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augustvandyne · 2 months

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oh here’s another addison thought

reader and addison start getting on, reader helping and assisting in surgeries. reader isn’t an intern tho.

reader gets a feeling addison likes her, addison does but she is Scared™️

and then addison goes to LA :(

and reader goes to her, last ditch attempt. “why did you leave me?”

angsty.. i like it

why did you leave?

You were Addison’s fellow. You were in your final year of residency when Addison made her big entrance, and you stood idly by as you watched everything with Derek, Meredith and her go down.

As soon as your options for fellowships opened up, you made sure you were to study under the Addison Montgomery.

She was kind of rude to you at first, as she was going through the final stages of her divorce, but she did finally open up to you and let you in on surgeries. And then, the two of you were closer than ever.

You did a lot of the surgeries with her, led them too.

Addison and you ate lunch together almost everyday, because all your other friends ate lunch while you were in surgery, so Addison would offer to eat with you.

“But Callie is sitting over there. You should go sit with her,” You would shrug and take a seat in the back of the cafeteria.

“I can’t leave you alone,” Addison huffed and sat beside you. “Besides, Mark will sit with Callie.”

You smiled appreciatively, “Okay. Only if you want to.”

You’d also go to the bar with her, and sometimes even get dinner with her if your schedules aligned. The two of you even got together for Christmas and exchanged gifts. Mostly because neither of you had any blood relatives in Seattle, and found comfort in each other.

She got you a necklace, and you would play with it when you got nervous. Addison would notice and try to comfort you, but she was beginning to think it was her that did it.

“Stop,” She removed your hand from your necklace. “You’re going to make a mark on the back of your neck from tugging on that.”

You’d let out a breath, “Sorry. It’s just the nerves.”

“Oh?” Addison lifted her brows, sitting beside you on the abandoned bed in the hallway. “What’s going on today?”

“An old friend is coming down to see me,” You shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Sure it is,” Addison swallowed down the negative thoughts and her own anxiety. “How long did you know them?”

“It’s a she, and I knew her my whole life before I moved out here. She was actually my first kiss.”

Addison nodded, pretending to be busy with the hair tie on her wrist.

“Hey, listen,” Addison turned her head, and she thought she might have told you about her ongoing feelings, but something else entirely comes out. “I’m going to visit a friend in LA next week. Could you watch over my patients? You’ll work under another neonatal surgeon while I’m gone. It’ll only be a day or two.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

She was gone for more than two days, and she didn’t answer any of your messages while she was gone. She came back almost a week later and she was different.

Addison told you about how she met a guy down there and that she missed her best friend, Naomi.

You stood by and tried to be supportive, you smiled and pushed the jealousy down, because even though you didn’t want to, you felt the same way she did.

She was tanner than when she left, and her red hair was a lighter shade now.

“It was nice down there,” She told you. “I think you’d like it. Because you love beaches.”

Your heart throbbed at the fact that she remembered something you told her the first time she talked to you.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. L/n,” Addison threw her gloves in the trash.

She barely called you that anymore, but right then she did, and it hurt like hell. For some reason you didn’t believe you’d see her the next morning. And your hunch was right.. because you didn’t.

You didn’t even know what you were doing, honestly. You just got the urge to leave Seattle for a few days, and you took yourself to LA.

You were at a local market when you spotted her.

She looked amazing. She’d cut her hair, and it was now to her shoulders. She was still tan like she was when you last saw her, but her hair was back to her normal red color.

She looks at you, and you think she might not even recognize you at first. Because truth be told, it had been almost a year since she’d left, and she’d built a life for herself out here.

Or so you hear through Callie.

You look down at the blueberries you were messing with, suddenly trying to look busy.

“Y/n..” Addison approached you, but you didn’t look up. “What are you doing here?”

“Um..” Your voice shakes, and you’re not sure if you’re going to be able to talk. “I needed to get out of Seattle for a few days.”

“I know the feeling,” She chuckles.

The sound of her voice and laugh makes your body tingle from your head to your toes.

“I’m sure,” You say bitterly, picking up a carton of blueberries so you can hopefully leave this conversation behind.

She just follows behind you as you make your way to the vegetables, “So.. uh.. how are you? How’s— how’s Seattle?”

“I’m fine,” You shrug.

“Are you still working in the neonatal field?” You see her hoist her bag higher on her shoulder from the corner of your eyes. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” You grit your teeth. “I’m here because I needed a few days away from Seattle, I told you. I didn’t mean to drive here, I just put my brain on autopilot, and it brought me here. I didn’t even think about you being here until now, okay?”

Your voice is soft and it’s scaring you because you hold nothing but anger for Addison. So the fact that you’re speaking in a sweet tone..

“It was nice seeing you,” You attempt to get her out of your head again, but it doesn’t work.

“Do you wanna.. I don’t know.. meet for drinks tonight?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself from saying something you know you’re going to regret.

“Y/n, look at me,” You hear Addison’s voice wavering like yours had only minutes ago.

You manage to pull your eyes away from the fresh produce and to her face, and it’s hard for you to look her in the eyes, but you manage.

Her hand comes up to touch you on the face, and when it does, you flinch at her soft touch. Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to swallow down the lump in your throat so you don’t start crying.

“Why did you leave?” Your voice breaks, and tears are beginning to fill in your eyes, much to your dismay.

“I needed a change of scenery—“

“No,” You all but growl, you sharply inhale and press your lips together. “Why did you leave me?”

Addison’s eyes flutter, and her own eyes fill with tears. You’ve struck her in a wound she was so desperately trying to heal.

“Y/n..” She wipes a stray tear with the pad of her thumb, her palm resting on your cheek. “I didn’t.. I didn’t leave you..”

“You did, though,” You try to turn your head, but her hold on you is soft and strong. “You left me, and I didn’t even get a goodbye.”

Next think you know, she’s pulling you into a hug, one of her hands now on the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” Her mouth is by your ear.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” You sob into her shoulder.

She pulls back, both her hands making their way to your cheeks, “I had feelings for you, Y/n. And I know it was immature, but— I— I was scared that you didn’t feel the same and I had to get out of there.”

As if your heart hadn’t broken enough times in your chest since this interaction had started, it somehow broke again.

“Addie.. I did— do feel the same. Didn’t you see?”

“I didn’t want to assume—“

You lean up and place a kiss on her lips, “Well stop assuming, and start living in the moment with me. This has been the worst experience ever. I hate the new head of neonatal, and I think she hates me too. I wish you would have just talked to me..”

“I will from now on,” Addison promises, staring into your eyes.

“What?” You smile softly, all of your pent up hate for her slowly melting away. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re beautiful, am I not allowed to admire you?” Addison tilted her head.

“No, you can,” You draw your brows together in amusement. “I like it, actually. But you want something from me.”

“I want another kiss,” Addison shrugged, shyness in her tone.

You laugh, “You’re adorable.”

“Thank you,” Addison nodded. “Now come on, I have a lot of people to introduce you to.”

“There it is,” You throw your head back.

#greys anatomy imagine #greys anatomy x reader #greys abc #private practice x reader #private practice imagine #private practice #greys anatomy #addison montgomery x y/n #addison montgomery x you #addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery imagine #addison montgomery #addie is cutesie #send asks #wlw post #💗

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seeingivy · 11 months

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elevated heart rates

levi ackerman x f!reader

levi’s a mind reader and you’re a love expert

content: grad student levi, brain researchers, nile being a weirdo freak (sorry yall), mentions of drinking, levi is shirtless at one point, reader has claustrophobia

an: started my big girl brain research fellowship today. hence - brain jargon and GRAD STUDENT LEVI

The room is small - the nineteen of you cramming into the small space of the conference room. You’re located directly at the front, sitting next to your advisor, Dot Pyxis. A leading expert in the field, one of the first neuroscientists you had met at a conference when you were a freshman in college.

You saw it - the way his eyes lighted up, the way he was stumbling over his words because he was so excited to explain what he did everyday that you wanted that. To be that excited about something. And here you were, sitting next to him about to make it happen.

You moved to Marley two months ago for this very moment. Your first day at the Brain Consortium - one of the best neuroscience research labs in the country, led by Pyxis himself. He was going to co-advise your thesis, guide you into becoming an expert in the field. Unlike any other, this lab was barely limited to one field, instead equipped with researchers from many different departments, the projects, the papers entirely interdisciplinary.

There was no other place like it. You can feel your hands shaking as you hand over your hard drive, your presentation loaded on to it. Pyxis had explained it all - there were weekly lab meetings where everyone came together, presenting their research. Everyone gave feedback, asked questions to help further expand and build on the projects.

And it was your turn. On your very first day, you were expected to explain. What you were going to research, what you were going to contribute, what you were excited about.

It’s fucking nerve wracking. Pyxis stands up, giving you one last shoulder squeeze, before introducing everyone in the lab to you. He points everyone out - the other assistant professors, post-doctoral researchers, and the other PhD students.

“Hange Zoe, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Petra Ral, and Nile Dok. The other PhD students. I want the five of you to give her a tour of the lab after.”

They all nod, a few of them giving you encouraging smiles as you start. Pyxis turns to you, taking your seat at the table as you take the pointer in your hands, starting your presentation.

“Right. Um, I’m F/N L/N. It’s nice to meet you all. I, um, completed my undergraduate studies at Shiganshina University. I got a b-bachelors in applied neuroscience and computational biology. I’ll be presenting my thesis project pr-proposal.”

You hate this shit. You’re stuttering over your words and they’re all staring back, completely uninterested in your work. The PhD students in front of you aren’t even taking you seriously - the girl with glasses nearly stumbling off her chair from sliding around on it and the guy with dark black, grey steely eyes more interested in his cup of fucking tea than what you were talking about.

“Right, so. My project aims to study interoceptive signals - like heartbeat, respiration cycles, blood pressure - and use them to predict and decode intentions. These small biomarkers, entirely unconscious to us, are consistent during decision making, unbeknownst to us. We can exploit that - to understand higher level cognition.”

You’ve got their attention - you can tell. This is always the easy part, drawing them in - the woman from before stopped sliding on her chair, instead leaning forward with her eyes shining at your slides, the guy with the tea momentarily flickering his eyes up to the screen.

“You can use it to predict how people act, how they feel. Especially for something like heart rate, which is what I want to focus on, you can understand so many things - anxiety, stress, companionship, sexual attraction, romance.”

You see one of the PhD students murmur under his breath, interrupting you in your stead. Nile, they said his name was.

“So you want to be a…love expert?”

The entire room laughs, giving you smiles as you continue on. You give him a smile, responding.

“I guess you could say that.”

You continue on - highlighting how the brain regulates these signals, what equipment you’ll be using to record all of it.

They clap when you’re done. Success.

You feel fully settled into the lab, a few months later. You’ve decorated your tiny cubicle, directly in the middle with the other PhD students, with a few knick knacks - a picture of you and your best friend, a tiny little green figurine your parents gifted you, and a rack for your headphones.

You’re located in the section with the other PhD students, who are…interesting.

On the first day, they lead you to take the cubicle directly next to Hange, which you realized was a bad idea. Because they set you up. Hange’s a biochemist - doing research on the brain tissue at the molecular level, trying to understand how glioblastomas progress. Meaning - they’re always playing with chemicals at their desk, sometimes too lazy to walk over to the lab, which leads to some interesting smells and…smokes in your area.

They never get in trouble, because Erwin and Petra always come to save the day. They’re both leading policy experts, studying volition and decision making in hopes to use in applications to the law and judicial systems. Figuring out why criminals commit crimes, using it for to serve justice. They cover up the evidence, distract Pyxis and Shadis, and talk their way out of it on Hange’s behalf.

And that leaves Nile, who isn’t particularly your favorite. He’s a bit hard to get along with, not exactly personable per say. He’s researching microdosing and addiction - trying to figure out how we can manipulate medicines or drugs into being more or less addictive.

You almost forgot about him. Levi, who's currently leading you to the MRI room on the other side of the building. Definitely the most intriguing of all of your colleagues - using transcranial brain stimulation to decode intentions. In less jargony terms, he read minds.

He puts the decisions made on the tests into algorithms, correcting it until the machines can predict the decisions being made perfectly - that can be applied to anyone, not just singular participants. He’s coding human thought into machines. And doing it successfully.

Levi’s quiet, perplexing, and intelligent. An enigma. He’s stood out to you, more than anyone else, for the simple reason that he’s the only one who doesn’t want to talk to you. Hange invites you out for drinks, Petra introduced you to her boyfriend, Erwin bought you a birthday present even though you didn’t tell anyone it was your birthday, and Nile asked you on a date (which you obviously declined).

But Levi doesn’t care. You don’t either, but it does intrigue you at times. Why he’s so quiet, so closed off, what he’s always doing on his laptop, who he texts on his breaks. This was the first time you were alone with him - getting roped into participating in his newest study.

“Newbie has to do it.”

“Do what, Hange?”

“Levi likes to experiment on all of our brains. You’ve never done it and he needs someone, so we’re volunteering you.”

Hange and Erwin pull you up by the wrists, all but pushing you out of the conference room into Levi’s cubicle, where you almost trip and fall over him. He looks up - already deeply uninterested with the three of you standing in his space - as he removes his hands from his keyboard.

“What, brats?”

“I’m not participating. She is. Take her away!”

He looks between the three of you, clearly unamused with how nonchalant Hange was being about the whole thing, as they knocked over Levi’s stack of books on the floom. They nearly shake his entire frame in their hands as they thanked him profusely for not making them participate.

Erwin picks up the stack of books - somehow shuffling them all out of order as Levi gets even more frustrated - shooing the two of them out of his space. After successfully removing them, you and Levi walk towards the MRI room, all the way across the building, in silence.

When you get there, he taps his hand on the platform, signaling for you to sit on it. You obediently follow, still not uttering an entire word. You watch him mill around the room - pressing switches, using the intercom to communicate with the operator, turning the lights off.

“Wearing any metal?”

“My necklace. I’ll take it off.”

You reach up, awkwardly fumbling with the clasp as he watches you, his hands pressed to his sides as he waits. You’re not sure what it is - how sweaty your hands are, the way he’s looking at you, awkwardly waiting for you to finish - but you can’t get the clasp off, your hold shaking behind your hair.

“I can help you.”

You meekly nod, getting off the platform. Before you can, he reaches forward, his slender hands gathering your hair before placing them across the side to your shoulder. You feel his knuckles against your nape, quickly unlatching the necklace and fixing your hair back into place.

“I’ll hold it for you.”

You get back onto the platform, lying flat, as Levi uses the intercom to signal to Armin, one of the undergraduate students who worked in the MRI building. You can feel the platform sliding you into the tube and you suddenly feel it.

Your claustrophobia. Every horrible thought you can imagine is running through your head as the machine starts whirring, your heart pounding in your chest. An earthquake - the machine would crush you. The magnets can be too fast, the machine malfunctioning while you’re stuck inside it. There could be a fire and you would be left here, everyone leaving you and locking you out of the room.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah, Armin. Sorry. I get a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.”

“Okay, take your time. Try to stay still so we can get better pictures.”

You nod, trying to still your breaths as the machine whirrs on again. You can feel your nails digging into your palms, as you try to calm down, the panic still sitting in your chest. You feel a hand circle around your ankle, squeezing twice, as the machine keeps going.

“You okay, Newbie?”

“Yeah, Levi. I’m okay.”

“I’m here. Get out if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll just drag Shitty Glasses by the scalp to do it instead of you.”

You laugh, his hold still firm on your ankle. You try to focus on it - the fine print on the machine, your back against the platform, his fingers on your skin as the machine keeps going, your panic still writhing in your chest. The MRI finishes - Levi giving you one last squeeze before the platform slides out and you nearly jump out of the machine.

You and Levi walk back to the main lab, in silence. When you get there, Levi gives Hange’s ponytail one big yank before settling back into his cubicle, giving you a soft smile before you return to yours.

It’s Levi’s turn to present for the lab meeting. The lab is going to Hizuru for Sigtuna, one of the largest neuroscience conferences to date. The PhD students are all presenting posters, except Levi who was invited to give a talk.

You had been helping Levi as of late - working with him to identify the sulcuses and the lobes on all of Levi’s MRIs. He had no experience in magnetic resonance imaging whatsoever - something you had spent years learning during undergrad. So the two of you had worked out a system - you helped him with identifying the images and helped you troubleshoot your code for your tasks whenever you needed it (which was often).

You spent a lot of time together - even if it wasn’t direct. You’d sit in silence in the main conference room, working for hours. He’d bring you a cup of coffee and you would pick up dinner, talking through ideas as you finished off your projects.

You had helped him write the grant for the talk instead of the poster, helping him with all the physiological portions. He taught you how to do all the analysis for yours - the two of you often the one’s leaving the lab latest, Levi walking you to your car in the dark before walking off to his own.

You were friends. Project partners.

He gives you one last look before starting the presentation and you shoot him a thumbs up under the table, which he returns with a smile. He’s explaining - using your brain and Hange’s as the sample templates to explain what he was doing - what parts of the brain he has to use for his machine learning.

“This is Newbie’s and this is Hange’s brain. In theory, each part of the brain is slightly bigger, depending on what parts of your brain you exercise more. For example, Hange is involved in more motor-dexterity - running all their projects by hand. This part of the sulcus is more developed, bigger because of it, compared to Newbie.”

Nile nudges you on the side, whispering something about how he can give you something to do with your hands if you needed it. You roll your eyes, awkwardly shuffling farther as you refocus on what Levi was saying.

“This part of the brain is more developed for Newbie, the Brodmann areas - associated with critical thinking, higher level cognition, decision making. Good thing I didn’t use your brain, Dok. We wouldn’t even be able to catch it on the image if we used yours.”

The entire room laughs - Nile sulking in his chair as Levi continues. You don’t miss the look he gives you afterwards, his eyes uncharacteristically soft when he meets yours, as he continues the presentation.

When he finishes, Pyxis goes over the room assignments, mentioning that there were three rooms for all the PhD students - meaning a few of you would have to pair up. You turn your neck to look at Petra, who's already nodding and agreeing with Hange that they would room together. You deflate, watching Erwin and Levi pair up. Which leaves you next to Nile, who's all but too excited to be your partner.

He slings his arm around your shoulder, saying that you guys can share the bed if it gets cold at night, which leaves you shooting dangerous looks at Hange. Levi catches on first, immediately dragging Erwin over to where the two of you were standing.

“Dok. Erwin is going to room with you.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Don’t argue with me today, I’m already sick of you.”

Levi grabs you by the wrist, dragging you towards the other side of the room as he rambles on.

“What a fucking idiot. First he interrupts me during my talk and then starts saying perverted shit like that. Someone’s going to smack him upside the head one day and I surely hope for my sake it’s me.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him twice before letting go.

“Thank you for that - I was literally going to vomit if I had to room with him.”

“Well, I told you before. I’m here if you’re uncomfortable.”

You nod, the two of you walking into the conference room to make edits to your presentation.

You and Levi come back to your hotel room after the conference, positively plastered. He’d all but given his talk perfectly and your poster won an award at the end - which meant you and Levi were celebrating well into the night.

You had your arms slung around each other, your weight uneven, as you both slide back into the hotel room, falling onto the singular bed in the room. You and Levi were greeted with the unpleasant sight earlier in the day - you and Levi both insisting that you would be the ones to sleep on the couch.

You’re both lying face up on the bed - your cheeks flushed, your chests heaving up and down, the only sound in the room being your shaky breaths. Your hands are still locked together, your brain fuzzy from the events of the night.

You and Levi amble up after a few minutes, both attempting to change into your pajamas and go to bed. You ogle Levi as he takes his shirt off, watching from the side of the mirror. He catches you, walking closer to you. He still reeks of beer, still shaking on his feet.

He leans over, pressing his forehead against yours as you hold onto his arms, grounding your fingers into his biceps. He’s still not wearing a shirt, his bare chest on display. You fight the urge to stare at him full on.

“You’re smart, Y/N.”

“You’re smart too, Levi.”

“Did you pay attention during my talk?”

“Y-yes. You code the information, like a puzzle, to figure out what people’s intentions are.”

“Hm. You be me. I’ll give you the information and you figure it out, okay?”

You nod, barely understanding what he was getting at as you lean into him. You can feel the buzz dying down, the tiredness setting into your bones.

“I’m not a mind reader like you, Levi.”

“You’ll get this one. You’re my smart girl.”

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. Your hands and frame are pressed against his chest, his skin cold to the touch.

“You caught my eye on the first day, with your perfectly pressed hair and that stupid black skirt.”

You can feel your breath catch in your throat, the sound not leaving your throat.

“You take the cubicle two feet down from mine and I can’t help but watch you - reorganize your desk, get up to get water, scribble things on the whiteboard.”

You can feel his heartbeat get faster against your hear, his grip on your waist tightening. You’re suddenly too aware of what’s happening - Levi, PhD Levi, is shirtless, hugging you in a hotel room. The lights are dim, there’s only one bed, and he’s holding you.

“I don’t work with other people at the lab, but when you ask, I do. I leave the lab way past the required time, willingly spending more time in a room with that idiot Nile in it just because you’re in it too.”

“Levi.”

“I’m not done.”

“It drives me crazy, every time Nile talks to you, touches you, looks at you. I want to sock him in the face - because he’s not nearly good enough for you. Not that anyone could be, but for some idiot like that to think he stands a chance is next level infuriating.”

He releases his hands from your face, lifting his hands to cup your face. His touch his soft, his thumb caressing the burning skin on your cheeks as his eyes meet yours.

“I think about you all the time. When I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I eat my breakfast. When I’m not with you, I just want to be around you. And when I’m around you, I want to be with you.”

He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips are pillowy soft, his breath tickling the edges of your forehead.

“What does it mean? Figure out my intentions, smart girl.”

You can feel your entire body burning, your head still spinning - from the alcohol, Levi’s touch, his words ringing in your ears.

“You…like me.”

“That’s a fact. Not an intention.”

“You…want to kiss me?”

He smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to yours. The kiss is warm, the taste of the beer still hanging on his lips. You can feel his hands moving, carding through your hair as you reach up to press your hand against his shoulders. He kisses you for a long time - your body burning at the entire sensation. He breaks apart, still smiling against your lips.

“Smart girl.”

“Do you…remember my research, Levi? From the first day?”

“I’ve memorized every single thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You can feel your cheeks flushing, Levi’s hands returning to squish the sides of your face. You grab one of his hands, opening up his fingers and placing it flat against your chest. You move his hand around, until you’re sure he can feel your heart - which is pounding in your chest.

“Heart rate can give away a great deal. The biomarker can help you understand a lot of different emotions. Figure out which one I’m feeling, Levi.”

He leans forward, pressing soft kisses all over your face as he starts asking.

“Anxiety?” - a soft kiss, right on top of your head.

“No.”

“Stress?” - a light kiss, right on your closed eyelids.

“No, Levi.”

“Companionship.” - a sweet kiss, right on your lips.

“Yes. But that’s not the one I was looking for.”

You watch a smirk spread across his face as he leans down, spreading soft kisses all along your neck. He murmurs against your neck, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Sexual attraction?”

“Levi. Quit being a tease.”

“Shut up, brat.”

“No. You missed one, Levi.”

“What was it?”

“Love. A heartbeat can give away a great deal - can even be used to indicate and understand romantic feelings.”

He press his hand against your chest again, your heart still hammering.

“It’s fast. What does that mean?”

“That I love you.”

You see a big smile spread across his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. You see him now and you think it’s the best he’s ever looked - messy black hair, pink cheeks, squinted eyes. He reaches down, opening your fingers and placing them against his bare chest. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

“Fast.”

“Yeah. Means I love you too, smart girl.”

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orgxnas · 7 months

Text

The Fellowship and their favorite Classic Frat Party Bangers™️

Frodo

No Hands by Waka Flocka Flame

This is pre-Ring Frodo, ofc

Y’all remember how he was dancing at Bilbo’s birthday? Yeah dude def likes to get down

I just feel like after he’s had a few drinks in him and this song comes on, he grabs Sam and loudly says “OMG ITS MY SOONNGGGG!”

Can sing the whole song with no breaks (just like me fr)

Sam

Everything by Pitbull

Sam actually doesn’t really like the music they play at parties. He thinks some of the lyrics are crass

HOWEVER

One time this song came on at a party that Rosie was at and she danced with him the entire song. He has not stopped thinking about it since

The next day he went straight to Merry (the Pitbull expert) and asked him what the song was called and then he immediately went and bought the song and listened to it everyday for the next two weeks

Now he requests it every time him and Frodo go out just in case Rosie is there

Pippin

Shots by Lil Jon

He is the Snooki of the Shire let’s be real here

Loves lil Jon. Thinks he’s a lyrical genius

He’s always up on the damn tables and the bar

“IF YOU AINT GETTIN DRUNK GET THE FUCK OUT THE CLUB” and Pippin took that personally

Spills his drinks on everyone. Gets into a verbal altercation bc of said spillage. Merry comes in to back him up. Now Frodo and Sam have to break up a fight

Merry

Hotel Room Service by Pitbull

Pitbulls no. 1 fan

Right up there on the tables with Pippin

Gets sooo hype for “WE AT THE HOTEL MOTEL HOLIDAY INN!”

Also spills his drinks but not as much

Has in fact been decked in the face for asking a girl if he could take her back to the hotel room for some *service*

Aragorn

Pepas by Farruko

This man has never gone to a party of his own accord. He has only gone just to make sure that Merry and Pippin don’t die

BUT once he’s got a few drinks in his system and this song comes on, he’s ready to let lose

I feel like he would love the Spanish songs (he can speak fluently I just know it)

Does his own lil dancy dance while Merry and Pippin cheer him on

Legolas records it for when he’s sober and they can all laugh about it

Legolas

Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira OR Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado

Oh he defff likes the “girlier” songs

Once he has enough in his system to get that lil tingle in his hands, bro is right in the middle of whatever dance circle formed around him

That man LOVES to flip his hair all over the place like he’s really got his hands in his hair feeling the music and everything

Learned all this from his father I just know that Thranduil made sure his son was properly educated

Gimli gives him shit for the entire night

Gimli

Get Low by Lil Jon

Oh bro definitely likes to get low

His drunk self gets SO HYPE when this song comes on

Climbs right up on the table with Merry and Pippin (falls off soon after)

The rest of the fellowship watches in absolute terror as he tears up the dance floor

Gandalf

Danza Kuduro by Don Omar

Will he dance? Who knows

But one thing for certain is that his heart is filled with so much joy watching the Hobbits go absolutely crazy for this song

He thinks it’s so fun and endearing watching them dancing and enjoying the night

It’s one of those simple things that he loves so much. Watching a group of friends enjoying each others company and celebrating their friendship with music and dancing

You know what he WILL dance let him get in the middle of that silly little circle

Boromir

DJ Got Us Fallin In Love by Usher

He may be daddy’s favorite, but being daddy’s favorite is stressful

At the end of the week, he just wants to cut lose and get drunk

And drunk he gets

He just likes to feel the musiiicccc

Has never gone home alone LMAO

#lord of the rings #incorrect lotr quotes #lotr shitpost #lotr fandom #lotr #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #merry and pippin #pippin #merry brandybuck #pippin took #aragorn #legolas #gandalf #gimli #boromir #this is definitely canon

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ithilwen-lionheart · 9 months

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Home is where the heart is: Home is where you are - Legolas x Modern Day!Reader

Alternatively:

Ignorance is your new bestfriend

__________

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here)

[ Part 3. Work Text: ]

There is no downplaying the hatred (Y/N) feels whenever her classmates would make fun of the Legolas that they see in the films.

Not only was it already horribly uncouth of them to brand him -or anyone, for that matter- as effeminate because of the way they looked or acted but they also had to sling “gay” about as if it were a rock meaning to insult instead of one’s sexual orientation. (Y/N) would always find herself muttering on the defensive whenever situations as such would arise, her thoughts simmering a little too hot with indignance and her composure only ever tempered by the winsome pondering that endured alongside it: that if Legolas were gay then he would be an addition to a party of wholly respectable people who followed their hearts and in their wake instead brings love in a cynical world that is already teeming with a troubling surplus of negativity.

It’s an enchanting idea -that dash of sweetness on otherwise stale and acrid coffee- like an exquisite chiffon paired with the cup of tea she indulged in one fine spring afternoon as she perused that slash Fellowship fanfic that featured her resident elf, Aragorn, facial hair, and some razors. It felt like a lifetime ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the thought then that said elf would just stumble upon her doorstep one stormy night. Granted it was something she may find herself writing about, but more out of the imaginings in her head rather than out of actual experience.

(Y/N) actually found promise in it -cataloging everyday life with the Woodland Prince. It would make for a good rom-com with a well-balanced lead. Legolas is as naturally romantic and otherwise capable as he is adoringly ditzy around modern technology. With the probability of property damage at an all time low now that he had discovered the magic of WikiHow and search engines, she actually finds herself chuckling at the mere thought of the plethora of reels that could be made out of the blond archer’s previous exploits- multitude of phone replacements notwithstanding.

He’s “beloved protagonist” coded that way. Mr. All Eyes On Me when he enters the room or makes his first appearance on the first panel or chapter, Darling Please Shut Up an entire season after he finally finds a healthier way to process his trauma and ends up letting loose that silly goose that’s been cooped up inside him for far too long. It would be an advantage that Legolas is already built with more empathy than the usual male lead, that he’s already more than just his looks or his poetic words and that his love prevails over what to others would usually be pride and self-preservation before some dramatic loss or divine intervention hard presses them into a much needed system restart- it would almost be too easy to love him-

It would be too easy to love him. It had been for someone as jaded as her, what more for everyone else?

And then she goes to thinking about the fangirls, the fandom, the trolls and the inevitability of negative press and immediately shuts the idea down. (Y/N) is not about to fight fanwars over at twitter, not anytime soon or in the far future if she’s got so much as a say in it. She barely held herself together today and almost went out for blood when one of her blockmates made a “mockery” of Legolas’ name and thought 'Le-gay-las' to be such a splendidly creative attempt to go about it. These are bored university students, she didn’t want to start thinking about what exponentially worse travesties kids who overindulged on questionable YouTube content are capable of.

Thankfully enough, before her overthinking could get even more cataclysmic, she finally reaches the tell-tale porch of her home. The beginning of that chapter in her book- the very stone that Legolas first stepped on before he changed her life forever. It was an image that was so charged with positive emotions it was not unlike a lighthouse to the turbulent seas of her troubled mind- something that grounded her as much as the thought of what life now breathed past her threshold.

A tenacious smile blots out the line of practiced patience that weighed on her lips, her hands a little too giddy and enthusiastic as she retrieved her keys from the pocket of her bag and unlocked the door.

Upon entering, the delectable smell of dinner wafted through the abode. It was a siren’s call to her protesting stomach and yet it was the longing in her chest that championed over the promise of what she knew to be carefully curated food. It is only by sheer good luck that the skilled chef responsible for this also happens to be the only one ever able to sweeten her most sour of moods- today being no more than an everyday foe for one already so adept at putting the worst of her at ease.

(Y/N) padded through the carpeted stairs with the urgency of a child running to their parents after a nasty row with their playground bullies. She wanted to recoil at the comparison -the notion entirely foreign and not at all founded by previous experiences of the sort and yet her chest brimmed with an all too familiar bittersweet ache at the assurance of a nurturing face and comforting words all the same; of warm arms wrapping around her all in a bid to face what demons the world chose to serve her up on an unwanted platter that particular day. She was certain that her hurried footfalls carried the weight of her emotions, that it was amplified even more when she all but flung her bedroom door wide open and off its hinges if she had a little bit more strength.

Then she sees him. In glittering hues she registers the shape of him, the familiar outline drawn with smothering saturation that glows a bit more vividly than per usual- when her eyes aren’t too watery and her ribcage hadn’t been stuffed with a little too much cotton. Legolas sat curled up on her worn bean bag, eyes focused on the horror flick playing on the telly, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his long legs crossed over each other- the paragon of a couch potato. (Y/N) never would've thought that it would be a look anyone would find attractive. Too often had it been stuck on as a warning label for a bottle of crippling indolence but the Elven Prince lounged decked out in modern day clothes and wore it like a badge worthy of admiration.

He donned a juniper pullover and dove gray sweats and as she walked mindlessly towards him, (Y/N) swore he also had her heart somewhere in his pockets. Swears that he held it a willing hostage there when he subtly presented his cheek for a kiss when she came up behind him, when the corners of his mouth tipped into a languid smile after she did, swears that he tickled it with the sound of the chuckle that bubbled in his throat and the unmistakable scent of strawberries that wafted through the air straight from his mildly damp strands of spun moonlight.

"Legolas,” (Y/N)’s attempt at a careful inquiry proved a futile venture in the face of mirth, “-did you use my shampoo?" she manages with a poor excuse at a raised brow and the galloping echoes of her still missing heart.

A coy little smile and the soft press of thin lips against her own confirmed her suspicion: that he used her shampoo and that her heart was no longer her own.

"My heart lies wherever your feet may take you, en melleth.” he begins as if he shared her thoughts, as if Christmas came early for them and they beat everyone on the entire business of exchanging gifts. He goes on and (Y/N) thinks that it was a fine comparison, “You will have to forgive me for scouring what remnants of you there are if only to keep what little life in me remains in your absence." There was a twinkle in his eyes that belie the theatrical despondence in his words, a playfulness in him that (Y/N) insists warranted the bite on the tip of his sculpted nose.

“That’s what you get for holding mine in a vice grip in your pockets.” She quips and tries not to falter at the mild discomfort on that handsome face.

Soft baby blues look up at her in perplexity. Furrowed brows and genuine confusion making a young boy out of his Elvish immortality, “I do not have anything in my pockets-” he begins and yet his hands find their way into a dutiful search, “As I thought,” he mutters once his foraging concluded and proved fruitless, “Whatever it is you had lost, en melleth. Sadly, it is not with me.” His entire mien was so veritably apologetic, the gears in his head already turning to plot for ways in which he might provide her aid- it was a trait of his that she’d been familiar with. As a sentry to The Fellowship, (Y/N) had always seen Legolas a step ahead of his companions, both in battle of blood and mind. He was only ever second to Gandalf who was a wizard, and on occasions, Aragorn when it came to matters concerning mortals and their ideals. In his pondering, his initial befuddlement had dissipated and had instead been replaced by upset and a very much undue disappointment with himself- (Y/N) didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought that it was now her incriminating jape that was completely lost at sea, that it was something so abstract that Legolas seemed a bit too obligated at finding.

She instead settled on helplessly shaking her head all the while dismissing what needless fretting the elf is currently doing, “It’s a metaphor for something else, Legolas. It’s not something that’s truly lost in a physical sense. Don’t lose your pretty little head over it.” (Y/N) gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and hopes that the whimsical smile she tossed along with it would be enough as she took her place to sit on the floor beside the prince.

“A metaphor,” the blond elf muses, “You did mention something of the sort before now. I fear it remains to be a notion I am still yet to fully comprehend.” there was a sheepishness in his smile at what he seemed to consider was a persistent lapse on his knowledge. As much as the look made him youthful, it was something his wisdom didn’t deserve.

And with all things concerning the Elven Prince and his honor, (Y/N) finds herself donning her figurative sword and shield- ever so ready to step into the fray to fight what shadows crept and posed a threat to his tranquility, “It’s not that it’s something you’re yet to comprehend. You have poetry locked and loaded with how you speak, metaphors come as easy to you as breathing does- it’s my choosing to speak in riddles when I shouldn’t that’s the problem.” She was certain that she made no room for self-loathing in the manner by which she spoke because she knew all too well just how equally as easily Legolas would bleed concern for her.

Still, his hand finds hers all the same as he leaned down to give her his full undivided attention, “And what riddle was it that you regaled me with?” he tipped his head in askance, strands of his hair slipping over his shoulder and pinning her down with the lingering scent of her shampoo.

"I swear someday I'm just going to die of diabetes because of your version of clothes-cuddle." (Y/N) lamented off-tangentially as a means of submerging her compromising statement from before back into its watery grave. She adapted the same dramatics the blond elf used on her not too long ago for good measure and it went as seamlessly as the fluid incorporation of his presence in her life. The idea of it wrapped around (Y/N) like a favored quilt.

Legolas on the other hand, he steeped on a wariness that dwelled on her plaint- a jest that unbeknownst to (Y/N), he so gravely misunderstood. He opts to abandon his popped corn kernels and placed it on the floor in front of him in lieu of reaching out to her, “Come,”

It was (Y/N)'s turn to blink up in confusion, “What for?”

“Will you indulge me?” Pleading, (Y/N) surmises, is a look best left for cats and dogs and should by all means be rendered an actual criminal offense when wielded by Legolas on grounds of what farce it would deem one utterly willing to commit for his name.

“Will I even be able to say no when you’re looking at me with those eyes?” she finds herself saying with no small amount of tenderness, already accepting defeat for a war that was all in her head. Those eyes were worth more than a dozen losing battles fought, she thinks, worth all the white flags she could wave until her arms fell off her shoulders-

Legolas raises his vacant hand to cover his eyes and (Y/N)’s thoughts skids to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you the option to refuse. You always have a choice, meleth nîn. If my gaze impairs your judgment like so then on my head be it.” Legolas answers simply and so so factually that irregardless of how comical he may look to some in that very moment -a hand still reaching out to her and another over his eyes- his words were astute and to (Y/N) he was what she’d want the entire world to be, “A lone tap on the palm of my outstretched hand for a refusal and two for acceptance.”

She’d take limbs off corpses if that’s what it took to continue waving those flags to surrender to him. (Y/N) decides he needn’t know that, if only to preserve what little dignity she had left to lose and to keep the elf from looking at her in terror at yet another misunderstanding of a completely harmless metaphor.

Though, she does find herself laying her cheek on the palm of that outstretched hand and holding it in both of hers and she doesn’t know if waving those undead hands still seemed like such a bad idea compared to this.

At the very least not until she witnesses the gesture startle Legolas enough that the hand over his face falls to his lap and she is greeted by an almost childish uncertainty made soft by enduring affection, “Is this a "yes "?" he queries, voice as gentle as the thumb that absent-mindedly caressed her cheekbone.

(Y/N) thinks she could settle with embarrassing herself like this, figures she could go above and beyond by nodding her head wordlessly and failing at hiding a smile that was both dumb and shy in equal measure if Legolas would give her an even dopier one for her efforts- like what he’s doing. Perhaps he can work on putting a damper to his elvish charms because even then his beauty remained, or, (Y/N) thinks she could just shove it where it matters because there are more things far worth considering then than her insecurities as a damned mortal.

Like how this painstakingly beautiful Elven Prince gently pulled her in by the waist so that she was sitting on his lap, for instance. Or how he wrapped his slender arms around her stomach and rested his head on top of hers with so much tenderness she ironically felt like she was just a breath away from shattering into a million pieces-

And then he buries his nose into her tresses and breathes in and (Y/N) swears he greedily took those pieces of her in and put them back together again with an exhale and that little shimmy he did to settle them snugly into the confines of her protesting bean bag.

No words were exchanged as they resorted to watching what cheesy horror movie it was that Legolas had on. Adept hands that once wielded bows and arrows with killer precision put hard at work massaging (Y/N)’s aching muscles, wise and quiet lips almost childish as he showered her with an unprecedented kiss here and there.

Three movies in and it became nothing short of an indulgent habitude for Legolas and more than once (Y/N) fails to reign in a giggle at the most inappropriate of times. First was during a particularly gruesome death scene from a slasher movie that Legolas looked at her in absolute horror for; second was at a nasty exorcism that had gone so horribly wrong she wouldn’t have blamed The Elven Prince if in that moment he honestly thought she had been off her rocker as he looked at her in alarm once more; and third was that literally bloody elevator scene from The Shining- though it was also then that she had caught up to something and stepped her foot down because the terror-stricken expression on Legolas’ face remained the same as it had been the first two times. She looked at him long enough that she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Looked at him long and hard with narrowed eyes until his resolution faltered and a side of his lips quirked ever so slightly heavenwards- (Y/N) was certain that if she hadn’t loved him as much as she did, she’d have sent him back to his maker along with it when the realization dawned upon her that the entire time, the entire bloody time, he had actually been playing her.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of The Elvenking Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm and the stalwart sentry to The Fellowship had been messing around with her. She thought it to be too scandalous an improbability to even entertain- at the very least previously when she was a little too drunk on love and comfort and how Legolas smelled exactly like her that he could never -would never- drop so low as to pull such an elementary prank as making faces. Now that she was a little bit sober, she scours the catalog her mind subconsciously took of Legolas’ fears and inspects them with keener eyes. A part of her thinks she might be overanalyzing it, that it might just be her looking for problems where there is none, but all of that was clubbed down when she recalls that scene with the Balrog from the Mines of Moria, she places it beside the memory she had of the Elven Prince the first night he flooded the bathroom, that one time she accidentally walked in on him naked and he ripped her shower curtains in an attempt to preserve his modesty- his fear was something that took its time crawling into his eyes, something that could only ever pull so slowly and subtly at his features as he always fought so valiantly against it.

It was all those and most certainly not raised brows, glittering widened eyes, and parted lips that hosted a gasp.

A godforsaken gasp.

(Y/N) inwardly banged her head against the walls of her mind on account of her stupidity. She should have known it from the damned gasp. Legolas was never one to make such a clear-cut sound of his discomfiture. Even in the direst of situations it was his face that would tell the entire story, whatever it is that will leave his lips would be actual words strung with a purpose.

Three movies in and Legolas frolicked enough to feign three startled gasps that (Y/N) actually believed in and felt sorry for. Three movies in and (Y/N) could actually commiserate with cross girlfriends and what need they felt to throw silly little punches at their guffawing boyfriends’ arms- embarrassment at the blatant comparison to an actual labeled relationship be damned. Three movies in and (Y/N) gets to thinking that she might actually have to cut Legolas’ screen time if he’s going to start making a habit out of pantomiming goddamn teenagers from cheeky television series.

She’d call it when he actually starts showing fascination towards jerseys and convertibles. The telly would have to find a home in the dumpster then.

“Having the time of our life are we, giggles?” she deadpanned, trying her damndest to remain unamused as velvety chuckles assaulted her eardrums, strong arms winding securely around her waist as Legolas pulled her even closer to him and nuzzled against the crook of her neck as if she were a treasured plush toy at every attempt of hers to pull away. It was once again a losing battle -as with everything else that concerned him. (Y/N) didn’t need those figurative swords and shields, not when they were as good as balloons fashioned by clowns at a children’s party in the face of the elf’s almost puppy-like clinginess.

A golden retriever puppy named “Giggles”- it wasn’t a far-fetched idea. If anything, it made a little bit more sense than the words Legolas spoke next.

"For what joy you bring me,” he states solemnly, chin perched on the plane of her shoulder as he looks up at her with serene determination in his gaze as if a gallant knight declaring the decimation of a most fearsome foe for his lady’s honor, “I shall protect you from 'diabetes'.” and before (Y/N) could even process the absurdity of his statement and crack at it, Legolas goes on- almost ludicrous in his earnesty, “Let all those who attempt to so much as lay a single threatening touch on you be dead before their stroke fell." and he was kissing the top of her head as if she were something so precious that she lost all heart to explain to him that diabetes wasn’t exactly something he could shoot or stab at to be rid of. Instead, she joins this little circus and offers her condolences to it in advance because if by some odd stroke of misfortune it takes on a concrete form, she’s certain that the Prince of Greenwood -otherwise known as the retriever puppy Giggles- would certainly be nipping at its tail in no time.

His lady’s tinkling laughter pierced through the foreboding silence of the magical box before them and Legolas allowed himself a slow smile as he too, fixed his attention on the movie.What pride and joy he had for the success of his pretense at obliviousness may have rubbed the Valars the wrong way because no sooner than he relaxed, a monstrous phantom flashed into the screen and the screech that left with what part of his soul was ripped out of him from shock had been a little too genuine.

-----

[ FIN. End of Chapter 1, Part 3 ]

———-

A/N:

As promised!

Also, as per the disclaimer I had put out on my notice, you will find that this part is written as a lighthearted and speedy almost-crack fic. This is due to the entirety of Chapter 1 initially having been written as a whole instead of in segments with this bit in particular having been cut off from Part 2 due to its derailment from the course I ended up taking with its re-written ending.

Additionally, it had been quite some time since I had last worked on a written piece- even longer still since I had last worked on this particular fic- so I apologize for whatever failure in consistency there may have been in my writing.

I find that I should also let you wonderful readers know that I have read, immensely appreciated, and loved each and every one of your comments and reblogs. I cannot thank you enough for your words of encouragement and investment in this story as it had played a significant role in bolstering my previously dwindling passion with this particular craft of mine.

If time and drive permit, this part may end up with an update containing a visual of some sorts. I had been working a bit more on illustrations when I'm not writing so we shall see~

Taglist: @siriuslydestiny, @elysianluv, @daddy-long-legolas, @foxchild-v

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coffeelovesdramasalatte · 25 days

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after a literal half a year, I'm backkkkk

a brief summary of Everything That's Happened:

went to my first academic conference and got an award for my work (big yay!)

got covid on my way home from said conference and was out of commission for way too long (nay >.<)

fell even more in love with Eul and advertised it enough that my parents get concerned if i don't mention him at least once every couple of days (who knew we'd get here)

watched the untamed and had it take over my every waking thought (when wangxian said everyday i didn't think that would extend to me)

made my family watch the untamed and gave them brainrot (will be a separate post bc their reactions were too good not to share)

submitted two grad school fellowship applications (i'm SO tired)

got added to two new research projects in my lab (yay science!)

got hyped about upcoming QL shows and decided it was time to make a return to fandom

got re-obsessed with Beyond Evil (my favorite k-drama) and experienced emotions

i hope you are all doing well and i'm sending buckets of love to everyone <33333

also if you sent a message or interacted with me at all after tumblr's layout changed at the end of last year, please know that I wasn't ignoring anyone but I didn't figure out how to see those notifs until months later at which point i was too embarrassed to respond. i'm fixing that now though, sorry I'm so late TT

#this one is just for the besties #i missed y'all #the fellowship applications took up all of my time and energy so i've just been lurking on here #gonna add untamed tags just because i need more untamed mutuals #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #beyond evil

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the---hermit · 1 year

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12|12|2022

My months of rest and relaxation // day 34

My brother got me this stunning edition of The Lord Of The Rings and The Hobbit for my graduation. I have my mom's 80s editions (I think) of both, but I really wanted a lotr English edition as well. Although I read The Hobbit both in English and in Italian, I have only read lotr in Italian (a lifetime ago) so I really wanted to give it a try in the original English. I will pair them with an amazing audiobook I found on spotify, I had already listened to The Fellowship Of The Ring, but I might just start over to read/listen the whole thing one after the other. I will only have to decided whether I want to wait for the beginning of the new year or what.

Productivity:

updated my reading journal

brain dumped some ideas for a future reading challenge

created the rest of the weekly spreads I needed in my bullet journal

worked on several future posts

planned my next couple of weeks since I will be working almost everyday (I'll have to do at least one more round of planning but at least I blocked out when I'll be working n my calendar)

practiced Irish on duolingo

worked for the whole afternoon (yes, I'm still at work as I'm posting this)

continued listening the audiobook of Nettle and Bone by T. Kingfisher

Self care:

did not set an alarm in the morning but woke up pretty early

read first thing in the morning

took time to reflect on the frist month of rest and relaxation in this post

lunlun's reading challenge // day 14

Which book quote would you use to describe yourself?

This question is so good, yet so hard to answer. I would love to describe myself with Frankenstein's "Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful", but I'll just have to manifest for that one at this moment of my life. On the subject of fear one of my favourite passages of Eaters Of The Dead by M. Crichton is much closer to reality: “Herger said to me, "Be thankful, for you are fortunate." I inquired the source of my fortune. Herger said in reply, "If you have the fear of high places, than this day you shall overcome it; and so you shall have faced a great challenge; and so you shall be adjudged a hero.” Herger is a character I love dearly, he always manages to see the positive side of things, and this quote in particular underlines something I am learning to embrace, the fact that the one thinng you can control is your own reaction to things, so you ight as well see your fears are just another opportunity to challenge yourself and succeed.

📖: Frankenstein by Mary Shelly, Nettle and Bone by T. Kingfisher

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leomlarson · 28 days

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LEO LARSON

full name: leonard "leo" michael larson

pronouns & gender: he/him, cis man

birthday & birthplace: february 9, 1996 (28); ann arbor, mi

location: ocean crest apartments

time in aurora bay: four years

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: art teacher at aurora bay high school

@aurorabayaesthetic

about.

leo is a midwestern boy through and through. he was born and raised in ann arbor, michigan (go blue!) and really prides himself on that. he'll go to bat for the midwest any day.

he's the oldest of three, with two younger sisters who he'd literally die for. his extended family on his mom's side is incredibly tight; his mom and all of her siblings actually bought up a lot of the houses in the same little cul-de-sac, so leo grew up seeing his cousins more like his siblings. lots of game day barbecues that spilled out into the street, riding bikes around town, driving around because there was nothing else to do, the whole suburban experience really

his parents split up when he was nine and he has little to no contact with his dad, who moved across the country after the divorce. he loves his mom but she went through a long period of dating bad guys that hasn't really ended, so he definitely has daddy issues

he's loved art for as long as he can remember, and he was always gifted with it. it started with chalk drawings in the driveway and went from there. he went to a progressive, hippy dippy high school in ann arbor that allowed him to specialize and get together a portfolio for college

leo is. not smart lmao. but he is talented, which is what got him into a joint brown university/rhode island school of design program. doing the whole ivy league thing was really not leo's jam. he felt like he was too far from his family and had a hard time fitting in to the kind of upper class vibe at an ivy, but he was able to find his niche and really focus on his work because of it.

after college, a fellowship brought him out to san francisco. he loved sf, but the kind of snobbery that really repulsed him in college just came out in full force when he was trying to break into the art world. the fellowship was supposed to last two years, but he gave it up after one and packed up his whole life to move south to aurora bay

he's been in town for four years now, and during that time he worked on teaching certifications, sort of because he didn't know exactly what else to do. all he wants to do all day is paint, but he developed such an imposter syndrome on top of a distaste for the established art world, so he figured that teaching art would allow him to do what he loves everyday while also giving him a lot of time to work on his own projects

he got a job at aurora bay high school and lives to project the kind of cool, gay, tattooed hippie teacher vibe that his teachers in high school had. he still does his own stuff and shows at local galleries/maintains a website where he sells pieces. he also does murals all over town, in storefronts, on the sides of businesses, for anyone who wants one at affordable prices. he sells handmade jewelry at local artisan markets. he just loves to make art!

leo is a very simple guy. the only things that really get through into his brain are pretty things. flowers, trinkets, etc. his apartment is immaculately designed, he's always looking out for a cute new piece for his mantel.

tidbits.

he has a dilute tortoiseshell cat named robert, after robert rauschenberg, who he mostly just calls bob

he actually speaks fluent irish but hardly ever has a chance to use it. his mom is a first generation american and her parents were basically irish nationalists who only came to the states because they were so poor in ireland. they were all about keeping the irish language alive, so his whole family spoke irish growing up

he's a bit of a slut! he is ACTIVE on grindr and tinder and all the things. if your character is too, they've probably hooked up

basically, he's just a sunshiny pretty boy

connections

party buds, hopeless wingman case for @heyits-asher

intrigued by, highkey crushin on @paxton-brady

art friends w/ @cherryxkoch, @maura-cortes, @cassidyxcooke

internet turned irl art friends w/ @lennonhansley

past fwb/on weird terms with @dancingdanvers

neighbors who leo drags into impromptu board game/wine/craft nights @emersonxcassidy, @cricketcampbell

went on a few dates with @atticus-cortes before they both accidentally ghosted each other

ex hookup/helped @esmaxdemirci cheat on her husband in sf

friend/former camper of @caleb-majhi

#aurorabay.intro

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childofchrist1983 · 4 months

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The more we lean on God and His Holy Word and Spirit, the more we realize how good and wonderful He is. Everyday, when we fellowship and communicate with God, we are exposed to another level of who He is. God's love compels us to serve Him and to give Him praise, because that is what He calls us to do and the very reason He created us. We desire to know Him and have more of Him in our hearts and lives. There is nowhere else where we can find His peace, His goodness, His love and His faithfulness. Let us pray that all those who have not come to the knowledge of Him and His goodness and Gospel Truth will be able to receive the revelation and be saved. As Christians, we choose to keep Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ first in our hearts and lives and all other worldly desires behind us. He extends salvation to everyone, and we want to show the world the freedom, hope and peace they can have in accepting and following Him. May we follow and serve God daily with love, trust, awe and wonder. May Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ strengthen our faith, lift our spirits, protect our hearts, and show us opportunities to help bring others to Him and His Gospel Truth daily. May we do this duty boldly, humbly and faithfully. To God be all the honor and praise and glory!

We must come to Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ with sincere hearts to ask forgiveness and follow Him and His Holy Word and Spirit always. We praise Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the mercy He bestows upon us and we are grateful for His grace and mercy and infinite blessings. By surrendering our hearts and our lives to His will, we see all the blessings He has bestowed upon us. God our refuge and our salvation and our constant provider. We lift our voices to Him in praise for His steadfast love, mercy and understanding. May Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ open our minds and hearts more and more to perceive and embrace Him and His truths. May He help us to find time to pray and read and study the Holy Bible daily and to find power in prayer, praying according to His Holy Word and will. May He help us to come to Him in true repentance and with faith in Him and His grace and merciful nature. May He give us the grace, courage and strength we need to walk with Him and do His will daily. May He teach us to watch our words when we pray to Him and to speak reverently and rightly. May we continually ask God to transform our hearts and make us faithful and humble as we walk with Him daily. We must come to Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ with honest, humble and repentant hearts. We must seek Him and His will and choose to follow Him all the days of our lives. May He help transform our hearts, help us to seek and live for Him above all else and to grow spiritually and build our faith and relationship with Him with each passing day. May He forgive our sinful nature and help us always make Him and our relationship with Him top priority.

As true and born-again Christians, we choose to walk in His righteous path and lead a life that is pleasing to Him. We desire Him and His will above anything else. We desire to walk in accordance with the love and light He has shown to us through His Holy Word and Spirit. We long for a deeper relationship with Him and a deeper fellowship with our brothers and sisters in Christ as well. When we fall into temptation and sin, we must turn to Him for forgiveness, strength and guidance. When believers learn to walk in accordance with God's Holy Word and Spirit, they have deeper fellowship with both God and one another. And the sin that could threaten to destroy that fellowship, if confessed (1 John 1:9), is covered in the blood of Jesus Christ and no longer a barrier between us and God. May we ask Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ to forgive us for any sins we have sinned this day or in days past. May we be faithful to Him and His Holy Word always. May He help us to walk more consistently in the light and to not neglect long to confess and forsake any sins that hinder our walk with Him. May He lead us in the direction He wants us to go so that we may seek and serve Him faithfully. God is holy and almighty and deserving of all praise honor and glory. We rejoice in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ, knowing He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is the Alpha and the Omega (Revelation 1:8). May our hearts always be filled with thanksgiving and rejoicing. May He help us to praise Him freely and honestly like all believers who came before us. May we live a life that showcases our love and trust in Him and His Holy Word and Spirit as He uses us draw others to Him and His soul-saving Gospel Truth daily. May He continue guide, correct and protect us, so that we continue to grow in Him and not weaken and stray. May we all remain faithful to Him and to this duty and purpose He has called us to. Seek and put your faith and trust in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ and let Him do the rest. May He humble our hearts and help us focus on following and serving Him daily and helping others with joy and happiness. We lift our voices in praise to Him for His love, mercy, peace, faithfulness and grace - For EVERYTHING!

It is vital that we remain rooted in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ through prayer and His Holy Word and Spirit and that we live and walk as a beacon of His light and love and share and spread the Gospel Truth daily, so that the lost souls in this world can come to know Him and be saved. The more we focus on Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ, growing spiritually by building our relationship with Him, leaning on Him and His Holy Word and Spirit, the better off we will be. Thanks to this and our faith in Him, we know that everything will be alright. And we will forever be grateful to Him. As true and born-again Christians, we believe in Him and His Holy Word and we strive daily to walk in His Holy Spirit. We know though our mortal bodies should die, He will raise us up and into new and glorious bodies (The Rapture). We who are truly His and alive at His second coming will never die, and our bodies will be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, and so shall we ever be with Him in His Kingdom of Heaven forevermore (1 Corinthians 15:51-52, 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17). This is one of many promises given to us by God Himself. Thank God for His strength and guidance when we are faced with sin and temptation. Thank Him for His mercy and grace. Through Bible study and prayer, God reveals His wisdom and guides us to see opportunities to grow closer to Him and grow spiritually. He gives us direction to live our lives daily according to His will.

Jesus Christ is the ONLY way to Heaven (John 3:5, 14:6), the ONLY way to salvation (Acts 4:12, Ephesians 2:8-9) and He is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25-26). Jesus Christ the LORD of lords, the KING of kings, the GOD of gods (Deuteronomy 10:17, 1 Timothy 6:15, Revelation 17:14, Revelation 19:16) - He is the Living, Almighty and Everlasting God (Isaiah 9:6, Revelation 1:8, John 3:16, John 3:36, Jeremiah 10:10). There is no other God besides Him (Isaiah 45:5). We MUST humble ourselves before Him, turning our backs on false teachers, false gods and idols and our sinful ways. We MUST repent and turn back to God and recognize who He is and love Him in return for His great love for us. We MUST make God top priority everyday! May we be motivated to spread God's Holy Word and Gospel Truth to all the Earth, knowing that it is the only hope of all those lost in their sins. Let us not hold out a false hope for men to be saved without the Gospel, but instead, strive to do our part to get the Gospel out to a lost and dying world.

Leaning on Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ through prayer and His Holy Word and Spirit strengthens us and our knowledge and wisdom about God and His Gospel Truth, exposing these imposters. May God help us to seek and lean on Him daily to gain the strength, wisdom and spiritual discernment needed to expose Satan and his imposters who seek to destroy us and God's ultimate Truth. Everyday, we must remember to share Jesus Christ's Gospel Truth with the world and to thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the grace that He poured out for us on the cross at Calvary. He has freed us from the burdens of sin and from the eternal damnation of Hell. In all we say and do, may all praise, honor and glory always be given to Him and His Kingdom of Heaven.

With renewed minds, hearts and wills, let us serve Him humbly and faithfully out of pure love and grateful rejoicing. May He remind us of His presence and to remain at peace, fully knowing that all will be well because He is always with us. Let us seek Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ today and everyday with all our heart and being, looking for His love, light and will for our lives with each step we take. Let us seek to please Him with our thoughts, words, and deeds and seek to advance His Kingdom of Heaven and His glory with our lives. Let us seek Him from a pure and humble heart, and when we so seek, we believe Him and His promise that we will find. May He help us all to be more sensitive to the teaching ministry of His Holy Word and Spirit, relying on Him and allowing Him to speak to us and guide us every step of our Christian journey.

God gave us the Holy Bible - His living and Holy Word - to let us know of Him and His abiding love and care as well as guide and prepare us for all our lives. May He help us encourage one another as we continue our walk with Him and our duty to Him daily. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for being present for all our new beginnings and all our lives. May He redirect any anxiety we feel as He provides countless opportunities for growth and change. May we humble ourselves before God always, asking Him to forgive our sins and make our hearts and lives anew through His Holy Word and Spirit. May He help us make Him and His Holy Word top priority, so we can grow spiritually and grow in our relationship with Him as we apply it to our daily lives. Thank God that we can focus on Him and everything about Him, for that is what keeps us sane and at peace. May our words and actions always be a reflection of Him and His Holy Word and Spirit and will.

May He help us to always walk in His grace and Holy Spirit, not by our own measure. May He give us the humble humility to know that our freedom and eternal salvation is found only in Him, so that His grace may sustain us, and we may never lose sight of His love and light and mercy. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for calling us to Him and to serve Him. May He equip us to do all that He has called us to do so that as He works through us, He may use us to produce fruit, to reach others, and to encourage all brothers and sisters in Christ. May He work all of these things in us and through us for His Kingdom and His glory. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all His creation, for His miraculous ways and for everything He does and has done for us! Keep the faith and keep moving forward in your walk with Jesus! He loves us and He knows what is best for us. Seek, follow and trust in Him - Always!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Word and for sending His Holy Spirit so that we might have His grace, not only to awaken us and transform our hearts in our spiritual rebirth and guarantee our eternity with Him, but to also call upon Him whenever we are in need. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all the reminders of His love and mercy and faithfulness within His Holy Word. He is bigger than any challenge or circumstance in our lives. Knowing this within our minds and our hearts, nothing can deter our faith in Him and His Truth. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful LORD, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

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solarfeylix · 6 months

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Today, at 10:00am, Frodo wakes up in Rivendell, after being stabbed by the witch king of Angmar. (LOTR: The Fellowship of the Ring, 2001)

I was born on this day, the same year this movie came out. I have always loved the Hobbit, but only just recently realized that when my fiancé mentioned, 'it's almost 10 o'clock' and I had to dig DEEP hahaha, I also saw a picture earlier referencing it so that helped.

Anyway, I always love seeing my birthday in movies or games. It makes me feel like otherwise, I exist. I dunno why. Maybe it's slight narcissism. Maybe it's because I don't feel like I exist everyday. I am unsure of the why. But I do know it gives me something to look forward to every year, and that's what I feel like counts most.

#the hobbit #fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings #october 24

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walkswithmyfather · 1 year

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“We thank You, Lord”

“We thank You, Lord,

And worship You with gladness;

We praise Your name

And lift our hearts in song;

For You are good,

Your love endures forever,

Your faithfulness

Continues all day long.

You’ve lavished us

With every spiritual blessing;

We thank You, Lord,

And praise You now in song.

We thank You, Lord,

For everyday provisions,

For daily food,

For clothes and shelter too,

For health and strength

And grace for every trial,

For this free land

Where we can worship You.

You crown each day

With Your abundant goodness;

We thank You, Lord,

And lift our praise to You.

We thank You, Lord,

For giving us salvation.

You sent Your Son

That we might be forgiv’n.

Far as the east

From west, our sins have vanished;

Now justified,

We’re citizens of Heav’n.

You’ve sealed us with

Your promised Holy Spirit;

We thank You, Lord,

For love so freely giv’n!

We thank You, Lord,

For giving us the Bible

To guide our steps,

If we’ll but hear and read,

And for Your Church,

A worldwide living body,

That gives sweet fellowship

And meets our need.

We are encouraged,

And we worship gladly;

We thank You, Lord,

You’ve made us rich indeed!”

From: Susan H. Peterson, 1997 - Public Domain (Via)

Thank You Lord. Amen! 🙏🕊️🙌

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ewan-mo · 7 months

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Mo had a dream

20th September 2023

The youngest student at the workshop; 2 months old. Son of Brenda, Community MH nurse, he is just 2 months old. He’s called Zion. And very advanced, of course.

At breakfast today I decided to have avocado. Because I could, because it’s good for me, and because we normally eat quite a bit of it at home.

Our menu here tends to be based on common Ugandan everyday foods, hence yesterday’s liver and cooking banana and today’s avocado.

Ewan began the day’s programme with a snowball exercise. 2-3 people discuss first, then they join another group to become 6 and so on. Each time the group has to decide on its ‘top 3’ – in this case, their top three things learnt as a result of the partnership with Jamie’s Fund. Great to read their results. I was not surprised, but I was moved, to hear mention of loving our patients, and other similar sentiments

Long ago in Malawi, I was surprised and upset to find that the PrivateNotForProfit hospitals, which were mostly faith based, wouldn’t care for any patients with mental illness. While in government service we were developing community mental health care and reducing the population of the mental hospital, the mission hospitals were saying “We don’t do this.”

We asked a question of the Christian Medical Fellowship in UK as to why should this be? That led to a consultation: “Should faith based health institutions provide mental health services?”

An international conference followed in 1998: Developing Mental Health: a Challenge to the Churches. We brought participants from five continents - mental health workers, their managers and their bishops, and had a wonderful week in a conference centre in England.

By then I had a dream: that faith-based hospitals, especially in low-income countries, would develop community mental health services, and offer love and commitment to this group of people who are so often stigmatised, rejected and outcast.

Working in Jamie’s Fund in Uganda, my dream has come true. Our young colleagues here have a shining vision to make things better in mental health, and they are transforming lives. They also love to learn and we are having such a good week with them.

Second on today’s agenda I presented Trauma Matters, prepared by our good friend Helen, a Liverpool psychiatrist. We were all looking forward to her first visit to Uganda – and so was she, but late in the day illness stopped that happening. Interesting presenting other people’s powerpoint! But I already knew that she and I had were of the same tribe, had concerns and values in common, and that it was a privilege to present her work.

After lunch our colleague Sudaat told us about a new syndrome “Shake Shake”. Every so often these slightly odd presentations crop up, often in boarding schools, looking like some weird neurological disease. As far as I know, they never are, but are usually due to underlying stress and the girls ‘catch’ it from each other. You won’t be surprised to hear that in ShakeShake the girls’ legs shake.

Some of our colleagues had asked for screening tools to give them a straightforward and speedy way to assess those patients in medical clinics who come with physical symptoms but appear to have nothing wrong with them. So we talked about screening principles and got them doing translations of one such tool into local languages. Much hilarity ensued. Keeping control was like herding cats.

We took a group photo with the banner of the the Diversity Foundation behind the group. Diversity Travel have been very generous in their support to Jamie’s Fund and have paid about half the cost of this work shop for which we are very grateful..

Ewan enjoys data. Don’t drown in data, turn it into information! Kuule from Bwindi and Lamet from Mukono, both very able and visionary mental health clinicians, joined Ewan to show how it could be done. Kuule and Ewan have recently spent a considerable time preparing a research paper on this very subject, which shows how the number of patients attending mental health clinics around Bwindi has increased as more clinics have been opened as a result of training of clnical staff in basic mental health care, sponsored by JF. The only officially required figures are for the clinic attendances rather than how an individual attends. Just looking at the number of attendances doesn't tell you about the size of pool of patients or if individuals are attending regularly for follow up. You need this to be able to manage your service effectively.

Supper as usual and early bed.

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4getfulimaginator2022 · 2 years

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Thorns in My Side, part 1/7

CS modern AU, based on Beauty and the Beast. Emma Swan finds extraordinary roses and beside them, a man who hides behind the thorns. In the end, meeting him may be her downfall, in more ways than one. Her weakness is seeing both the beauty and the beast within - and this time, she can't look away.

Thorns in My Side on AO3 | Thorns in My Side on FF.net

Part 1 - We Stumble

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She can't remember how she first came upon the house.

The memory is fuzzy along the edges, a series of left and right turns (and a couple of frustrating cul-de-sacs) she had traversed in the hopes of finding a new way to walk from school back to her dingy, one-bedroom apartment. After that stalker ― creep ― had started following her route, she had told herself to be fearless, failed to convince herself that cowering in the shadows because of one psycho bum wasn't worth all this trouble...so she had followed a trail of cozy-looking homes until here she was, gaping.

Well, it was kind of worth her reaction. Polished oaken walls, a burgundy roof that gleamed in the sunlight, and crystal windows that scintillated with a smile if you peeked at them at just the right angle.

But that wasn't what had caught her attention.

It was the roses.

There were roses everywhere, from the trellis to the arching porch and back again to the tall white picket fence and grand pecan tree on guard, twisting and winding until there was no beginning and no end to the spindly, prickly, full-blooming marvels. Red and white and yellow and pink, sweet-smelling wild and tame and hybrid, orange bursting onto scarlet and crimson spraying onto peach. There was a heady perfume that could only belong to this variety of flower, bud and blossom and fledgling flower entangling in a lover's embrace that repeated over and over again.

In this neighborhood of black and white, here was color. It wasn't sunshine and daisies ― it was more. The turmoil in this extraordinary front yard spoke of passion, of fervor, of recklessness. It spoke of care and honesty, of deepest affection. It was truly bedazzling.

Her mind spinning from the onslaught of this vision, this unprecedented display of natural beauty that supposedly only existed in greenhouses and botanical expos (and on the stiff pages of very expensive hardcover books), Emma drew closer and gave up the fight.

She had never believed in love at first sight, but head over heels, she fell. Making a note of the address amidst the whirlwind of scent and flora, she promised herself that she would come back.

True to her instincts and her stubborn will, it only took a day for her to find her secret garden again.

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Emma sighed as she leaned on the one post not covered by sloping, thorny vines, gazing intently at the soft petaled rose in front of her. It was a sweet rose ― sweet because of its baby bottom color and its winsome smell ― and she could swear it felt as soft as it looked, even though it was out of her reach.

Every afternoon after dull college classes that irked the hell out of her, Emma would almost run off campus to wind and wander through lonely concrete streets, ignoring the puzzled and curious stares of simple folk going about everyday life on their properties. She would scramble, stagger, and stumble across beaten sidewalk and crumbling asphalt, desperate for her little piece of heaven, her hundreds and thousands and millions of roses. Well, not really millions ― but it would be a close guess, seeing all those buds nestled next to each other, part of a giant family that was united in sap and form and fellowship.

This was her daily routine. For weeks, she took the bus in the morning, endured her droning teachers and the one or two classes she genuinely enjoyed, and then...her haven awaited, in all its fragrant, aesthetic splendor.

Yeah, she had a thing for art and nice things making a pretty picture (she was no photographer, though). It was her secret delight, and as for gardening... She couldn't be sure about something she had never tried.

Shifting from one foot to the other in order to avoid stiff knees, Emma swayed gently when the wind blew suddenly. Then her eyes snapped open.

All these months she had been coming here ― was it two or three? ― she had never seen the denizen of said residence. In fact, aside from studying the building and assessing it was a comfortable living space, she had never even given it a passing glance. Not when her focus was elsewhere.

Now she wondered.

It was sturdily built, this cabin-like abode. It had that not-so-subtle masculine touch, a crafty design that spoke of forests and downy earth. The architecture was simple, the materials solid. Okay, so a man lived here. Did he hibernate or something, that he was never out and about his own house?

Nevertheless, her respect and admiration only grew for this tiny mansion in the middle of nowhere. All her life (well, all twenty-three years of it), she had been the classic outcast, always on the outside looking in. She was the window shopper, seeing what she wanted through paned glass but unable to acquire it.

Family.

Love.

A place to call home.

But most of all, love. Someone who wanted her, somewhere she truly belonged.

Was that really so much to ask, when she had nothing?

Even now, she couldn't understand the allure of these roses. She wasn't a "rose kind of girl" ― peonies and carnations, please and thank you ― but somehow, after she had found this house, everything had changed. And she was still outside the gate, wanting something she couldn't have.

Her life was utterly, utterly pathetic.

Noticing that it was dusk, Emma gave each of her favorites one last wistful smile before turning around and heading home.

Hah. Home was one of those things on her wish list, buried in the closet of her heart.

Back to the death trap of an apartment it was. But she couldn't help looking back every once in a while, watching the flowers glow golden under the lamplight as they faded into the night.

And still, the windows of the house remained dark.

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Nothing went right. Nothing ever went right.

First it had been school, her group presentation a grade F bomb because the only group member present was yours truly, and then her lab partner spilled chemical goop all over their table and her clothes. Then when she went to man the fort at the grocery store she cashiered for, it took one broken egg carton, four rude customers, and two epic outbursts to get her boss to threaten to fire her. And then at her apartment, the pipes broke and the landlord was squalling about two weeks late rent and her favorite red leather coat got lost on the bus and...

It was raining. Hard. She didn't have an umbrella. And she was running through puddles and lakes and oceans of water, soaking her only pair of boots, and she was stomping them through splashes and tidal waves.

She had to get to the roses. She had to. Maybe then all this madness would look sane. Maybe, when she saw proof that one corner of this damn world was still beautiful, she could make herself believe that it was.

Maybe.

She didn't get even halfway there before she slipped on a piece of malignant concrete and was dumped unceremoniously on her behind, the stress of the day forcing her to break. Covered in raindrops and her own tears, Emma huddled on the pavement, hugging her arms to her sides and hiding her face on her lap.

And the rain came down with a vengeance, screaming in fury and washing away the sounds of her sobs as she sat there on the edge of the pavement, wet and alone and disregarded in the middle of the raging storm.

No one cared. No one ever had cared. And from the looks of it, no one ever would.

For who could want someone like her, the little lost girl?

She would always be Emma the orphan for the rest of her life.

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The pipes were fixed. Her salary was safely deposited in her bank account and the landlord got one month's rent in advance. The sun was shining outside. School was as monotonous as ever, but her grades were up.

She should be happy, feel happier. But she didn't. It was temporary relief, that's all.

When classes were over for the day, she knew where she needed to go.

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The neighbors called it "the forsaken shack." By now, they were used to her visits to the house, some even waving at her half-heartedly when she passed by ― but they were less than willing to divulge any details about its status quo, and they were far less willing to discuss its current owner. Narrowed eyes and mouths shut tight. Lips pursed in a sneer. Spit hurled on the ground, jeers voiced derisively against that "ridiculous, nauseating, pink eyesore of a front yard."

She had not pondered why the lights never went on in the evenings, why all parts of the house seemed to spotless while the yard was in a state of perpetual disarray. She had not asked till now, and her curiosity was demanding why she hadn't bothered. Maybe she hadn't because she was trying so hard not to care at all...

Only one woman, elderly and with dogs trailing about her ankles, whispered to Emma that the man who lived in that "quaint little cottage with the lovely flowers" was something of a recluse, keeping to himself and seldom coming out. He had a past, she said, a history ― but few knew his name, let alone his background. He was rarely seen, and if and when he appeared in broad daylight, he wasn't introducing himself to any of them.

Curiosity killed the cat, Emma told herself when she proceeded to take her stand by her favorite fencepost. Why would she even bother to find out anything about the person hiding behind those walls when she was too busy hiding behind her own?

After all, it's not as if she wanted to meet the guy ― she was only here for the roses. As long as everyone was aware she wasn't some stalker or would-be burglar doing reconnaissance, her daily treks were a perfectly ordinary pastime. Or so she tried to persuade herself while closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Yeah right. Leaning against a fence, being miles away from her real home (the word was beginning to leave a bitter aftertaste in her mind), gazing for hours at rosebushes growing in someone else's yard ― very, very normal.

She ignored the whispering inside, the warning voice that had told her not to get attached to this place. Too late, she shot back defiantly. I want to be here.

When the darkness began to cast its spell and she spun on her heel to walk away, wrapping herself more tightly in her new jacket and plodding slowly toward everything she didn't want to go back to, she missed the careful lifting of the blind in the farthermost window. She failed to notice artificial light sneaking through a slowly upturned curtain and illuminating a particular outline behind the flimsy-looking piece of cloth, the shadow of a figure enveloped by pale blue.

Nothing is ever for free.

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Days continued as they should, nights a lonely remembrance of all Emma dreamed. But she was oddly content with her routine, waiting to see the one light that shone brighter than anything else in her life. It was all she had.

The roses were growing wildly, blindly, rapidly. They were entwining around her, clouding her senses. She had started drawing them in her notebooks, black ink spiraling until there were dozens of petals and sleeping buds and leaves. And then it struck her, as her English professor spoke of Shakespeare and Act I of "Romeo and Juliet": why was she only seeing the roses?

Why wasn't she smelling them, holding them...touching them?

It was three months, going on four, and she had not even grazed one flower with her fingertip, content to drink in the sight but never experiencing it.

Old fears sprang forward, but she grew determined, adding coral shadowing to the red blossom on the back cover of her composition book as she hardened her resolve.

Today. Today would be the day she finally held one of those heavenly roses in her hand.

No more watching.

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She felt as Adam did in Michelangelo's Sistine Ceiling fresco, stretching out his hand to God in order to touch the divine (bless that art class). Tentatively, boldly, she stretched out her own hand, a sigh parting her lips when she cupped the blood red rose in front of her, curling over wood and beyond as if to beckon and encourage.

Hello beautiful, she whispered to herself, bending it forward until her nose could be buried deeply in its folds. Nectar and perfume, wafting upwards. The sweetest caress. Unearthly beauty indeed ― if there was a God, and he created this wretched earth, he certainly could take credit for designing flowers. Perhaps she should become a botanist ― no, a florist―

When the stem snapped suddenly, the strain and force of her pull effectively disconnecting it from its mother branch, a loud scream crackled through the air―

And Emma, mortified, was adhered to the ground as the world she knew tore apart.

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"Who the bloody hell do you think you are, you conniving, thieving slag?!"

He was dragging her past the gate, his grip hard and rough and unyielding. His fury was tangible, and she was shaking, dumbly submitting as her entire body went into a state of shock.

Portland, Oregon. Hands behind your head, Miss. You know your rights? Bars and bars and more bars, all displaying she had lost: her freedom, her belief, her trust. Handcuffs, feet cuffs, no privacy. Caught, caught, caught. Punished. Wicked, worthless girl. Eleven months of bullying, of fright, of temptation. Of endless, endless torture.

At last, she fought back.

Ripping her hand from his hold, she shrieked when he grabbed both of her arms as she tried to run.

"Think you can steal from me, lass, and get away with it?" he yelled, shaking her hard. "After all the stalking I've endured from you at my expense, it will be a pleasure to call the bloody cops, let them decide what to do with you―"

"No!" Her eyes widened in terror, and she stopped struggling. "Please don't call them ― please!"

He lifted a brow ― she could make that out, but her blurry vision (was she crying?) was preventing her from seeing all his features ― so she hastily continued her apology. "I didn't mean any harm ― I only wanted―" she gulped, "―needed to feel one. Please, you don't understand―it was an accident―"

"That's what they all say." He laughed sardonically, a chilling sound. "You are damned right that I don't understand. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have a sodding scavenger like you arrested for harassment and theft this instant, and perhaps―"

She interrupted, "I love your roses. Look ― I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a hard worker, so how 'bout we make a deal? I'll help around your yard ― fix it up―" she chuckled uneasily, trembling when his gaze turned into a burning glare, "―maybe help with housework, chores?"

The man scoffed at her, his brogue thickening as his anger intensified. "A common thief inside my own house? I would never trust you with even a pair of scissors―"

She cried out when he squeezed her muscles, the dead grass swallowing her falling tears. "Please," she whimpered, too frightened and ashamed to feel humiliated by the defeat in her tone, "please give me a chance. A chance to make it up to you." Her voice was a desperate whisper. "We can work this out. It was only one rose."

He cocked his head, and, blinking quickly, she gaped as his face became clear. Eyes as crystal blue as pure sea ― magnetic. Rugged jaw, dark stubble, handsome profile, dark hair ― ethereal appearance. From the looks of it, he was only several years older than her...but that glint in his gaze, the fire there...he seemed like he had aged centuries in one glance.

She was too terrified to be awestruck.

Hesitating, he peered at her intently before shoving her away, his hands ― wait, wait. His left hand was oddly stiff, the fingers unmoving. It was as if―

Emma covered her open mouth with her hands, willing herself not to gasp, not to react at all. She took a step backward, wanting to put as much space as possible between herself and her captor. He had made a mountain out of a molehill, and though she understood why he was upset, she had made a mistake. Why should one less rose matter, when his property was overrun with them anyway?

A sneer crossed his lips, and his eyes darkened. "Tell you what ― I'll think on it." He was scrutinizing her closely. "What's your name, love?"

She clutched the fragmented rose to her chest. "Emma Swan," she stammered, praying for her courage to return. In an instant, she was seventeen again, frightened out of her wits and unable to believe that such terrible, terrible things could happen to her ― even though they always did.

He smirked at her. "Well, Emma Swan," he drawled sarcastically, "come back tomorrow ― same time ― and we'll discuss my terms." When she shifted, he stepped forward until his mouth was by her ear. "But if you try to hide," he warned, "or if you try to run, rest assured that I will find you. And believe me, you will not enjoy the consequences of that choice ― make no mistake about that. Indeed, I'm sure one of my neighbors would be more than willing to testify to seeing you around here so often..."

She nodded hurriedly, wishing for nothing more than to disappear. "Tomorrow," she promised.

He eyed her up and down before he strode back toward the front entrance. Then he stopped short, turned around, and marched right back to her quickly enough that she didn't even have a chance to move one foot. "You forgot something," he growled, ripping the broken rose from her hands and stuffing it into the pocket of his coat.

Watching him re-enter his house and slam the open door shut, she stood paralyzed, with fallen petals strewn over her hands.

They were all that remained of her joyous dream.

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Emma knew all too well the pain of losing a favorite haunt, the way it hurt to lose anything ― but life forced you to move on, even if you thought you couldn't. Yes, that ache was too familiar.

Her mind was blank, as if she had awakened from some dreadful dream. She couldn't see anything but him ― savage, violent, outraged. The intimidation she had incurred. The horrid memories that had threatened to push her down to her knees and make her beg for mercy. Never, never did she want to relive those memories, those images, those feelings. She had sworn to herself to forgive and forget, but the hurt, the scars...she couldn't will them away for all the roses in the world.

They had touched a part of her long dormant, the innocent, wide-eyed girl who had hoped and dreamed and wished and prayed and fought for the things every child should have, every person should keep.

She had left her childhood in the dust. And womanhood was certainly no picnic. Study, work, eat, sleep, repeat. That was her daily schedule, her future: an endless cycle.

She wanted so much more than that.

And now she had gotten herself into this mucky shit of a situation, and...it didn't look good. At all. The man, whoever he was, was acting half-deranged, just because she "took" one of his precious flowers (as if they weren't sprouting all over the place), and now he thought she was indebted to him or something like that.

Crazy bastard.

Clenching her jaw, Emma tugged on a simple sweater and peeked out the one window in her apartment. It was late fall already, and soon it would be winter. The roses would be gone anyway, dead and buried.

So why was he making such a big deal out of nothing?

Trailing down the stairs, she figured there was only one way to find out.

She wasn't looking forward to this.

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"Here's how it will go, lass: I make the demands, you follow them," he instructed, waving his hand demonstratively as he showed her around and inside the garden shed, the backyard spanning several acres back. She had never realized how deserted the house really was, abandoned on some vacant lot ostracized from its surroundings. Settled at the end of a cul-de-sac bordered by some wildlife and unnamed forest-y turf, his territory spanned quite a sum of land.

Wiping his hands ― uh, hand ― on his jeans after grabbing a bit of dirt from the ground and analyzing it with his fingertips, the man grunted something unintelligible to himself before proceeding to his house, the soles of his boots leaving visible prints. Emma followed mutely, silencing her mental comments about how he would be quite attractive if he wasn't grimacing every other minute, his pendant necklaces swinging 'round and 'round his neck against his plain white t-shirt.

The layout of each room was...in a word, ingenious. The dimensions were small, but the unique interior design, obviously nautical in taste, created a sense of limitless space. Every piece of furniture, every decoration was arranged perfectly so that she could move about easily.

One bathroom, two bedrooms. The kitchen was rather large, and there wasn't any dining room. The living room was more of a mini-library with a black leather couch thrown in the middle. All in all, the house was...simple. But despite herself, Emma was warming to the coziness of it, the way everything inside her was pleading for something similar. Why couldn't I have had this? Why couldn't Neal have been―

She winced, flinching at the words. None of that, now.

When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her curiously. Her face blanching, she slipped her hands into her pockets (god, the man had had the nerve to frisk her before he allowed her to pass through the gate) and peered down at her booted feet. "So, what do you want me to do?" she mumbled, a stroke of worry and medium anxiety rushing her heartbeat.

He snorted, seeing right through her fears. "Don't flatter yourself, darling." When she opened her mouth to retort, he tsked. "You're something of an open book, m'dear, so let me enlighten you: you'll be working. Hard. Any task I assign you ― nothing kinky or anything of that kind, as I am a gentleman ― you will complete. Yardwork, housework ― as you so kindly suggested ― and maybe even a bit of cooking from time to time."

"And how long will this...arrangement last?"

"Already wanting to be rid of me?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "How disheartening. But let's see...you've skulking around my home for nearly...how many months now?" He made a show of counting on his fingers. "Hmm...about 4 or 5 months."

Emma bit her bottom lip defiantly. "And it took you that long to notice me?" she snapped.

His brow furrowed. "Let's get this straight right now: I let you stand about, staring aimlessly into space, admiring the view. Anyone else would have already booted you out on your arse and given you sufficient evidence of their displeasure at being watched for hours on end, but I allowed you to look and look and look. It was a courtesy, and since you never trespassed on my property, I tolerated you. But the moment you even fingered what is mine, you crossed the line. Understood?"

She gritted her teeth during her response. "Understood."

"To be fair," he continued, "I will expect the same period of time in return as compensation for your, uh, invasion of my privacy. That is when I will be done with you." His eyes narrowed. "Five months ― no more, no less."

Five months? Emma's heart plummeted to the bottom of her stomach, and she grew nauseous. Five months of being at the beck and call of this arrogant asshole who spoke like some stupid captain aboard a ship, all sassy and saucy and commanding―

"Agreed." She stuck out her hand warily, wanting some physical confirmation that a deal had been struck, though she didn't trust his word in any case. "I work for you for five months, and we keep this mum." Fidgeting, she swallowed hard and looked up at him. "Is it okay if I come only for a few hours after school's done? I work early in the morning, so there's that..."

"Fine," he said brusquely, shaking her hand quickly and then withdrawing his as if it had been burnt. "Come a bit before sunset, and you can leave around dusk. After all, I'll only be able to handle your company for so long at a time."

Damn right you couldn't handle it, she mentally cursed, taking a deep breath before putting on her thick leather gloves. "So, what's first on the list of things to do?"

He grinned wickedly, the smile unforgiving and cold. "Oh, I have something in mind..."

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The man still hadn't told her his name. One week, and no progress on that front.

Emma stared at her hands, trying in vain to remove the muck and grime settling under her fingernails and between her fingers. When rubbing it off under the running hose only made matters worse, smearing grease further across her skin, she groaned in frustration and gave up, kicking at the empty bucket for good measure.

She never saw him, never talked to him. Instead, a list was taped to the front door every time she stopped by, with the materials she needed to complete the chore or whatever ungodly duty he assigned her.

First, it was the impossible: cleaning out and re-organizing his entire tool shed, weeding out and fertilizing his grass, digging out all the dead, bare bushes in preparation for the winter. Cleaning out the junk piles lazily drifting about different areas of the backyard. Trimming the thick, bristly hedges that had the height of two men. Fixing his roof. Cleaning the gutter while standing precariously on a rickety ladder.

She wasn't a handyman type of girl, but she was doing the kind of work a professional carpenter or laborer would be charging damn good fricking money for.

The only time she had felt competent so far was when he had asked her in the postscriptum of one note to have a look at his old Jeep, which was hanging around under a crude metal canopy.

She did the oil change, checked the mileage, scrubbed under the hood, checked the tire tread, and to top it off, gave the poor wreck of a car a wash. That high school course about auto mechanics she had worked her ass for had really paid off in the end. It would have even more if she had a car of her own...

Now "the Captain" was giving her menial tasks ― cleaning his trash cans (who does that?), repainting his fence eggshell-white, dusting out the cobwebs from the high corners of the house. Y'know, for a bachelor, he didn't have a lot of trash to take out, really.

She despised washing his windows. She loathed waxing his doorknobs, polishing his car's hubcaps. Most of all, she hated having to do anything for him, who was probably too lazy to take care of his things himself.

But what she hated more ― what she didn't even dare to admit to herself ― was how, in every single note, a line was written all in capital letters, in bold and angry print: "DON'T TOUCH THE ROSES."

She never went near them. And if she couldn't finish a chore on time, she left the rest for the next day.

Then there was the inside work. The front door was unlocked, and though she believed His Highness wouldn't be able to escape her presence this time, being in the same atmosphere as she, he did his best by locking himself in his bedroom when she came. Until this day ― 1 month and 22 days, and counting ― she had never been inside. And it didn't look like she would anytime soon.

Cleaning was simple enough ― mopping the floors, dusting the bookcases, washing the tiles and whatnot. The bathroom was surprisingly well kempt, so sanitary efforts there were nowhere near as disgusting as she had imagined they would be. The kitchen was in order, the couch was rather shiny.

However...he wanted her to keep cleaning the house. Every. Other. Day. Understandably, the outside tasks diminished, mainly because she was so damn great at completing them. She had felt like strangling him when he demanded she do the same chore twice, because "it wasn't done well enough."

There wasn't any gratitude outlined in his lists. There weren't any congratulatory words hidden in his notes. No, for Emma, this was a true sacrifice ― of her time, of her energy. Her pride.

This was suffering ― doing something for someone you hated that would gain you nothing.

Still, she would rummage through his cabinets and his fridge (there was a spice rack!), rustle up spicy fish on the pan and mashed potatoes ― or deep, black-beaned chili in a bread bowl ― on Mondays and Wednesdays. Turkey patties with green peas and jasmine rice on Tuesdays. Thursdays called for bean sausages with red pepper, toasted and buttered buns, and loads of condiments, but Fridays were fried chicken and sweet potato fries. Saturdays and Sundays were the real torture, but she managed. She made enough for two days on Saturday ― either it was split pea, potato leek, or minestrone soup, combined with dark homemade bread and spinach salad, or sometimes she'd made a simple stir-fry ― and she hopefully assumed he would be content with leftovers for Sunday.

She was no cook, but she had taught herself when she was 10, and she had never forgotten. Desserts were varied, but she usually whipped up some fruit pie or simple cookies. Once she baked an upside-down brownie sundae cake. She left the vanilla ice cream to defrost on the counter.

No response from him. No reaction at all. But he left the dirty dishes in the sink for her to clean up.

All this food, everything she baked and created from scratch, was tempting her. It was prompting too much realization, making the tension and turmoil within burn too heatedly. Whatever sense of honor she had was being sorely tested.

God, she was caring for this monster's home like it were her own, and she was not receiving anything in return, not even the satisfaction of seeing him somewhat pleased.

He was taking and taking, she was giving and giving, and nothing was changing. Maybe she should resign herself to the fact that it would go on like this till the end, when their "deal" would be over after 5 months of being a veritable servant heeding his every command and whim.

She would work herself to the bone from sunrise until mid-morning, when she'd go to her classes, and then, a few hours before sunset, she would traverse miles to do free labor until dusk in a house filled with secrets. And she'd trudge back to her own habitat, subjected to restless nights and tired mornings.

If this was a taste of what her future was going to be like ― drudgery for the high and mighty who needed a kick in the behind more than a helping hand ― to hell with it.

To hell with him.

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He was a man who hid behind his own bedroom door, listening to Emma hum while she toiled, sometimes singing prettily while she polished the floor or arranged dinner. A man who peeked out a window or two while she walked around the front and back yard to ensure nothing was amiss. He would always sneak out right after the door clicked behind her to signal her departure, watching her shoulders sag heavily as she proceeded to go back to her own world.

Somehow, he had trapped her into his, and he couldn't understand why he was willingly letting her stay in it. He should do what's best for all involved and let her go, release her from this absurd contract of theirs.

He shouldn't be so attached to Milah's roses. He shouldn't be drinking himself into oblivion everyday, living on rum and whiskey and the telly ― his three best friends ― when he still had his own life. When he should be living it.

So many things he should do. So many more things he shouldn't.

Tilting his head back, he swallowed a deep draught of rum before tiptoeing into the kitchen to see what the Swan girl had concocted this time.

He shouldn't be so selfish. But, with quite a few sighs and after double-checking that the blinds were firmly shut, he turned on his television, slid onto his couch, and began to eat his supper.

Who bloody cared? She was dead, he was in love and happy, and all he had left was his stump of a hand, a broken heart, and crushed dreams.

He had nothing. He was alone. Why should he give a damn about Emma Swan?

Quietly and absently, his mind registered that the vegetable stew she had cooked in place of the usual chicken was quite delicious and remarkably pungent...

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She was suspicious when he started leaving her gifts. Well, why wouldn't she be, when he barely stuck his nose out to see if she was fulfilling her side of the bargain? Since when had the balance shifted? Since when was he nice?

First, it was snickerdoodle cookies, carefully wrapped in parchment and smelling too tantalizing (were those burnt edges around each of them...?), with his fancy cursive script signed on a small scrap of paper: Your favorite?

She must have gawked at the whole presentation for five minutes without moving a limb. Tucking the note into her pocket and the plate of cookies into her satchel, she wondered all the way home if they were poisoned or not.

When she went again for the usual routine, she noticed that several ingredients ― especially the ones needed for baking luscious, cinnamon-y cookies the size of your hand ― were depleted in their allotted containers. And there, lying on the counter, was another set, this time unburnt.

For the first time since she had begun working there, a smile broke out on her face, wide enough to make her cheeks hurt. When she finished preparing dinner that evening, she scribbled something on the same note he had used and stuck it by the cutlery laid out on the counter.

She chuckled when she found out he also had a soft spot for cherry pie.

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It was like awkward, adolescent pen pal correspondence, where you first stated all your preferences, your hobbies, your interests in a straight line, then drifting off towards mentioning the really important stuff. The information about yourself that few knew, the truth about yourself that made you who you are. The wounds that made you wake up in the middle of the night, crying from pain. Your fears.

All of that.

He liked gardening ― it was his passion. He loved sailing ― it was his life. He was a retired Royal Navy officer (she thought he was too young to be retired, so there had to be more behind that story...). He couldn't cook to save his life. He wanted to travel the world again and again and again. He knew how to play the guitar and the piano. As of right now, his favorite TV show was anything and everything on the Discovery channel. He loved to read ― especially classic literature. He knew Homer's Odyssey by heart. He had a sense of humor.

His replies were almost charming in their eloquence, and she found herself laughing more than once at his cheeky questions. He managed to weasel out of her her secret interests, her most wanted career, her love for hot chocolate with cinnamon sprinkled on top of the whipped cream. In a series of words and well chosen sentences, through simple paper and ink, he learned about her, and she learned about him.

He left her (sometimes badly constructed) pastries and sandwiches ― each day, she wrote for him simple recipes with detailed step-by-step directions on thick note cards, and slowly but surely, his culinary skills improved. A beautiful leather-bound journal and fountain pen were awaiting her after she said how lonely she got on weekend nights; she gave him a stack of DVDs (several BBC series and even a few ol' Disney films) and told him to lighten up his entertainment agenda.

Truth be told, Emma was looking forward to his messages. Though he didn't speak to her, there was just something about him...the mystery and intrigue of his seclusion, the solemn respect that had grown between them. As a result, colleagues at school would ask her to join them clubbing ― she said no ― and she would turn down any guys who asked her out (even that cute Irishman named Graham). She would always give them the same excuse: I have other plans. But heck, she had always been something of a loner...

It all simply meant she was anticipating the moment she would again cross the threshold of his home.

In class, in between the pages of her textbook, she would most secretly attempt to draw his face, remembering the striking blue of his eyes and the handsome outline of his jaw. The other notes ― the ones she had so despised, where he ordered her about ― had become long, personal letters about them, orders be damned...and against her will, she was mesmerized.

By him.

Ergo, she couldn't stop thinking about him. It was irrational and stupid and crazy ― she hated him, right, because he was such a jerk? ― but underneath all that, she was drawn. No, she was pulled by some unknown force to keep going there, caring less and less if she was working for free or not. Worrying less if she was falling and dropping under some enigmatic spell, where she lost her anger and felt joy instead at being inside a seemingly empty house, talking only with her pen and her housework.

This wasn't a matter of work or fear for her anymore. Here she was, wanting ― almost amicably ― to be there for him. Not out of obligation or pity, but out of...she didn't know what.

Strangest of all, it was all under the table and never face-to-face, this most odd friendship in bloom, and sometimes she asked herself if any of it was real...

But damn it, what bothered her most was that she didn't even know his name...

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She knew something was definitely wrong when there was no note on the door that evening. Her senses tingled further from sudden dread when she found the door locked.

He had never missed even one single goddamn day. Not even on holidays. Needless to say, he didn't celebrate them ― a choice they had in common.

Without a second thought, she knocked. Hard, desperately, and rhythmically. When there was no answer, the next resort was a bobby pin out of her hair and resuscitating her lock-picking talents.

She was inside in less than a minute.

The rooms looked normal, for the most part ― but the food was untouched. Emma shivered when she approached his bedroom door, knowing that consequences of disturbing him like this could be dire. After all, he could just be fast asleep after getting laid or something like that, right?

Her gut, shouldered by her instincts, told her (in a disgusted tone) that he didn't appear to be that type of guy. Plus, she kind of knew him and his habits after 3 months and 1 day (still counting) of coming here and reading his letters.

"Uh, hello?" she asked timidly, knocking. "Is anyone there?"

The sound of silence.

This door was locked as well, but the doorknob was...indestructible, made of solid brass and with no keyhole in sight. So Emma focused on her inner strength, recalled those short-lived karate lessons she took in high school, and kicked the darn thing open.

What she saw made her cry out and drop to the floor.

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"In plain English?" The doctor cleared his throat, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "He almost died from alcohol poisoning. If you hadn't called when you did...well, let's just say his fate would look much more...bleak." A wry, very small half-smile crossed his lips. "Trust me, I know from personal experience."

Emma nodded, barely able to see straight. When the physician cleared his throat again, as if expecting her to say something in reply, she peered at his ID tag ― Dr. Victor Whale, was it? ― and extended her hand. "Thank you, doctor."

He shook it warmly. "Don't worry too much, now ― your boyfriend will recover slowly, but he will live, Miss Swan."

After reassuring her again that all would be well, he left her alone in the hospital room, staring at the bed before her and the figure in it.

She hadn't bothered to correct Dr. Whale about the relationship status between her and Killian Jones, because what would be the point? Right now, she was still trying to absorb the fact of his name, let alone that he had literally tried to kill himself by drinking so much rum and whiskey that his blood was polluted with it. Or so the kindly nurse had told her during her final checkup on the patient.

She wanted to feel horrified, scandalized, disgusted ― anything but the overwhelming sadness that fell over her like a shadow when she looked at Jones, unconscious and dressed in the hospital's generic finery. It was too harsh a reminder of how she had felt when Neal had dropped the other shoe on her, when he had betrayed her and left her to rot in jail for what he had done. How she had felt as a child, when―

It felt so acutely like abandonment.

But she wasn't Jones' girlfriend ― she really wasn't his anything, and his problems certainly had nothing to do with her.

Then why...why did she pity him? Why did she understand it so well, the longing to let go and forget, forget, forget all the double-sided crap that life had thrown at you and fight back the only way you knew how? Why did she want to brush away those errant locks of hair from his forehead, to hold his hand as he lay there, believing there was nothing to live for?

Why did she blame him for this rise of compassion, this urge to break and break into a thousand pieces? Why did she feel...betrayed?

Why had her heart clenched when the paramedics first said there was a high chance he might die in the ambulance before they reached the hospital? Why did she even care?

Seeing him so broken...bruises along his face, his knuckles torn and bleeding...his bedroom a cluttered, utterly destroyed mess...his lifeless body, contorted as it rested on the floor... It had nearly shattered her ability to function normally, coherent speech and calm demeanor completely nonexistent.

He was very good-looking (yes, he was). He was intelligent and witty. Charming too, when he put his mind to it (was she defending him?). And, God, she had forgiven the asshole already ― probably long before she had realized it―

Emma's eyes watered, and she gritted her teeth in an attempt to quiet her rising anger. The pain inside was opening up, like a monstrous tidal pool sucking her in. How dare he ― how dare he assume he had the right to end it all? She bit back a sob, sinking into the uncomfortable chair by his side. How dare he do this to her ― re-open everything she'd tried so hard to bury inside―

She remembered performing her best idea of CPR on him when she had come to her senses and knelt beside him, pleading aloud for him to awaken. His too cold lips on hers ― a terrible first kiss, she would have joked ― as she breathed and breathed into him, thumping on his chest periodically. Shakily taking out her cell phone and dialing 911. The operator asking her to stay on the line until help arrived.

The paramedics asking her if she was his significant other, any thought of denial flying from her head. The way she had flushed red when they asked her for his name and insurance information. The hours and hours she had to wait in the emergency room, waiting for the doctor to stay the magic words "he's stable." The whispers she heard among the staff about Jones being on "suicide watch." His helpless state. His expressionless face, drained of torture and torment and agony. He almost looked...happy.

Happy to be dead and departed.

Grasping at the wallet ― his wallet, which she still hadn't peeked at ― inside her pocket to make sure it was still there, she fingered his house keys with her other hand, needing nothing more than to go back to her wretched little hole of an apartment and hide under the thick bedsheets.

She couldn't. She wanted to stay here, with him. Even if it killed her.

Because she liked him, dammit.

Resting her head in her hands, she glanced at the closed door, then at Killian Jones, before bursting into tears, willing the tension and exhaustion to depart.

The tragedy, the misery...the punishment never stopped.

In the beginning, she had promised herself that she would hate him for all eternity, that she wouldn't give a damn ― but, somehow, she had become attached to him. A mystery in itself. Or not so much. Somewhere, along his humble offerings and gifts and notes and letters, she had formed some kind of bond with him. The icing on the cake was that she thought she knew him, but after all this, she really didn't know him at all.

That didn't change the fact that she wasn't going to let him go ― not without a fight. Not on her watch.

Killian Jones and Emma Swan ― they weren't strangers any longer. It was high time to stop pretending that they were.

All these months, she hadn't seen him, hadn't heard him. But now, she did.

Now, she would.

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When he woke up five hours later, her arms were stretched out on the flimsy sheets and her eyes were half-lidded from bad sleep as she took in the sight of him. He groaned, turning his head towards the wall.

"Oh no ― not you."

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Way back when I was capable of writing 8000-word mega-chapters, this Beauty and the Beast retelling was born. In spite of its faults, I truly love it and think it's one of the most emotional - if not the most emotional - stories I've ever written. ANGST ahoy! Also, a special shout-out to @officerrogers - you are loved, dear. Thank you for loving this story when it first came out - I never forgot your kind words and support. Please reblog/comment if you can!

Part 2

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #cs ff au #cs fic #4getfulimaginator #cs fanart #beauty and the beast au #cs beauty and the beast au

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