she would be to discover it was Emma, but as he worked to retrieve the flowers with her, Killian solemnly vowed again that he would make amends. This might not be nearly enough to do so, but it was a start, and no matter what it took, he would eventually find a way to win Emma back again. As soon as he had the blossoms in hand, and the dessert with the help of Elsa, Killian was ready to go, but as he looked back out to the car with his driver and took another look at his detail his stomach sank. He didn’t want to do any of this with an audience. He didn’t want the flagrant reminder of why they were different thrown in Emma’s face.

“You know, Elsa and I got really good at ditching our bodyguards when we were kids,” a voice said, and Killian looked over to see Anna, Elsa’s sister, who he also knew to be a good friend of Emma’s and kind to him personally.

“Anna!”

“Oh shoot, pretend you didn’t hear that!” Anna said, her face suddenly sobering. “Seriously, don’t repeat that. To anyone. Ever.”

“I won’t,” he said, curious as to why the sisters would have ever needed their own bodyguards. It was a strange thing, especially seeing where they were now in their lives, but he knew full well it was not his business. “But I hope you mentioned it to offer a suggestion. I’ll take any tricks of the trade, so to speak.”

Anna let out a sigh of relief before looking over his shoulder. “Gus is the main one watching you today, right? The others are stationed outside?” Killian nodded. “Excellent – totally lucked into that one.”

“How so?” Killian asked and Elsa filled in, shocking him further.

“Gus is a great guy, very capable, but easily distracted. He sat down a full twenty minutes for Eloise to make him an origami frog last week. Barely kept tabs on you the whole time.”

“You noticed that?”

“We notice everything,” Anna said with a smile, before pulling out two of the flowers in his chosen bouquet and tossing them away. On second thought they didn’t exactly match, but he didn’t have the chance to thank Anna before she was giving him another gift. “I’ve got a moped in the shed out front. It’s speedy, efficient and has a helmet and saddle bag. You can fit everything inside and get to Emma in five minutes flat. We’ll keep Gus distracted.”

“For how long?” Killian asked and Elsa and Anna exchanged a look.

“Thirty minutes, easy. But if we hit him with a meal from Cook, could be longer.”

“I owe you two, royally.” The two sisters laughed at his words and he groaned. “Pun not intended, but you take my meeting.”

“Two I-O-Us from our neighborhood Captain and Prince. We’ll take it.”

“Call it even if you make it up to Emma,” Elsa agreed, and Killian nodded his head. Then he watched as Anna grabbed his flowers and the dessert and made a big show of asking him for his help on the third floor. He understood her ruse and agreed, at the same time that he nodded to Gus and Elsa moved over to his guard. She struck up a conversation with him, bringing in some of the kids, and quickly Killian and Anna snuck out, getting the moped in record time.

“Emma lives only a few blocks away,” Anna said, writing out the address that she read off of her phone. He was grateful for that as he’d sent the letter this morning through a royal courier. He hadn’t actually known her address, but relied on Jefferson’s intel to get it there. “Here. Do you know where that is?”

“I do,” Killian said, relieved as all hell for that. “Thank you, Anna. Without you and Elsa…”

“Just keep your promise. Make things right with Emma,” Anna said, shooing him away as she stood guard, making sure no one was aware of their deceit.

As he drove out of the front gate, Killian felt free, and he rode as fast as he could without risking his life to get to Emma. Soon enough he was at her building. He parked the bike, and with shaky hands gathered his items of penance. It wasn’t enough, but he hoped it could be a start. Quickly he moved up the front steps, schooling his breathing, and hoping beyond hope she’d open the door. He knocked three times, the heavy metal of the knocker sounding out against the wood. Thud. Thud. Thud. His heart was racing, his mind outpaced it, and seconds stood still until he heard the sound of feet behind the door. A subtle pause, a bated breath, and then…

……………….

Never in her nearly thirty years of life did Emma Swan ever encounter a situation like this one. The drama and the intrigue, the secrets and a big reveal, it was exhausting and complex. In truth it was too much to comprehend, and as a result she was currently standing in her kitchen, staring aimlessly into the refrigerator, and wondering what the hell was going on.

It started with a pretty simple premise: girl meets boy at a new job. That part she had no real trouble understanding. People met every day and sparks flew, that was pretty normal. Not so much for a single mom who was always barely treading water, but it could happen. Theoretically she always had a chance of meeting a man who was interesting and captivating and funny and smooth.

Stage two was also somewhat familiar: girl falls for boy. It was less likely, but still believable. She had never felt any significant pull to a guy except for Henry’s Dad, and even looking past the horrible way that relationship turned out, the feelings were not the same. That love was grounded in need, a need for connection and for love and for family. She was without a center, and Neal was a way to build her world around someone else. With Killian it was different. Emma liked the idea of finding love, but she had no need to build a world around someone else because she already had so much in her life and she understood and loved herself so much more than she had as a girl. Instead, with Killian, she felt a kinship and an undercurrent of possibility. Killian had jolted her out of the small life she was leading and made her dream of more. It was exciting and new, and though she never really expected love like that to come, she knew that it was technically possible for her to feel for someone again. She hadn’t anticipated it, but it could happen, and with Killian it did.

The next part though, that was what killed her and was completely and totally bat shit crazy: boy turns out to be prince of a tiny coastal nation that no one’s ever heard of, but is heaven on earth. Like… what? What the what?!

This was the making of some cheesy movie or romance book, but it was never anyone’s actual life. Even when girls met princes, they always knew from the jump that they were a prince. But Emma? Oh no, she had to be the one in 7-something billion to completely miss the memo. Okay actually that wasn’t quite right. Most of the issue here was that no one outside of Montenarro knew about this country, let alone its monarchs. Still, she was surrounded by people who were aware of the truth: Elsa, Anna, Marco, Marie. The list went on and on and on, and yet at no point did anyone ever think to let her in on this giant, gaping, gargantuan secret.

Of course, the person who really should have said something was Killian, and for hours Emma had wondered what the hell he was thinking by not telling her. Like sure, maybe it wasn’t polite to introduce yourself as Prince Killian of Montenarro from the jump, and yeah, he was clearly trying to fly under the radar with the kids, probably to make them feel more connected and not separated by status, but it was unfathomable that he would never have brought this up. Especially given the fact that he was in a nationally watched parade today. How did he possibly think she was going to miss that? And more importantly, how could she trust him, or anyone else for that matter, after they’d kept this from her for so long? She thought back to her phone call to the institute earlier where she’d told everyone she and Henry couldn’t make it. She didn’t plan to say anything, hoping to hide the shame of being so stupid, but Elsa could tell something was up, and when she asked Emma couldn’t deny it…

“Are you sure that you’re all right, Emma? It’s not like you to miss something like this and I know that Henry and you have both been looking forward to this. Are you sick? Can we bring you something? Anna or I can come and -,”

“It’s not like that,” Emma admitted, taking in a shaky breath before blurting out a question that had bothered her all day. “Why didn’t you tell me, Elsa?”

“Tell you what?” her friend asked, seriously perplexed.

“About Killian.”

“Emma, I’m sorry, I’m not following you here. What happened with Killian?”

“I saw him today at the parade.”

“Oh I know he called here, just in case we played it on television. He doesn’t want the first time the kids hear to be through the parade. He wants to tell them himself, which I respect.”

“Well I wish he’d had the same regard for me.”

“Regard for – wait, Emma, you didn’t know?”

“No,” Emma admitted, grateful that Henry was putting his beach stuff away upstairs. She had a little privacy and the sadness of this moment could air without her son knowing her pain. “I had literally no idea and now I feel like an idiot because we were there, Henry and I, and I saw Killian and he saw me, and it’s just… it’s like I’m too heartbroken to be mad. Does that make sense?”

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa said, and Emma closed her eyes, willing the unshed tears to go away. She couldn’t break down right now. She just couldn’t, but she would if she continued to think about this. “If I had ever thought in a million years that he would be so careless, I would have told you from the start. Anna and I wondered if you realized in the beginning, and we weren’t totally sure, but we thought maybe if you didn’t know then he was waiting for the right moment. It was hard to tell because maybe he had told you and you and you were keeping things private. I thought for sure he would have told you whenever you got a real moment one on one, and you’ve had a few the past few weeks. It never occurred to me that you were still in the dark. I never imagined…”

“It’s not your fault, Elsa,” Emma said, fending off the tears that threatened to come in the face of this bad moment.

“Has he tried to reach out to you? To explain himself?”

“I haven’t checked,” Emma admitted. “I called you on the land line here. My phone’s been off all day.”

“Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”

“Of course I do,” she admitted. Knowing it was true. She wanted answers, and she also wanted to understand. Why had he done this? What was he possibly thinking?

“So why -,”

“Because what if there is nothing to say?” Emma interrupted, her biggest fear revealed. “I mean he’s a prince, Elsa, and I’m just… me.”

“You’re not just anything, Emma,” Elsa said determinedly. “You are brilliant and wonderful, and let me tell you something, titles and nobility don’t mean anything. The merit of a person resides in their heart, not in a crown.”

Emma appreciated her friend’s faith in her, and she didn’t think much of how adamantly opposed Elsa seemed to the exultation of nobility. Still, she felt unanchored right now. She’d really begun to feel that connection with Killian was something special, and it was impossible not to question all of it in the face of a secret this big. Because this was big. Really big. Honestly it was -

“Mom?” Emma jumped at the sound of Henry’s voice and she looked over to her son who had a curious look on his face. She closed the fridge door, unsure of how long it had been open, but her attempt to cover herself didn’t go unnoticed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, kid. What’s up?”

“There’s someone at the door. They knocked twice already. I’d answer it but you know the whole stranger danger, different country thing.”

“Right,” Emma said wiping her hands down her shirt and preparing to greet whoever it was. She suspected it was Elsa or Anna. After Elsa had told her that she was absolutely Killian’s equal regardless of status, both Elsa and Anna had been on the phone, telling her to be strong and have faith in herself. They were both hopeful but also incredibly sympathetic, and despite Emma’s protests, both had mentioned sending some cake this way for her and Henry. Still she didn’t want to see anyone. Okay that was true she only wanted to see one person, but as she moved to open the door, she knew it wouldn’t be – wait, Killian? Oh God, he was here. Like actually here.

“Emma,” he said, his voice filled with equal parts relief and anguish.

“You’re here,” Emma said, dumbfounded. She never in a million years expected him to actually come to her house, not after the parade today and realizing who he was. The reminder of his real identity had her looking to the street. What kind of scene was being made for him to come here? But then when she looked there was no one outside, and nothing but a moped on the street. Only then did she realize the helmet he carried. “Where’s your detail?”

“I ditched them. Didn’t want to draw attention.”

“You ditched them?” Emma parroted, not following him. “Is that an option?”

“I made it one,” Killian said, determinedly. “Look, Emma, I know that what I’ve done is unforgiveable. I said that in the letter this morning.”

“Letter?” Emma asked and finally understanding dawned on her. That thing she thought was an invitation in her tote bag… that had held answers all along. God, seriously? What a mess, and here she’d been thinking on this for hours and maybe there were some answers already in her grasp. But whether or not that was true it was too late now. “That was from you. I thought it was from the institute.”

“So you never read it,” he said and she shook her head and Killian grimaced before straightening his stance and diving into what the letter must have said. “It hardly matters. A letter could never be enough to right what I’ve done. I know I should have told you who I was from the start, and having things go so badly today when what we have is so good… it damn near kills me to know I’ve ruined things before they’ve even had a chance to really form. But I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, that I never meant to hurt you, Emma.”

Now the tears were back, misting over in her eyes and she couldn’t try and stop them. Today had been so crazy and she was stressed and angry and sad. But the look in Killian’s eyes as he tracked her sadness broke something else inside her. His longing and his sorrow were so palpable. She knew, even without his words that he was truly sorry, and when he moved toward her, taking her hand, she didn’t pull away. She stayed there, too caught up in feelings to speak, and allowing him to try and explain some more.

“I know my words can’t possibly be enough, Emma. I would never expect them to be. I’ve been foolish and I’ve been daft, and Lord knows I would give anything the world over to take back the pain I caused you. It’s the last thing I would ever want. You deserve so much better, and God above, I am sorry Emma. So deeply, truly sorry. I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to make this right. I know asking you for anything is unthinkable. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or a second chance, but I can’t walk away, love. I don’t want to lose you, I don’t think I could bear it.”

What could she say to such a statement, such bold claims of caring about her and regretting what he’d done? She had so much to say. She was angry and hurt and embarrassed, but underneath all that she still felt the pull that was there before. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn’t help but look into his blue eyes and feel like there was magic here between them. Her heartbeat skipped out of time, and her hands grew shaky. She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Honestly, she probably wanted to do both. Still, the only thought ringing in her head was that he was here. He’d come to her, for her, and he was really, actually here.

“Who is it, Mom?” Henry’s question from behind her made her jump, and without thinking she stepped away from Killian’s hold before Henry could see their hands joined together. Jesus, this was all going so crazy so fast, and then Henry’s eyes lit up and he gasped. “Wait, aren’t you… you’re the prince! You were at the parade today.”

“Aye, lad,” Killian said, and though he aimed a kind smile at her son, Emma could tell it took everything in Killian not to wince at the pronouncement.

“But what are you doing here? What’s going on, Mom?” Henry looked to her and Emma looked between him and Killian trying to figure out how to play this.

“Killian and I, um, work together.”

“Wait this is Killian?” Henry asked, and Emma felt her cheeks flush as her son gave away the fact that she’d talked of him at home. “You said he was a Captain in the navy, but I didn’t know he was a Prince!”

Neither did I, Emma thought, but she was at a loss for words. Luckily Killian stepped in.

“At the institute I’ve been blessed to be as I am. I’m not a prince there. I’m just a man. Just Killian.”

“That must be hard sometimes,” Henry said, surprising both Emma and Killian with the words. “Being a prince, I mean. I mean it’s cool, but a lot of responsibility, I bet.”

“Aye, lad. Truth be told I’m not always up to my familial role,” Killian confessed, making Emma’s heart ache with the sincerity he displayed. “Some have said I’m not particularly good at being a prince. I can’t disagree with the sentiment.”

“How are you at making pizza?” Henry asked, completely changing the subject on a dime, in the way only a kid could. Henry showed absolutely no intimidation in the face of meeting royalty. He was completely relaxed, stunning Emma with his nonchalance.

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t really know,” Killian said, his hand moving through his hair in a gesture of uncertainty. “I can’t actually recall ever making my own.”

“That’s okay, it’s easy. Mom’s a master at it. She can show you. Right, Mom?”

“Henry, Killian probably has other things he has to do.” She looked to him trying to assure him that he did not need to indulge her son. But when her eyes met Killian’s she was yet again surprised at the hope she found there. He wasn’t running for the hills or jonesing to get away and back to the palace. In fact, he looked excited at the prospect.

“Actually,” Killian said, hedging a moment making, silently making sure she wasn’t trying to give him the brush off. She purposefully kept quiet, thus giving him permission to make his own call. “There’s no place I’d rather be than here, making pizza as it were.”

“Really?” Emma asked and Killian nodded before motioning to the box he was carrying that she hadn’t paid any mind to before.

“Aye, and I come bearing an offering of sorts. Elsa and Anna send their regards, and cook’s coveted cake.”

“Wohoo!!” Henry yelled, whooping with joy as he pulled Killian inside, dragging him to the kitchen to get dinner underway. For Emma’s part she was still hesitant. This was not something she ever expected, and it was not smart to let Henry get attached to Killian when she didn’t even know what was going to happen between them. But the fact that Elsa and Anna had sent him her way was an endorsement, and if they trusted him after she’d been so honest about her pain today, she didn’t think she should fully close the door on this.

What ensued after that was a few hours of strangely perfect intimacy. Despite the newness, and how much was still unsaid between them, Emma watched Killian and Henry truly bond. He may not have much experience in the kitchen, but Killian was a quick learner, and more than anything he was attentive. He met Henry’s enthusiasm with appreciation and support, and when her kid chattered on all night, Killian only seemed to enjoy himself more. Watching all of this, and knowing that Killian had every intention of speaking to her when they were alone, made Emma’s heart soften, and though she was still scared shitless about his being a prince, she felt her defenses waning at the night went on. Even in the middle of such a mess, this man was perfectly imperfect. He was flawed, and he had acted badly, but he was good still, with a heart so big and kind she couldn’t help but wish for more nights like this, both for her and for Henry. In spite of who he was, Killian seemed to fit here, and hours later, when Henry was readying for bed and had bid them both goodnight, Emma wanted to find a way to say that even while she held him accountable for what he’d done.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, Swan, you should say it. I promise you I can handle it. No need to mince words or hold back,” he said, showing once again just how much he understood her. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, willing the questions and the accusations to come, but they didn’t. So instead she said what she felt.

“You’re a prince.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Why am I a prince?” he asked, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be a prince. But beyond that, you saw me,” he replied honestly. “The real me. Not the man the world thinks that I am or that my family thinks I should be. You can’t imagine how that felt, how intoxicating it was, when I hardly even knew myself before I met you.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know, love, and I was going to tomorrow. The plan was to have real time together. I didn’t want it rushed or interrupted. I wanted to break it to you gently, because I knew hearing this would hurt no matter when it came. But believe me, Emma, I never planned to be at the parade today. A public spectacle like that when you didn’t know… it was unfathomable and cruel. But I need you to believe that my hands were tied. It’s a complicated story involving politics and parliament, but suffice it to say my brother needed me, and I could not deny the King. I knew it was wrong, but I was bound by honor to my family. They required my presence and I couldn’t turn away from that. Even so, if I had known you’d see me today, that you and Henry wouldn’t already be tucked away at the beach, I never would have gone.”

“You still should have told me, Killian,” she stressed, appreciating some of the context, but knowing it didn’t actually change anything. He nodded, his eyes taking on a real pain as he replied.

“You’re right, Emma. I started to tell you a thousand times, but fear and cowardice won out. I was terrified – I am terrified – that the truth will have you running. I told myself if I could just find the right moment, then maybe it would be okay. You’d stay because you knew that wasn’t everything I am. I thought if I could make you care for me as I’ve come to care for you…” his voice trailed off for a moment, but he moved towards her, now close enough to touch yet still an ocean away as he continued his confession. “It was stupid, Emma. But more importantly it was selfish and wrong. Keeping this from you goes against everything I feel for you, everything you bring into my world.”

“What do I bring?” she asked, curious as to why he was going to all this effort and facing these hard questions for her of all people.

“What do you bring?” he asked, his voice edging up like he couldn’t believe she would ask that. “Light, Emma. Light and laughter and peace. I’m dizzy from the sight of you, I hardly think unless my thinking is of you, every day I stand in awe of everything that you are, but still in knowing you I’ve found something that feels essential. You calm me, even as you awaken parts of my being I never knew till now. To put it simply, you bring everything, love. It is I who has little but trouble to offer.”

The swirls of emotion that took flight at hearing him say these things was incomprehensible. It was varied and layered, pulling at things in her heart and her soul that she’d always wanted to be and to feel and to know. She knew that he meant this, knew he was showing her his truth absolutely, and yet the tone of his voice was resigned. He was asking for forgiveness but didn’t believe himself worthy of it. And only part of his belief was because of what he’d done. Heartbreakingly, Emma could see most of it was because of this title, this role he never asked for and clearly didn’t yearn to hold. He thought it made him too removed, too burdensome to love. He didn’t see what she did, that he was more than one crown, one title, one role.

Closing the space between them, Emma’s hands came to touch him. One hand came to his chest, the other cupped his cheek. She felt the beating of his heart, and when he looked at her, she saw this sense of hope in his features. It was like she was a lifeline, a saving grace, and she couldn’t help but smile, and try her best to make him see what really was between them.

“You’re wrong, Killian. You may be trouble, but you are also so much more,” she teased. He huffed out a breath, something that wanted to be a laugh but it wasn’t real. It was mired down by doubt, doubt she needed to ease away for both their sakes. “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t angry or upset. Finding out today like I did hurt me. I can’t change that, and neither can you, but in some ways you were right. My knowing from the start would have made things different. I’d love to say it wouldn’t have, but we both know that it would. I’ve got walls and I’ve got triggers. I’m slow to warm and I play it safe. I don’t think I ever could have been so open if I knew the differences between us. I don’t know if I ever could have believed something real could come from this. Knowing would have made me cautious, and yes I probably would have run if you told me too soon.”

His hands came around her, like just the mention of her running made him need to hold her close. And funny enough she didn’t really mind. She loved this feeling, this connection, this warmth. Even with everything, this felt like a perfect slice of heaven. Nestled in his arms she felt safe, like no storm could come that they couldn’t weather together.

“But even if it’s crazy, and I have a million questions, and I have no idea what the hell dating a prince entails… if the prince in question is you, and if you’re still the man I know, the one who gives more than he takes, the one who faces each new challenge, and the one who kissed me yesterday like I’ve never been kissed before… then I don’t want to run. I’m still in this, Killian. The only question is, are you?”

No sooner had she posed the query than his lips crashed down on hers, telling her everything she needed to know without saying anything at all. As life-altering as yesterday’s kiss had been, it was nothing to this. This was a moment shared by two people who had said so much and left it all on the line. There was only want, and desire, and need. She felt it coil from deep within her, radiating through her whole body, and by the time they came up for air she was flooded with the sense that nothing and no one could ever make her feel like this. Killian held the key to this sensation, and it was worth the risk of heartbreak to try and take a chance with him.

“I’ll never have the words to tell you how remarkable you are, Emma. How you revive my very being, and how miraculous it is to feel the way I do when I’m with you,” he said, pushing a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear as he gazed upon her, smiling and joyful and full of relief. “But I aim to show you, Swan. Today and every day I’ll do my best to remind you of all that you are, and all that you mean to me.”

“Good,” she whispered, stealing another taste of him. He growled into the kiss, quickly taking it over and she melted into him again, forgetting everything and living only in the now.

“I hope this all means we’re still on for our date tomorrow,” he said when they came apart again and she nodded, feeling a blush spread over her cheeks.

“I’m still game,” she answered, biting back a groan at her attempt at being casual. It was so corny, but screw it. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was looking at her like she hung the moon and the sun and the stars.

“You’re certainly something, love,” Killian said smirking at her in that sexy way and kissing her again. She melted into the embrace but when they broke apart once more, she admitted another fear she had.

“I may be bad at this,” Emma warned.

“You, bad? I don’t believe that’s possible,” Killian said, his voice warm and lush and happy in the face of this second chance.

“I’m not great at dating generally. It never turns out well in the end.”

“For me either,” he confessed. “But I suppose that’s because we’ve never had the proper partners.”

“I’m scared to mess this up,” Emma admitted.

“You are incapable of doing so,” Killian reaffirmed, kissing her gently before resting his forehead against hers. “You’re the reason we still have hope. Your forgiveness is everything, Emma, and I promise you, as different as our circumstances are, I will never again allow you to be hurt. Not by me, my title, or the baggage from my past. You, and Henry, are safe with me. I swear it.”

“Are you sure you can make a promise like that?” Emma asked, doubting anyone’s ability to prevent bad outcomes, but Killian’s determination was unwavering. He was absolute in his promise, and she had no choice but to believe him.

“I am sure. We can do this Emma. We’ll go as slow or as fast as you desire. You’re the Captain of this vessel, so to speak, but if you trust me, I know we can see this through. I’ve never felt anything so surely as I feel that.”

And with that, and with a few more heated kisses, Emma and Killian cemented their decision to really give this a shot. Unfortunately, Killian had to leave soon thereafter, heading back to the palace where everyone was likely worried sick from his ditching his detail, but Emma knew he’d be back tomorrow for their date. And as she watched him ride away, and she closed the door behind him, she made a conscious choice to really give this all she had. Because despite the worries and the fears, and despite the crazy thought that he was a prince and she was an ordinary woman, she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t follow her heart.

Post-Note: Okay so… what do you think? Am I forgiven? I hope that I am, and if I am not let me entice you with the promise of next chapter, which is going to be a fluff and feels filled first date worthy of a prince and his (soon to be) princess. Honestly though, this has always been my vision for this story. I think about that scene in the Prince and Me when the girl sees the prince and he runs to her from the parade and I love it, and yet I wanted to twist that a bit, to turn it on its head and in the process keep Emma and Killian’s love still a private, personal thing. I want them to have more time to grow and nurture their feelings, to know it’s definitely love before the whole world gets a say, and of course throwing in meddling Anna and Elsa, and having Henry push the love birds along a little never hurts either. Anyway, what I am trying to say is I hope you guys enjoyed and I thank you all for reading. Not sure when the next chapter will be ready, because I am in the final stretch of school craziness, but know that it is coming and that I can’t wait to share the rest of this story with all of you. Until next time!

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eleventoes · 5 years

Text

as i told you | drabble

pairing: jungkook x reader | fluff (do i even write for any other genre at this point) word count: 1.5k warning(s): none synopsis: You and Jungkook are still idiots, except now you’re idiots in love.

( a look into what happens after as i told you ) ***

The truth of the matter was this: the thought of strangling Jeon Jungkook with your bare hands still crosses your mind more than it should, and that’s not what a healthy, loving relationship looks like, at least not according to Wikihow.

The cheerleaders badger you all the time in the locker room after practice, bombarding you with questions about what the two of you get up to in the apartment (“Sooyoung, you can stop wriggling your eyebrows now,” you’d scowl.) and Taehyung isn’t any better, because he thinks the two of you have cute romantic dates at home, and he gets all dreamy when he talks about it.

Yes, okay, sometimes the two of you can be pretty darn cute, even if you say so yourself. Jungkook likes spoiling you every other week, so he trudges to that famous bakery on the far side of town just to get you those donuts you adore, even when he’s worn out from late night practices. And you hate seeing him tired every time practice gets a little too rough as well, so somehow weekly Sunday morning massages became a thing, even if it evolves into a mini-wrestling match more often than not.

But people around you seem to forget that the two of you share almost everything: an apartment, a bed, a toothbrush (when Jungkook accidentally flushed his down the toilet) and a relentless competitive streak.

“Is that my hoodie?” he squints one morning as he emerges from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower and eyes still bleary with sleep.

You nod from where you’re perched on the kitchen stool, too preoccupied with the latest webtoon update to spare him more than one appreciative glance. It’s not your fault his clothes are so goddamn comfortable, plus they always smell like that body spray he’s obsessed with, and it makes you feel all homely and tingly inside.

Without looking, you can tell he’s squinting again, and he hovers a little before speaking, “I’m not saying it’s not cute, because it’s cute seeing you waddle around—”

“I don’t waddle,” you throw him your best faux glare.

“But it’s the fourth time this week,” Jungkook cries, a little too dramatically in your very objective opinion, “I’m literally running out of clean clothes to wear.”

“You don’t seem to have an issue wearing dirty ones,” you retort, not because you’re still being petty about him never doing laundry (okay so maybe that’s half the reason), but because it’s true, Jungkook recycles dirty clothes more than he actually recycles.

You should have known something’s up the moment Jungkook narrows his eyes at your smartass remark, because the next morning, you almost drop the milk seeing Jungkook wearing one of your looser t-shirts.

“What the fuck,” numbly, you choke out, because the shirt’s tearing at its seams, and is figure-hugging in a way it was never supposed to be.

Jungkook, that smug asshole whom you love and cherish, only smiles devilishly before slinging on his sports bag and announcing that he’s leaving for practice, leaving you stunned (and a blushing mess, but we don’t talk about that) in the kitchen.

You do end up dropping the milk.

But what ensues is this: the two of you have once again embroiled yourselves in another unspoken challenge. The goal? To wear as many of the other’s clothes until one admits defeat. The prize? Bragging rights, because the two of you are wired that way. Purpose of challenge? None, as usual.

For a week or two, the two of you were practically stars on the campus forums; there’s a whole thread filled with ridiculous pictures of the two of you wearing each other’s clothes. Jungkook showed up to lab wearing your baby pink coat (and almost ripping it), you show up at an art elective class donning his favourite Iron Man tee (the stains were thankfully non-permanent), and you’re pretty sure he was going to wear your cheerleading skirt as an arm band or something, but you’ve been guarding your uniform with your life to avoid that ever happening. Highlight of the entire challenge was when Jungkook wore one of your long flowy tulle skirts to class, because he’s a badass like that, and gave a whole speech about the toxicity of gender normativity when sneered at by one of the TAs.

Yeah, you were proud, but on the brink of tears when he confessed that he spilt coffee on it right after the speech.

The challenge quickly draws to a close when your closets are all mixed up and laundry gets confusing. It got so messed up that you thought you were looking at Jungkook’s wardrobe when you opened your own, and it ends up being a tie, because now the two of you were unknowingly sharing closets.

Not the goal of the challenge (if there ever was one), but then the two of you get all giddy and excited over shopping for a new wardrobe (so that you both can officially share the same closet, duh), and now there’s only one wardrobe between the both of you.

So yes, the both of you were pretty darn cute.

Until Christmas rolls around and Jungkook gets a polaroid camera from his brother, which shouldn’t sound like it’s anything significant at all, up till you walk into his bedroom unannounced one day and stumble upon him and a handful of photos. All of you.

“I swear it’s not creepy,” leaping out of his chair, Jungkook gets to his feet and holds up both hands defensively.

You don’t tell him that him being creepy hasn’t even crossed your mind, because really, you’re just embarrassed and ridiculously flustered by how soft he looked when he was arranging the photos, so you just nod speechlessly.

“I was just trying out the camera, and you fell asleep on me, and I thought you looked,” he looks down and whispers, sounding almost like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Cute.”

“After that it was just fun to play around with the angles and the lighting, and you’re a pretty good subject,” he continues, albeit a little more bashful that you’ve ever seen him, “I thought I could compile it all into an anniversary gift once I’m done.”

The first outcome is this: two really flustered people and a pretty intense make-out session. The second is as follows: you wanting to capture Jungkook and his beauty the same way he captures yours, you getting a polaroid camera of your own, and then the two of you obsessively taking pictures of each other.

Jungkook slumped upside-down on the couch gaming on his phone? Click.

You and your bedhead looking exceptionally murderous one fine morning? Click.

Jungkook almost exploding something in the microwave? Click.

Your friends have all caught onto this new challenge; some roll their eyes, some scoff affectionately, others scream and claim the both of you as their OTP.

Others, like Kim Namjoon, with a fondly exasperated look on his face, suggest that the both of you stop wasting expensive film like its nothing, and maybe start taking photos together instead. That seems to make perfect sense, and both you and Jungkook cannot wrap your minds around how neither of you have actually thought about the most obvious thing in the world.

(“That’s easy,” Namjoon replies, looking as if he’s nursing the beginnings of a migraine with how he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s because both of you are hard-headed idiots. And you are perfect for each other.”)

So the two of you get all giddy and excited once again at the home depot store next to campus, picking out a nice corkboard and some nice scrapbooking supplies for the kitchen.

The challenge didn’t have any winners (again), largely because the both of you forgot that it was a competition to begin with, and are now too busy filling the corkboard with cute couple polaroids that anyone would be jealous of (“We would out-couple every couple out there,” smirked Jungkook when he’d put the board up. You’d agreed.).

There’s this one the both of you took at the beach, and the smiles on your faces are wide, and there’s one where the both of you were trying to babysit Taehyung’s puppy and ended up taking a million selfies with the poor dog smushed between your faces. And there’s your favourite: a blurry photo of the both of you attempting a selfie with the camera for the first time, except none of you had figured out how it worked just yet and it ended up being a blurry photo of Jungkook mid-blink and you squinting.

And yeah, maybe the two of you weren’t that couple who’d take each other out to romantic candlelit dinners, and weren’t the type to call each other adorably affectionate pet names, and maybe the two of you get too competitive with each other sometimes.

But the both of you were still pretty darn cute, even if you do say so yourself.

a/n:

yay to uploading after forever; i just can’t seem to let this au go! special shoutout to @fan-ati--c for requesting this, i rly hope you liked it :3

#networkbangtan #btswriters #bts fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic

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sirius · 5 years

Text

Chaos Theory Part 11

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malloy x Reader,

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 6383

A/N: We are finally at the Yule Ball guys!! Quite a lot of fluff happens in this chapter, and I had a lot planned, so I had to split it into two chapters. I’m already working on Chapter 12 :) I also decided against writing Fleur’s accent because a) it’s too hard and b) it disrupts the flow of the story. Sorry?

***

Chapter 11:

Winters at Hogwarts are the type of winters you find the most beautiful.

The school seems to sparkle from the ground up, blanketed in luxurious clouds of soft, fluffy snow and sprinkled with snowflakes that drip from the sky like angel tears. Sometimes, the winter chill can permeate through your clothes and skin and scrape an icy finger down your spine, and it’s on these days when you prefer to stay curled up beside a log fire with your nose in a good book. But most times, the snowy days and winter nights are a warm reminder of the upcoming festivities. It's these days - when your veins gush with eggnog and butterbeer and the air is perfumed with the scent of warm, sweet cinnamon - that you welcome like an old friend and embrace with all the enthusiasm that the Christmas spirit can muster.

Today is one of those days.

The day had started with presents. A state-of-the-art writing kit from Hermione, an extra large assortment of all your favourite sweets from Ron, a bottle of stupidly expensive perfumed oil from Luke, a very large and itchy scarf from Hagrid (you supposed it would match the deep blue sweater Mrs Weasley knitted for you this year), and a tiny, cute plant from Neville. Your friends at the Newsroom had also bought you small gifts including a photo frame from Colin and a water-coloured painting of Nightshade from Dean.

After the excitement of unwrapping your Christmas presents, you and Hermione met up with Harry and Ron in the common room and head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron, who proudly wears a paper crown, softly pats your head in greeting and drapes a skinny, freckled arm over your shoulders as the four of you step out of the portrait hole.

You pass the Fat Lady, who giggles gleefully with her friend, Violet, already tipsy and stuffing chocolates into their mouths.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Ron mutters as the four of you stroll down the hallway.

You shrug, “It’s Christmas, after all.”

Ron shrugs as you both continue to amble lazily down the hallway. Closing your eyes, you sink into the moment, allowing the excitement bubbling up inside of you to overflow. There’s just so much to be happy about; you’re surrounded by your best friends, it’s Christmas and tonight is arguably the most exciting night of the school year; the Yule Ball.

Your eyes flutter when you open them, your lips cracking into a giddy grin as you glance at Harry. He’s murmuring with Hermione, one hand in his pocket while the other fidgets with his glasses. He spots you staring and clears his throat, scratching awkwardly at the nape of his neck. Hermione and Ron glance at each other and Ron unhooks his arm from around your shoulders.

“We’ll catch up with you in a moment,” Harry says to Hermione as she and Ron walk ahead of you.

“What is it, Harry?” You ask, smiling softly. Harry dips his hand into his pocket to fish out a small box.

“I wanted to give you this myself,” Harry explains, cheeks brushed an adorable shade of pink. He looks so cute like this, all boyish nerves, sheepish and bashful.

Beaming, you take the box from his hand and eagerly unwrap the gift, littering the ground with wrapping paper in your excitement. Harry swoops down to collect the pieces of paper, twisting it nervously as you remove the last of the wrapping paper, revealing your gift.

You gasp, smiling down at a beautiful, diamond pendant, a perfect fit for your charm bracelet. The pendant resembles a snitch, with small golden wings attached to a round diamond that winks up at you, sparkling between your fingers like a morning star. It feels ridiculously expensive in your grasp, gilded with gold and flaunting a pure, white diamond.

“This is...” you trail off, admiring it in the morning light, “Harry this is far too expensive. I-I can’t accept something like this!”

“I want you to have it,” Harry insists, wrapping his hand over yours and curling it around the pendant, “Besides, I’m a millionaire, (Y/N). The youngest in the UK, according to Witch Weekly.”

“You actually read those?” you giggle, arching a mocking brow at him.

“I kind of dug that hole myself, didn’t I?” Harry chortles, eyes shimmering, “Promise not to tell?”

“I’ll do you one better,” you smile, raising your free hand and extending your pinky finger, “Pinky promise.”

Harry hooks his pinky finger around yours and you both laugh, his laugh so carefree and gentle, lips curling into that smile, the one that rearranges the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His touch lingers on your hand, like he’s not quite ready to let you go, holding onto the moment with warm, loving hands. You’re amazed at how perfectly your hand fits in his, like two pieces of a puzzle sliding snugly together to create a perfect image in your mind.

“Thank you Harry,” you beam, finally pulling away from him, “This-this is absolutely beautiful, I’ll cherish it forever...”

You trail off, staring down at the pendant in your palm. It had been a clear, sparkling diamond before, but now, it’s beginning to change colours; a rich, ruby shade of red bleeding into the white.

“Huh,” Harry frowns down at the pendant, “I didn’t realise it changed colours.”

“Even better,” You grin as you clip your new pendant to your bracelet, rubbing it between your fingers comfortingly. Warmth surges through you at the feeling of the pendant against your skin, a reminder of the boy you love so dearly.

“I’ll think of you whenever I see it,” you beam, kissing Harry on the cheek and looping your arm through his.

Resting your head on his shoulder and sighing, the two of you follow Ron and Hermione toward the Great Hall for breakfast, a contented silence forming between the two of you. The pendant on your bracelet feels slightly heavier than the others, a special weight to it that you can’t quite describe. It makes your heart sing with joy and fills your lungs with sunlit warmth as you soak in the moment, Harry’s presence feeling welcoming and safe.

“I’ve got to ask,” you say, breaking away from Harry’s side as the two of you walk down the stairs, “Why a snitch? I mean, it’s so beautiful and I love it but I’m just curious...”

Harry pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, as though carefully stringing a reply together. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes when he answers, his hand flying through his hair in that awkward, adorable sort of way that leaves his hair even messier than before.

“Because you’re my golden snitch,” he explains, slowly, “I see you and I’m so close and you’re right there but...but when I reach out to grab you, you dart away. Sometimes, I feel like I’ll be chasing you forever, close but not close enough to catch you. And then... other times... I look at you and I think...maybe one day...”

Harry gazes at you, silently studying you.

“I’m not that far away,” you murmur, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers, “I’m always here for you. I always have and I always will.”

Harry flashes a sad smile that makes your heart ache, “I know. Just...not in the way I’d hoped.”

Harry untangles his fingers from yours and jogs down the stairs, leaving you with a strange pang in your chest, like one of your heartstrings snapped in half; a violin string straining beneath an invisible weight. Did Harry mean that he couldn’t approach you? That you weren’t supportive enough?

Suddenly, a cold, prickle of dread threads itself across the top of your scalp, crawls down your spine, settling over you like a curse, a spell, a bad omen. Your breath hitches, caught in your throat, frozen in your lungs.

Someone is watching you.

You spin around, eyes darting as you scan your surroundings, but you can’t spot anyone or anything and the feeling slips away like a ghost in the night, leaving you feeling paranoid and delirious. You swallow thickly and turn, shoving the anxiety that’s rotting your lower belly into a dark corner in your mind as you try to focus on the Yule Ball.

Fiddling nervously with your bracelet, you proceed down the flight of stairs, passing milling students and smiling weakly as they cheerily wish you a ‘Merry Christmas’.

Are you going insane? Is this little investigation that’s currently come to a dead end the little shove that pushes you over the edge of sanity? It had felt so real and the fact that you had felt it twice before seems to be a strange coincidence.

Because it’s not a coincidence. Someone had been watching you, and then they hadn’t, like shadows crawling across a wall. Someone who moves quickly and silently, stealthy, someone who has been doing it for a while. Invisible? Maybe.

You begin stockpiling mental notes, clipping them in your mind and saving them for later. Right now, you really don’t want to think about a potential stalker. You just want to think about Cedric and your mother’s wedding dress and the Yule Ball.

“Everything alright?” Ron asks you when you sit down next to him, his large hand softly patting your head.

“Yeah,” you shrug, pushing aside your feelings of unease, “I’m fine, just hungry.”

As you begin to pile food on your plate, a loud whoosh of beating wings rolls over the Great Hall, dimming the excited chatter and the scraping clang of cutlery against plates. Overhead, owls swoop down to deliver letters, hooting and snapping their beaks expectantly.

“Wow, look at that one,” someone nearby whispers in awe, followed by another murmur of admiration. A few moments later, you spot the owl they’re admiring.

A very large, very beautiful Eagle Owl soars overheard, wings shimmering in the morning light. Unlike most Eagle Owls, this owl is mostly black with droplets of gold dripping over its feathers. It’s beautiful, for sure, majestic and strong and flaunting itself as though it knows it’s beautiful.

And then it makes eye contact with you and dives rather quickly, stopping just in front of your breakfast.

“Wow,” you whisper in awe, reaching out to stroke his feathers, “You’re a bit of a show-off, aren’t you?”

He - you realise he’s a male - puffs his chest in response and nuzzles his head into your hand. You check the note attached to his foot, untangling the thread and gently pulling it free. Instead of flying away, he clips his beak and cocks his head, large, auburn eyes gazing at you almost lovingly.

You bite your lip as you read the note, scribbled in a familiar, elegant cursive.

Dear Belle Fiore,

It’s about time you received your first owl. As soon as I saw him, I knew he was meant to be yours. He’s very intelligent and has a bit of an ego, but he is also very loyal and an excellent flier.

Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you.

Merry Christmas, my sweet fiore.

All my love,

Papa

“He’s mine,” you grin, folding the note in half again and shoving it into your pocket, “My father bought him for me!”

Hermione and Harry share matching grins as they pat your new owl. Ron looks a little jealous, and you can almost hear his thoughts as he compares Pig to your owl. But you know Ron, to his core, sometimes better than he knows himself and you know that Ron is just as loyal to Pig as Pig is to Ron.

“What are you going to call him?” Harry asks, tickling your owls' feathers.

You stare at your new owl, at his distinct colourings, unique to every other owl you’ve seen, and the name comes to you in a low whisper.

“Atlas,” you beam, and Atlas hoots happily, almost in agreement.

“Atlas,” Hermione echoes, thoughtfully, “I like it!”

Grinning, you feed Atlas chunks of bacon and pieces of toast, patting his feathers gently, your father's written words coming back to you.

Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you.

***

Atlas remains by your side for most of the morning, even as you sit in the snow watching Hermione build a snowman, he’s perched on your arm, careful not to cut you with his sharp talons as you feed him little treats.

But Atlas, as beautiful as he is, can’t distract you from the paranoia leaking down the ridges of your spine and the daunting feeling of dread you’d felt when you had sworn someone was watching you. The thought makes your stomach churn with worry, haunting you, as though the eyes hadn’t taken their silent, ominous gaze off you.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Hermione asks, seriously. You shrug nonchalantly and Hermione pins you with a stern look, “There’s something wrong, I know there is.”

You lower your arm to the ground and Atlas hops off, digging his talons into the snow and giving a low hoot of disapproval, “Earlier today, I could have sworn someone was watching me...”

“When?” Hermione asks, anxiously.

“When Harry gave me his Christmas present and told me I was his ‘golden snitch.’”

Hermione blinks, “His what?”

“His snitch,” you reiterate, cheeks uncomfortably warm, “He bought me a charm for my bracelet and it was a snitch and I asked him why he chose a snitch and - well - he told me that I was like a snitch; close but never close enough for him to catch.”

Your gaze strays toward Harry, who is currently trying to shield himself behind a tree from Ginny’s barrage of snowballs. As if sensing your gaze on him, Harry turns to you, a goofy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and as you make eye contact, the smile fades. The two of you glance away from each other quickly, blushing.

“But that's beside the point,” you say, quickly, “After he left, I felt someone’s eyes on me and it was...it was frightening...”

“That’s...interesting,” Hermione mutters, brows creased in thought, “How long did the feeling last?”

“Just a few seconds,” you reply, reaching out to scoop a handful of ice and plaster it onto the snowman.

“Hmm. Maybe it was Peeves? He’s been known to do that, he enjoys creeping people out.”

You blink, relief mingling with your worry. You’d never thought of Peeves. It would explain why you wouldn’t be able to spot him and how he moves so quickly.

But the image doesn’t quite fit with that horrid, icy feeling that had crystallised your veins completely. Still, it’s the only logical explanation, and you bury that uncomfortable, sloshing swirl of anxiety beneath a relieved sigh.

“Yeah, it must have been,” you mutter, non-committal. Right now, you really don’t want to dwell on stalkers or anxiety, all you want to do is think about the upcoming Yule Ball, and your lips split into an excited smile, “Anyway, enough about that. Have you spoken to Victor?”

Hermione flushes, “Yeah. He...bought me some flowers earlier today.”

“Really?!” You gasp, grinning and poking her in the shoulder, “Hermione! You’re supposed to tell me these things!”

Hermione bites her lip sheepishly, cheeks stained a deep, crimson red, “I know, I was going to show them to you! But then...”

Hermione trails off, staring at something behind you. You straighten, dusting the snow from your gloves and glancing over your shoulder.

Luke strides toward you, hands in the pockets of his thick coat, his thick hair poking out from beneath a woollen beanie, and a wicked grin hooked across his lips.

“Lulu!” He calls out to you, breath turning to mist on his lips as he waves at you, “Hey! Looks like you got Adrien’s owl alright...”

When he approaches you, he ropes you into a one-armed hug, his body a furnace of heat as he holds you to his side. Atlas cocks his head and snaps his beak angrily, fluttering up to your shoulder and gripping you possessively.

“Looks like he’s jealous,” Luke laughs, as you extend your arm. Atlas slowly climbs down your arm, careful not to hurt you as you scratch his head reassuringly.

“You don’t have to be jealous,” you whisper, smiling, “You and my cat, Nightshade, are the babies of my heart.”

Atlas hoots happily and leaps off your arm, though not without glaring at Luke. When he hops away, you turn back to Luke, brows raised in mild surprise.

“You knew about Father’s present?”

“Yeah,” Luke shrugs, “He asked me what I think you’d like. I said an owl and he shocked us both by actually listening to me for a change.”

“Wow. You actually had a conversation with our dad without getting into an argument,” you pat Luke’s shoulder, smiling.

“Oh, fuck no. No it ended in a screaming match, it always does when I ask about...” Luke cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath, swallowing the words on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, Hermione,” he greets with a nod and a wink, “Sorry, I’m being rude. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Luke,” Hermione smiles softly at him, “Enjoy your morning?”

Luke nods, “There was an intense game of wizard chess between myself and Aiden Zabini in the Slytherin common room. The loser had to skinny dip in the Black Lake and touch the Giant Squid.”

“Judging by the lack of water, I’d say you won,” Hermione says, and Luke feigns mild offence.

“Of course I won, Hermione. Your lack of confidence in me is depressing.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and you nudge him in the ribs.

“So, did you just come to annoy us or do you have an actual reason to be here?” You tease, darting away from Luke as he reaches out to ruffle your hair.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing and I wanted to meet your owl,” Luke answers, eyes drifting to the snowman standing still behind Hermione, “Are you two going to introduce me to your new friend or are you both going to continue to be rude?”

You take Luke’s gloved hand and lead him closer to your snowman, “Luke, this is a snowman. Snowman, this is my stupid, older brother.”

“Wait, he doesn’t have a name?” Luke gasps, scandalously, “Every snowman has to have a name!”

“Well, What should we call him?” Hermione asks, a small smile flirting around the corners of her lips, “Since you suggested it...”

Luke bites his lip and stares at the snowman in silent contemplation. It’s then that you realise there’s something not quite right with Luke, different somehow. He seems...energised, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though his shoes were stuffed with springs. Like he could leap off the Astronomy tower and float away.

“So, Luke,” you begin, feeling the way your smirk spreads, “Are you the lucky bloke that scored Cho Chang as your date?”

Luke’s smile falters at its edges and he doesn’t meet your eyes when he answers, “Nah,” he shrugs, “No, I’m going with someone else.”

“Who?” Hermione pries, grinning teasingly.

Luke raises a challenging brow at her, “Guess.”

Hermione folds her arms over her chest and squints. Luke doesn’t tear his gaze away from her, smirking devilishly. Atlas lands on the snowman’s head, scratching curiously.

A look of realisation dawns on Hermione’s face and Luke nods, as if to confirm her silent question. He turns back to the snowman just as Hermione opens her mouth.

“How about Icesiah?” He suggests with a grin, “You know, instead of Isaiah?”

Hermione closes her mouth, lashes fluttering. You roll your eyes and chortle.

“Creative.”

Luke shrugs, “I try.”

“So you didn’t say who you were going to the ball with,” you pry, poking his chest, his shoulder, his cheek. Luke laughs and bats your hand away.

“I told you to guess.”

“You told Hermione to guess,” you giggle as Luke tries to grab you. Atlas hoots protectively and dives between you and Luke.

Luke juts his chin at Atlas, “He should really be up in the Owlery. Owls are nocturnal, y’know.”

Atlas gives an offended hoot at Luke’s suggestion.

“He’s obviously not tired yet,” you snip and Luke shrugs.

Now you can definitely tell what’s different about Luke; The light in his eyes is different, as though his pupils have been sprinkled with flecks of silver and gold. You watch with mingled curiosity and concern as those same eyes, shimmering bright with mischief and something you can’t read, drift to something just past you.

“Looks like someone’s waiting for you,” Luke nods at someone behind you and you follow his line of sight, spotting Cedric standing near the castle, waving at you. You wave back.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur over your shoulder, leaving Luke and Hermione behind.

The snow crunches beneath your boots, as you approach Cedric, leaving depressions to mark your path. You shrug your coat around you a little tighter, shielding more than just the cold. Your breath crystallises in front of you, plumes of dainty, soft mist, and the air burns when it hits your throat. But you smile anyway when Cedric meets you halfway, beaming as he trudges through the snow toward you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, softly.

“Hey,” you breathe, heart soaring.

Golden sunlight streams through his hair, lighting the crown of his head like a halo, an angel of the morning, an angel with no wings. You feel drawn to him, to the way his eyes sparkle, like light dancing on the ocean.

A wingless angel...

“Come for a walk with me?” He asks, offering you his arm.

You bite your lip and glance over your shoulder. Hermione and Luke chat happily as he helps her build Icesiah, one arm bent behind him as the other one pats Icesiahs head. In one fluid action, he smoothly dumps a handful of snow down the back of her coat and Hermione shrieks a surprised laugh.

Nearby, George and Ginny are chasing Ron and Harry, snowballs careening through the air. Harry meets your eyes from across the grounds and there’s a pinch to his mouth and a muscle ticking in his cheek and he doesn’t look jealous, not exactly, just...disappointed, perhaps a little sad. His words from earlier seem to echo in your ears, rattling something deep in your chest.

Sometimes, I feel like I’ll be chasing you forever, so close but not close enough to catch you...

You quickly glance away, flashing Cedric what you hope is a warm smile. Sliding your arm under his, you let Cedric take the lead.

(You’d let Cedric lead you just about anywhere)

Atlas fixes Cedric with a warning glare before giving you an affectionate peck on the ear and flying off your shoulder, flapping his large wings deliberately, as though trying to show off to Cedric and Luke.

“So,” He starts, smiling softly as he watches Atlas soar through the air, “Atlas is the newest addition to the Arden family...how is Nightshade feeling about it?”

You bite your lip, “She doesn’t know yet...I hope she doesn’t get too jealous. She’s prone to jealousy.”

Cedric laughs, a burst of warmth that melts the ice in the air, “She should know by now that she’s irreplaceable.”

“I think a part of her does,” you chuckle, “Anyway, how was your morning?”

“Pleasant, actually. My friends and I smuggled a heap of pastries from the kitchens so the whole common room smelt like a French bakery.”

You hum, imagining the rich, sweet scent, “Nice. You guys have the best common room.”

Cedric chortles, “Yeah, we really do.”

The two of you stroll past the Black Lake playing your usual game of twenty questions, laughing and soaking up each other’s company. Somehow, the conversation turns into a snowball fight, though you’re not sure when and how it changed so dramatically (That is - of course - a lie; you don’t think you could ever forget the look of sheer surprise that crossed Cedric's face with you smeared a handful of snow on his head)

And it’s just like a black and white movie, romantic and dreamy, being chased through the snow while Cedric trails close behind you, his Quidditch strength propelling him through the snow as you laugh at him teasingly. And then his arms hook around your waist and he’s spinning you in the air, holding you close, and the orchestra swells into a crescendo and this is the part when the lovers kiss, when they fall into one another when they vow to love one another for all eternity.

But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he carefully places you on your feet and you step away from him, back pressed up against the bark of a very large, very old Weeping Willow, biting your lip as he steps closer, closer, closer, tantalisingly close, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and eyes dancing and lips, chapped and soft, bent into a loving smile.

‘Pretty boy’ someone - Luke, maybe - had once said, and yes, he certainly is handsome but Cedric Diggory is so much more than just that and it shows in the way that he gazes at you like you’re the only star in his sky.

“Um,” Cedric hedges boyishly, glancing shyly at you, “I have something for you...”

You smile up at him in surprise as you accept the box, the cool silver biting into your gloved fingertips. The box alone is stunningly beautiful; an intricate, floral design carefully carved into the glinting silver, like something stolen from an Emily Bronte book. You slide your fingers over the smooth, cool surface and open it.

You gasp.

Sitting inside the silver box, cushioned on velvet, is a beautiful necklace. A small fire lily hangs from a delicate white-gold chain and in the centre of the petals is a small sapphire, winking up at you. The sentimentality of the pendant doesn’t go by unnoticed; the first time you met Cedric, he had tucked a fire lily behind your ear in an effort to cheer you up.

“Cedric,” you whisper, faintly, “This is...stunning...”

“You like it?” Cedric asks, ducking his gaze to catch yours.

“I love it,” you correct, launching yourself into his arms, hugging him around the neck and breathing in the scent of sandalwood and rich honey and Cedric, like you can inhale him and trap him inside your lungs forever.

Cedric laughs in surprise before his arms fold around your waist, holding you flush against him, lips pressed to the crown of your head. You close your eyes and sigh, nestling into him, his arms a crystal-clean oasis in the middle of a thousand-mile desert, and you don’t want to let go, not now, not ever.

After a long moment, Cedric breaks away, his smile lighting up the sun. You bite down on a grin, giggling with joy and holding the necklace up.

“Would you mind...?” You trail off, tongue sliding across the tip of your canine tooth as your lips break into a smile.

“Of course,” Cedric grins, gently taking the necklace as you turn your back to him, sliding off your coat and shuddering against the cool wind.

There’s a sense of hesitation lingering in the air as he steps toward you, his breath hot and silky on your shoulder, and your breath hitches, frozen behind your tonsils as you feel the flutter of his hand, warm, gentle and unassuming. His finger trails up the bend of your spine like following the roads on a map, tickling the hair at the nape of your neck as he drapes the necklace around your neck. His fingers ghost across your collarbone, touch dancing on cool skin, as though he were carefully connecting constellations on your skin.

Clamping down on your quivering bottom lip, you slowly turn to him, showing off the necklace hugging your neck.

“Thank you,” you whisper, fingers reaching up to slide a gentle finger over the pendant. Cedric flashes a radiant smile and his eyes dip to your fingers, following a path down your chest and up again.

“Beautiful,” Cedric breathes, drinking you in like milk and honey, his tongue flicking over the cushion of his lower lip, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

Your cheeks glow with warmth at the intensity of his gaze, like he’s admiring a piece of fine art. There’s something contagious in the way he stares, something that splutters in your lower belly, molten-hot and warming your entire body.

Static crackles in the air.

Laughter echoes in the distance.

And - just like that - Cedric shakes himself out of his thoughts, that strangely magnetic and equally disarming hunger swallowed up by the Cedric you’re so familiar with.

“You must be cold,” he states, rushing to wrap your coat over your shoulders. His arm brushes against yours and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing at him through your lashes.

If there is one thing that you learned today, it is that you love Cedric Diggory in any shape and form, but especially when he’s hungry.

***

You suppose there is a bit of humour in the fact that everything you’re wearing right now has been given as a gift to you.

Cedric's necklace, sitting pretty around your neck, sparkles and winks at your reflection. Your mothers' wedding dress cascades off your skin, waves of tulle and silk pooling around your feet. The warm glow of the dormitories candlelight glints off the white diamonds planted carefully in the centre of soft petals, shimmering like the dressmaker had stolen stars from the sky and stitched them into the skin of the dress.

You and Hermione had to make adjustments to the wedding dress, as the train was two metres long and there were several layers of tulle that probably would have frightened Cedric into believing he was actually marrying you. And, though you had entertained that fantasy in a million different scenarios, scaring your date off was not something you wanted to do for your first ball.

Anticipation climbs up your throat and inches itself across your lips into a smile as your hands grasp a handful of the delicate fabric of your dress and rub it between your fingers.

“You look beautiful,” Hermione coos, beaming at you. She looks as though she may cry.

You bite down on a girlish giggle, fingers playing with Cedric’s necklace as you turn to face Hermione.

“Don’t you dare cry,” you warn, pointing a shaky finger at her, “If you start crying, I’ll start crying and we’ll both be a snotty mess.”

Hermione snorts a laugh, shaking her head as you gather the delicate material in your hands and step toward her, looping your arms around her and hugging her.

“You look so gorgeous, Hermione,” you whisper into the shell of her ear, “You’ll be turning heads and breaking hearts for sure.”

The two of you break away and she laughs.

“Me? You’re the prettiest girl in school. If anyone is going to turn heads and break hearts, it’s you.”

You playfully nudge her shoulder with your own, rolling your eyes and barely managing to smother the flush of warmth crawling up your neck.

“We both look fucking sexy,” you grin, raising your chin and unfurling your spine, “Lets knock ‘em dead!”

Hermione throws her head back in a laugh and the two of you loop arms, gliding down the stairs of the girls dormitory toward the common room.

“You’re meeting Victor outside the Entrance Hall, yeah?” You ask and Hermione nods, giving you a questioning look.

“Same,” you breathe, nervous energy suddenly spilling into your lower gut. You sigh, breath trembling on your lips.

Hermione squeezes your hand.

“You look beautiful,” Hermione murmurs, flashing you a reassuring smile, “He’s going to love you even more than he already does. Trust me.”

You chew anxiously on your bottom lip, taking a deep breath in and exhaling shakily, faintly, as you enter the common room and step out of the portrait hole.

People stop to stare when you and Hermione walk past. It’s strange, unnerving, grating - really - gapes and whispers following you as you and Hermione head toward the Entrance Hall. It makes your stomach curl in mingled self-consciousness and embarrassment and maybe a little bit of pride because yes, this is your mothers dress, and yes it was as beautiful as she was, as though she had taken some of her beauty and stitched it into the gown and a part of you is anxious about what Cedric will think but the other part - the other part that knows him, that loves him - is excited.

Finally, you and Hermione arrive at the top of the stairs to the Entrance Hall. You spot Cedric and Victor chatting in light conversation and Hermione bleats a nervous laugh.

“Well, here it goes,” she chuckles and you squeeze her hand one last time before letting go.

Taking one careful step at a time, the two of you slowly descend the stairs. Cedric slants a glance at you and then he does a double take.

His eyes widen, jaw-dropping.

Your heart flutters, takes flight, soars.

Cedric gazes at you as though he’s just stepped into a daydream, caught in a trance, his eyes never leaving yours. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe, feet rooted to the spot, like a moonstruck groom at the end of the aisle, watching his blushing bride glide toward him. And - maybe ten years from now - this exact scenario might unfold but in a different setting. For now, all you can focus on is this moment, this very important bookmark in time.

He meets you at the base of the stairs, rushing forward as though pulled to you by some invisible, magnetic force.

“Wow,” He murmurs, eyes sweeping over you hungrily, not sure where to look first, “You look - I mean - you are - absolutely s-stun-beautiful. Angelic.”

Warmth flares in your cheeks, “It’s the dress...And the necklace.”

Cedric licks his lips, shakes his head, “No. it’s you. You are...you are exquisite.”

Your tongue laves across your bottom lip, and that same hunger leaks into Cedric's eyes as he follows the movement and it’s thrilling and it’s disarming and it’s so unlike the Cedric the world knows and maybe that’s what makes it so damn beautiful.

“(Y/N)?”

You’re yanked out of your trance by a familiar voice and you turn, finding Luke standing behind you.

“Holy shit,” he curses, standing back to admire you, “You-you look...” a pained expression flits across his face, eyes misty, “...you look like - like her. Like mum.”

Eyes welling with tears, you throw yourself into Luke’s arms and he holds you close for a long moment. You break away, blinking back the tears wanting to roll down your cheeks and Luke beams proudly at you.

“She’d be so proud of you, y’know,” he murmurs, voice husky and low.

You nod, lips pressing together to stop yourself from crying, “She’d be proud of you, too.”

“Excuse me, but who are you?” A French, frilly voice snips sharply from behind you. You break away from Luke, finding Fleur Delacour standing behind you. Her arms are crossed over her chest, silvery hair flowing over her shoulders. She looks beautiful, even though her expression is pinched into a look of slight jealousy.

“Oh, right, you two haven’t officially met,” Luke says, shaking his head, “So, Fleur, this my little sister, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Fleur, my date.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, “Your date?”

Luke furrows his brows, “Don’t sound so shocked, you’ll offend Fleur. She’s more than worthy to be my date.”

Fleur rolls her eyes and prods him in the ribs with the sharp edge of her elbow, “I’m doing you a favour.”

Luke bends down and kisses her cheek, “And I’m just joking, of course. I feel like the luckiest boy in the world right now.”

“That’s because you are,” you retort, earning a chortle from Fleur. She smiles, and it seems to glow as though she’s bathed in moonlight.

“So, you’re Luke’s little sister,” Fleur says, her eyes glittering.

“Unfortunately,” you tease in French, the accent rolling off your tongue, and Fleur gives a surprised laugh.

“I have a little sister too,” she replies in French, and you can tell she’s trying to fight back a proud grin, “She’s back in France.”

“Do you think she’ll come over for the second and third task?”

“I hope so,” Fleur sighs, just as Professor McGonagall claps for everyone’s attention.

Students begin to stream into the Great Hall, leaving just the four champions and their dates. Realising what’s going on, you turn back to Fleur, who’s startling blue eyes are already on you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N),” she smiles at you, taking Luke’s arm as he finishes a murmured conversation with Cedric.

“You too, Fleur,” you grin, already imagining Ron’s face when you tell him you’ve actually had a proper conversation with Fleur Delacour.

Fleur tugs Luke away by the elbow, who seems reluctant to end his conversation with Cedric. As you wait for them to finish up, you spot Harry stealing glances at you and your breath hitches. He seems to be struggling to keep his eyes off you, fighting hard with a jelly-like resolve. You flash him a small smile and wave and Harry turns away.

When Luke and Fleur leave to line up in front of the procession Professor McGonagall ordered, you cock your head at Cedric and give him a careful slide glance.

“What was that about?” You whisper, sliding your arm under his, and Cedric shakes his head dismissively.

“Nothing,” he reassures, though there is an adorable, moon crescent furrow in his brow.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Professor McGonagall asks.

There are a couple of nods and murmured answers and Professor McGonagall spins on the clunky heel of her Mary Janes, striding toward the large, wooden doors.

You shoot Hermione a nervous glance over your shoulder, to where she stands behind you, and she grins nervously.

Professor McGonagall pushes the doors open.

Your breath hitches.

***

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thisishawkins · 5 years

Text

The Parting Glass

This is the follow-up to The Beautiful Ones. I didn’t expect to write this, it just kind of happened. Please, enjoy!

- K

____________

Of course, you did not expect to die in Teller-Morrow parking lot. But, you had a feeling, and stinging realization, really, that you'd die young.

After all, Teller deaths are early-onset and bloody.

Gemma was catatonic.

She was the last to arrive to the lot, tires screeching and leaving hot, black marks on the cement.

The sound rang in her ears when she spotted Jax clutching someone, his upper-half huddled over whoever it was. But, the white Cortez adorned feet gave it away.

Opie had tried to tell her it was you, but she had hung up the phone as soon as, “You need to come to the lot.”, left his mouth.

Her stomach dropped and her mind raced simultaneously, pushing her to book it out of her Cadillac, leaving the door wide open, and the headlights cast over the dark lot.

The ambulance was parked nearby, having already pronounced your status, but Jax wouldn’t let you go, at least until Gemma arrived.

She pushed through the guys, wishing that her eyes were deceiving her, that this was just another nightmare.

One of her children was holding the other, one moving and one not.

She couldn't recollect what happened after.

Out of all the things Jax had witnessed and done, this scared him the most: his mother in this barely responsive stupor.

She'd been in it since the ambulance took your body.

Her throat was still sore from her anguished yells and wails.

She sat at the head of her kitchen table, smoking the last of her morning blunt, the arm holding it balanced on the other as she stared off into space.

Jax just stood to her right, placing his keys on the countertop as he stared at his mother, tears building at the rims of his eyes.

“Ma.”, his voice broke.

He'd slept four or five hours, max, in the near two days since you'd passed.

Gemma didn't even react, her gaze still focused elsewhere.

Jax took a couple steps closer, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Mom.”, he repeated just a touch louder.

She looked at him then, his face seeming like a beacon in the darkest of night.

She quickly stubbed the blunt out, still looking at her son, her only child left. A sad smile replaced her unreadable expression, and a tear crept down her cheek.

“Jackson.”, she replied gently.

She stood up from her chair, bringing him to her in a tight embrace, closing her eyes as she felt more tears coming.

Jax held her just as tight, a lone tear making its way down to his mouth.

He heaved suddenly, grief bunched up in his chest and sorrow in the back of his throat.

“We have to bury her.”, he told her.

Gemma slowly pulled away and looked at her son, seeing the pain in his eyes made her fragile heart crumble even more.

She nodded, “I know, baby, I know.”

Though Teller-Morrow was closed, Gemma was in the office anyway, grabbing a couple of photos of her three children that she had in the desk, pulling them out every once in awhile.

As she ducked down to look into the drawer, there was a distinct knock on the doorway between the office and the shop.

“Sorry to bother you, Gemma, but I have to give you this.”

Her head popped up then, her left hand pushing her bangs away from her vision.

Chucky held an envelope in his non-wooden hand, his eyes glassy as they spotted the broken-down state of Gemma, something that looked so foreign on the Queen of the Bikers.

Brows pulled together, she stood up from the office chair, stepping toward Chucky.

He gave her a small smile as he handed her the envelope.

Before she could say anything, he was gone, walking back through the garage.

She flipped it over in her hands to reveal one word on the front.

Mom

She immediately recognized the handwriting.

She snatched her glasses from the desk and placed them on the bridge of her nose, her eyes scanning the word over and over.

Slowly stepping toward and sitting down on the worn, plaid office couch, she passed her thumb over the inked words, as if memorizing their feeling.

Gemma opened it carefully, not wanting to ruin it, remembering that you always folded the tab in, never licked the stale glue to seal it because of the taste. A smile nearly made its way to her lips at the memory.

She slipped the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it.

Mom, it said in black, thin script.

If you're reading this, I've gone to wherever Thomas and Dad are.

Please do not get lost in your grief over me. That is easier said than done, but it will only ruin you and break the club more. And nobody wants that, especially me.

Although I've had my misgivings about this life, I know that I made the right choice by staying. There was no me without my family or the club.

I have to admit, this life has been good, despite our definite misfortunes. You, Dad and Clay built an empire, and raised us the best you could. The club is our family, even if it is messy, brutal, and completely insane. But, I'm glad it was my life, even if at times I told you that I wanted out.

However I left this world, I want you to focus on our love and what we had rather than what you've lost. Family is the only thing we have, you taught me that. So, cherish life as it is now. Love Jax, Tara, the boys, Opie, and the club more because I'm not there to do it.

Remember that time when you took Jax and I to Big Sur, when Dad was in Ireland? That was one of the best days of my life. Even though we were all still grieving over Thomas, I felt happy. Like I could still feel that even though we had already been through so much.

It made me realize that as long as I had my family, that my big brother and my mother were safe, everything would be okay.

So, in the end, you will be okay, too.

Thank you for always being the most strong and supportive mother that a daughter could ever ask for.

I will love you forever, and I will see you again.

Y/N

Gemma didn't want it to end, because she could hear it as if you were in the room with her.

So, she read it twice more, tears covering her all the while.

Before she could read it another time, she heard the rumbling of a bike.

Pushing herself up from the low perch of the couch, she walked up to the blinds, two polished fingers spreading two apart.

It was Clay, not Jax.

She watched as he gingerly got off of his bike.

He began to make his way towards the office, but he stopped, looking back.

She knew what had caught his attention.

The cement was still stained with your blood.

_________

Opie was at a loss, really.

Like with Donna’s death, he needed retribution. Revenge was the name that would haunt him, nothing else, and his dreams would be a plague on his mind until he retrieved it.

But, this was a different hurt, much deeper. It only made him feel worse, feel guilty. But, why?

Lyla had taken the kids to the park, giving Opie the time and space to cope.

But, he would never fully cope. Not him, not Jax, not Gemma, not anyone.

He was standing in the kitchen, nursing his third cup of coffee, and the house was silent, cold even.

There was a knock at the front door, and Opie immediately set his mug down before stocking over to the front door.

He jerked it open, revealing a small, twitchy man.

Chucky.

Brows pulled together, Opie grumbled, “What’re you doing here, Chucky?”

He opened his mouth then closed it, not really knowing how to begin.

Instead, Chucky settled with holding up an envelope.

Opie beckoned him with his hand, and Chucky handed it to him.

He looked down at its face, and it read in a familiar script.

Harry

Before he could ask Chucky, he was already pulling out of his driveway.

Opie barely remembered to close the door.

Leaning against the counter, next to his mug, he opened the envelope, unfolding the neatly folded contents.

Opie,

The front got your attention, didn’t it?

He smiled for once, thinking about the amused expression that had to have been on your face when writing that.

You know, thinking about when we started calling you ‘Opie’ makes my head spin. Feels like another world away, and it is.

Anyway, if you have this letter, it means I’m gone.

However I died, I hope it doesn’t leave wounds too deep. The club doesn’t need more baggage, more weakness.

I hope it’s not too much to ask a few things of you, considering the circumstances.

Look after Jax. I know that he can take of himself, but he’s much better when he has his brother on his side. That is asking a lot, with all the shit that has gone on, but whether you think so or not, he is on your side. Always has, always will be.

He is going to get reckless, we both know that. He’ll get lost in the pain and revenge. And whoever killed me, that’s exactly what they want. So, don’t let him, the club, feed into that. Don’t allow that hole in our family, our club, expose us to our enemies. You can avenge me, but try and do it quick, and get over it. The club has worse things to worry about.

So, please don’t go chasing my ghost.

You don’t deserve more pain, you carry around enough, so I’m sorry for putting this on you. I wish I could have helped you more than I could have. Truth is, Ope, I’ve been in love with you since I was nine years old. You’ve been my savior, my best friend. Don’t be mad that I never said anything. You’ve had Donna, and Lyla, and you need them. They make you happy. I couldn’t ruin that, even if you did feel the same.

Cherish Lyla and your kids. She’s good for you, and your kids need you.

And, once my death is settled, make Jax realize his place. He told you once - you can’t be half in, half out. So, he can’t either. Get rid of Clay, whether it be Mayhem or cutting him off. The club needs it.

Wish I had the chance to tell you this in person.

I love you.

Y/N

He placed the letter onto the counter, and his hands went into his hair before they covered his face.

Opie loved you, he knew that now.

He shook his head, hands still covering his now stinging eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”, he mumbled, voice breaking, “I love you, too.”

_________

Tara lowered Thomas into his crib, having just fallen asleep after over an hour of crying for Jax.

She was defeated, to say the least.

Not just with the boys, because they could sense that something was off.

Abel had even asked where his Aunt was, and if he could go visit her later.

Luckily, Jax was there to explain things as lightly as possible.

Though she'd witnessed and fixed many people in her career, she'd never been so scarred from failing to help you. And seeing Jax, Gemma, and the club in such a mess made her feel worse.

If she couldn't help you, or her family, what was she to do? Afterall, if it wasn't for her not having a weapon, you probably wouldn't be laying in the morgue at St. Thomas.

Although Jax didn't blame her, she had a feeling that Gemma might, which was a storm that she wasn't ready to endure.

“Alright, Abel, ready for a bedtime story?”, she asked him with a tired, gentle smile as she walked into his bedroom.

He sat up in his bed, with three books that he was silently picking through with a round of 'eenie-meenie-minie-mo’.

He finished before he nodded, hugging the chosen one to his tiny chest.

She sat on the edge of his bed, and Abel gave her the book.

“These are some nice choices, Abel. We've never read these before.”, Tara commented, eyes scanning over them.

“They are ones that Aunt Y/N gave to me.”, Abel's small voice replied, his mind remembering when she took him to buy them.

Tara gazed at him for a second, feeling tears prickle at the edges of her eyes, blinking them away.

“You're such a smart boy.”, she told him, heart clenching.

He beamed.

Tara began reading the book he picked, but near the end, he asked her, “When will I get to see Aunt Y/N, again?”

She stopped mid-sentence. It took Tara all that was left in her not to tear-up. Instead, she let out a small sigh, and shifted her eyes from the vibrant pages to Abel's blue, Teller eyes.

“Someday. She's gone away for a little while. Remember what Daddy said?”, she tenderly replied.

“She's with Grandpa.”, he responded.

“That’s right. And even though she's not here, she's still with you right here, okay?”, she said, pointing to his heart.

“Okay.”, Abel answered, a small frown slowly forming.

Tara finished the book, tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and walked toward the light-switch.

“Mommy?”, Abel asked, and Tara turned around.

“Can I write a letter to Aunt Y/N?”

Tara's heart sank, barely being able to smile, and nodded.

“You can tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”, he smiled.

“Good night.”, she told him.

“‘Night, Mommy.”

It was around 8:30, and it was nearly dark outside when Tara's phone rang. The caller ID said it was the office phone at the garage.

“Hello?”, she said, expecting Gemma or one of the guys to reply.

“Tara, it's Chucky.”

“Oh.”, she replied, surprised, “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean, Jax and the guys are fine.”, he explained, “I just have something for you. From Y/N.”

Confused, she sputtered, “O-okay.”

“Is it alright if I bring it to you? I don't mean to intrude or-”

“Oh, no, no, it's fine.”, Tara told him. She was still confused, and a little worried.

“Okay, I'll be right over.”, he answered, not really knowing how to end the call.

Sensing this, she told him, “See you soon.”

Twelve minutes later, Chucky was at the front door.

Tara looked through the peep-hole before she answered, feeling the cold metal of the hand-pistol in her backside that Jax gave her.

She opened the door, and Chucky supplied his small, slightly uncomfortable smile that was normal for him.

He took something from his back pocket, and it revealed to be a single envelope that had Tara's name on its front.

Taking it in hand, she stated, “Thank you.”, meeting his anxious eyes.

He offered a quirk of a smile and a nod before making his way back to his car.

She shut the door, and turned all of the locks, brows pulled together and her mouth set into a small frown.

Stopping a second to make sure that Thomas wasn't crying, she continued on toward the kitchen table, taking a seat.

Tara glanced at the front once more before opening the creme envelope.

Tara,

If this has made its way to you, I am no longer with you.

I know we've had our differences, but I want you to know that I love you, and am glad that you are with Jax, the mother of my nephews, and my sister.

I cannot emphasize enough how important you are to our family and the club.

With that in mind, please decide on the life you want with us. I can except and completely understand your desire to leave and have Jax leave with you, but make that decision final. Do not keep switching sides. Either stay and replace Gemma, or leave and rebuild. If you don't make it clean-cut, it's going to be bloody.

And I do not want you to get hurt, especially because of the boys. They need you, and so does Jax and the club. And Gemma, whether she would ever admit that or not.

Tara mouth quirked up into a smile at that, allowing herself to cry.

I'm happy that we've grown closer, finally another woman other than my Mother to share the struggle of being amongst the sea of (stinky) men. God, have you smelt some of them lately?

Tara chuckled through her tears, feeling as if she was sitting across the table from you rather than reading your last words to her.

Anyway, you get my point. When the time comes, let the boys choose what they want. Imagine, Thomas a doctor and Abel an auto-mechanic/biker, or maybe even reversed.

I know that both you and Jax don't want this life for them. Truth be told, I don't either. But, I don't think we really have a choice in the matter.

Just take care of them, and my brother. Remember, all of us love them.

Good luck.

Love,

Y/N

By the end, Tara was pacing around the kitchen.

“Dammit, Y/N.”, she thought, carefully sliding the letter back into the envelope.

She wondered if anyone else had received letters, and when she would expect Jax home, in her arms and clean of the blood he was bound to be spilling.

___________

Needing something to do other than think about you and club business, Chibs was fixing up a bike that a retiree had brought in a few days ago.

He had just taken a break, failing to scrub away the oil and grease that had worked it way into the divots of his handprints, when Chucky walked into the garage.

“Aye, Chucky.”, Chibs greeted.

“Chibs.”, he nodded, “I-uh, need to give you this.”

He handed the letter to Chibs, and without a word, like with Gemma, he was gone.

Chibs's brown eyes studied the front of the envelope, which in thin, black script read Filip.

He opened it with care, hoping to not taint it too much with his soiled prints.

Chibby,

If this letter is in your Marlboro-loving hands,

He grinned at the comment, though sadness still evident in his eyes.

I am no longer here to steal more cigarettes from them.

The grin immediately disappeared.

I am so thankful for you, my Scotsman, one of the best men I've ever known.

Although Jax and Gemma are bound to get lost in their grief, despite me writing letters to them as well, you need not get lost in it, too. Focus on fixing the club rather than revenge. It'll blind everyone from what SAMCRO needs instead of giving it what it deserves.

I know you will do the right thing, not matter what it takes.

Whatever happens, make sure you and your family are safe, and that my family and the club are settled. You and Bobby are the only ones that I trust to do what is best for all of us.

Please, take care of them. Help Jax. We both love you so much.

I'll see you later, ready to share another smoke and a smile.

Love,

Y/N

A couple of tears met his salt and pepper goatee and jawline.

Filip Telford would always miss you.

___________

It was near one in the morning when Jax finally parked his bike into the lot.

It took a big part of him to not look at the stained cement, another permanent reminder that his little sister was dead.

He'd found some leads about who was responsible for your murder and why, the specks of blood on his Air-Force Ones were evidence of that.

Your wake was tomorrow, and it seemed like he was barely close to finding any answers. It drove him mad.

Your death was also a nail in the coffin to his fate. He was going to die bloody, too. After all, that's what Tellers do.

For once, he was the only one in the lot.

He strode into the clubhouse, going towards Church.

Turning the knob and opening the door, his eyes were already set on the gavel.

It and the reaper were bathing in moonlight, beckoning him over.

He didn't sit down at his throne. Instead, he looked from the moon to the gavel, tracing the gavel with his fingers, noting the way his rings caught the light, contemplating how life got to this.

Jax's blue eyes flickered to his seat. Something white sat on the black leather.

A letter.

His heart stopped at the all-too-familiar script written on the front.

Jax took it in hand, before going straight from the table to the bar, grabbing a beer.

Before he knew it, his hands and feet were climbing up the ladder to his favorite spot, the chirping of crickets accompanying his steps.

It wasn't until he had taken a sip of his beer that he opened the envelope and retrieved the letter.

Jax,

I'm gone, and I'm not coming back.

I know it's in our blood, but please do not get lost in the hatred, the revenge, the self-loathing. That's asking a lot, but I don't need you to die with me. Everyone needs you.

Dad didn't want this for us, and I know that he was right in wanting that. But honestly, who would we be without the club?

A smile full of sorrow crept onto his face, his eyes already glassy.

Once you've sought revenge, leave it at that. Get Clay out of the picture. I don't care if we still need him. We are all better cutting that tie.

Then, lead this path away from a bloody end. One of us has to make it out.

Get the club out of all of this mess. Whatever you have to do, do it, because someone else is going to die along with me if it continues.

I've been thinking about everything for awhile. What Dad did, his manuscript, what Mom and Clay have done, and what's in our hands. You and I have wanted out at some point, but we've always came back. Why? What is so alluring? The violence? The power? Is it fate?

Are we the good or the bad ones?

I wish I had these answers. If one of us did, life would be different, and much less gruesome.

I'm sorry that you and Tara didn't get the life you wanted together. You both deserve happiness. The boys deserve a future without all of this. But if fate is real, it has other plans.

If we had a choice in the matter, I'd be alive, right?

Do not make our parents mistakes. Set things right. I'm sorry that I'm not there to help you do that.

And, do not put my death on yourself, like I know you will. The weight you carry is unimaginable. I wish I would be there still to help lessen the burden.

Take care of our family, and our club.

I love you, big brother. I hope I won't see you soon.

Good luck,

Y/N

Jax wiped away the wetness that coated his face as he stuffed the letter into his kutte.

What would he do without you?

At that, his gaze landed on the bleak night sky, only a few stars blinking back him.

He stared at the biggest, closest one.

“Hi, little sis.”, he greeted aloud, a trembling smile making its way onto his exhausted face.

“I will.”, Jax told you, nodding, “I will.”

#my post #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #soa #masterlist #mine #enjoy punks!

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simplynotaneggworks · 4 years

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Bridge

Fandom: N/A Ship: Anonymous (OC) x Emily (OC) Rating: Older Audiences Warning: Car accident, Death, Suicide, Cancer, Orphanage Word Count: 2064 Words A/N: So in May?? I submitted this piece to a place for a competition that was offering VERY large sums of prize money. Long story short, I poured my heart and soul into this work, and even played to the judges areas of expertise, and I ... lost. I was emailed the following month and told that my story was not even considered for the top 3, which angered me because, you know, you work so hard and are so proud of something and then you literally get told “it’s not good enough for us.”

Anyway, this story is what the title says: Bridge. Because bridge can mean many different things. It’s a bittersweet story, yet also fairly depressing because I write sad things better than other things for some odd reason.

It’s funny; how emotions can be inflicted by the way something smells or tastes or feels to the touch. How emotions can be inflicted by sound or sight or just the energy of certain places. How emotions can be inflicted by hearing a simple word.

Bridge. That’s the word that does it for me. Every time I see or hear or even think of the word, there’s always a mix of emotions attached to it with a fantastically strong bond. Sometimes the word brings me joy, sometimes it brings me fear, sometimes it brings me great anger and sadness.

It’s funny; how the brain works in the way it does. Experiencing events and collecting memories before processing them and hiding them away in the darkness. For years, these memories can go undiscovered, but then, all of a sudden, a sense or a word causes them to erupt from the dark chasms of the mind.

I was eight when my parents died. Dad’s car was getting repairs done so Mum had to drive to him straight after work, to pick him up and bring him home to us. I knew there was something wrong when it was dinnertime and there was still no sign of them. That was when they came for me, the bad people. The bad people that took me away from my home and put me somewhere filled with parentless children, broken promises and lost hope. It was the morning after when I was finally told what had happened. A drunk driver was on the wrong side of the road going a hundred kilometres an hour. She hit my parents head-on. The bridge was closed for two days after the accident.

When I was sixteen, I had had enough. The world had turned on me indefinitely, and I had reached a breaking point. I tried to fight, but I was already weak, which led to me giving in to temptation. The sky was clear, and the sun was just starting to peek out of hiding, in the distance. The trees began to rustle as the wind picked up while the birds began to wake up for the day, chirping and singing, trying to convince me in some way that life was the most beautiful thing in existence. The cold water rushed promisingly below, down towards a towering waterfall that ended in jagged rocks that could cut clean like a knife. It had rained the last few days, filling up the river drastically. If I had come a few days before down below would have just been cracked mud and sharp, pointed stones. The water was a small comfort to my impeding demise. Water and rocks don’t hurt as much as dirt and stones.

But then I saw her, carefully stepping onto the abandoned bridge, cautiously approaching me. She had to be around my age, perhaps a year or two younger. I didn’t know who she was, nor did she know me, but that didn’t stop her from rescuing me. Saving me from my solitude and battling with the darkness that surrounded me.

One year later we stood together, on that same bridge, talking for hours on end before, finally, she kissed me. That was the day I fell in love, for the first time in what seemed to be forever.

Suddenly life became a beautiful thing. But it also began to race by me at lightning speed and I no longer appreciated things that I appreciated before, like waking up in the morning or how it felt to have a warm shower. I even stopped appreciating how it felt to be loved and cherished and cared for.

I was twenty-two when I proposed to the love of my life. More or less I had done it because of what was happening. I was falling into the darkness of my mind, once again, all because I felt bad for not being able to appreciate anything anymore. I knew that maybe, it was because I had become so used to being happy, that I just forgot to appreciate the big and smalls of life. People did that every day, didn’t they? But it still made me feel awful like I was being dishonest in some strange metaphorical way.

The day was good enough. The sky was overcast, giving the day a permanent dull look to it, even though the sun still shined out in some spots. The winds were strong, and the air was practically freezing, but everything would still be okay, the day would still go on as planned.

There was nothing fancy about what happened. Even the ring was sub-par at best, considering we didn’t have the most money in the world. It was just her and me on the bridge that had connected us, many years beforehand. Even then, she still said yes, and she cried for hours after. We were both happy.

But everything changed that afternoon. We were walking home and we started to argue. She had taken the ring off and thrown it away, never to be seen again. Long ago, when everything had just started between us, we had made the promise to not engage in such a deep, lifelong commitment, not until the two of us were better and happier and actually enjoying life. When I remembered such a thing I was angry, not because she wasn’t going to let us marry, but because for years she had been lying to me. I yelled at her. I shouted, I screamed, I cried. I let her know how I felt; betrayed, confused, broken. She never once said a word though. She listened to me, she listened to my anger, and never once did she flinch or shed a tear or defend herself. Instead, when I was done, she held me close, then she ran.

She ran back in the direction we came from and all of a sudden sheer adrenaline and terror pumped through the veins of my body. I ran after her going as fast as my legs would carry me. I called her name desperately, I apologised over and over again. I promised her I would never ever yell or scream or shout at her again; I promised her I would love her forever. But it didn’t help; it didn’t stop her. Nothing could have stopped her.

In the years that followed I tried all that I could to forget about that day. As time passed I managed to forcefully shove the memories away during my waking hours, but at night I was still haunted. Haunted by that bridge that held so many precious memories of the two of us. Haunted by that bridge where, after running for so long, she had finally come to a stop. Haunted by that bridge where she turned to me and smiled a bright smile before leaping over the edge.

I’ll never forget what she looked like when she was down below. I can’t forget; I still see her in my dreams, or in this case, my nightmares. I still see her body, laying limply against the dark, cracked mud. I still see her body, laying mangled and beaten by the sharp stones pointing up from the ground like millions of tiny daggers waiting patiently for their next victim. I still see her body, floating away on the river as the heavy rain fell from the sky, the fear of realising her mistake still captured in her wide, dead eyes.

After that day, I was lost eternally. And it was moments like this, moments like what I was facing now, where I needed to be found.

A few months ago, I passed out while out shopping. I was found by a store employee, laying in a puddle of spilt milk. That’s what I was told, anyway. I remember waking up days later. My head felt like it was being crushed by a tonne of bricks, and I felt as if my body was being weighed down by some invisible force. I couldn’t lift my arms or my legs. I couldn’t do anything I used to do.

The doctors said it was a cancerous tumour, growing on my spinal cord, which explained my loss of nerve function. It was too late to remove it though, without causing significant damage that could leave me completely paralysed for the rest of my life. Even then I was still presented with the option of surgery. But I said no.

I had nothing else to live for. My parents had been dead for a little over two decades, I had no other family; because if I did I wouldn’t have been sent to that awful place after the accident. And Emily, my dear, sweet Emily. It had been ten years ago now since she had gone. Her life cruelly ripped away by the darkness that had shadowed the both of us from such a young age. Life had stopped being worth living after she had gone. The only reason I didn’t follow her that day was because I wanted to try. I wanted to try to prove to her that I would be okay, that she hadn’t hurt me after what had happened, and that I could feel happiness again.

But it had all been a lie. I never did find happiness again. I can’t remember the last time I laughed or smiled, I wouldn’t be able to do such a thing, even if I tried. All things good just came to a stop that day, never to begin again.

The light was becoming stronger, and I felt as though I was falling peacefully. It’s funny; how people, since the dawn of creation, have theorised about where we go after death. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, to make it known to us that even at the very end of our lives, it’ll all be okay.

Ever since I could remember I was fascinated by such a concept; of life after death. I didn’t necessarily believe in such a thing. I didn’t really believe that anything ever happens after death. Always, I believed that we just fall asleep in a way and fall into total darkness. A darkness filled with nothing. No thought, no sight, no feeling; nothing.

A part of me still believed such a thing. But as the light continued to grow stronger and brighter, and her face began to appear, I stopped. There she was, Emily, smiling brightly at me as young and beautiful as the day she was torn from me. Her soft red waves of hair that hung loosely by her ears, her piercing blue eyes that were as calming as the sea itself, and the freckles that dotted her face like the stars in the night sky.

Then the light went away, and so did she, and I was back in my hospital bed, the moon rays shining in and illuminating the room with a soft white hue. I felt like crying for the first time in a long time. I had been so close to her that I could have reached out and felt her smooth skin and soft hair. She was right there, across the bridge, beckoning for me to follow her to the place where everything would be peaceful and happy and bright.

I did cry, and I cried for a long time. I cried about my sorrows and my hardships and everything that had gone wrong in my life. I mourned everyone I had ever loved. I cried, feeling bad for myself and how my life had played out.

And then I felt fear. The concept of death had never scared me, not until now. It was strange, and I felt guilty, all of a sudden, that I was about to leave my life behind as it was. I could have done so much better, especially in recent years. But I didn’t. The darkness had pulled me down and, this time, I couldn’t be bothered trying to escape it. This time I felt as if it wasn’t worth fighting, and now in a moment where I didn’t have an option, I wanted to fight. But I couldn’t. It was too late. Now I would forever be trapped in a darkness where the only things I could think of were my regrets in life, and I hated it. I hated myself, but it was too late.

#original #story #competition

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networkingdefinition · 4 years

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Christmas Quotes

Official Website: Christmas Quotes

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• A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man’s heart through half the year. – Walter Scott • A good conscience is a continual Christmas. – Benjamin Franklin • A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas! – John Greenleaf Whittier • A lovely thing about Christmas is that it’s compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together. – Garrison Keillor • A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world! – Charles Dickens • A song was heard at Christmas To wake the midnight sky: A saviour’s birth, and peace on earth, And praise to God on high. The angels sang at Christmas With all the hosts above, And still we sing the newborn King His glory and his love. – Timothy Dudley-Smith • A very Merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let’s hope it’s a good one Without any fear. – John Lennon • And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One! – Charles Dickens • And So This Is Christmas; And What Have We Done? Another Year Over; A New One Just Begun; And So Happy Christmas; I Hope You Have Fun; The Near And The Dear Ones; The Old And The Young. – John Lennon • And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more. – Dr. Seuss • And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans–and all that lives and move upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused–and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself. – Sigrid Undset • Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you … to remember the weakness and loneliness of people who are growing old … Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest ting in the world … stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death… Then you can keep Christmas! But you can never keep it alone. – Henry Van Dyke • Aren’t we forgeting the true meaning of Christmas? You know, the birth of Santa. – Matt Groening • At Christmas A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year; He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season’s here; Then he’s thinking more of others than he’s thought the months before, And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for. He is less a selfish creature than at any other time; When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime. – Edgar Guest • At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. – William Shakespeare • At Christmas play and make good cheer, for Christmas comes but once a year. – Thomas Tusser • At Christmas, I no more desire a rose. – William Shakespeare

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Christmas', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_christmas').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_christmas img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Be merry all, be merry all, With holly dress the festive hall; Prepare the song, the feast, the ball, To welcome merry Christmas. – William Spencer • Best of all, Christmas means a spirit of love, a time when the love of God and the love of our fellow men should prevail over all hatred and bitterness, a time when our thoughts and deeds and the spirit of our lives manifest the presence of God. – George McDougall • Bless us Lord, this Christmas, with quietness of mind; Teach us to be patient and always to be kind. – Helen Steiner Rice • Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love. It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air. – William Thomas Ellis • Bloody Christmas, here again, let us raise a loving cup, peace on earth, goodwill to men, and make them do the washing up. – Wendy Cope • But I am sure that I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round…as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely. – Charles Dickens

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Call a truce, then, to our labors – let us feast with friends and neighbors, and be merry as the custom of our caste; for if ”faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after, we are richer by one mocking Christmas past. – Rudyard Kipling • Christmas began in the heart of God. It is complete only when it reaches the heart of man.Why wait for a call when you have a command? – Robert Hughes • Christmas begins about the first of December with an office party and ends when you finally realize what you spent, around April fifteenth of the next year. – P. J. O’Rourke • Christmas can be celebrated in the school room with pine trees, tinsel and reindeers, but there must be no mention of the man whose birthday is being celebrated. One wonders how a teacher would answer if a student asked why it was called Christmas. – Ronald Reagan • Christmas day is a day of joy and charity. May God make you very rich in both. – Phillips Brooks • Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart…filled it, too, with melody that would last forever. – Bess Streeter Aldrich • Christmas gift suggestions: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. – Oren Arnold • Christmas gives us the opportunity to pause and reflect on the important things around us – a time when we can look back on the year that has passed and prepare for the year ahead. – David Cameron • Christmas hath a beauty … lovelier than the world can show. – Christina Rossetti • Christmas is … a time to mark our progress through this earthly journey. Every December we can look back and marvel at the designs of God and realize how very little we are in control of the events that shaped the past year. Then, with hearts full, look to the celebration of that silent, holy night, and all its certainty. Because of Christmas, this we know: Christ was born for us. He is love, and the plans he has for us always surpass those of our own. – Karen Kingsbury • Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today’s Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday. – Gladys Taber • Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends.” ~ (1925- ), English political leader. – Margaret Thatcher • Christmas is a necessity. There has to be at least one day of the year to remind us that we’re here for something else besides ourselves. – Eric Sevareid • Christmas is a season for kindling the fire for hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart. – Washington Irving • Christmas is a season not only of rejoicing but of reflection. – Winston Churchill • Christmas is a time in which, of all times in the year, the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong, and trouble in the world around us, should be active with us, not less than our own experiences, for all good. – Charles Dickens • Christmas is a time when everybody wants his past forgotten and his present remembered. – Phyllis Diller • Christmas is based on an exchange of gifts, the gift of God to man – His unspeakable gift of His Son, and the gift of man to God – when we present our bodies a living sacrifice. – Vance Havner • Christmas is built upon a beautiful and intentional paradox; that the birth of the homeless should be celebrated in every home. – Gilbert K. Chesterton • Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone. – Charles M. Schulz • Christmas is for children. But it is for grownups too. Even if it is a headache, a chore, and nightmare, it is a period of necessary defrosting of chill and hide bound hearts. – Lenora Mattingly Weber • Christmas is God lighting a candle; and you don’t light a candle in a room that’s already full of sunlight. You light a candle in a room that’s so murky that the candle, when lit, reveals just how bad things really are. – N. T. Wright • Christmas is more than a time of music, merriment and mirth; it is a season of meditation, mangers and miracles. Christmas is more than a time of carols, cards and candy; it is a season of dedication and decision. – William Arthur Ward • Christmas is most truly Christmas when we celebrate it by giving the light of love to those who need it most. – Ruth Carter Stapleton • Christmas is not a date. It is a state of mind. – Mary Ellen Chase • Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas. – Calvin Coolidge • Christmas is not a time or a season but a state of mind. – Calvin Coolidge • Christmas is not in tinsel and lights and outward show. The secret lies in an inner glow. It’s lighting a fire inside the heart. Good will and joy a vital part. It’s higher thought and a greater plan. It’s glorious dream in the soul of man. – Wilferd Peterson • Christmas is not just a day, an event to be observed and speedily forgotten. It is a spirit which should permeate every part of our lives. – William Parks • Christmas is sights, especially the sights of Christmas reflected in the eyes of a child. – William Saroyan • Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas and there’s no way I’d do anything to undermine that belief. – Carol Ann Duffy • Christmas is telling you that you could never get to heaven on your own. God had to come to you. – Timothy Keller • Christmas is the day that holds all time together. – Alexander Smith • Christmas is the season of joy, of holiday greetings exchanged, of gift-giving,and of families united. – Norman Vincent Peale • Christmas is the season when people run out of money before they run out of friends. – Larry Wilde • Christmas is the time when kids tell Santa what they want and adults pay for it. Deficits are when adults tell government what they want and their kids pay for it. – Richard Lamm • Christmas isn’t a season. It’s a feeling.- Edna Ferber • Christmas my child, is love in action…When you love someone, you give to them, as God gives to us. The greatest gift He ever gave was the Person of His Son, sent to us in human form so that we might know what God the Father is really like! Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas. – Dale Evans • Christmas reminds us we are not alone. We are not unrelated atoms, jouncing and ricocheting amid aliens, but are a part of something, which holds and sustains us. As we struggle with shopping lists and invitations, compounded by December’s bad weather, it is good to be reminded that there are people in our lives who are worth this aggravation, and people to whom we are worth the same. Christmas shows us the ties that bind us together, threads of love and caring, woven in the simplest and strongest way within the family. – Donald E. Westlake • Christmas to a child is the first terrible proof that to travel hopefully is better than to arrive. – Stephen Fry • Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. – Norman Vincent Peale • Christmas will always be as long as we stand heart to heart and hand in hand. – Dr. Seuss • Christmas works like glue, it keeps us all sticking together. – Rosie Thomas • Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas. – Dale Evans • Christmas… is not an external event at all, but a piece of one’s home that one carries in one’s heart. – Freya Stark • Christmas: the Son of God expressing the love of God to save us from the wrath of God so we could enjoy the presence of God. – John Piper • Did you ever notice that life seems to follow certain patterns? Like I noticed that every year around this time, I hear Christmas music. – Tom Sims • Don’t let the past steal your present. This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone. – Taylor Caldwell • England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. ‘Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale; ‘Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man’s heart through half the year. – Walter Scott • For centuries men have kept an appointment with Christmas. Christmas means fellowship, feasting, giving and receiving, a time of good cheer, home. – William Jewett Tucker • For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself. – Charles Dickens • For many of us, sadly, the spirit of Christmas is “hurry”. And yet, eventually, the hour comes when the rushing ends and the race against the calendar mercifully comes to a close. It is only now perhaps that we truly recognize the spirit of Christmas. (…) With all its temporal confusion, it may just help us to see that by contrast, Christmas itself is eternal. – Burton Hill • Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin – inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night. – John J. Geddes • From a commercial point of view, if Christmas did not exist it would be necessary to invent it. – Katharine Whitehorn • Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas. – Peg Bracken • Happy Day After Christmas, Merry Rest of the Year, even when Christmas is over, The Light of the World is Still Here! – Matthew West • Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home! – Charles Dickens • Have you any old grudges you would like to pay, Any wrongs laid up from a bygone day? -Gather them now and lay them away When Christmas comes. Hard thoughts are heavy to carry, my friend, And life is short from beginning to end; Be kind to yourself, leave nothing to mend When Christmas comes. – William Haines Lytle • Heap on more wood! – the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We’ll keep our Christmas merry still. – Walter Scott • I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses. – Taylor Caldwell • I bought my brother some gift-wrap for Christmas. I took it to the gift wrap department and told them to wrap it, but in a different print so he would know when to stop unwrapping. – Steven Wright • I can understand people simply fleeing the mountainous effort Christmas has become… but there are always a few saving graces and finally they make up for all the bother and distress. – May Sarton • I do hope your Christmas has had a little touch of Eternity in among the rush and pitter patter and all. It always seems such a mixing of this world and the next – but that after all is the idea! – Evelyn Underhill • I do like Christmas on the whole…. In its clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill. But it is clumsier every year. – E. M. Forster • I don’t think Christmas is necessarily about things. It’s about being good to one another, it’s about the Christian ethic, it’s about kindness. – Carrie Fisher • I grew up with a Christmas tree, I’m going to stay with a Christmas tree. – Thomas Menino • I have always thought of Christmas time… as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. – Charles Dickens • I hear that in many places something has happened to Christmas; that it is changing from a time of merriment and carefree gaiety to a holiday which is filled with tedium; that many people dread the day and the obligation to give Christmas presents is a nightmare to weary, bored souls; that the children of enlightened parents no longer believe in Santa Claus; that all in all, the effort to be happy and have pleasure makes many honest hearts grow dark with despair instead of beaming with good will and cheerfulness. – Julia Peterkin • I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • I love the Christmas-tide, and yet, I notice this, each year I live; I always like the gifts I get, But how I love the gifts I give! – Carolyn Wells • I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included. – Bernard Manning • I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. We try to crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year. As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year. – Ray Stannard Baker • I think commercialism helps Christmas and I think that the more capitalism we can inject into the Christmas holiday the more spiritual I feel about it – Craig Ferguson • I truly believe that if we keep telling the Christmas story, singing the Christmas songs, and living the Christmas spirit, we can bring joy and happiness and peace to this world. – Norman Vincent Peale • I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. – Charles Dickens • I wrapped my Christmas presents early this year, but I used the wrong paper. See, the paper I used said ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. I didn’t want to waste it so I just wrote ‘Jesus’ on it. – Demetri Martin • If you desire to find the true spirit of Christmas and partake of the sweetness of it, let me make this suggestion to you. During the hurry of the festive occasion of this Christmas season, find time to turn your heart to God. Perhaps in the quiet hours, and in a quiet place, and on your knees-alone or with loved ones-give thanks for the good things that have come to you, and ask that His Spirit might dwell in you as you earnestly strive to serve Him and keep His commandments. He will take you by the hand and His promises will be kept. – Howard W. Hunter • I’m dreaming of a white Christmas With every Christmas card I write May your days be merry and bright And may all your Christmases be white. – Irving Berlin • I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know. – Irving Berlin • I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, Just like the ones I used to know, Where the tree tops glisten And children listen To hear sleigh bells in the snow. – Irving Berlin • In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it “Christmas” and went to church; the Jews called it “Hanukka” and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say “Merry Christmas!” or “Happy Hanukka!” or (to the atheists) “Look out for the wall!” – Dave Barry • It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you. – Mother Teresa • It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you…yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand. – Mother Teresa • It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air. – William Thomas Ellis • It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas; Soon the bells will start, And the thing that will make them ring Is the carol that you sing Right within your heart. – Meredith Willson • Its Christmas Eve! Its the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year, we are the people that we always hoped we would be. – Bill Murray • It’s true, Christmas can feel like a lot of work, particularly for mothers. But when you look back on all the Christmases in your life, you’ll find you’ve created family traditions and lasting memories. Those memories, good and bad, are really what help to keep a family together over the long haul. – Caroline Kennedy • Let the children have their night of fun and laughter, let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play. Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures. – Winston Churchill • Let the children have their night of fun and laughter. Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play. Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again to the stern task and the formidable years that lie before us, resolved that, by our sacrifice and daring, these same children shall not be robbed of their inheritance or denied their right to live in a free and decent world.” Winston Churchill Christmas Eve Message, 1941 as printed in “In the Dark Streets Shineth. – David McCullough • Let us keep Christmas still a shining thing. – Grace Noll Crowell • Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. The birth of the baby Jesus stands as the most significant event in all history, because it has meant the pouring into a sick world of the healing medicine of love which has transformed all manner of hearts for almost two thousand years… Underneath all the bulging bundles is this beating Christmas heart. – George Matthew Adams • Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. – George Matthew Adams • Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine; Love was born at Christmas; Star and angels gave the sign. – Christina Rossetti • Mail your packages early so the post office can lose them in time for Christmas. – Johnny Carson • Mankind is a great, an immense family… This is proved by what we feel in our hearts at Christmas. – Pope John XXIII • Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn’t come from a store. – Dr. Seuss • Memories and magic is what Christmas is all about. – Lynn Johnston • My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that? – Bob Hope • Next to a circus there ain’t nothing that packs up and tears out faster than the Christmas spirit. – Kin Hubbard • Nothing’s as mean as giving a little child something useful for Christmas. – Kin Hubbard • O Christmas Sun! What holy task is thine! To fold a world in the embrace of God! – Guy Wetmore Carryl • O come all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant, O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem. – Frederick Oakeley • Oh look, yet another Christmas TV special! How touching to have the meaning of Christmas brought to us by cola, fast food, and beer… Who’d have ever guessed that product consumption, popular entertainment, and spirituality would mix so harmoniously? – Bill Watterson • On Christmas day you can’t get sore, your fellow man you must adore. There’s time to cheat him all the more the other three hundred and sixty-four – Tom Lehrer • One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books. – J. K. Rowling • One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” ~ (1919-), American writer, producer, humorist. – Andy Rooney • Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time. – Laura Ingalls Wilder • Peace on earth will come to stay, When we live Christmas every day. – Helen Steiner Rice • Remembrance, like a candle, burns brightest at Christmastime. – Charles Dickens • Roses are reddish Violets are bluish If it weren’t for Christmas We’d all be Jewish. – Benny Hill • Selfishness makes Christmas a burden; Love makes it a delight. The joy of brightening a child’s heart creates the magic of Christmas. – William Carey Jones • So every year when Christmas comes, I realize a new, the best gift life can offer is having friends like you. – Helen Steiner Rice • So if a Christian is touched only once a year, the touching is still worth it, and maybe on some given Christmas, some quiet morning, the touch will take. – Harry Reasoner • That’s the true spirit of Christmas; people being helped by people other than me. – Jerry Seinfeld • The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other. – Bill Vaughan • The charming aspect of Christmas is the fact that it expresses good will in a cheerful, happy, benevolent, non-sacrificial way. One says: “Merry Christmas”-not “Weep and Repent.” And the good will is expressed in a material, earthly form-by giving presents to one’s friends, or by sending them cards in token of remembrance . . . . – Ayn Rand • The Christmas story is as simple as was the Man himself and His teaching. SA simple as the Sermon on the Mount which still remains as the ultimate basis … of the belief of free men of good will everywhere. – Hal Borland • The Church does not superstitiously observe days, merely as days, but as memorials of important facts. Christmas might be kept as well upon one day of the year as another; but there should be a stated day for commemorating the birth of our Saviour, because there is danger that what may be done on any day, will be neglected. – Samuel Johnson • The earth has grown old with its burden of care, But at Christmas it always is young. – Phillips Brooks • The earth has grown old with its burden of care, but at Christmas it always is young, the heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair, and its soul full of music breaks the air, when the song of angels is sung. – Phillips Brooks • The joy of brightening other lives, bearing each others’ burdens, easing other’s loads and supplanting empty hearts and lives with generous gifts becomes for us the magic of Christmas. – William Carey Jones • The magi, as you know, were wise men wonderfully wise men who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. – O. Henry • The mystery of the Holy Night, which historically happened two thousand years ago, must be lived as a spiritual event in the ‘today’ of the Liturgy,” the Pope clarified. “The Word who found a dwelling in Mary’s womb comes to knock on the heart of every person with singular intensity this Christmas. – Pope John Paul II • The only real blind person at Christmas time is he who has not Christmas in his heart. – Helen Keller • The rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting. – Louisa May Alcott • The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. – Alfred Lord Tennyson • The two most joyous times of the year are Christmas morning and the end of school. – Alice Cooper • The very purpose of Christ’s coming into the world was that He might offer up His life as a sacrifice for the sins of men. He came to die. This is the heart of Christmas. – Billy Graham • The way you spend Christmas is far more important than how much. – Henry David Thoreau • The world can’t save itself. That’s the message of Christmas. – Timothy Keller • There are some people who want to throw their arms round you simply because it is Christmas; there are other people who want to strangle you simply because it is Christmas. – Robert Staughton Lynd • There is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas. – Henry Van Dyke • There is no ideal Christmas; only the one Christmas you decide to make as a reflection of your values, desires, affections, traditions. – Bill McKibben • There seems a magic in the very name of Christmas. – Charles Dickens • There’ll always be Christmas as long as a light Glows in the window to guide folks at night, As long as a star in the heavens above, Keeps shining down… there’ll be Christmas and love. – Edna Jaques • There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child. – Erma Bombeck • This is Christmas – the season of perpetual hope. – Catherine O’Hara • This is my wish for you: peace of mind, prosperity through the year, happiness that multiplies, health for you and yours, fun around every corner, energy to chase your dreams, joy to fill your holidays! – David Dellinger • Time always seems long to the child who is waiting – for Christmas, for next summer, for becoming a grownup: long also when he surrenders his whole soul to each moment of a happy day. – Dag Hammarskjold • Time was with most of us, when Christmas Day, encircling all our limited world like a magic ring, left nothing out for us to miss or seek; bound together all our home enjoyments, affections, and hopes; grouped everything and everyone round the Christmas fire, and make the little picture shining in our bright young eyes, complete. – Charles Dickens • To celebrate the heart of Christmas is to forget ourselves in the service of others. – Henry C. Link • To perceive Christmas through its wrappings becomes more difficult with every year. – E. B. White • To the American People: Christmas is not a time or a season but a state of mind. To cherish peace and good will, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas. If we think on these things, there will be born in us a Savior and over us will shine a star sending its gleam of hope to the world.” ~ Calvin Coolidge (1872-1933), American president. Presidential message (December 25, 1927). – Calvin Coolidge • T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. – Clement Clarke Moore • Unless we make Christmas an occasion to share our blessings, all the snow in Alaska won’t make it ‘white’. – Bing Crosby • We consider Christmas as the encounter, the great encounter, the historical encounter, the decisive encounter, between God and mankind. He who has faith knows this truly; let him rejoice. – Pope Paul VI • We should try to hold on to the Christmas spirit, not just one day a year, but all 365. – Mary Martin • Were I a philosopher, I should write a philosophy of toys, showing that nothing else in life need to be taken seriously, and that Christmas Day in the company of children is one of the few occasions on which men become entirely alive. – Robert Wilson Lynd • What I don’t like about office Christmas parties is looking for a job the next day. – Phyllis Diller • What kind of Christmas present would Jesus ask Santa for? – Salman Rushdie • Whatever else be lost among the years, Let us keep Christmas still a shining thing: Whatever doubts assail us, or what fears, Let us hold close one day, remembering Its poignant meaning for the hearts of men. Let us get back our childlike faith again. – Grace Noll Crowell • When the song of the angels is stilled, When the star in the sky is gone, When the kings and princes are home, When the shepherds are back with their flock, The work of Christmas begins: …To find the lost, To heal the broken, To feed the hungry, To release the prisoner, To rebuild the nations, To bring peace among brothers, To make music in the heart. – Howard Thurman • When we were children we were grateful to those who filled our stockings at Christmas time. Why are we not grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs? – Gilbert K. Chesterton • When you give up yourself, that’s when you will feel the true spirit of Christmas. And that’s giving that’s serving others and that’s when you feel fulfilled. – Joel Osteen • Who can add to Christmas? The perfect motive is that God so loved the world. The perfect gift is that He gave His only Son. The only requirement is to believe in Him. The reward of faith is that you shall have everlasting life. – Corrie Ten Boom • Xmas Trivia: Before it became a major shopping holiday, Christmas is believed to have had a “religious” meaning. – Andy Borowitz • You can never truly enjoy Christmas until you can look up into the Father’s face and tell him you have received his Christmas gift. – John R. Rice

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equitiesstocks · 4 years

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Christmas Quotes

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