#home slice emma was all me

[animehouse-moe]

A Sign Of Affection Episode 4: What Kind of Voice

Boy oh boy there is a lot to talk about with this episode. Incredible production, incredible boards, incredible plot and character developments- it's got it all. So much so that it's hard to really put it all into words, but I'll do my best.

First off, let me talk storyboards. Yuta Murano has been insane with this series, boarding every episode so far- and he's been killing it, hell, even carrying it on his back (since he's the series director as well).

Anyways, point being that Murano has been incredibly intelligent in regards to boarding with this episode. How, you might ask? Spacing. The whole episode really hammers home the idea of space, both around characters but also between them. Murano leans heavily into the wider layouts like you can see above, but similarly uses first person perspective to create a strong awareness of the space between characters to help provide more feeling to Yuki and Itsuomi's relationship.

One super easy example is Kyouya and Itsuomi's late-night interaction. The combined use of first person perspective between the pair, as well as the wider shots between to show the empty space around them, really highlights their nature as friends incredibly well. He also really likes using doors and whatnot to frame the characters, and I love it.

Hell, I'll take it a step further too. See how Itsuomi is able to see Kyouya's face, but Kyouya can't see Itsuomi's? That's intentional, and shows how open Kyouya is vs how closed Itsuomi is. Very very great work.

And then there's this example with Shin and Emma. It's really subtle, but we never get a first person shot from Shin within. Even with Emma's singular first person shot he's slightly off center. The whole interaction is framed as Shin being there for a reason other than what Emma feels he's there for. His body language and demeanor, the way he reacts to Emma's words, there's considerable distance between the pair, and that gets illustrated very easily with the table in front of them.

Of course, my favorite pieces of this are with Yuki and Itsuomi. No barriers, no space between the pair, all of their shots really sell the idea of the empty space that exists around them as a pair.

I also just love that Murano has Itsuomi's personality down so well. He always strikes the exact same pose when focusing on talking with Yuki

Speaking of him, I love how catty he got with Oushi earlier on in the episode. Really fun addition to his very playful but reserved personality.

But lets rewind and dig a little deeper into that whole sequence.

Oushi, once again, really shows off his true colors a little too blatantly when talking with Yuki. The easiest comparison to make is the fact that Oushi is hitting Yuki's head while Itsuomi only ever pats it. Combined with the sign language for "cute", you really get a grasp on the challenges that face Oushi. Does he not pat her head because he knows what it means in sign language? It's hard to say, but paired with how he plays with her hair I think it's pretty easy to say that he does have some awareness of those things, and it probably comes from Itsuomi.

Anyways, moving forward again. While questionable behavior that does highlight Itsuomi's more... challenging side, I might say, the interaction between him and Oushi is really really great.

Firstly, because Oushi tries to use his familiarity with Yuki and sign language to put down the people around her so that he can take the top spot, but also because Itsuomi claps back and completely destroys him.

Of course, when it rains, it pours, so there's plenty of other character interactions in this episode.

Really, it's something that I'm incredibly critical about with my slice of life and romance series. The world itself is very wide, and people have more than a few friends. Being able to express that while preserving the core intent of the series can be challenging, but it makes a massive difference in overall quality and breadth.

And A Sign of Affection aces that aspect. Kyouya and Rin, whatever Emma's got going on with Itsuomi, then of course Oushi as well. There's a solid cast of characters that exist to surround Itsuomi and Yuki, and even more that exist in the periphery. It makes it feel so much more alive, and creates far more interesting dynamics that can ebb and flow based on which characters appear and where.

Though obviously, the main focus is Yuki and Itsuomi here, so that's where the majority of the effort goes, and it's entirely worth it. Just even simple things like Oushi only being seen in a crowd today vs Itsuomi being isolated when with her.

You might say that's just how the visuals shake out, but obviously a Costco isn't ever going to be that quiet so the idea is that because of Yuki, the focus is on Itsuomi so we don't really see much of any background characters.

Add on top the incredible sound design, and in this episode voice acting, and it's just a flawless experience. We as viewers experience the world in a surprisingly different fashion to Yuki, and the episode highlights that with things like the tone of Itsuomi's voice.

Incredibly simple and small details pepper this episode and the story at large, but they end up insanely important to comparing and contrasting the viewer's experience against Yuki's, challenging us to think and view things through her (very cute) eyes.

Anyways, let's put the icing on the cake here with animation and other work.

We know that this production is hand-obsessed due to the sign language, but that quality extends to other aspects. Being a very reserved and casual series there's not a lot of room for impressive animation, but the episode still finds way to show off with cuts like Shin cutting hair here.

Similarly, 2D vehicles? It's really a whole other flex. The requirements for keeping such a detailed object on model, all while in motion is really really incredible. And there's a surprising amount of those cuts in the episode.

Overall, A Sign of Affection continues to hit home run after home run with each episode, and delivers an experience that is only possible because of the medium. Creative to the max, it does everything in its power to elevate the source and create and entirely unforgettable experience. Saturdays really have been great this Winter season.

#a sign of affection #yubisaki to renren #ゆびさきと恋々 #yubiren #yuki itose #nagi itsuomi #anime and manga #anime #anime reccs #anime recommendation #anime review

[clavissionary-position]

Silvio, at his wedding reception: What the fuck is this?

Nokto: Um, aren't these the wedding favors?

Silvio: Wife. Explain.

Emma: Don't look at me. The guests were all supposed to get a dalmatian puppy and one of your insult cards

Silvio: Damn right, they were. I handwrote every last one of those insults as if they were a slap from my own hand

Silvio: *puts acrylic stand together* The thought of all of you going home with this and putting it on your bedside table so it's the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning and the last thing you see before you go to sleep at night...

Rio: If by bedside you mean waste disposal...

Nokto: I'll probably sell mine

Silvio: Don't you dare

Gilbert: I'm gonna keep mine for sentimental reasons. After all, I want to remember my friend's first wedding

Silvio: Why are you saying that like it won't be my last?

Gilbert: Ahaha, you tell me!

Gilbert: *uses acrylic Silvio to slice himself some wedding cake* Ooh. Dual-purpose. Nice nice *takes the entire cake anyway*

#ikemen prince #ikepri gilbert #silvio ricci #rio ortiz #nokto klein #gilbert von obsidian #incorrect quote folder

[alsoitsjunie]

PATRICK HOCKSETTER X FEMALE BULLY VICTIM PT. 2

ITS MORE THAN BULLYING NOW.

patrick x reader bully victim

again, overall tw and the same ones as last time. also the reader has only a mom in this, so sorry if you don't have one or you dont like yours.

--------

its been a few days, and i genuinely cant figure out what patrick was talking about on friday. what did he mean by 'im real and i think you are too." what does that mean? of course patrick is real, nobody that sadistic could be fake, but then what did he mean that i was too? god why does he have to be so mysterious all the time? i just want an answer to all of this..

--------

i try and shove it to the back of my mind, as i walk downstairs to make something to eat. jesus this is weird. im kind of glad he decided to do that yesterday, so then i could have the entire weekend to think over it. this is so crazy. i have no idea if i'm more nervous to go back to school now or not..

my mind was going 100000 miles per hour as i stretch on my tip toes and grab a box of cereal from the cabinet, and then the milk from the fridge. there was a note from mom on the counter next to the fruit bowl.

hey honey,

i had to go into work early to help mike with a project. maybe go to Emma's house later, but i wont be home until 10 ish. there's a pizza in the freezer.

love you!

i slurped cereal out of my spoon as i read the note and smiled to myself. i should go to Emma's house. i haven't seen her in a minute and it'll help get my mind off this whole 'patrick' situation. i nodded in agreement with myself, then put my empty bowl in the sink and went back to my room.

i fixed up my bedhead, and then grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a large t-shirt, and my chuck taylors. i took a glance at myself in the mirror and sighed, mentally scolding myself for the shit I've let happen over the last 5 years, like i did every morning. i'm so stupid. so vulnerable.

whatever.

i shut off my light and closed my bedroom door, then went downstairs. i grabbed my house keys off the hook next to the door, and then closed and locked it behind me. i felt uneasy the whole walk to Emma's house, constantly checking over my shoulder. eventually i got to Emma's and her mom let me in, and i was thanking god that Emma only lived about two blocks away.

me and Emma spent the day together. we went to the convenience store and got slushies, and then to the park where we met Jonathan and hung out with him for a bit. once the day few by, and the streetlights started coming on, we all agreed that we should go home before it got darker. as soon as i was walking home and i wasn't with Jonathan and Emma, dread crept over my body. it was dark, i was alone, and i had no clue whether or not henry and his gang were out on one of their little 'patrols.' i feel like it took an eternity to get home, but i finally did, and as soon as i unlocked the door and stepped inside, I locked the door and went to the kitchen. I reheated a slice of leftover pizza and leaned against the counter while i ate it. it was dark in the house, with the kitchen counter lights being the only thing lighting up the room i was in. after i was done eating, i turned to the sink and scrubbed a few plates that were sitting in the sink. when i was done, i clicked off the kitchen lights and walked back to my bedroom. halfway down the hallway, i heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor. inside my bedroom. immediately my heart dropped to my stomach, and i became silent. slowly i backed up, sliding my socks along the carpet, never lifting my feet, not making any noise. i slipped back into the kitchen and frantically looked around, somehow forgetting where anything was in my house. i grabbed a bread knife from the first drawer and spun back around, quietly pacing back and forth, trying to get my head on straight.

okay.. theres someone in your room. you dont know who.. but you know that they could be dangerous. shit. okay.

i inched back down the hallway, not breathing. i slowly grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. my room was still. there was nobody there. yet my clothes were scattered all over the floor, my bookshelf was missing three of my favorites, my window was wide open, and there was dried mud on my floor. my jaw dropped in shock and i uttered out a small squeak. i stood there in disbelief as i walked into the room further and closed the door behind me. i flicked on my lights and dropped the knife on my bed. after i stuck my head out of my window and saw nobody, i quickly closed and latched my window, pushing my curtains closed. as my fingertips dragged over the windowsill, my nails caught on a notch in the wood. my brow furrowed as i looked closer and traced the lines. there were two letters engraved in my windowsill. initials.

P. H.

that son of a bitch patrick. terrorizing me at school was one terrible thing, but breaking into my house, my room, destroying my belongings, stealing my stuff and carving his fucking name into my windowsill. carving his name into my life. im fucking done dealing with this.

i threw on a sweater and my working boots, grabbed the kitchen knife again and stormed out of my house. i didn't bother to lock the door. i didn't care if id be back or not. i was going to kill this freak.

author note.

HI IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED BUT IM WORKING ON THE NEXT PART I PROMISE THERE WILL BE SOME ROMANCE BECAUSE IK YOU ASKED FOR THAT!! I LOVE YALL SM

#patrick hocksetter #it2017 #the losers club #losers club #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins #patrick hocksetter x reader

[shivunin]

Like Constellations

Happy OC Kiss Week! Kicking off with my dear @star--nymph's Eurydice and my Emmaera. Thank you for letting me borrow her, friend!

(721 Words | No Warnings)

The rain had left the ramparts of Skyhold slick and glistening. Here, near the lights of the Great Hall, they shimmered like tiny stars caught inexplicably in stone. It was a mirror to the stars the two elves discussed now, perhaps, but these were more touchable by far than the ones cast away in the sky.

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Emmaera murmured thoughtfully, looking behind them at the tiny lights. “The rain, I mean. By all rights, we should have snow on this side of the wall, too. This place and its seasons…it’s never made sense to me.” 

“Stop moving,” Eurydice said behind her. “I’m not finished.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

The clouds above parted, slowly revealing a narrow slice of the heavens above. Early evening stars peered through the break in clouds.

“Falon’Din walked,” Eurydice prompted behind her. 

Emmaera had no idea what her dear friend was doing behind her, but she wasn’t especially concerned. They’d grown used to spending time tucked between crenellations, Eury’s fingers quick and clever in Emma’s long hair while Emmaera told stories. What a relief it was to sit here just like this, where she need think of nothing more than whatever tale she’d been telling. 

“Falon’Din walked the woods,” Emma went on, “but most of the time he flew. He wore the shape of a great owl, its feathers cast with dark spots. An owl has fine eyes for little things, hidden things, and one by one he found all of the lost souls wandering alone there.”

The soft smell of lavender began to eclipse the scent of falling rain. Emma smiled and tilted her head back when Eurydice adjusted her grip. 

“He tucked each of them safely amongst the feathers of his wings, for the journey to the Beyond is a long and dangerous one. It would have been very easy indeed to lose some of them along the way. After all, it is not so simple a thing for a mortal creature to leave behind everything it knows.” 

She paused, trying to remember what came next. Eurydice’s hands gave one last, decisive tug on her hair. Stretching slightly, for she’d been sitting very still for quite some time, Emma turned and let her feet dangle over the long drop to the valley below. She began to reach for her hair, but her friend caught her hand before she could feel what had been done to it. 

“Keep going,” Eurydice said. 

Obligingly, Emmaera went on talking, unspooling a story beat by beat: a soul lost to the woods, a daring rescue, a home among the stars. It was one she had told before, and one she never minded telling again. It was difficult to mind when she had such a a captivated audience. Still speaking, Emmaera watched as her hand was turned upright. Eurydice's cool, green-stained fingertips traced the lines there with care. 

“Falon'Din is gone now, as are all the gods,” she said at last. “Even so, perhaps his dark wings stretch across the sky even now, the way to the Beyond lit like a beacon between his feathers. Even on this very night, we can use them to show us where we are and where we ought to go. The Chantry calls them by another name, but elves know his stars nonetheless.”

“Hmm,” Eurydice said. Her eyes had drifted closed during the telling of the story, but her pale lashes fluttered open again when Emma stopped speaking. Emma turned her hand over and lifted Eury's to her mouth. She kissed each knuckle very carefully, neither too firm nor too soft. Eury allowed this, though not without a faint quiver at her ears. 

“Thank you,” Emmaera said when she’d finished. “Can you remind me where it is? I'm still turned around now that we've finally found this place, and the clouds…”

“There,” Eurydice said, pointing with her free hand. As if by magic, the clouds drifted apart in the direction she pointed and a familiar cluster of stars was revealed. 

Emmaera scooted closer and leaned her shoulder against Eurydice’s. As one, their palms pressed together, the two of them watched the stars. They thought of words long since past, words yet to come, and tried valiantly not to think at all about the faint green tint the sky had given to the distant stars.

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #eurydice lavellan #emmaera lavellan #dai #shivunin scrivening #is it platonic? idk. Is it romantic? eh. They can hang out somewhere in the middle #ty kat c: #does emma forget what she was talking about occasionally because some fine point of how something works has occurred to her? #of course yes

[the-darkdragonfly]

NEW CHAPTER! A Trick of the Light

Chapter Eleven: Home Winds

Hello lovelies! I think we all owe a HUGE thanks to @donteattheappleshook for making sure I stayed on track for this long overdue chapter ♥️

♥️♥️♥️♥️

“So,” Emma said over a mouthful of toast- would you like some bread with your honey, love?- Hope lying at her feet under the table, happily singing old tavern songs Emma pretended not to hear. “Let me get this straight.” 

The Knights has called a Round Table, Emma snorting into her tea as the paige delivered the request for Killian’s presence- it’s just just such a wonderful use of corporate jargon, that’s all- to discuss the future of the kingdom, and to catch the new king up on anything and everything they felt he needed to know. 

Which was practically everything, much to his chagrin. 

“No one knows where Arthur is.” 

“Correct.” 

“No one knows what happened to Merlin.” 

“Correct.” 

“No one has seen or heard from Lancelot in ‘they can’t remember how long’.” 

“Correct again, love.” 

A small hand appeared beside Killian’s elbow and he leaned down to nip gently at the wiggling fingers, the hand disappeared at the same time as Hope’s manic giggling broke the comfortable quiet from beneath the wooden frame before her small hand reappeared, trying again. Killian smiled and pressed a slice of apple into her waiting palm- what do we say, lovie?- and her voice floated up to them amid the crunching of her treat- t’anks, daddy. 

Emma grinned wickedly at him for a moment and he narrowed his eyes at her- no, Swan, don’t- before she flicked her hair, correcting him as she usually did- Jones- and tucking the inevitable daddy comment away for future yielding.  

♥️♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here.

Read my other stuff here.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

CS Tag List (let me know if you would like to be added!):

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnightsuki @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic

#a trick of the light #a captain swan tale #the darkdragonfly #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs fanfics #the ripple effect #i'm back #omg right?

[songbirdstew]

Well, Tom Petty, it turns out I DO have to live like a refugee.

We are back in evacuation mode. I guess a three and a half year break isn't bad.

Saturday, we woke up to half an inch of ice coating every possible surface.

Our power went out at 3 that afternoon.

Sunday, we woke up to an inch thick layer of ice coating every possible surface.

None of this is snow. It is all ice.

The outside temperature ranged from 23 to 27*F. By Tuesday, the inside temperature had dropped to 39, our power bank was drained, and our devices were near dead. Our immediate plan was to head to the Parks center, or if that didn't work, to City Hall (where our library is), both usually sound options for getting a cup of coffee and charging up. We would make contact with the outside world, check the weather forecast, make a plan, then head back home to grab essentials. But C's sister happened to text me right as I was gathering everything up, so we headed for her place instead.

The path from here to there was NOT GREAT BOB.

The roads were all coated in ice, still. Even in the middle of town, on the main thoroughfares, on the Priority 1 deicing routes. All along the route, there are power lines down, power poles down and broken, transformers exploded, trees down, trees snapped in half, trees sliced down the middle vertically. There are power lines dangling over the road, lying in the road, draped across people's driveways and over their front doors so they can't get out. Half the traffic lights were out.

So as soon as we got here, we decided to stay put for the night. The cats were loaded on food and water, and the house was safe and sound.

We quickly learned the entire East half of our town (where the Parks center is) and most of mid town and downtown (where the library is) were totally without power, plus the Parks center's parking lot was blocked by downed trees, so it was just as well we ended up skipping our initial idea and just came straight to Emma and Zev's.

Today, C&I went back to get things we'll need while we're here (we brought NOTHING with us yesterday). The temperature finally rose, so most of the ice had melted. Most of the traffic lights were back on.

But everything else is still the same, if not worse. Once the ice melted, everything that had been hanging by a frozen thread just crashed. Large parts of town are under orders to boil all of their water (remember, they don't have power). When we got home, we found a tree branch had completely shattered the rear window of C's car while we were gone. A huge hunk of ice fell out of the same tree and put a brand new dent in my fender while we were there. It was still only 37* at our house, even though it was up to 47 less than a mile away. The fuck?

The kitties were okay. Charlie seemed perfectly fine (like, What? You were gone?), and Glitch was well, but very, very sad. She HATES being alone (she doesn't even like being alone in a room when people are home). She HATES it when I'm not there. She could tell we were leaving again right away, and she was so unhappy. I set up her favorite blankets for her on the couch and on the bed. We gave them food and water for a few days, plus wet food with calming drops mixed in. We freshened their boxes, and we closed them in their separate spaces so that Charlie won't be bullying Glitch & stealing her food the whole time.

Curtis plans to go back out to the house on his own tomorrow, largely to further inspect his car and take more pictures for the insurance company. School is cancelled for the week. So far I have not had to go in to work, but tomorrow and Friday remain to be seen. My boss will let me know sometime in the morning whether she expects me to work or not, and then Curtis and I will decide if we think it's safe enough to get me there and back. We haven't been to that part of town, so we don't know how bad the tree damage etc might be. If it's anything like the rest of the city, I know I won't feel comfortable navigating that in the dark.

For now, we are good, and warm, and safe, with people we love. Emma and Zev are such good influences on Royal, that Royal actually ate something green today (enchilada sauce).

Please snuggle your kitties for me and kiss their stupid little heads, okay?

#it's just a lot #there's a lot going on with the infrastructure and the utilities #it's all a huge huge mess and it's going to take DAYS to get power back on #but Emma is very calming and Zev is infectiously boisterous #and he immediately made us all coffee and hot chocolate and tea the instant we walked in the door

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her. 

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife. 

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit. 

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. 

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod. 

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul. 

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman." 

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose. 

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken." 

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor. 

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag. 

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing. 

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway. 

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations. 

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her. 

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. 

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps. 

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat. 

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself. 

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it? #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- The Start Of A Broken Heart

2011

Part 7

“James!” I squeal running over to him and wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s come to LA while we finish writing the Up All Night Album “I’ve missed you”

“Miss you too” he says into my hair. I pull away and kiss his cheek smiling

“Ok so the plan is for today to finish recording Taken, should take us maybe 4 hours, then we can go out for some food?”

“Sure. Sounds good” James replies as I take his hand and walk him to the taxi I came in to meet him at the airport.

The ride to the recording studio is quiet, but I know James is probably tired from traveling. When we arrive Harry and Niall are just heading in with boxes of pizza. I gasp getting out of the taxi

“You got us pizza?”

“Yeah. Got you a chicken sizzler”

“Is that the one with jalapeños?” I ask frowning

“Yeah” Harry replies

“YN doesn’t like jalapeños. She only ever has a margarita” James says in a matter of fact way

“But you said you liked the chicken sizzler last time?” Niall asks confused

“She ate half Liams pizza las time so she definitely likes it” Harry says as we enter the room the other boys are in

“I do don’t worry. Thank you” I take the pizza off Harry and sit down on the sofa. James sits next to me “want a slice”

“No I’m good”

“More for me then” I say tucking into the pizza.

Over the next few hours we recorded the rest of the song before heading out for more food. James holds my hand as we walk down the street watching Louis give Harry a piggy back which makes me laugh

“Thought when you said we could go out for food it would be just us”

“Oh…” I say looking down “I thought that since we all have a day off tomorrow we could do something, just us” I give him a little shrug

“Ok tomorrow it is then”

“Hurry up love birds!” Niall yells

“We’re coming!” I yell back.

Coming home from LA feels so good. Although I’m missing the hot air. We finally finished our first album and will be filming a music video for our first single ‘What Makes You Beautiful’.

James and I met up earlier today and now he’s going out to a house party and sleeping over at a friends house. So dad and I are having a father daughter evening

“Ok what film?” Dad asks bringing some popcorn over to the sofa

“Harry Potter”

“The first one?”

“Duh! We have to start from the beginning before the last film comes out” I say pressing play on the TV remote aa Cookie jumps on to my lap and the film starts.

Half way through the film I get a text off Emma asking if I’m at the house party. Hearing James if drunk worries me a little, but I trust him.

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #6th one direction member #sixth one direction member #one direction x reader #one direction

[nightghoul381]

Licht 3rd Anniversary Event

A Beast's Dream Realized by Beauty

Chapter 2

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Prince. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

I’m very sorry I don’t have screenshots for this translation until the epilogue!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

There are three things we can tell from Licht’s drawings.

The first is that every drawing has a big, round full moon.

The second is that there are no roses in bloom.

And the third is that he hadn’t drawn any people.

Relying on the few clues I had, I immediately headed out to town with Licht, but nothing came of it—

Fruit shop Clerk: “These are wonderful colors but I have no idea where the drawing is supposed to be.”

Grocery Store Clerk: “Miss Emma, is this some kind of riddle? Is there a hidden code or something?”

Passing Soldier: “I do patrols a lot, but I haven’t seen scenery like this… I’m sorry I can’t help you!”

Emma / Licht: “Hmm….”

Licht and I go into our favorite café and take a seat to rest our feet, tired from walking around.

Immediately after ordering our sweets, I let out a sigh.

Emma: “This is pretty tough.”

Licht: “The toughest thing is how bad my drawings are…”

Emma: “No!? I like how unique and creative your drawings are.”

Licht: “You don’t have to force yourself to like them.”

Emma: “I’m not forcing myself.”

Licht: “But it’s true that it’s not good enough to work as a clue.”

Emma: “That’s not true.”

I arranged the pictures on the table to see if there were any clues we may have overlooked.

(We went to all the places I could think of and asked the people in town.)

(Even so, the landscape drawing didn’t trigger any memories.)

Emma: “Maybe this scenery isn’t from Rhodolite.”

Licht: “We’ve searched a lot and can’t find a similar place, so I think the possibility is high.”

Emma: “That’s right. Bu what should we do when it comes to other countries…”

(It’s suddenly become even more difficult to find…)

The store clerk sets the seasonal peach tart on the table in front of me.

I hurriedly set aside the drawing and inhaled the scent to my heart’s content.

Emma: “Looks delicious…”

Licht: “You’re drooling…”

Emma: “You’re lying!?”

Licht: “It’s a lie.”

Emma: “…Licht.”

Licht: “I just wanted to see your cute reaction.”

Licht cut into the tart, putting a slice onto a plate and handing it to me.

After I took the plate and thanked him, he started cutting his own portion of the tart.

Licht: “I want to keep your current cuteness in a picture.”

Emma: “…If you say that, I’ll have to get revenge okay?”

The tart that Licht had cut into pieces had the most delicious parts.

While he had a somewhat melancholy air when he dug up the box, Licht was now smiling.

(Licht’s smile is a national treasure no matter when I see it.)

(…national treasure…)

Emma: “Ah!”

Licht: “What?”

Emma: “I have a good idea.”

(With this you might be able to find scenery from other countries!)

After savoring the seasonal tart slowly, we convinced the staff to package the rest for us to take home.

I took Licht’s hand and headed to a certain place.

Sariel: “You want to see inside the treasury?”

Emma: “Yes.”

I had approached the subject while offering tea and a lightly sweetened cake to Sariel while he took a break.

It was only natural that I got a questioning response.

Emma: “Rhodolite is the land of art and roses, so there are many works of art in the court, right?”

Emma: “I want to see paintings by artists from all over the continent.”

Licht: “… I see.”

Licht: “If there’s a similar painting in the court that would definitely be a clue.”

Emma: “Right?”

Sariel: “Are you looking for something? I’m not sure you’ll find it, but it’s fine for you to look in the treasury.”

Emma: “Eh…it’s okay?”

Sariel: “Why are you surprised?”

Emma: “Well the treasury is such an important place that it’s heavily guarded, so I didn’t think it would be possible to get permission so easily…”

Sariel: “Is it really that strange? You are Price Licht’s fiancée.”

Sariel: “You have the right to freely browse the treasury. Here you go.”

Sariel takes out a key from the desk drawer and drops it into my hand.

Emma: “Thank you—”

Sariel: “However, as you said earlier, it houses important cultural property that is under security.”

Sariel: “Don’t play hide and seek in the treasury and break the artwork like Prince Licht did in the past.”

Licht: “…don’t bring that up, Sariel.”

(That really happened?)

Emma: “I understand, I’ll keep my head up!”

The treasury of Castle Rhodolite was even more expansive than the dance hall.

(Even so, it feels cramped because there are so many things.)

As befits the name of the land of art and roses, countless works of art were stored in the treasury.

I froze… if I should fall, I would crash right into the ceramic vase displayed in front of me.

Licht: “You’re too cautious.”

Emma: “Aren’t you nervous, Licht?”

Licht: “Not really? Guess I don’t understand the value of art.”

Licht: “You are far more valuable to me than the national treasures here.”

Emma: “Ah, thank you…?”

(…Licht’s words are always so sweet and make me smile.)

Licht: “There are a considerable number of paintings alone.”

Emma: “Yeah, it’s rewarding to have this many!”

Licht: “Too excited.”

Licht: “…that kind of thing is cute though.”

Licht casually presses his lips against my forehead and immediately begins to remove the cloth from a nearby painting.

(The treasury…. it’s really warm.)

After hours of quiet work—

Emma: “I might have found it.”

Removing the cloths that were hanging on painting after painting…

That’s when I found one picture that stopped my hand.

The painting was a delicate depiction of a foreign dancer.

The dancer is beautiful, and takes your breath away in admiration.

But what caught my attention was the scenery behind her.

Licht: “Which one?”

Licht came closer to the sound of my voice.

The two of us stared intently at the painting like appraisers.

Emma: “Look. First, here’s the beautiful full moon, right?  Then there’s the stage where the dancers are dancing.”

Emma: “The jumbled masses in your drawings look just like that, and most importantly, this…”

I compared one of Licht’s drawings with the painting in question.

In the picture that Licht drew when he was young, there are parts that were colored with yellow and green.

On the other hand, the painting depicts a beautiful sandy landscape that is almost transparent and green plants that are not seen around here.

(I don’t know if it’s really right, and it’s possible that it’s just a stretch, but…)

Emma: “The picture you drew was a desert, isn’t it?”

Licht: “…a desert…”

Licht: “That means it’s in Tanzanite, the land of divination and illusion—”

I try to recall the information while imagining a continental map in my mind.

Emma: “Tanzanite… I think that was the country neighboring Jade.”

Licht: “Yes. Tanzanite is the only country that has a desert, and it’s famous for its dancers.”

Emma: “So the person who told you the stories was talking about Tanzanite?”

Licht: “It’s very possible.”

Licht: “I heard that the country over there welcomes dancers and songstresses freely.”

Licht: “…and my mother was a songstress.”

I can hear my heart pounding heavily.

Emma: “Wait, Licht…”

Emma: “Who told you the story that made you draw this picture?”

Licht: “…”

Licht: “…my mother.”

An unfathomable shadow casts into his crimson eyes.

Licht: “This is where my mother wanted to go.”

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince translation #ikepri translation #licht klein #ikepri licht #ikepri licht klein #ikemen prince licht #ikemen prince licht klein

[snowbellewells]

"Carolina Moon" update {Chapter Two}

Hello Friends! Here we are at last with the next chapter of my @cssns23 fic!! I sincerely never meant to keep everyone waiting so long; real life got really hectic there for a bit, and I had to focus on the job that pays the bills in the few hours that were left over! Anyway, I hope that you'll forgive me and enjoy this update. If it's any sort of consolation, it nearly doubles the length of the story so far...

Also, this story is now moving into M-rated territory. After talking with a few fandom friends and readers, this seems like the way to go to be on the safe side and let everyone know what they're reading upfront. I don't know that I find my love scenes half as spicy as others I've read, but there is one for sure in this chapter, and it will not be the last before all is said and done. I hope that doesn't turn anyone away from reading, but I would rather someone know before starting than be bothered by it after the fact.

**As always, thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for this beautiful cover art to go along with the story, and to @xarandomdreamx for her thoughtful beta reading comments, suggestions, and encouragement.**

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Two: Secrets Beneath the Surface

By the time Killian got back home to the family home that afternoon, he could already hear their housekeeper Johanna scolding Ruby from the kitchen, as soon as he crossed the threshold. “Well, what else was you expectin’ Miss Sassy Britches, sashayin’ all over town the way you do? Didja think that would make you a lot of friends ‘mongst the other young ladies?”

Killian kicked off his shoes in the mud room, well aware that the older woman who had practically raised he and Ruby - more so than either of their parents had done - would turn on him next if he tracked up her clean floors. Making his way quietly along the well-worn path to the kitchen at the back of the house, he could practically hear his sister huff and sputter indignantly at Johanna’s rebuke and picture all too well the way she’d roll her eyes and pout, before grumpily going to Johanna’s side and taking up whatever chore the woman had no doubt bid her to help with before their little spat had begun.

It was a rhythm as old as Killian could remember, since almost the first afternoon Johanna Bishop had appeared in their kitchen - cooking, cleaning, puttering and tending to all the essential but seemingly unworthy, household chores his mother simply couldn’t be bothered with. If - as the Jones children had grown - those chores also came to include bandaging scraped knees, soothing hurt feelings, listening to whispered wishes, and cuddling and correcting where needed, well, that had fallen naturally under her purview as well. Even more so when the three children had become just two.

Stopping in the open doorway, Killian leaned against the jamb for a moment, trying to keep his chuckling to himself as he watched his tall, leggy sibling with brilliant red streaks running through her dark hair frowning in deep concentration next to the short, rather round Johanna, trying diligently to match the rosy-cheeked, twinkling-eyed matron’s deft and graceful speed at coring and slicing apples, and failing miserably. He must have made some involuntary noise, however, because both women looked up at him in surprise.

Johanna’s bright eyes smiled at him as her cheeks crinkled with the welcoming grin he could always look forward to, no matter how long he had been gone, whenever he returned. Ruby stuck her tongue out at him when he smirked at her efforts, arching an eyebrow as if to question what in the world she was trying to do.

“Oh? Think you can do better, do you?” she challenged, flipping a discarded peel his way, before Johanna hushed her, not about to have food flying on her watch, just before Mrs. Jones’ formal dinner was expected in the dining room; as formally as it had been expected every night for years.

They all quieted for a moment at that remembrance, none of them necessarily wanting to summon the lady of the house any sooner than necessary - though that feeling went unspoken. Johanna’s nimble fingers flew over her task, the knife flashing with ease, and Killian noticed that Ruby’s movements gained confidence as well the longer she worked at it.

Giving a bit of a playful bow in flirtatious chivalry, he greeted them with, “How can I help, Miss Johanna?” and his most charming grin.

“Oh Sugar,” she demurred, “you don’t need to do nothin’ but pull up a chair and tell me ‘bout your day. Things are almost ready in here.”

Pausing to put a hand on her hip, Ruby mock glared at him, before turning to the older woman in challenge. “And why are you always nagging me, and then turning around and acting just sweet as sugar to Killian? I suppose he’s your favorite now, too?”

Ruby’s question was largely put-on sass, that melted into an unconvinced, “Uh huh, sure,” when Johanna blithely assured her that “Sweetness is as sweetness does.” All the same, Killian could see the doubt underneath her churlishness, and the longing in his sister’s expression, not wanting this one person she depended on, no matter how much they snipe at each other, to dismiss her as everyone else did. Honestly, Killian thought to himself with a guilty pang, he had written her off and disregarded her many times himself over the years. He hadn’t done it to be cruel, more out of his own survival instincts and desire to avoid conflict. Where he had withdrawn into his own thoughts, focused on achieving goals, meeting the standards set for him, making up for what had been lost, even if he ran himself ragged in the attempt, Ruby had instead completely cut herself free from all boundaries and expectations, going wild, or at least appearing so to the untrained eye. The moment she had gotten the chance, she’d fled Storybrooke on the back of her boyfriend’s Harley - eloping and not returning to Storybrooke until she had seen her fill of everywhere else. She played at nonchalance - as if nothing bothered her or could even penetrate the perfectly painted-on armor their mother had taught her to apply so well long ago.

She hadn’t really been back home that long, but Killian found himself wanting to get to know Ruby all over again, to bridge the gap that had grown between them over the years while they each attempted to weather the hurt and neglect in their own ways. The simplest method for doing that seemed to be in joining the easy banter between Ruby and Johanna, so he waggled both eyebrows at her, both in playful challenge and as an annoyance to his ‘little’ sister, then he circled the island easily to pull Johanna into a side-hug and plant a smacking kiss on the older woman’s cheek before nettling Ruby with, “Hear that? I’m sweetness itself. Maybe you should try a little sweetness sometimes and see how far it gets you.”

Johanna’s softly weathered cheeks crinkled with well-worn laugh lines, even as she rolled her eyes and shooed him away - but not before he snatched a sugar and cinnamon-dusted slice of apple from the pie crust she was crimping, causing Ruby’s eyes to narrow at him further in playful indignation. “You just hush now with all that, Killian Jones,” their housekeeper scolded. “Your sister has more than enough sweetness to share when she takes the notion - you just don’t give her any more reasons to be sour.” And though the woman who had been with their family for as long as Killian could remember, imbuing their kitchen with a warmth and comfort that the rest of the pristine, stately old home notably lacked, was warning him with her words, she also winked at him slyly - letting him know that she was glad he’d joined their fun, and that she was still nettling Ruby a bit herself.

Shaking out her mane of dark hair with a dramatic flounce, and planting her red-lacquer nailed hands on her hips, Ruby fixed them both with a fiery look. “Just the two of you know, plenty of people find me a delight to be around. Maybe I should take myself off somewhere I’m appreciated.” Turning on her heel with all the precision and purpose of a high fashion runway model rather than the demure Southern debutante their mother had hoped for, she stalked toward the doorway which led from the kitchen back into the hall, only to turn around before she left with a retort on her tongue when Johanna called after her.

“You tell that nice Dr. Hunter hello for me, Ruby Jean. You should bring him round here for a nice, home cooked meal sometime. That sweet young man needs a little meat on his bones.”

“But - I didn’t - why do you think- ?” Ruby spluttered indignantly, never finishing any of the attempted comebacks and finally just snapping her mouth closed and shaking her head with vigorous agitation.

Killian would have been laughing at her plight if he hadn’t been so wide-eyed and flummoxed himself by their housekeeper’s words. Oh, he’d known alright that his best friend since grade school had been nursing a painfully awkward silent crush on his remaining sibling, pretty much since puberty. What he’d never realized or noticed as Ruby had chewed up and spit out a first husband and teased and strung along countless other men since, was that maybe she was aware of Graham’s feelings - possibly even returned them.

“And you,” she turned from squinting at Johanna as if sizing her up to point an accusing finger at Killian, “don’t just think you can come in here and take over the one room in this place where I can actually breathe, just because you’re the family’s perfect prince and entitled to whatever you want.”

Killian jerked back at the sharp edge to her voice until he looked for a moment at the tensed pain of her features behind the dangerously flashing brown eyes. She was hurting - aching, in fact - at the idea that her one ally in her own home might also turn to the heir, her big brother, as well.

He had always known she snapped and hissed partly out of pain; he felt it too. They all did. He missed Rose awfully - more than he would have ever imagined - but to have shared the womb with her? To have been joined with her from birth and then suddenly find her gone? He couldn’t imagine that. And maybe he hadn’t really wanted to see just how much turmoil hid beneath his sister’s vexing habit of picking fights and pretending he drove her crazy, or how much loneliness was painted over with her vivacious bombshell facade. At any rate, he didn’t pick an angle and fight back at her as he normally would have, instead he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, giving a slight dip of the chin and a tentative smile. “Aye, Ru… Well do I know you and Johanna are the undisputed queens of this domain. I only wanted to join you for a moment.”

She huffed as if not knowing quite what to make of his earnest admission, then with a shrug of her shoulders and one more toss of her head, she merely replied, “Whatever you say,” and was gone. But he hadn’t missed that small half smile tilting up one corner of her mouth, or the spark of hope in her eyes. Maybe they weren’t as far removed from each other as he had feared.

Johanna turned and tilted her head up to look at him knowingly before patting him on the cheek and affirming, “You’re a good boy, Killian. You always have been. And you’ve grown into a fine man. Just don’t you give up on that sassy sister of yours, you hear? She needs us more than she’d like to own. Much like Miss Emma, I’ll wager.”

Killian smiled at the older woman warmly before nodding in agreement and scoffing lightly at her uncanny prediction, knowing she had him there and he couldn’t even argue. “You’ve always seen a lot more than we realize, haven’t you?”

She was the one to wink knowingly at him this time. “You’d better believe it,” she retorted. “That’s part of my charm.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Killian wasn’t about to challenge her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Not half an hour later, at Hunter Veterinary Clinic on the outskirts of town, Graham was closing up for the evening when he heard the bell on the door jangle, signaling someone’s arrival. He was puttering around in the back, making sure that the surgery was cleaned and sterilized for the following morning, and that the mother golden retriever and her unexpected litter of mixed breed pups he’d delivered in a tense, last minute c-section that afternoon were settled in the kennel area for the night, and he had been certain they (he and the dogs) were the only ones still there. He knew that Grace, his summer assistant while she was home from college, was normally careful to be sure the sign was off and the door closed and locked when she left, but maybe she’d forgotten something.

“I’m in back!” he called out distractedly, still running over his mental checklist of closing chores to accomplish as he awaited an answer. “But we’re closed for the evening. Is this an emergenc– “

The door from the waiting room and lobby swung open while he was still speaking, only to reveal a vision that made him choke on the end of his words and nearly swallow his own tongue as well. Graham knew he had flushed all over almost instantaneously at the sight before him, a sweat that was part embarrassment and part lustful attraction breaking out across his skin. His eyes were wide as he shook his head in stunned disbelief, drinking in the temptation of Ruby Jones posing seductively where she leaned against the doorframe and watched him knowingly.

When several silent moments had ticked by, the heat and tension in the room between them only climbing higher, Ruby finally quirked a dark, artfully sculpted brow and smirked at him, those full red lips glistening in a lure so effective Graham could think of nothing but grabbing her, pulling her close, and capturing them with his own until his need was sated. And she knew it too - she always had. Pushing off from the wall and slinking toward him purposefully on blood red kitten heels, she began to unknot the belt of the trench coat cinched at her waist as she fairly purred her response. “Well, you see, Doctor Hunter, it is an emergency. I’m burning up with fever - one only you can break.”

By then, she stood directly in front of him, where he had backed up against the stainless steel surgical table and was clenching and releasing his hands into tight fists, straining mightily to keep himself from grabbing her and clutching much too tightly. Ruby Jones was nothing if not untamed; a wild bird that ventured close, playfully allowing the observer to think he could hold her. But he knew she would flit off and leave him behind again if he made the wrong move. Instead, Graham watched her intently, muscle working in his jaw as her graceful fingers danced across his chest and shoulders, tracing over muscle and skin, inflaming him with her touch as she went. Tilting her head to one side, Ruby shamelessly licked her lip before grinning broadly. “What’s the matter, Hunter? Cat got your tongue?” She snorted at her own little joke. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Bringing her hands to the lapels of the coat she wore, now loosened and unbelted, Ruby parted the fabric on either side and allowed the garment to fall to the floor at their feet. Pleased amusement flooded her veins at Graham’s bulging eyes and gaping mouth. Completely bare beneath the thin jacket, she’d felt a thrill running through her since leaving the house in search of him, and the power sizzling along her nerve endings, where she usually felt as though she were careening out of control, was genuinely intoxicating.

Poor Graham couldn’t seem to move and managed only to hoarsely croak out, “Ruby, w-what are you…?  Someone could… could walk in here and see…  This is a place of business! You can’t just…” He swallowed hard, and her eyes tracked the reflexive movement of his Adam’s apple with ravenous intent.

“Are you sure about that, Doc?” she teased seductively, clicking the ‘c’ with her tongue exaggeratedly, despite his eyes already being glued to her lips - and every other part of her on display before him. Voice low and throaty, cajoling him to take what he very clearly wanted - what she wanted too - she added, “I’m pretty sure I can actually. I’m standing right here waiting. What are you going to do about it?”

His handsome face reflected his inner conflict for several long moments, and Ruby fought not to hold her breath in worried anticipation. She didn’t care that much if he accepted her offer, she tried to tell herself, but deep down she was well aware of how much of a lie that was. Brow furrowed, Graham struggled to resist her manfully, but it was a lost battle even before he began. He had never been able to deny her; they both knew it, and today would not be any different. At last, with a growl of mingled frustration and lust, he lurched forward, his dexterous, long-fingered hands gripped her hips and pulled them into his own roughly before practically devouring her mouth with an almost maddened groan of arousal.

Sinking into his clutches, Ruby thrilled at his loss of control, all synapses firing and the blood boiling in her arteries as he finally gave her exactly what she wanted. Clinging to his bicep to stay upright as her knees went weak, Ruby plunged her other hand into his hair, mussing the honey-coloured curls he’d never outgrown between her fingers and pulling them tightly in response to his ardent desire and how he was further igniting her own.

Desperate by then, Graham was long past caring who might have seen her walk in past closing, what small town rumors might get started, whether or not Ruby was simply using him again to have a little fun and forget the past that nipped at her heels, and how he knew it would chip away another small piece of his soul when they finished and she wouldn’t stay in his arms. Whirling to push her back against the exam table in the center of the room, earning him an enthusiastic moan from deep in Ruby’s throat, even muffled by his own lips over hers.  Sweeping a hand over the cool, hard surface with reckless abandon, Graham cleared it to easily lift her onto the tabletop and soon had her spread out on it, frantically working to strip out of his lab coat and remove his shirt, even as her grasping hands fumbled for the button and zipper of of his pants to free him to her touch.

Writhing against him, Ruby grinned up at him wolfishly, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, every bit the goddess he’d never been able to deny a thing: the dessert from his sack lunch, the use of his first car, and every inch of his body and corner of his heart. She wrapped her long legs around his trim hips, demandingly pulling him closer still, before he thrust forward and finally sunk into her willing body, welcomed home once more.

Leaning over her as he moved, Graham captured her nipple between his teeth, his scruff abrading the sensitive skin around it as he did and stealing her breath when he bit down just at the edge of too much. He captured both her hands, twining their fingers together and pressing them to the steel surface on either side of her head. Setting the rhythm they both craved, feeling the rightness of what he had missed echoing through his body as they moved together, Graham forced himself to take the moment he had; enjoy it, love her enough so that she would feel it, despite refusing to see what they could have always, and not let himself think of what came after.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Killian had just left the kitchen, still contemplating his relationship with his sister and the things Johanna had told him, when he was brought up short by the regal, silent appearance of his mother, Cora Jones, the once-belle of Storybrooke, in the hall nearby, studying him with an icy assessment which made him feel distinctly like she had heard all they had said and could read his mind beside. Forcing himself not to startle or recoil physically like some teenager caught sneaking out past curfew (he had actually never been caught at that in his youth, though by the time he’d had a license and places to run, the dangers parents fear for their children at night had long since struck and the damage been done) Killian gave his mother a nod of respectful deference, smiling at her carefully and waited, knowing there must be something she intended to say.

Cora’s bearing was still poised and correct, standing straight enough to appear taller than her actual height, her chin tilted rather haughtily. Even in the comfort of her own home, before no one but her eldest child, her skirt and jacket ensemble was impeccably tailored and she had not a hair out of place, her makeup flawless. Her eyes had lost none of their shrewdness as she moved nearer to her golden years. And Killian couldn’t help wondering with a blend of bitter sadness if she would allow anything about them to be golden or fulfilling. His mother retained all of the clout and reputation she had held in her prime, but her sharp edges had only grown harder and more jagged with the loss of, first her favored child, and then her husband, to his own grief and poor choices.

He was right of course. A moment later Cora’s clear, measured voice reached his ears with unmistakable authority; as always, she meant what she said and expected to be obeyed. Though his mother had never been especially warm or effusive, Killian had always known she was pleased with him, proud that he was living up to the Jones family name as she saw fit. Things he really had no power or control over - his natural good looks, athleticism, intellect, and so on - were only to be expected, and so, when he excelled in school, made the papers and the Homecoming court, and earned a college scholarship, or when the other mothers in her social circle all enviously wanted their daughters to catch his eye, well then Killian was merely behaving as he ought and garnering just the sort of attention she had hoped he would. He had grown up following in his father’s footsteps, learning all he could about running their small shipping business and how to manage all that would one day be his.

Killian had never rebelled or railed against the expectations, the assumption that he would blindly follow along on the path laid out for him, until recently. He had made several changes to modernize and streamline the business - almost two years ago now - and things had been tense between he and his mother as a result. Cora did not welcome change in any arena, not unless it was on her orders, and though she deeply resented her husband’s gradual decline and eventual abandonment at his death, she did not see why Killian needed to upgrade what had always worked well for Brennan. She had gone as far as threatening to withdraw her shares from the operation until Killian’s changes had doubled - then tripled - their profits, word of mouth bringing in a steady stream of new clients and renewed raves from established ones at their company’s efficiency and success. There was no arguing with such hard evidence, and so Cora had grudgingly relented, but she had not forgotten.

However, even at a glance, Killian could see that the bone she meant to pick with him would not be resolved with patience and time. He gritted his teeth against offering a harsh warning for her to save her breath. He knew before she spoke a word what she wanted to discuss, but this time she would find him every bit as unyielding as she was herself.

Without further preamble, Cora leveled her accusation. “You’re renting that cabin on the marsh to her, aren’t you? Despite what she’s done, and knowing how it would displease me, you’ve let that Swan girl waltz right back into our lives and invited her to make herself at home. I simply cannot understand it, Killian.” Her words were clipped out distinctly, but as cold and pointed as chips of ice. “Do you not remember what associating with the likes of her cost your sister? Or are you looking for a reason to spite me? I hardly think I have done anything to merit such hurtful defiance.”

She waited, seeming to have all the time in the world for her son’s reply, but Killian was still tempted to stare back, challenging her silently, waiting to speak until he discovered whether the pristine veneer she presented to her family right along with the rest of the world would crack and show some human feeling underneath. In the end though, Killian couldn’t hold out forever; she was still his mother, and despite his frustration, the manners she had pressed into him from birth would not allow it. Not only that, but he knew what she had suffered, the pain and loss she had endured - just as he had. It might have made her brittle and untouchable, but he always had the hope somehow that things might thaw between them yet.

With a sigh, he released the answer on a low breath, still meeting her eyes to let her know both his resolve and that he was hardly ashamed of his choices. “You clearly already know that I am, Mother. Though you might not believe this, it was not a decision made to hurt anyone - least of all you. Emma Swan is moving back into town. She needed a place to stay, and ours was available to rent. Honestly, I was glad to have it, to do something to help her out after how horribly we treated her years ago.”

He meant every word, but, as he had expected, her eyes widened with indignance, her voice finally losing its polished control. “What we did to her?!” Cora Jones spluttered, clearly appalled and faintly trembling in her righteous anger. “It was she who took our sweet angel from us. If we had kept Rose away from her… If she hadn’t crept out to meet that vagabond child…. Rose would still be here!”

Killian had heard this argument many times, yet the unfairness of it never ceased to stoke his own temper. Fighting to remain calm, he tried to reason with his mother, to speak in a tone that still remained civil - tightly wound as it was and on the knife’s edge of tipping over. “You know as well as I do that Ms. Swan is not Rose’s killer. There was never any chance of that. She was thirteen years old, still a child just like Rose, and Rose was her only friend in the world. She was as devastated as we were.”

Cora could not have appeared any more injured or insulted if he had drawn back his hand to strike her. “No one has suffered as we have,” she hissed, eyes flashing dangerously, “certainly not that little she-devil! How dare you even suggest it?” She took a seething step closer, appearing as taken by emotion as Killian had seen her through the smooth, proper mask in years. “You mark my words, Killian,” she continued distinctly, eyes boring into him like pinpricks through his skin, “you may have control of this family’s land, the business, all the executive decisions your father left to you as intended, but I do not condone you allowing that woman to live on our property. Not even for a second, do you hear me? There is something not right about her - always has been - and you will live to regret letting her back into our world. Rose must be rolling over in her grave at the very thought - “

Flinching away so abruptly that his mother’s words were cut off and they both stood, breathing harshly in the horrible silence, Killian finally shook his head sadly and broke eye contact. He turned to leave, at last seeing with regrettable finality that Cora Jones would never change her mind, not for anyone or anything, no matter how much time passed. At the door, he looked back at her, his eyes betraying the strange mix of pity and bitterness she had stirred up in him anew. “You’re the one who should feel regret. Rose was good and kind, the best of us all. It would break her heart to know you’ve spent all these years holding a grudge and nurturing hatred against the person she considered another sister. I am finally thinking about what Rose would have wanted. Then maybe we can all let her rest in peace.”

That final admonition voiced, Killian was out the door in the next instant, letting it slam behind him exactly as he had been reprimanded against all his life. Even as one part of him cringed, he also felt a thrill of petty satisfaction too, knowing it made Cora crazy for such noisy outward shows of temper and bad breeding to be on display. Hurrying down the wide front steps to his truck, Killian gripped his keys in hand tightly, not at all sure where he was going, only that any place seemed preferable at that moment.

His cell went off, just as he reached the driver’s side door. Fishing it out as he settled into his seat, Killian pulled the door closed behind him and answered to find Graham on the other end of the line. Too relieved to turn his energy to something - anything - else but the argument he had left behind, Killian didn’t dwell long on why Graham sounded out of breath, cagey, and awkward as he explained how he had planned to meet Emma at the end of the work day, take her to dinner, and then go with her out to the cabin and help her make sure she at least had enough unpacking done to settle in there for the night. It turned out something had come up, and would Killian mind going to meet Emma instead?

While a part of him wasn’t at all sure how fond Emma would be of the development, he couldn’t deny the way his insides leapt at the opportunity to see Emma Swan again and spend some more time with her. Especially if it kept him away from the lit powder keg his home had just become.

“Not sure how Emma’s going to feel about that,” Killian quipped to his buddy lightly, “but I’ll do it. I’m heading her way right now.”

Graham’s relieved thanks made Killian smile as they said goodbye, wondering vaguely what had his friend all tangled up in knots, but he couldn’t dwell on it long. What almost felt like happy anticipation was creeping up on him, and whatever else might be pressing on him, Killian was simply glad to have an excuse to be near Emma Swan.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Some three hours later, Killian’s arms and back ached from lifting heavy boxes and moving them around to various counters and display tables for unpacking, his cheeks ached from grinning and laughing like he hadn’t done in ages, and he knew his eyes must look a bit dazed, mesmerized in Emma’s presence as she breathed some sort of magic into the air around her and onto him, bringing the previously empty and nondescript space to life. She didn’t seem to keep much of the warmth and humor for herself, however, Killian noted painfully, but it was easily felt standing next to her, and his fingers itched to grasp her, to pull her in and hold her tight, give back to her some of the warmth he had felt since he’d walked into her new little shop - particularly welcome after the chill of his encounters with his own family just before he’d arrived.

Thankfully, Emma hadn’t seemed averse to his visit and offer of help, to be followed by dinner in his friend’s stead. She was possibly a little hesitant and uncertain of why he wanted to help out and spend time with her, but it did his conscience good to see that she seemed willing to at least see how the evening went.

After the initial bit of awkwardness upon his arrival, Killian had assured Emma that she should put him to work. Once she had done so, they’d had their hands full and the conversation had begun to flow between them. She was incredibly knowledgeable - not that Killian was surprised, she had always been smart and eager to learn, one of many things she and Rose had shared in common - but he’d never been able to hear her really speak unabashedly about something she loved. Not only did she have an engaging and eclectic collection of art and photography by several known artists, but she also had numerous pieces of her own photography available for purchase as well. When Emma began talking about how she had captured some of the shots, and what she hoped they conveyed, Killian simply couldn’t look away from her features that had come to life with enthusiasm, her eyes alight. It was enchanting; he could think of no other word for it. His lips curved upward irresistibly, without his really even noticing it until she paused, cocking her head curiously before asking, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Startling from the reverie he’d slipped into on the rise and fall of her words, Killian smiled back at her, shaking his head slowly in amazement. “Just marveling at you, honestly. You’re brilliant, Emma.”

“Hardly,” she retorted, making a dismissive noise and waving off his praise, though the pleased blush on her cheeks unmistakably belied her words.

“No, truly… You’ve got a real gift.”

Emma shrugged noncommittally, but didn’t argue with him further, instead she merely studied the photograph on the countertop in front of her, matted but still in need of framing. A wry, wistful tone slipped into her voice as she spoke then, more quietly than she had before, “Well, that’s at least one instance when my added sight is a pleasant benefit.”

Killian’s eyes widened, his attention even more fully captured than it had been, curious as to what she might say next. Emma rarely - if ever - offered to comment on her visions and the things she knew because of them voluntarily. He bit his lip to keep from speaking, from verbally nudging her to continue. Instead he watched, waiting hopefully, breath held, for her to do so if she chose.

Looking up, Emma caught his eyes, but the soul-searching expression pierced right through his chest. “It’s as if the person or animal or place in front of the camera tells me the story it wants to share.” Shaking her head helplessly after that admission, she chuckled at herself before adding, “Yeah, I know that sounds completely crazy.”

“Not at all, Swan,” he breathes, the nickname sliding from his lips naturally and without thought, neither of them reacting to it - almost as if he had never called her anything else. “It’s just like I said… amazing.”

For several minutes, no more words were spoken, the quiet stretching comfortably between them as the shadows of evening lengthened outside the big front window. It was nearly seven-thirty, well past time for dinner, and they both laughed when his stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the spell between them. “What say you, Swan? Time to find some sustenance?”

Eyes glimmering with a mysterious sort of humor, she hedged, “Would you be willing to take a rain check? It’s been a packed couple of days, and I’m hoping to open in a couple more. I’m exhausted, and really just need to make it an early night.”

Considering her words for a moment, Killian studied her before acquiescing, hoping she wasn’t putting him off when it felt like they’d gotten so much closer over the course of the evening. “Fair enough,” he assented before playfully adding, “but I’ll hold you to that rain check. Unless you’re afraid of finding me even more irresistible after a few libations.” He waggled his heavy dark brows at her devilishly until Emma was laughing out loud at his antics.

Only a few minutes later they were ready to go, Emma locking the door of her shop behind them and Killian following her gallantly to her VW. Turning to look up at him where they stood facing each other on the sidewalk, Emma added, “I really would be glad to go to dinner another time, Killian. It’s been a nice evening, and - to be blunt - I could use a few friends. Just so we’re clear that’s all it is.”

Killian felt a tightening in his chest at her proclamation, disappointment clenching in his gut and alerting him that he had already allowed himself to want so much more. “You’ve already decided that, have you?” he responded, fighting to keep his voice light. 

She held his gaze, expression mournful, knowing, and more than a little haunted. “It’s for the best really. Trust me on that. You don’t want to get too close to me. Eventually, I’m too much for anyone to deal with. It gets messy. I’m just sparing us both a lot of hurt in the long run.”

He hummed low in his throat, the deep vibration of the sound almost physically palpable to her as he leaned closer, gauging her reaction with a knowing glimmer in his eye. “You say that now, Swan. And that’s fine, I can be incredibly patient. But I see that there could be so much more between us.”

“Do you indeed?” she queried in an equally teasing measure, his response allowing her to drop the wary seriousness she had spoken with before and banter back with him in return, almost irresistibly.

“Have a gander for yourself if you doubt me,” he offered, holding her gaze, an open expression seeming to lay himself bare before her. “I am an open book to you… just as you are to me.”

Emma caught her breath, helpless but to stare back into his eyes as he asked. Guard down, walls lowered, there was a flash behind her eyes of bare limbs moving in unison, heavy pants of exertion, whispered endearments in a familiar timbre, and a shattered cry of completion in a voice sounding much like her own. 

Blinking free and pulling away with a gasp, she knew what she’d seen, and flushed from the roots of her hair outward. “What was that?” she whispered, almost to herself, even as she knew exactly what she had witnessed. Never had she experienced such a glimpse of something so pleasurable it left her quivering with unquenched need.

“I think you know,” Killian replied with a roguish smirk, though his voice was gentle, almost hiding the slight hurt that swam in the crystal blue of his eyes at the distance she still tried to keep between them. “Possibly the dessert we could enjoy if you let a nice dinner for us progress to its natural conclusion?”

Nodding, she regained her equilibrium at last and reached out to pat him on the shoulder with a sort of playful camaraderie. “Hmm… well, maybe you’d better keep those thoughts to yourself for now,” she taunted. Still, as she settled into the driver’s seat and waved to him while backing away from the curb and pulling onto the street, Killian could see a deep and fragile longing behind her practical nonchalance. She wanted, just as he did; that closeness and heat and belonging, but she wouldn’t allow it for herself. She didn’t trust that anything good could last - and why would she, after all that she had survived already? Possibly she had waited so long to be loved, to feel wanted, that when it was placed before her, she denied what was being offered. While that might have worked for most, he wasn’t going to stay at a careful distance. Not when he could see the loneliness and yearning in her, as clearly as he could see it in his own mirror each morning. He would keep coming back, closer and closer each time, until maybe they could both find what they had been living without for so long.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @stahlop @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @eastwesthomeisbest @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @blowmiakisscolin @let-it-raines @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter

#cssns23 #cs au mc #cs ff #carolina moon #chapter two

[shares-a-vest]

can i ask where you get your inspo for your joanie munson series? i want to write more fics for emma but i dont really have, to put it lightly, good childhood memories or experiences so im not really sure how to make them realistic or "cute"

Hi CJ! Thank you so much for the ask and for supporting my little Joanie Munson AU. I LOVE seeing you pop up in my notifications when I write about her 💖 Tbh, I’m a little like squeeee someone is asking about my writing, right now!

Okay, before I delve into some rambling about my Joanie Munson AU, I just want to give a shout-out to everyone for getting through childhood crappiness, whatever it may be. Sending you all (and you, CJ) the biggest hugs.

Sooooo I don’t actually draw inspo from real-life experiences. Nothing that happened with Joanie happened to me and a lot of this AU is driven by me wanting to give Steve and Eddie a loving little family that is all cute and silly and filled with love.

The only thing miiiight come from real life is the fact that most fics are set at Steddie’s apartment or someone’s home. As a kid, my family were pretty housebound because I was sick and even now my life circumstances have me living in a bit of a small bubble – it’s all good btw, but I’m just trying not to give details, so apologies if this part reads a little too vague!

With only a couple of exceptions, most of this AU has developed via community events/prompts.

Right now, I’m working my way through each of the Flufftober Spring Prompts. I try to treat this AU as I would any other prompts – just starting with a super basic idea, maybe even a line of dialogue that gets in my head and seeing where it goes.

For example, the ‘Daisies’ prompt. I knew I wanted Joanie to be making daisy chains with Claudia. Then I thought it could include Wayne, then I wrote from his perspective, then added this silly side Steddie moment. And I always keep in mind how I have this AU set up (even if a lot of those ideas are just sloshing around in my head for now).

Like, Joanie’s grandparent figures are Claudia and Wayne, so what’s her relationship/dynamic like with them? How does Joanie’s personality shape the ficlet too? How is she like Steve and/or Eddie personality-wise in this situation? What parts of her are just your average excitable kid?

I know that overall, I want to keep this AU fluffy and silly. It sometimes falls into angst territory when I start writing about Steve’s parents but I can never bear to leave my Blorbo sad for too long.

Tbh, some comments/tags on my Flufftober Spring writing have me thinking about the meta aspects of this AU in ways I hadn’t before. It’s not like I pre-planned writing a Steddie Dads AU btw, I just fell into it after one ficlet and started to build it out from there. And even things I find myself writing about then sort of become an ongoing thing – if that makes sense. Like Joanie owning a Furby and the silly saga of that has appeared three times now.

The comment on THIS ficlet perfectly sums up an underlying… theme??? I guess, in this AU (Steddie healing their inner child, which BRB SOBBING 😭). Another tag by @marvel-ous-m on this one beautifully described this AU as ‘slices of life’ which it very much is, and I enjoy sticking to that. I guess what I’m getting at with all this is using your own parameters and the interior world of your Emmaverse AU to your advantage.

Gosh I hope this reads okay and isn't too rambling!! I love your Emmaverse and can't wait to read more of it.

Feel free to reply, send more asks or DM (if you want, no pressure of course!) I hope this was helpful in some way 💖😊

#lily answers #puppy-steve #steddie as girl-dads

[ladylooch]

Liv going to Emma confused about her feelings for Luca. And Emma’s like your in love. And Emma’s just super happy and emotional that her babygirl is finally getting a man that deserves her.

Liv gets a text from Luca on a random day following their initial bump in at the training facility. 

Hey, your brother game me your number. He said you have a great banana bread recipe. I was hoping I could have it?

Liv sends him the link on Pinterest and wishes him good luck. 

I’m actually a shit baker. Maybe you could help me? Liv’s heart begins to race. 

Sure. When are you thinking?

How about this afternoon?

Liv finds herself agreeing and they spend the whole day together, well into the evening, baking, talking, laughing, throwing flour on each other and admiring their work with a slice of banana bread at the end of the day.

“We make a good team.” Luca murmurs. “This is better than my mom’s, but don’t tell her.”

“I won’t.” Liv chuckles, breaking off another bite sized piece. Her hair falls in front of her face. Luca reaches for it, tucking it back behind her ear. They both pause. Luca’s fingers stay on her face, then tentatively reach for her chin, tilting her face to his. When their lips meet, Liv’s entire world shifts.

Wow, a kiss has never felt this good.

And thus begins their summer fling that quickly starts to feel like something more to Liv. She comes home from a night out, closing the door, touching her lips as she floats into the main area. Emma is still up, reading a book in the rarely quiet house. 

“Did you have a good night?” Emma asks, holding her place in her book with her hand. 

“Yeah…” She trails off, still fussing with her swollen bottom lip. “I’m going to go to bed.” Liv says, going to hug her mom. 

“Goodnight.” Emma kisses her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Liv responds, heading back towards the stairs. She steps onto the first one, then pauses, turning back to her mom. “Mama, when did you know you loved daddy?” 

A million moments flip through Emma’s head. She can’t pick one. It wasn’t like that for her. She fell in love with Timo over and over again, across years and months and miles apart. 

“I’m not sure there was a moment. It was more of how it felt to be with him. I didn’t feel that way with anyone else. He was…” Emma trails off, thinking again of their love and how it started and grew. “Safe. Trustworthy… and he showed up, in every moment I needed. Even the ones I didn’t want him to.” 

“I feel all of those things with Luca…” Liv trails off, feeling her heart both fall and rise in her chest. How wonderfully terrifying. Emma smiles, recognizing the fear and hope. 

“You, Livy girl, are very special. And anyone you love is so lucky. Remember that.” Liv smiles. “He’s very sweet to you. I like that.” 

“You were five minutes late.” Timo pipes in from the top of the stairs. Liv looks down at her hands, where her heels swing from her fingers. “Guess we’ll take five minutes off the next date.” Liv sighs, shaking her head and walking past her dad to her room. 

“Goodnight.” Timo calls to his pouty daughter. She rolls her eyes, shutting her door without another word. 

#Liv X Luca

[duskwoodgirl4life]

Chapter 12

I take the note from Jake's hand and read what it says, as I read it I can feel the anger rising up inside me. Jake is standing there totally stunned. He watches as he tries to speak but the words won't come out. "Jake, what's all this about? I thought you said she wasn't sticking around duskwood. Isn't she supposed to be leaving with Mr boring? Jake?" Jake sits down on the chair, the colour slowly coming back to his face. "I don't understand this isn't happening, she's not going to destroy our lives like this" Jake slams his hands down onto the table so hard the coffee mugs fall onto the floor. I've never seen him this angry before.

I walk over to him placing my hands on his shoulders forcing him to look at me, "Jake, I know what's happened is a shock but you need to calm down. We will work this out together" I reach across the table and take Jake's hand. "What am I going to do MC? She's not going to stop until she gets what she wants" I give Jake's hand a light squeeze and smile at him. I see a tear running down his face and landing on his t-shirt. My heart breaks to see him like this. I get up from my chair and go to sit on Jake's lap wrapping my arms around him. I feel him nuzzle into my chest, the tears falling thick and fast from his eyes. "I'm sorry MC, I'm really sorry" I hold Jake closer to me and hold him tightly not letting him go. "It's okay baby, it's okay everything is going to be okay I promise"

The week passes without any more surprises Jake is starting to feel more like himself again when we get back home from the hospital after a scan there is another box outside our front door. "Jake, there's another box outside the front door look" Jake stops in his tracks and looks at the box this one is slightly larger than the first one. I see the anger already on his face as he walks over to the box and picks it up and looks at the note pinned to the top.

To my darling Jake,

How I have missed you so much I know it wasn't your fault at our wedding, I want you to know that I forgive you and love you more than anything.

Emma

Xxxxxx

P's I hope you like your gift ;)

Jake took the box into the apartment and placed it down onto the table, grabbing a knife from the kitchen drawer he sliced open the box putting the knife down he slowly opened the box up. "I'm right here babe, I'm not going anywhere" I squeezed Jake's hand lightly and he opened up the box. Inside was a brown bear with a heart on its chest. Jake's hand starts to get tighter around the bear's neck, his face turning a shade of red. I rush over and take the bear from his hands and throw it into the bin. Jake grabs his laptop and starts to press a few buttons. I see a smile appear on his face. "Got ya, now I will know where you are and what you are up to I will be one step ahead of you at all times"

I walk over to Jake and sit down next to him and take his hand in mine. "What have you done Jake? Have you done what I think you have done?" The smile just keeps getting bigger and bigger on his face. "Yes I have MC I've put a tracker on her phone and I'm tracking all her activity when she goes online" I haven't seen Jake this happy in awhile it's nice to see him smile again. "What do you plan on doing now? Will she ever be stopped? I can't take her interfering in our lives much longer Jake" I could feel the anger building up inside me. I've been staying strong for Jake's sake but I just can't do it anymore. "Don't worry MC I will think of something to catch her out. I just need some time to think that's all"

The tears start to flow down my cheeks, unable to control any of my emotions I feel Jake's arms wrap around me holding me close. "I'm right here MC it's going to be okay I promise" after a while I start to calm down Jake hands me a glass of water and sits down next to me on the sofa. "I know all this is a lot right now MC but I want you to know that it will be okay" I look into Jake's eyes they are filled with so much love. "I have every faith in you Jake I really do, it's just a lot to take in especially since the baby is due in a couple of weeks."

I feel Jake's lips miss the top of my forehead and squeezing my hand lightly, "I'm not going to leave you alone MC you and the baby are the most important people in my life" Jake's words wash over making me feel so safe and loved. The next few days Jake has been glued to his laptop and he's been tracking Emma's movements. She's been to several different shops, nothing was really standing out until she made a visit to a back street jewelers. After getting dressed I walk back out of the bedroom and see Jake with his face practically pressed up against his screen. "Jake what on earth are you doing? Sitting that close is going to hurt your eyes" I walk closer to Jake and sit down next to him putting my hand on his shoulder. "MC don't do that you made me jump, what's wrong?" Look at Jake with an annoyed look on my face. "You know what's wrong, I called you from the bedroom. I saw how close you were sitting to this laptop. Have you been here all night? Please don't tell me you have been staring at this stupid screen all night."

I knew the answer before Jake even responded. Of course he has been sitting here all night. It's like an obsession with him. He wants to know where she is 24/7. "I'm doing this for you MC, I'm doing it for that baby growing inside you I'm trying to get as much proof as I can" Jake gets up from his seat and goes over to the coffee machine and pours himself another coffee. "I know why you're doing this Jake but to stay up all night like this it's not healthy" Jake just frowns at me as if I don't know what I'm talking about and he's always right. "Look MC this is something I have to do, if I don't who knows what he's going to do next I can't risk anything happening"

The look of fear in Jake's eyes just says it all and my heart breaks, "look Jake I do understand I really do it's just maybe you could not sit up all night I missed you last night Jake" before Jake could respond there was a knock at the door info to answer and there is a delivery man standing there with a parcel. He hands me the parcel and I sign for it thanking him and closing the door behind me. "What's wrong MC? What's inside the package?" Jake's words just wash straight over me as I open the package inside is another note and a small box.

To the one that stole my man,

I just wanted you to know that I will have Jake. He will come back to me no matter what, he needs to be with me. He loves me and I love him. Pass this gift onto him. I just know he's going to love it.

I open up the box and inside is a silver necklace with a heart locket inside the heart is a picture of Emma and Jake kissing. Jake takes the note and box off me and looks over what she's sent. I feel everything inside me starting to rise up inside me, all the anger I feel towards this woman for what she's doing. At that moment I let my anger get the better of me and I grabbed my keys and jacket and went to get into the car. Before I can even open the door Jake grabs my hand and stops me in my tracks. He can see how upset and angry I am. He puts his arms around me and holds me close to his chest.

Jake manages to convince me to go back inside as we are walking back inside Emma comes out of nowhere and grabs hold of Jake's hand. "My love, I've missed you so much I know you are only staying for the baby's sake. I want you to know that we can have all this, we can have a baby together, me and you having the most amazing sex I've ever had." Just when I thought I was starting to calm down I started to see red and move towards Emma. I ball up my fist move it back and swing it towards Emma's face punching her in the face. "Don't you ever come near him ever again, he doesn't want to be with you he loves me not you"

Jake pulls me back slightly making sure that I am okay and not hurt in anyway, "Emma leave me alone I've made my choice I never loved you it was a mistake to even be with you" all the colour starts to drain from Emma's face as she tries to take in what Jake just said to her. She gets up and runs off around the corner not wanting to stay and put up more of a fight. Jake puts his arms around me and takes me back inside the apartment closing the door behind us.

#duskwood #everbyte game #duskwood jake #duskwood hacker #iamjake #duskwood jake x mc #i love you jake #jake x mc #he loves me #i love you #maybe we should just be friends #just for one night #just me and you #just friends

[fragileizywriting]

bandaids don't fix husbands, as far as marinette's been aware. to be fair, she's had quite a few of them in her long life; there was nathaniel for a very long time, and then there was xien, and most recently she's had adrien and luka, so she knows a little bit of something about the fact that a bandaid won't exactly help something, like, a cold.

and yet, emma refuses to let her say no.

adrien's entrance into the dining room is nothingto write home about. there's no grand entrance with the doors swinging open, or a salacious walk with his hips swinging; instead, it's demure, and quiet, and the only thing that makes noise when he enters is his shiny shoes clicking against the marble flooring.

it's just the three of them at the moment, before the others show up. here, juleka is busy saying nothing, still reading her book and stirring something in her cup with an offhand, magic sparking out of her little finger to keep the spoon inside from stopping. emma's already in her chair, chewing on little cubed cheese offerings and a slice of peach, and...

well, marinette. just sitting waiting for everyone to show up.

"papa!" emma shouts, tiny voice made loud as possible.

adrien's face blossoms into a smile. "there you are, princess! did you have a good day?"

she accepts the kiss on her forehead.

"great day. oh, no, wait— mama, papa is hurt!" emma exclaims, bodly and loudly as adrien slumps over in his chair when it's time for dinner. he usually has such perfect posture; no doubt their daughter's noticed how folded-in he is, even as he keeps his face neutral to not scare her. fatigue ages him in a way that marinette never thought possible, no longer that grad-student freshness that permeated off of him just years before.

her poor darling.

unfortunately, nothing she can do will be able to help, though she's tempted to do it all. a spa day, a day where he sleeps, or lets luka take care of it, will just have adrien's brain spinning all day with all the obligations— even an attempt to allocate all of his tasks to his own family will probably make things worse. he's a perfectionist, and hasn't quite gotten the hang of "family struggles together" quite yet, so it definitely won't help to argue about this with him while he's in the middle of disintegrating in his chair.

ah... adrien does look a little off....

"he's just tired, baby," she finds herself lobbying.

emma's face scrunches into something that probably is supposed to be sympathy; her brows clip together in the same manner that luka does it, an expression that is way too big for her little face. her small mouth is made smaller with how she purses it, seemingly coming to a conclusion. "he needs a doctor."

"he's not sick," marinette giggles. a quick reach over has adrien snatching her hand instead, kissing it gently and princelike, even though she was in the process of brushing his hair back so she can gauge his temperature. "he just worked too hard so he's tired. he doesn't get to play the whole day like you, you know. being an adult is hard."

"we can fix it! i can fix it, mama," she offers, wiggling in her tall chair and chittering in excitement. "i have a bandaid."

it takes all the effort in the world to get adrien to not mention that bandaids don't work on fatigue. instead, adrien pivots to a: "why are you carrying a bandaid?" when marinette pokes him with her tail under the table.

"for em— uh, em—"

"emergencies?"

"emergencies," emma replies, a duh! laced into her voice. little attitude. she gets that from adrien, surely. she attempts to pat down the skirt of her dress, a puffy thing that makes her look like a blossoming flower, because she's been really into the ballgowns ever since they watched cinderella. one attempt to locate her pocket later, and she's gesturing with the tiny thing in her hands, wiggling again in excitement. "hurry! bandaids always work. you do it, mama, you have the healing magic, not me."

it's their own fault for teaching that placebo to her.

yet adrien takes it like a champ, letting marinette open up the little wrapper to reveal a tiny, bubblegum pink design with dots.

"why don't you come help me, baby?"

when emma puts it on adrien's forehead, kisses it, and scratches her fingers just behind his ears just like marinette always does with emma, adrien looks so grateful to have it. tiny, little hands cup her father's cheeks as she whispers the same words that marinette always does, telling her own papa that he looks so handsome.

bandaids don't always fix husbands, but maybe they do fix dads.

#speakizys #demon lovin

[penrose-quinn]

Green Light | Part Ten

“You’re not bad,” Izana told him, a mutter at first as if the sentiment was so delicate and important, but he didn’t bury it in his chest anymore that it gleamed in his gaze, looking up to him. 

“You’re my big brother. Of course, you’re not bad.”

Shinichiro should’ve corrected him. He’s only half his age. He didn’t know what he was doing, though he’d learn that most adults didn’t either and he just didn’t want to screw up so much for his words to no longer matter.

pairing: shinichiro sano/gn!reader

content tags: childhood friends. angst and hurt/comfort. slice of life ft. gangs. idiots to lovers. old friends trying to reconnect but are being dumbasses about it. they don't deserve the friends to lovers tag because they're stupid and pining. my sad attempt at writing shinichiro’s backstory. implied infidelity. implied death of a relative. underage smoking and other reckless shit kids shouldn’t do. tokrev manga spoilers.

a/n: happy belated birthday, shin! just gonna remind everyone that we start with his backstory at 17 years old and onwards to the present. this chapter and the next one are special to me, poured all my heart and soul and tears into every word just for this guy, so i very much appreciate every like/reblog/comment this receives!  

m.list ❁ read on ao3

Shinichiro trudged back home late with a tired grimace.

On another day, he'd think he's lucky because his grandfather – who had zero tolerance over a sink stacked high with grimy dishes – was asleep, though he's still a bit injured after a recent fight. Don't I get a break from this?

Manjiro and Emma were watching cartoons in the living room after hauling out a bunch of VHS tapes stored in the TV cabinet. Their third watch was a Ghibli film and it'd probably be their last when it's late in the night.  

Raising his voice a bit, he asked one of them to come over and clear out the crockery from the dish rack. This, however, set off an argument between them that his request went ignored and he had to remind them about it again when he finally padded in the room with a sigh.

Emma piped up that she already did the first batch of dishes this morning while complaining about how Manjiro neglected his chores today, which had him cross his arms adamantly, excusing himself that he'd been occupied with karate training.

He was caught in the lie when she ratted on him that he actually snuck out to meet-up with Keisuke and Haruchiyo. He didn’t speak up to defend himself this time, acting all huffy and disgruntled, cheeks puffed up from the accusation. 

Then Shinichiro cleared his throat, voice pitched low and stern. "Well, Manjiro . . ."  

"Whatever. I'm not watching with you anymore."

"Fine," shot back Emma, pressing play on the remote.

Before Shinichiro could mediate between them, Manjiro slid off the couch and made a beeline to the kitchen sink. True to his word, he went to bed sooner.

After washing the dishes and wiping the counter spotless, Shinichiro joined Emma a little later on. He already knew how it ended before the credits rolled.

A part of him was bothered after belatedly realizing that the movie was too mature for her, even though he’d been close to her age when he first watched it himself; curious, confused, and a bit horrified but morose to all of these hideous concepts about war and loss, death and desolate youth, the poverty of children.

Siblings striving, he thought. From the brutality of a world no different from what he had seen and would rather keep her safe from. 

His little sister was brave, though.

Shinichiro often wondered whoever taught her to be, sitting through the film as if she understood what had happened in it anyway. He likened the quiet between them to something almost forlorn before moving on from the sentiment and stating that it was a really sad story.

Emma blinked at him, slow and drowsy, misty-eyed. He didn't ask her if she cried.

Ever since one of the kids from the dojo called her a crybaby, she'd clench herself and refuse to acknowledge her tears. She felt more inclined to do this after Manjiro scared off the boy. This didn’t register to his brother yet, even when his honest intentions were to protect her. Shinichiro didn't want anyone to hurt. He didn’t want her to cry, but he told her that it's okay to let it out. We need to cry, sometimes.

Still, he had to be delicate with her. His mother always reminded him to be more sensitive to girls. He didn't tease her, though he did confess that he bawled from a scene – see, it's the one where all the fireflies died and she had to bury them – and when Emma asked why, he said he forgot the reason, just that he could still recall his emotions so vividly.

Grave of the Fireflies wasn’t even one of his favorites and a lot of it didn't make much sense to him at the time, but he sobbed so much that day, grieving before he could understand what would be lost to him.

Emma listened, but she didn't comment after that. Then her nose wrinkled at the damp spot on his shirt; his sloppiness. He lazily waved it off. Eyes poring over his arm, she asked him if she could doodle on his plasters and he would’ve said yes though she let out a yawn, making him recall that it's time he got her ready for bed.

Teeth brushed and frocked into her cotton pajamas, she was tucked in her covers. Before Shinichiro closed the door of her room, he overheard her murmur longingly for her big brother that he knew was neither addressed to Manjiro nor him.

When Emma hadn't eased up to him yet, she told him that she already had Izana and that he'd never replace him.

When Shinichiro asked her why he wasn’t with her, he didn’t expect that his words would unintentionally hurt her feelings, and you shook your head in disapproval when he recounted the tale after he begged you to talk to her instead. C’mon. Just help me out, please?

You did, and you still would when you explained to him how adoptions worked, all that complicated, jargony stuff.

Then you asked him what was all of this for. The better question was for who.

On his next visit, Izana got himself a nice guitar. Someone lent it to him, but he didn't elaborate more about that or the scratch on its side when he began playing him a verse of Sweet Child O' Mine. He sulked a bit, deeming his attempt amateur, though Shinichiro assured him that he recognized the song – from heart, he’d even proclaim with a pat to his chest, and Izana always knew but he’d still roll his eyes – and he improved by a mile, knowing he'd been self-taught from his letters.

Shinichiro could barely even pull off the basic chords, believing the F chord actually stood for Fucking Hard in English. Izana agreed but he told him that he should just practice and quit messing up the tuners.

Shinichiro hadn’t mastered playing the guitar months later. Even so, Izana would approach him, asking if he could teach him how to ride a motorcycle. He’d rather teach him how to talk to girls, though he still guided him through the clutch, the throttle and brake, the steering for a bike to roll smoothly, but he wouldn’t actually let him drive until Izana would rush ahead and do it by himself at thirteen.

Shinichiro was there in all of Manjiro and Emma’s milestones. He wanted to be there for Izana’s too.

Ueno Park almost felt bare on July.   

Perhaps, there was melancholy in prolonged misplacement.

That there weren’t any cherry blossoms abloom in the park and his mother wouldn't be celebrating Hanami next spring.

His immersion of the surroundings seemed to change after a long stroll to Hanazono Inari Shrine, bedecked with torii gates that couldn't grant wishes, carmine stippled with green shadows overhead. The heat swayed with the trees that it could make a bug curl under a rock and nestle itself there with dreams of the coming season. There’s a zoo nearby, though Izana would rather glance at the fishes from the pond. A smile bent his lips when the fat, red-bellied carps swam under his feet once he fed them morsels of his taiyaki. One of them jokingly brought up cannibalism or if carp liked sweets as much as people do.

His mother would probably say something as absurd, like that time she claimed she was his best friend on this same bridge, a sprig of transient flowers clutched between her fingers. Manjiro was two, but he wouldn’t have memories of her outside the hospital as much as he did. Shinichiro wasn’t sure what kind of child he would be without his mother always holding his hand, though he still threw a fit that what she insisted was downright embarrassing.

Shinichiro reflected over her words, if she had only told him that so he wouldn’t feel as lonesome as she did.

It made him wonder if it was inherited. If Izana had it too, averting his eyes after lingering for too long at the crowd from the distance, couples with strollers and children with parents. 

Parks were spaces meant for big, normal families. The shape of which had been hollowed out of them, and through each other’s pensive gaps, Shinichiro just knew he had to take him anywhere but here.  

They spent most of the time around the city, going to a corner store where he bought himself a pack of smokes without being asked for an ID; to Okubo-Dori and had Korean corn dogs slathered with too much mustard and sugar; to JB’s Music Store, owned by an Aussie who wore John Lennon tea shades everyday. You tipped him about it because this was the place where you usually purchased CD albums at a cheaper price, though this wasn’t where he got Izana’s Walkman. It’s secondhand, but one could never go wrong finding the best kind in Akihabara.

The both of them gawked at 70s band posters and memorabilia, listening to some random, garbling song by Led Zeppelin, then T. Rex, The Doors, Kiss, Queen. Izana had quick hands when he stuffed a cassette tape inside his hoodie, though the owner had sharper eyes beneath those pitch-black shades and chased them out of the store, making them scram three blocks ahead like their lives depended on it.

Shinichiro would’ve paid the man if he wasn’t low on cash today. He still reprimanded Izana for stealing, panting shallow breaths that gradually heaved out a wild laugh, because the cassette tape was worth the trouble when he eyed the track listings, a collection of the all-time greatest rock hits.

You’re insane. Don’t ever lose it, Shinichiro told him, tousling his hair. Izana didn’t have much back at the orphanage anyway, and there’s really something alive in his eyes that warmed his chest.

They wandered around graffiti walls and railroad ways, neon-signed establishments, scraps of Tokyoite urbanity that smoldered at dusk. There’s the arcade near the pachinko parlor, and there’s the oceanside park at the edge of the city, where the sand stretched for miles that their footprints had been lost to the sea, to the smoke and asphalt on the highway towards the horizon.

There’s a lot of places his brother still hadn’t known yet and some could span far and wide as long as the road could take them together.

Izana didn't like to talk about his mother so he pondered over the father that he never had the chance to know. Or perhaps, was fortunate enough to have never known more about because that meant his father could be anyone; someone who could've been the pillar of his life; someone who he would be proud of being called as his father's son.

"You and Emma have the same father," recalled Izana. "What's he like?"

"He worked hard. When he was around, we watched TV sometimes. Hm, he’d get me out of trouble when Grandpa's about to give me an earful. Always had an excuse," Shinichiro let out a clipped chuckle, then stopped, blank and bleak, when he recounted that his father didn’t discipline him as much as Takeomi’s did and maybe that’s the case because he’s almost never home.

He wondered if fathers were lost creatures. Or if his had only gone astray.

Shinichiro grinned roguishly. “Look at how I turned out to be.”

“You’re not bad,” Izana told him, a mutter at first as if the sentiment was so delicate and important, but he didn’t bury it in his chest anymore that it gleamed in his gaze, looking up to him. “You’re my big brother. Of course, you’re not bad.”

Shinichiro should’ve corrected him. He’s only half his age. He didn’t know what he was doing, though he’d learn that most adults didn’t either and he just didn’t want to screw up so much for his words to no longer matter, blooming with something like love and fond admiration.

He hoped to cradle them forever, reminded of the same, fulgent feeling from years ago when Manjiro had first babbled his name and the world around him changed ever since, brighter.

There was a time Izana made a strange promise that he'd break the leg of the guy who got him hospitalized someday, which ought to be raising his concern with how little it sounded like a joke. Shinichiro wrote to him that he reminded him of Manjiro for that and what he drew out of it was a stranger reply. He’s serious apparently, though no word on the comparison.

Even if Shinichiro recounted about Emma getting along with Manjiro in his letters, Izana would dismiss him in favor of his sister. Oftentimes, he wouldn’t acknowledge them together at all.

He penned back that he should stop getting into brawls so much, recollecting how he had to rewrap the bandage on his ankle in his last visit. It’s one thing to fight in self-defense, and another to rampantly commit violence.

His lenience would then provide him that he was only defending a friend. The name kept eluding him.

He searched for one, but his eyes found conviction in a sentence instead.

I just want to be more like you.

Shinichiro almost read that in Manjiro’s voice, but he knew better than to mention it.

At sixteen, Shinichiro thought his biggest hurdle was approaching his grandfather into adopting Izana in the same vein he attempted talking the caretaker to just let him adopt him because they were related anyway—so what if he was still in high school? A delinquent? He led the Black Dragons a year younger and raised his siblings when he’s barely even a teenager.

You’d refute him that he’d only stop being a child at eighteen and would legally be an adult by twenty. Besides, his grandfather was at a certain age wherein he shouldn’t be taking care of another kid anymore. Then you would nag him about the process, the long duration, the qualifications of a guardian. The statistics were slim. There’s a reason why adoptions were so rare and difficult.

At seventeen, he had to accept that the truth was harder to swallow.

Did you ever look back and think why his mother didn’t abandon him with his little sister in your house?

Shinichiro stopped wondering how he could keep a terrible secret for over a year when he'd already been good at keeping them far longer, just so his mother's smile would endure. Izana deserved a kinder life.

They could’ve been listening to records in the vinyl shop downtown or marveling at fiery zelkovas on the route to Omotesando.

But they’re out here lounging around a deserted basketball court, chain-wire fence on their backs, squatted under the late-autumn sun.

"All this legal stuff is stupid. I wish you never had to wait." Shinichiro sighed. "I wish I could bring you home."

Izana was so quiet. His breaths were even, muffled in the wool of his scarf, though he couldn’t seem to scream out his disappointment; he stared. The distance was indistinct, almost leaving no trail but the despair in his eyes. Shinichiro couldn’t help but feel as if he let go of his hand in a crowd, making him crumple down to his knees.

"You,” murmured Izana. Then he glanced back at him, searching. Shinichiro had seen something like this before, so long ago. “You'll come back for me anyway, right?"

"Always," Shinichiro promised, ruffling his hair to shake him off it, as if to gently remind him he’s still here. "But you won't feel too lonely at the orphanage, will you?"

His shoulders trembled; his arms taut around his knees for something else to cling on because Izana looked like he’d been through it a hundred times, and Shinichiro reached, anchored him by the arm, though he couldn’t offer any more consolation than this. 

"Kakucho will," Izana realized wistfully, "if I just leave . . ."

"You won't leave him then." Shinichiro smiled, but the corners of his mouth ached. "'Cause you're a good friend."

His eyebrows pinched. "Kakucho's my servant."

Ah. His brother had to work on that.

"Okay. He's your friend," Shinichiro told him this as if he hadn't heard him, provoking a peeved reaction. He just reached forward and pulled at his cheeks to tug up his frown. "Jeez, who calls his friend a servant? You're so weird."

"You're so annoying, Shin," Izana countered defensively, twisting his face away from his hands. "You're the worst!"

Even after the both of them ended up jostling each other in a stutter of soft, exasperated laughter, Shinichiro knew that he really was.

Shinichiro was doing homework.

The book you chose was one of the older copies in your small collection. He's not good at deciphering stuff like this, finding himself not reading the prose but the history: indentions, lignin on paper edges, cracks on the spine like faults or broken lightning.

In Akutagawa's Life of a Stupid Man, you went on about how Death and Illness had two entries each that shared the same title. Perhaps, the meaning should be telling to both the author and the reader, though he couldn't help but be more invested on the singularity of his third entry, The House, highlighted with a faded, broad stroke of neon green as if to scream the passage in an adolescent voice:

He often wondered, in that suburban second story, if people who loved each had to cause each other pain.

Shinichiro ended up copying and paraphrasing your essay when you lent it to him with a shrug.

Sometimes, he pondered if you were the one that highlighted that sentence when the book, like the rest, had belonged to your big brother once.

The truth was he didn't know what to feel about his father.

Shinichiro wondered how could someone hurt another when they weren’t there anymore, and in some despondent way, he understood you a little better.

His father left him a house. His grandfather was too old and his brother was too young. He forgot that he was a child on the day he began to carry the roof of the household on his shoulders, make a pillar out of the boy, tall as ten years and growing.

His mother wept for him that time, spilling soup on the edge of her hospice bed, and he picked up the lacquer bowl as if to salvage something in the remains. There’s a dent on the lip of the bowl that he wouldn’t acknowledge, forcing a smile for the cracks not to show. He told her he’d be strong for all of them. Her tears still kept falling.

You called him unbreakable once. He often wondered if it was true.

The train was slow and swift at the same time when you're standing in the middle, hands clutching on the grab handle above you as if in white-knuckled prayer, but your face was passive, not peaceful. You were gazing at the window behind him and Shinichiro saw the setting sun reflect back in your eyes.

The stop to Meidaimae, then passengers flowing in and out once the doors opened; one of them was the old lady who sat next to him, wading through the crowd with a trolley bag full of canned goods. He still had the Pancan she meant to give to you on his hand.

"Can you sit with me?" Shinichiro asked.

It's just that you looked more content where you were, but it's like staring at a painting for too long and after you acquiesced, he's painfully aware of the distance between both of your shoulders lately, if the gap between them could measure to a fracture.

He defied the sentiment, deciding to rest his head on your shoulder, even though he wasn't tired. He was still heavy, so heavy these days, but he knew you – you were strong, safe in every single way no one understood you for.

You didn't groan out that he should get off you as he clasped to your warmth, hanging himself to the neckline of your sweater in a mutter, "what do you think about Izana?"

You shifted a bit. "I don't know. Fond of you, I guess."

There's a part of him that wanted to convince you that he's a good kid, a terribly lonely kid, but he needed to know your opinion of him first before imparting everything else.

"Is he really your little brother?"

"He is," it's not a lie.

"Then he is," you repeated. "He doesn't act like one, though."

"What do you mean?"

"He acts more like he's your only brother."

"He just hasn't met Manjiro yet." Shinichiro paused. Suddenly, everything mattered and the confidence of his previous statement wavered from a low, sullen, "do you think they'll get along?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Because he tried.

Stop talking about Manjiro.

When he couldn’t provide a clear answer, you did it for him, even though he’d probably dislike what it was.

“They’ll fight,” you sounded more somber and profound than you should. “Siblings always fight.”

Shinichiro remembered how you shed blood and tears in Chiba; the open wounds of your eyes, a wound for years.

“But you’ll know how to stop them. That’s actually one of your least annoying traits.”

“Then what’s my most annoying trait?”

“When you’re like this.”

A sigh rolled off your lips, and he held a breath as if to snatch the air between them.

"I can't help you when you're like this, Shin," you reminded him, exasperated and resigned and tender, but even when your sentences weren't knife-edged, he felt like he'd bleed from the truth regardless. "You can't just keep hiding things to yourself, you know that?"

"I know," Shinichiro murmured pensively. But you wouldn’t understand . . .

Maybe, he shouldn’t have made promises he couldn’t keep. Maybe, he should’ve let Izana and Emma meet earlier, but would it have made a difference if it wound up towards the same conclusion? Would he hate Manjiro? Would they hate each other?

They’ll fight. The words held a tremor of dread and frustration because the truth would be something Izana would hate most of all.

But Izana held so much hope on his throat, and what big brother was he to let it become his noose.

You wouldn’t understand.

The next two stops should be closer to your place and he counted the seconds like how he counted the passing months on a calendar and the snow-capped roofs of houses slanting under the evening sun. February was ending soon. 

"Can you walk me home too?"

You did with a sigh, not even protesting when Shinichiro persuaded you to stay there for awhile, and he's almost tempted to ask if you'd do anything for him. The words didn't quite spell out as he silently hoped when the both of you ended up bumming on a cigarette in the garden, coalesced over a waft of fragrant incense his grandfather lit from the house. He mentioned to you that Manjiro didn’t know how to properly pray to the butsudan and you shrugged because you never had a reason to pray either, offering smoke to no one but him.

He could've been more honest that night, though he didn't want to tell you that he's afraid he didn't know how long he could still have you like this.

A year after you left for Nagoya, Shinichiro told Takeomi about Izana.

You’re just trying to protect them, was his only reassurance.

Shinichiro wished he could do better at it. Months from now, it wouldn’t be enough.

It's like you have a little sister, Shinichiro announced on the day he first held a baby in his arms; a privilege, perhaps, that he should've reserved for Manjiro but he didn't know he'd have a little brother yet, and you furrowed your brows, denying his statement. No, Keiko's my niece.

You would repeat it whenever you were tasked to watch over her from the crib because your sister was grinding away in her second part-time job during the weekends.

Shinichiro hung around with you till his curfew. In fact, he had so much free time that he could play hide-and-seek at home by himself and still get bored for years while responsibility was thrust upon you earlier for him to misinterpret your petulant unwillingness for disaffection.

You scowled over changing diapers and looked like you're about to collapse into tears the moment you heard a piercing, infantile cry, though you would always know when Keiko was hungry. Permit her to grip your glasses like a toy when she's saddled on the hook of your arm, a hand rubbing her back. You're the same with your nephew too, a little boy named Yoichi, sucking his thumb when he followed you around everywhere.

Whenever Shinichiro saw this different side of you something inside him unfurled, about what it's like to hum some soft, lilting lullaby to put one to sleep or to grasp a toddler's hand, crossing the pedestrian lane.

What's it like to hear a baby burp out a laugh? You told him it was the weirdest sound Keiko ever made, revealing a warm liveliness to you behind the humor and a pang of jealousy in his grin.

Then Takeomi had Haruchiyo, and the feeling carved through him. 

Shinichiro didn't have anything like that. He didn't think he would want something so much until his mother rested a hand over her womb and then he called you over the phone, so overjoyed that he yelled at the top of his lungs that he's going to be a—

“Can I see you?”

“I can't exactly come back to Tokyo.”

“No, I'll come over to you.”

“Right now? Really?”

“Yeah . . .”

“All right. Hey, Shin,” a soft, concerned pause. “Did something happen—” Are you okay?

Shinichiro pretended to not hear you, pressing end call after lingering for a second.

Taking the bullet train to Nagoya hadn't really been the most impulsive thing Shinichiro had ever committed, and despite it being the most expensive ride he’d ever spent, he still got cold feet from meeting you.

A part of him was hollow, an ache between the space in his bones. It’s like he’s missing a rib, curved along your smile from the window of the café, a sigh ghosting through the glass as if to make the sentiment apparent in the longing. How it wasn’t the same without each other’s presence anymore.

You didn't appear like you changed all that much yet. He no longer wondered if he did.

Shinichiro asked for directions, burned the soles of his shoes across the city to find you, and once he did, he lost the half of him that you might’ve loved. Where did all of his courage go? Why did it feel selfish to barge back into your life and believe everything would be as it was?

He pulled out his phone and sent you a message that something urgent came up. I’m sorry.

In a way it kind of was.

Fearing the thought that it’s there in Nagoya; your resolve of wanting to search for yourself in a world without him.

Shinichiro dismissed it entirely as he bolted into a sprint, running through where he went wrong when Izana was thrown in juvie, and Manjiro scarred Haruchiyo, and he didn't really know where he hurtled himself into when the descent felt more real and harrowing than anything, spewing his guts out on the pavement from some alleyway.

It was Takeomi who found him and brought him home that night, half pitying and half responsible for him.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” he told him this as if he’s been living in it, and Shinichiro wanted to ask if he’s okay.

But Takeomi would probably brush it off, something about having to prove he’s tougher than this, and he shouldered the weight of him, even if he did look brittle himself. He’s unshaven too. The both of them used to joke about stuff like that, growing beards and pubic hair.

“Something like that,” offered Shinichiro, thinking maybe they could meet somewhere in the anguish. “Hey, I really missed you.”

There’s a stiffness to his shoulders. Sometimes, affection to Takeomi was a scar, callousing a little more over time, and he didn’t say the words but it’s still there, on the firm grip of his hand. The silence between them was scuffed with footfalls, like coming out of a war again. He never had to do it with blood or bravado, though he only had to be the boy he remembered from a lifetime ago.

“Please don't let Manjiro and Emma see me like this.”

Shinichiro figured he'd understand, ignoring the kaleidoscope of wicked, blinding lights from Kabukicho, the scent of tobacco and another woman's perfume on his best friend’s clothes like his father's . . .

If someone were to ask him about his father, Shinichiro would always tell you that he couldn’t recall much of his face. There were photo albums and picture frames on the walls, but somehow, all he saw was a stranger. Then he’d glance on the mirror and trace out the lie.

All the unlikely bright spots of his memory resurfacing, like the fresh smarting of a bruise.

How his father compensated by giving him that Nintendo console he'd been begging his parents to buy for him on his eighth birthday; how he smoked more than his grandfather, but unlike him, he's mindful enough to tamp his cigarette under the heel of his shoe when Shinichiro was around him; how he loved him very much, perhaps in all the poignant ways absent fathers could for their children that he had to wonder for the longest time why his father couldn't return all of this love to his mother.

Shinichiro had contemplated about it for a decade and locked it so close to his chest that it had long since lost a voice from every secret he had kept for him.

He just didn't want anyone to hurt – never again.

Shinichiro wasn’t alone in his room.

Manjiro had been playing his Gameboy.

Shinichiro was a little disoriented, a little ready to reproach him to not play games all day, though once he stirred from the bed, he woke feverish with a cooling pad plastered on his forehead. Swaddled in his comforter, his body ached and shuddered; throat parched.

Manjiro was attentive beside him, putting down the Gameboy and reaching him a sweaty glass of water. The condensation trickled along the line of his wrist, but it's nice and cold on the pads of his fingers, tilting up the glass to his mouth. His mind was still muddled. 

“Grandpa called Yoneda-jiji that you were sick today.” Then Manjiro pointed at the plastic container from his nightstand; warm clumps of onigiri inside. “Emma made you those. Sorry, I ate one,” he added, flicking the grain of rice on his t-shirt.

The hem tag at the back of his collar poked out. It’s thoughtlessly childish, endearing really, and Shinichiro was about to mention it until Manjiro spoke for Emma’s behalf. “She wanted to stay behind too, but I told her that she should go to school.”

Then Shinichiro craned his head at him. Cleared his throat again. “Why aren’t you in school?”

There’s resolution in his dark eyes. 

“I’m gonna take care of you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t skip school, dummy,” dismissed Shinichiro, but he didn’t mean to sound mildly annoyed about it. He wasn't exactly the model of good health, but his body had endured the worst so he searched for all the cuts and scabs that weren’t there because he never had a fever since he was about his brother’s age and he'd rather be annoyed than admit how much he felt like a burden. 

Manjiro was unyielding in his concern. “Promise me you’ll get better first,” he demanded with a clench to his fist, like he’s looking for a fight. “Then I’ll go back tomorrow.”

Shinichiro just tucked the hem tag back inside his t-shirt and gave him a pat on the head, his hair soft and unkempt under his hand, seeking comfort. Gentleness wasn't new to Manjiro, but it's a language he struggled at conveying so he dropped his gaze, uncertain and a bit lost.

There's a heaviness to his eyes that made him slouch on the bed and the both of them were reminiscing of a simpler, more vulnerable time. 

"You never get sick," Manjiro told him with an edge to his voice that's close to trembling. "You just never do, Shinichiro." 

Shinichiro sighed under his breath. “I’ll be okay, all right? I’ll be better.”

His throat ached. He sounded so much like their mother. 

Shinichiro didn't quite realize how his reticence could hurt his brother when the both of them knew that there's something profoundly wrong. 

They really were related. They're Sanos. Awful with words, awful with feelings; a shared helplessness. 

Manjiro feared the weakness of it more than Shinichiro had withstood for all his life, but he didn't mind. He could learn from his big brother's failures, know when to not step on the cracks from his path, rise up again if he did so that the fall wouldn't wound him as much.

Manjiro could even kill a person right now and Shinichiro would still do anything for him. He'd do the same for Izana. 

Terrible and twisted, his brothers, but Shinichiro loved them anyway. Emma and Grandpa did too. 

They're all what's left. 

They're a family. 

Later in the afternoon, Shinichiro would be faced with dishes on the sink with a stab of betrayal, and be bombarded with errands from his job tomorrow, and be attending Manjiro and Emma's PTA meetings right after work. He still had to make amends with Nitta-san for Manjiro's aggression towards her son. There's so much laundry to do . . . 

But then he’d also recall how Emma beamed when he complimented her that her onigiri was perfect after laboring on it for hours just to get the shape and taste right; her fingers slightly burned from a clumsy attempt at molding hot rice. Manjiro was the one who suggested grilled salmon flakes as a filling because he knew it’s his favorite and dashed towards the grocery store to buy the ingredients himself.

His grandfather was always the stoic one. He'd scold him a lot, but they never argued and no one had the real temper to combust. Nothing was deeper; every response was delayed and every conversation was either terse, ruminating ones or complete silence like in Mokuso. Even in the kitchen table where they sat together for years, he brought the austerity of the dojo with him.

Shinichiro wouldn’t inherit the family dojo. He had no interest in pursuing martial arts. Had other plans.

His grandfather asked if he was doing well anyway, and Shinichiro was close to saying that he's sorry for being a disappointment but he bit it off at the last second before telling him that he was good.

That's good. He nodded and nothing much else.

Perhaps, Shinichiro could never get more from this, but it's all right. They would drink tea in silence and fall back to the same, mundane talks in circles until he turned twenty, not feeling older than he should, because he was still his grandfather and he was still his grandson. It was good.

Exposition corner:

[1] “his father's son”: a reference to the names of Shinichiro and his father, Makoto, from the Sano Family Tree; Makoto [真] and Shinichiro [真一郎], [真] being the kanji for ‘truth’ or ‘sincerity’ and [一郎] for ‘first son.’ Another reading of [真一郎] could be Makoto’s First Son. Full credits to Yoko for this one! If you see this, you my friend are amazing for picking this up!

[2] Hanami: The Japanese traditional custom of viewing cherry blossoms when they are in full bloom, usually accompanied with family and/or friends. On the topic of Hanami, Ueno Park is popularly known as one of the best cherry blossom viewing spots in Tokyo.

[3] "[...] torii gates that couldn't grant wishes”: Shinichiro was referencing the Fushimi Inari Shrine from Kyoto, in which the Senbon Torii there are believed to grant wishes.

[4] “[…] he’d only stop being a child at eighteen and would legally be an adult by twenty”: According to the Child Welfare Law, a person under 18 is considered a child while under the Civil Law Act, the age of adulthood is 20 in Japan. In context of the story, Izana could leave the orphanage when he’s 18. If Shinichiro wanted to adopt Izana, he would have to be 20 because he wouldn’t be considered an adult if he’s still 18-19. Sadly, even if he was already an adult, adoption in Japan is a whole can of worms. It is rare and difficult. It’s known that orphans are likely to grow and move out from their orphanages than to be adopted.  

[5] Life of a Stupid Man: It’s an autobiographical short story by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. It’s his last written work before he committed suicide right after. 

[6] House: In Japanese, [家] translates to ‘house’, but it could also mean family, household, and family’s lineage. Hell, Family [家族] is one part a character for the term. I don’t want to bore anyone with the subtle distinctions between [いえ] and [うち], but my main point is ‘house’ carries the same weight as ‘family’ to Shinichiro specifically. If I were writing this in Japanese, this would’ve made more sense, but I’m just playing with my words in English (^_^)

[7] Butsudan: It is a shrine commonly found in temples and homes in Japanese Buddhist cultures. Its primary use is for paying respects to the Buddha, as well as to family members who have died.

[8] Mokuso: It is a type of martial arts meditation practiced in Japanese martial arts like Karate and Kendo.

a massive shoutout to ObsidianMoonstones's Tone of Things to Come and As long as I’m dreaming, I’m alive – they told me the dead don’t dream. his characterization of izana is the best i've ever come across in any site. heck, how he writes izana is my main source of inspiration! i highly recommend everyone to check out his works!!

a/n: next chapter is the second part of his backstory so we're still going to suffer a bit. sorry, if it feels a bit incomplete for now, but i swear if i didn't cut this in half, all of you wouldn't get the chance to breathe because I'm pretty sure yall know what's coming next :')

part nine ❁ m.list ❁ part eleven 

#shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro sano x you #shinichiro sano x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #black dragons x reader #black dragons x you #shinichiro sano fluff #shinichiro sano angst #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers #shinichiro sano #izana kurokawa #emma sano #manjiro sano #takeomi akashi #green light #pen writes #finally done!!! #i kept my promise and didn't post this on his death day ;)

[izzielizzie]

Izzie’s One of Us is Back Celebration (Day 17)

headcanons: phoebe and ashton get coffee

under the cut

phoebe would literally rather do anything other than spend time with the person whose wedding she ruined

correction

the person whose wedding she ruined and then didn’t attend

she knows, deep down, that the bomb wasn’t her fault

you can’t take responsibility for the way other people deal with their anger maeve is always telling her

maeve’s words would be almost reassuring if she didn’t spend all her time kicking herself for not realizing who jared was sooner

when phoebe sees ashton in the mail room she nearly turns right back around

unfortunately ashton sees her before she can leave

she waves at phoebe

“hey, phoebe, nice to see you’re home”

“hi ashton” she mumbles

phoebe peers into her mailbox and finds nothing

she turns around to see ashton is still looking at her

“how are you holding up?”

phoebe shrugs and mumbles something even she can’t comprehend

ash is just looking at her and phoebe is waiting for her to get mad

but she doesn’t

instead, she stuffs her hands in the pockets of her jeans and says

“wanna grab some coffee?”

this throws phoebe off

“um... sure?”

“great!”

ashton drives them to a place one town over that she discovered a few weeks ago

“i’m spending so much time here that i think the baristas know my order”

ashton insists on paying, which doesn’t help with phoebe’s guilt

while she’s adding sugar packets to her vanilla latte, phoebe looks up to find ashton looking at her with an odd look on her face

“sorry, i know it’s a lot of sugar,” phoebe says, worried she’s somehow offended her

ash just shakes her head and smiles

“no don’t be. i was just thinking about how addy does the same thing. you’re a lot like her”

phoebe isn’t sure why such a small comparison makes her start sobbing

but it does and she ends up just sitting in this cafe she’s never been to across from someone whose wedding she ruined and she’s crying so hard she can hardly even see through the tears

“oh honey”

ashton comes around the table to pull her into a tight hug

“it’s okay. just let it out”

it takes about ten minutes and half a stack of napkins before she stops crying

when ash is positive that she’s not going to start crying again she returns to her seat

“i’m sorry,” phoebe tells her as she swipes angrily at her tears

“it’s okay to cry, phoebe. you’ve been through a lot.”

“no, no, for ruining your wedding.” 

ash stares at phoebe for a moment

“for ruining my... what? Phoebe how do you think you ruined my wedding?”

“I don’t know. if i hadn’t hooked up with derek then emma wouldn’t have been mad at me, so maybe she would have been less mad about brandon, and maybe she wouldn’t have worked with jared and then he wouldn’t have —”

“phoebe. stop. you have no control over how people react. all you can do is try to do better next time, right?”

“you sound like maeve.”

ashton smiles. “maybe you should listen to maeve more often then.”

they lapse into silence, sipping at their lukewarm drinks

“the cake was good. at your wedding”

ash looks confused

“how’d you have the cake?”

“knox saved me a slice.”

ash grins

“are you two a couple?” 

she sounds so conspiratorial that phoebe can’t help but laugh

this, she thinks, is what having an older sister should feel like

#i love how ash was there for addy and so naturally i love the idea of her being there for phoebe too #phoebe lawton #ashton prentiss #oouin #izzie's oouib celebration