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dreaming-gamer · 3 years

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Magic Touch – Nero X V – Chapter 5

Firefighter Nero X Massage Therapist V

Back with a new chapter! And it turned out pretty long so more under the cut! ^^

@thedyingmoon 💜💜💜

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

V wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Frankly, he hadn’t seen himself as a man with time for… well, a significant other during the last months... perhaps the entire year really. Work used up his time, as did the various activities as a part of the literature association. Not to mention a few other activities, he certainly needed to check his schedule for an appropriate time for the animal shelter as well… V could admit that he worked a lot but it was hard not to do when, well… he enjoyed seeing somebody completely refreshed after one of his treatments. Or seeing somebody’s eyes light up from inspiration. Or seeing a small life find comfort, for the first time in a while.

V wouldn’t say he was an angel by any means, if somebody underestimated him and asked him to use some force, he certainly would and even feel a bit satisfied, when they then asked him to let up. Hopefully with a new sense of respect for his profession. Yes, he might look weak and he might be compared to other, more well-trained men. But this was a role he had chosen for himself, of course he would execute it with pride and professionalism.

Nero had done something he’d never experienced before however. Despite sounding rather cocky while under V’s hands, he’d… apologized, after the treatment. As well as complimented him, in fact. V had been thanked for his services before, but nobody had ever apologized for sounding disrespectful. Not that V had felt that offended even, Nero had certainly been a mild case.

The incident had made Nero a name and face that stuck in his memory however, even though V had not expected the firefighter to show up at the spa again. It hadn’t seemed like a place Nero was very used to.

And he certainly had not expected Nero to show up at times when he needed aid. Nor that his new apartment would be right across the street from said Nero Sparda.

Was there not an old saying, that if you met three times, it was meant to be? V had never put much weight into the words, it was a romantic saying certainly but not one he’d ever thought would happen to him.

But Nero was kind. More observant than he expected. His heart seemed to burn with the will to help, in a way V found himself respect. Not to mention that he found it charming, Nero’s openhearted reactions endearing, he was like a book and V felt as if he was starting to understand his language. Or maybe he was fooling himself into hoping so, for Nero’s suggestion of giving him a massage, as well as his words… V couldn’t deny that Nero had surprised him. In a good way because his shoulders actually felt a little less stiff now and it was quite refreshing.

And yet, Nero’s yes to his half teasing suggestion had been another surprise. A… welcome one. A weekly reminder to relax could be something he admittedly needed.

Just like the note he had found just inside the door when he came home late, that same evening after how they had abruptly parted. V certainly still felt a bit bad about how he had left the kind firefighter, not to mention at such a moment…They had not known each other for long, maybe they should not advance so quickly… and yet when Nero’s face had been that close, V had found himself tempted to taste his lips. Very… tempted in fact.

V slowly bent down to collect the folded note just below his mailbox, a simple page torn from a notebook it looked like, with some scribbled words that were honestly a bit hard to read, not too small but crooked.

“Hey. Hope everything went well with that meeting-thingy. Do you wanna exchange numbers? Here’s mine:” it read, followed by a cellphone number and an easy to read signature. Nero.

V found his lips curve into a smirk as he read, so Nero finally gathered the courage. At the garage, V had certainly heard him, but decided not to push or perhaps it had also been a way to test if the other man was truly so… interested. V couldn’t deny that it spread a sense of intrigue inside. The words were simple yes, but they did speak of Nero’s kindness yet again. As well as his interest. An interest that V to his slight surprise, felt himself share.

V’s phone was in his pocket but even though the device was certainly necessary for communication, he had never appreciated the written word in text messages in the same way he enjoyed books.

If Nero was thoughtful enough to give him a handwritten note, why not respond in kind? Of course, he could send a simple text message but… V rarely texted. And if he did it was without those emojis that he barely understood the meaning of.

His apartment was still a glorified chaos adding a heavy feeling to his shoulders. Oh, how he longed for it to be done, to arrive at a point where he was happy with his new home and did not have to feel stress over its somewhat unfinished state. Perhaps he’d do just a little bit more unpacking, before bed…

But first a reply to this note. In one of the many boxes of books waiting to be unpacked he found a beautiful notebook, the black leather of its cover was smooth against his fingers. It did not matter that the notebook had only had half its original number of pages when he found it at a second-hand store, it still spoke to him. Upon one lined page, V started to write with neat letters, surprised at how easy it was to find the right words.

He signed it with his own phone number and a single V. Smirking a bit to himself, he carefully tore it out and folded the paper once. It was already quite late so he would have to wait until the morning until he could leave it in Nero’s mailbox, since the front door to the apartment building had already been locked.

V couldn’t help but wonder, what Nero’s home looked like. It felt like details about the firefighter stuck quite easily in his mind, despite him not putting an effort into doing so. With a small smile the massage therapist looked out the window, to the apartment building right across from his. The distance certainly didn’t give him any clue how Nero’s home could supposedly look, but he was nevertheless interested.

A gentle light seemed to be on, in one of the rooms. Perhaps Nero’s apartment had the same layout as his with two rooms, a kitchen as well as a bathroom. The firefighter might have gone to bed, as V certainly ought to do but nevertheless it could wait just a little. His hand trembled slightly as he put the cane away next to the door. Just one or two boxes to unpack then he should head to sleep. As for the promise he and Nero had shared, of reminding each other of doing one relaxing activity per week… It was not as if they had promised to do this relaxing activity together, but V wished for the promise to bear fruit.

“He who desires but act not… breeds pestilence.” He quoted quietly, kneeling next to a box of yet more books, carefully undoing the tape on it. There was truth to those words, he knew and he certainly… desired to know Nero a bit better. Suddenly finding themselves as neighbors, they were bound to continue running into each other. And he did not mind the thought one bit.

***

Nero groaned at the rays of sunshine that peeked through the crack in the blinds, turning himself over. With awareness slowly rising, so did his thoughts and they made him groan louder, the pillow masking the sound as he stuffed his face into it.

The kiss had been so close! Was that going to be the default state of their flirting tango or what was going on? Nero pulled out, trying to pick himself up. Okay the moment had been lost, but they had at least shared a moment. And V still lived across the street for him, not to mention that Nero had left his number for the other man to find in his mailbox.

His thoughts clicked into place.

Nero quickly grabbed for the cellphone on the small bedside table, feeling butterflies of hope flutter in his stomach as he picked up his phone and checked.

The screen didn’t show any new messages. Just the glaring numbers that told him he needed to get up in a few minutes, if he wanted enough time to get ready for work. Instantly the tornado of fluttering wings stopped.

Oh come on, he might just not have seen the note yet. Maybe he got home really late and crashed into bed. Whatever the crisis that V had had to avert was, Nero sure hoped it had all worked out. Considering that he was still in the middle of a move, as well as working… some rest should do him good.

Writing that note had taken courage on Nero’s part, but after what had almost happened, as well as their promise, he seriously wanted to believe that he had a chance with V. This anticipation was really something different than how he’d felt when he’d started to date Kyrie and well… he kinda liked it. Despite the constant ups and downs when it came to his hope.

Nero put his phone away and got up. One glance through the window didn’t tell him a lot about how V’s morning was. There were no blinds pulled down, so maybe the massage therapist was up, or maybe he simply hadn’t bothered to pull them down when he got home. V didn’t have morning sun to worry about, unlike Nero.

And Nero didn’t really have time to get caught up in thoughts about the tattooed man even if he wanted to since he had work to get ready for. It was all routine at this point a quick shower, shave and something to eat. This morning it consisted of a spinach smoothie with pineapple, cucumber, kiwi and just a touch of ginger and lime. The smoothie cookbook that Kyrie had given him as an extra birthday present had come more in handy than he’d expected but then again, she had been the one to teach him that a blender could fix some easy and portable breakfast if he so wished.

It wasn’t until Nero grabbed his keys, put his shoes on and pulled his backpack over one shoulder that he realized that there was a note on his carpet, just inside the door.

Could it be—It sure as hell wasn’t the electric bill. Nero was quick to reach down but his fingers hesitated, just before reaching the smooth paper surface. His pulse was suddenly loud in his ears, the hopeful butterflies returning full force in his stomach. Last evening had almost reached a stage that he felt sure he was willing to explore… and he wanted to think V felt the same. Or did he think they were moving too fast? V seemed to have a lot on his plate overall. Maybe Nero should just clear with him if this promise meant… dating, or not.

Not wanting to torment himself with uncertainty about the note’s content anymore, Nero’s fingers gripped the paper. It was lined, seemed to be very properly ripped from a notebook or something.

So this is his handwriting. Nero couldn’t help but notice it first of all, how neat it was. Beautiful even, with a flow to the characters he had selected for Nero’s eyes and Nero’s eyes only.

“I apologize again for my sudden leave. The meeting was fruitful, the crisis averted. Thank you for your note. As you can see, I would certainly like to exchange phone numbers. If you are free, would you be interested in meeting up at a café later this week?” At the very end was the number stated, as well as a simple, elegant V.

Nero grinned to himself, a warm almost tickling feeling in his chest. The guy’s mannerisms continued in text it seemed. He sure hadn’t expected any slang in there, but Nero couldn’t help but find it a bit funny. How much like V this little note felt. Even the question he had a damn sure answer to.

And most of all.

He had finally gotten V’s number. They were neighbors even! Nero grinned, folded the note and put it in his pocket as he left the apartment, heading downstairs for his car. It felt like his heart was dancing to the tones of a victory march only he could hear from the way it pounded hard in his chest. V must have at least a little interest in him too and the thought was making him soar on his way down to the ground floor.

The second he got to his car and sat in the driver seat, Nero fished out the note and added V’s number to his contacts. With a single V just like the note had been signed. It felt so right to see it.

And then he started to type out his first message. Erased and started over a few times but finally arriving at something he thought worked for a first message.

“Hey, got your note. I’m up for it! Saturday’s free, works for you? I’m gonna be at work today, until 8 in the morning but I’ll answer when I can. Hope you have a great day. - Nero” A bit… formal maybe, but he wanted to make sure V knew why he wasn’t replying to his message quickly, in case V wrote back way before he had a chance to answer.

“Alright…” Nero put away his phone and started the engine of his car with a grin on his face. It felt like he could run ten miles, so he was actually looking forward to the training at work. But even more so, to an answer from V.

***

Nero’s hands and eyes checked his personal protective gear as was mandatory at the start of their day, but his mind was constantly trying to wander to a certain poet. Curiosity was tickling him every other minute making him wonder if V had answered, how his day was going to be. Before Nero had to check the equipment on the firetruck, he managed to sneak in a check on his phone. Nothing.

He swallowed down a small but tangible lump of disappointment that formed in his throat, V was probably busy but Nero couldn’t help anticipating the answer so much. What if communication with V could become a daily occurrence? The thought made him smile a bit to himself and when he was cleaning the fire truck washing it down with a hose, he almost didn’t notice how one of his colleagues was talking to him at all.

Only at the third (loud) call did he look up and turn the hose off. Man, he needed to get his head in the game. Once the washing and equipment check of the firetruck was done, Nero rolled his shoulders and headed for his scheduled training. Running half an hour on the treadmill should help rebuild his focus, no matter how much he wished to have the massage therapist in mind for the entire day. He had work to do.

***

For the hours that followed, Nero didn’t count how many times he managed to check his phone but they were not as plentiful as he would have liked. Just disappointing each time as V had yet to reply to his text. It was with a sigh he put his phone down after every check.

Duty kept Nero busy for the rest of the day and when he returned alongside his colleagues to the fire station in the evening as they needed to fix themselves dinner he kept his back straight, chest a bit puffed out in pride.

It had been a busy day with responding to fire calls in several parts of the city, once in a park where some teenagers had been playing around a bit too much with a lighter and a trashcan, once in an apartment building where someone had forgotten a pan on the stove. The latter was a scenario that happened a bit more frequently than he would have liked but luckily, neither of these incidents had turned too serious. Nobody was hurt, but there had been smoke and scorch marks in the incidents’ wake.

But damage to buildings and environments could be repaired, lives couldn’t.

Nero shrugged off his jacket, feeling the familiar weight of the protective fabric as he put the garment into his locker. His colleagues were discussing dinner alternatives all over the locker room while he fished out his phone from his bag and his heart leapt.

There was a reply.

“I’m at work as well. If you do not mind us meeting up in the morning, Saturday will be fine. I need not be at work until 14:00. I wish you luck at work.”

Nero’s lips pulled back in a grin as he was quick to answer.

“Sounds like we’ve got a brunch date then” Abrupt stop as he checked what he was actually writing and quickly erased the words. It was not like they had… agreed to start dating or something. God, he’d love if that was the case, especially after that almost-kiss that had happened but stating it as such in a text message… what if it was too soon? Nero didn’t like the thought of backing down, but this time, his gut told him to rethink it. Just meet up with V and gauge how he might be feeling, without calling it a date beforehand. Nero started his message over.

“Sounds fine to me, let’s meet up for brunch? What do you say, around 11?” Nero was about to send the message, then hesitated and added a: “Hope work’s not too stressful for you.”

Aaand sent!

Nero wasn’t expecting a fast reply since V was at work as well right now, so when the cellphone vibrated the second he was about to put it back in the locker, his heart almost skipped a beat. A wave of eagerness surged in his stomach as he read.

“11:00 works perfectly. I am looking forward to it.”

Those simple words made Nero stare, his heart warming up as if he’d suddenly been hugged. There was no stopping the grin on his face as he wrote back.

“Me too.” And on his lips, that grin remained for the rest of the evening, until he had to try and sleep in his bunk at the fire station.

***

After a quick exchange of messages in the morning it was decided that they would meet up at the café, rather than walk together from their apartment buildings. V had an errand at the library before their meeting so he was already waiting outside the café, with one hand on his cane and the other on his book of poems when Nero caught sight of him, feeling his heart leap in his chest as he approached. Once again, V was dressed in a cotton shirt over a t-shirt and black pants that fit him just right reading as he stood in the shade but Nero could hardly blame him as the sunlight was warming his own back, it was gonna be a hot day. He did notice a slight slouch had returned to V’s shoulders however.

“Hey V, wait long?” The grin appeared on his face by itself. Nero was certain he was early just to be safe, at least ten minutes but V had nevertheless beat him to it.

“Hello Nero. Not at all, I just got here.” V smiled, gently closing his book and putting it away in a small bag hanging from his shoulder.

Nero pulled the door open and held it up for V before entering himself, the chill of the air condition welcoming them, as well as the barista behind the counter. All kinds of sandwiches, pastries and cakes in different shapes and sizes were at display behind the glass and a lot of them looked tasty for sure, even though Nero wasn’t the biggest fan of sweets. He already knew what he wanted, an ice coffee because of the summer heat, and his usual order.

V on the other hand, seemed to regard the many choices for a bit longer, his gaze lingering on both the food and drink choices listed on the board behind the counter as well.

“Do you have any recommendations? I believe it’s the first time I’m here.”

“Oh yeah, uh… the roast beef sandwich is great, that’s what I’m getting. The chicken and pesto sandwich is good too, the shrimp salad is nothing to scoff at, but you better be prepared for a big portion.” Truth be told, V could probably use that. Except Nero had a feeling V wouldn’t be able to finish it since that dish was a BIG plate, with a mountain of salad, shrimps and eggs, to name just some things.

With his lean frame V didn’t really give the impression of being a big eater. And he had just barely finished that Chinese meal the other night. “Or the roasted tomato sandwich with mozzarella... What?” Nero asked as V seemed to observe him, a hint of amusement visible in his green eyes.

“Nothing, I’m just noting that you seem to have tried out a lot of the options on offer.” The massage therapist said with a small smile.

The tips of Nero’s ears turned red.

“Yeah, I guess.” He murmured and there was a reason for that. Kyrie loved coming here, it was her favorite café. And now he was here with a sorta date? At least someone he was very interested to go on a date with and she didn’t know. Nero wasn’t sure how to tell her, or even if… it was a big deal to tell her. It had been months since they broke up and they had parted as friends, so either of them moving along with a new interest was just natural after all. But Kyrie was also important to him. He had known her for most of his life after all. There just wasn’t any romantic feelings between them anymore, that was all. He still cared greatly about her, but in a different way than the relationship they had, had called for.

V seemed to notice the thoughtful look on his face.

“Is something the matter?”

“Huh? Never mind. You decided?” It took another minute or two until V did decide, just before there would be a line behind them. Carrying their ordered drinks the two men went to a table in the back, next to the window and sat down across from each other.

“So, that meeting thing you had to go to resolved itself?” Nero wondered, taking a sip of his iced coffee while trying hard not to stare at how V’s open shirt and v-collared t-shirt showed off some of his intricate tattoos.

V let his cane lean against his seat before taking a sip of the tea he had ordered, it smelled of fresh mint, along with an herbal scent Nero couldn’t place.

“It did, as a matter of fact. Or should I say... the solution was finalized, this morning. There was an urgent problem with the venue we had arranged, for the poetry reading I told you about. I asked the manager at the library if it is possible for us to have our poetry reading there. I received a positive response.” V smirked.

“Wow, that’s great.” Nero felt a slight relief at the fact. Poetry might fly over his head most of the time, why try to analyze what words meant instead of just writing exactly what they meant? To V however, it seemed to be of great interest. “So everything’s fixed, no postponing or anything?”

“Thankfully, no. There is just the matter of spreading the word of our new location for it, via social media and the like. Speaking of the poetry reading…” V locked eyes with him, his lips curled upwards in a small smile. “I was wondering if you would like to come? The event is free for all.”

Nero felt the butterflies in his stomach return full force from their slumber. Was V asking him out? Or was he trying to make up for that moment that a phone call had stolen from them? Or was this his way of introducing Nero to his hobbies? It could be all three. Or none.

The tingling feeling in his stomach made him sure he wanted to find out which.

“Sure, I’ll come. When is it?” He grinned. Even if he didn’t get the exact meaning of the poems, if V was the one quoting with that smooth voice of his… yeah, Nero had a feeling he’d enjoy it anyway.

“Next Saturday, at 7 in the evening.”

Nero did a quick mental check of his schedule, groaning as he realized something.

“Dammit I got work that day, 24-hour shift.”

“I see. That’s unfortunate.” V said with a small nod, taking another sip of his tea.

“Yeah… there’s a chance I can switch shifts with someone though, I’ll ask around.” Nero just didn’t have a lot of hope for it, as having Saturday free… yeah, that was kind of in high demand, among some of his colleagues. Nero usually didn’t mind working that shift, it was one of the busiest ones usually, but he liked to keep busy when he was working. Once he had turned single Saturday hadn’t felt as important to have free, suddenly. Until now, that was.

V paused, keeping his teacup hovering just centimeters from his mouth as his green eyes searched Nero’s. A small smile grew on his lips.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to try. If it isn’t possible for you to come, I understand. You have a very important job, for example.” He said, taking that small sip of tea that he had been stalling.

“Yeah sure, but I’ll give it a try. If I can, or can’t make it, I’ll let you know.” Nero grinned.

“Very well.” V agreed, his smile widening a little bit.

A waiter in white clothes with a black apron came by with their ordered food items. Nero felt his mouth water at the glorious roast beef sandwich and some salad on the side that was placed in front of him and his butterfly-assaulted stomach wasn’t used to having to wait so long after waking for some food. V had followed his recommendation and gotten the same meal, his eyes glancing a bit curiously at the sandwich on his plate.

Nero was hungry enough to forgo his utensils, the sandwich might be tall but he didn’t need to dislodge his jaw to take a bite. Crispy bread, juicy meat and fresh salad with a lightly spiced sauce entered his mouth, the flavors perfectly filling and just what he had come to expect from a roast beef sandwich at this place. The first bite was always the best.

Nero didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard a light chuckle from the other side of the table.

“I see that’s a favorite for you.” V said, clearly a bit amused as he grabbed a paper napkin and held it out to Nero. The firefighter blinked.

“Huh?”

V smiled.

“There is some sauce on your chin.”

Nero felt the tips of his ears burn as he fought the urge to just use the back of his hand to wipe it off. Instead he put down his sandwich and as he took the napkin from V, his fingers lightly brushed against the massage therapist’s. For a second, it felt like time stopped and every heartbeat was so loud he could hear it vibrate through his ears. Pulsate in his fingers right where they had connected. V’s fingers felt just as warm as his today.

The flush spread over Nero’s ears all the way to his cheeks as his racing heart made him pull away, stumbling out a “thanks” as he wiped the sauce off his chin while also using the napkin as a shield to hide his blush. Jeez, what was he, a lovestruck high schooler?! Nero felt stupid for pulling away so soon, but one glance at V who took another sip of his tea, seemingly unfazed, told him he might be overreacting. Or so he thought, but there was a soft amusement in those jade depths...

Nero wasn’t going to let this turn awkward, he forced his lips to turn into a cocky grin when he pulled down the napkin, sauce disaster averted. And his face felt a bit less hot, thankfully. They made small talk while continuing eating their meals and Nero managed to keep it less sloppy actually using the fork and knife when it came to eating the salad once the sandwich was gone. With the fork he pierced a slice of tomato.

“So, what do you think?” V had cut up and eaten a few pieces of it, but Nero noted the tea seemed to appeal to him more, half the cup already being gone while he couldn’t say the same for the sandwich. And the salad was already all gone.

“It’s good.” V smirked, that hint of amusement emerging in his green eyes. “I suppose my reaction must seem pretty mild compared to yours.”

Nero grinned, scratching his nose.

“Or mine’s just too excited.” He pointed out feeling so confirmed as V chuckled in response.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying what you like.” They had some time before V had to go to work, or at least so Nero hoped so because… well, there was something he wanted to clarify. But damn, was the thought of doing so terrifying… His stomach flipped around the delicious food in his stomach as if it was starting up a maelstrom.

V was just… so interesting, Nero wanted to know more about him. Hang out with him, hear more of that soft chuckle of his. Share a kiss, share experiences. The idea felt so new, so positive and he hoped with every fiber of his being that V was open to the suggestion as well. But just then V started another topic to speak about and Nero was pulled along to the melodic tone of his deep, alluring voice.

For a while it felt like they talked about everything and nothing. Time and conversation just flowed with them learning new snippets of information about each other. Tastes in music and shows, V told him a bit of his love for poetry, while Nero told of his hobby to sometimes go climbing. Nero shared how he had a dream of being a dog once while V admitted he sometimes spent time at an animal shelter, taking care of the cats and dogs that came in. They spoke of food and habits, with V admitting he often had a hard time eating breakfast in the morning, he usually found himself skipping it or simply drinking only a cup of tea. Without thinking, it made Nero offer to make him breakfast sometime, it just felt natural to do and he wanted to. The small smile that formed on V’s lips from the offer would never seize sending the butterflies in Nero’s stomach off in flight.

Between them there was a curious, positive atmosphere and Nero loved every second of it. So much so that it felt like a stone dropped into his stomach when soft, almost melancholy notes of a violin could be heard from V’s bag. The poet opened up the zipper and pulled out his phone from the bag, his expression turning apologetic.

“My, look at the time… I’m afraid I must be off, if I wish to arrive at work in time.” V said, that sound they had both had heard seemed to be from his set alarm.

“Oh, got it.” A breath left Nero in a rush, these words wished to be said. “I had a great time.” A grin tugged at his lips and would those butterflies in his stomach ever tire themselves out because as V rose from his seat, giving Nero a soft smile, their tiny wings gently fluttered against the inside of his stomach, making him want to gaze upon that smile forever and ever.

“As did I.” V assured gently, pulling the strap of his bag over his head, fixing it to his shoulder. “Do let me know if you will be able to make it on Saturday. But please remember that it’s quite fine if you can’t make it. Work is work, after all.”

“Promise I will. But I’ll try to get the day free.” Nero pointed out, scrambling to get ready to leave as well. Besides, he had taken the weekend shifts for others before so hopefully someone could switch with him for once.

V just gave him a grateful smile. Nero pulled open the cafe door for them both, letting V exit first before following.

“I parked my car nearby, it’s fine if you wish to separate here.” V told him.

Nero didn’t want to separate at all, but of course he knew they had to eventually. It was impossible to not look forward to when they would meet next. Hopefully the coming Saturday. But how was he to say goodbye now, without having asked what he felt he should have? Where did they stand now? Was this coming Saturday to consider as a date? Had that close to kiss between them just been a fluke?

Would asking V about it destroy this wonderful, carefree atmosphere between them? Or was he waiting for it with his heart set on an answer?

“Yeah, well, I guess we should…” He started, holding back the urge to ask when he suddenly felt V’s hand on his arm.

Warmth. Something soft against his cheek. His mind felt completely blank until he realized that it was a kiss, an actual kiss from V’s plump, lovely lips being placed against his cheek.

It felt like he went to heaven, like his feet would start floating and bring his entire body upward.

As he blinked with warmth spreading in his cheeks, making them a blossoming red and his eyes wide, he found V smirking in that devilish way he had so come to love.

“Thank you for the lovely date. If not possible earlier, I’ll see you in a week.” V said, his smirk remaining in place as he started to make his leave.

Any and all nervous tension of what their flirting tango would bring left, the butterflies turning to a fluttery but lovely warmth in Nero’s stomach. And he felt sure he’d do anything to get that next Saturday free!

“I’ll see you at the poetry reading!” Nero promised, his stomach flopping as he realized he had been too starstruck to answer at first, his cheek still feeling so warm… He grinned widely at V, feeling as if the next time they could meet couldn’t come soon enough. If sooner than Saturday was possible, he would take it for sure. But if not, then he would do all he could to make sure that Saturday would work.

V stopped in his slow but deliberate stride, straightening his slouch slightly to present him that smirk again, along with a wave.

“Saturday then.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hope you enjoyed! ❤️❤️❤️

#magic touch #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #nerov #chapter 5 #my writing #dmc v #dmc nero #fluff #modern au

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theemptyquarto · 4 years

Text

Abandoned WIPs

for @goodintentionswipfest

“Oh my God, that was, like, the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

That was the first thing she ever said to him.

Victor Trevor, the bastard, had dragged him out of the lab, then made him drive a car full of giggling idiots for three hours to Swanage, then had abandoned him to get drunk with additional idiots from Birmingham who had driven even further. And now one of the idiots from Birmingham, the American girl with too much hair, was criticizing his stone skimming abilities.

“I’d like to see you do any better,” he said, shortly.

The girl raised her eyebrows and made a face at him, then went to look for a stone of her own.

“The water is too turbulent here,” he said.

The girl kept looking, until she found a smooth white stone, really too large for the purpose, being almost the size of her palm.

“It calls for a calmer day than this,” he said.

Then the girl drew back her arm and lobbed the stone, which skimmed perfectly, touching the water five times before sinking into the water of the bay. Because of course it did.

“If you want to skip rocks in this kind of water you need to pick a bigger one and kind of… loft it over the breakwater. Just like that,” she said, waving vaguely at the sea.

“Skim stones.”

“What?”

“Here we call it skimming stones. Not skipping rocks.”

“And it’s pech blini in Russia and hacer ranitas in Spain. We didn’t pitch your tea into Boston Harbor just to keep doing everything the same way you did.”

The words were bellicose but for once he was able to pick up on the tone, and when he looked through the ringlets that the breeze was blowing into her face, he could see that she was pinching her lips together to keep from smiling.

“I remember,” he said, slowly, “The great skimming stones debate that provoked the revolution. We learnt all about it at school. That’s why we burnt down your White House. That and your willful mispronunciation of aluminium.”

The girl burbled a laugh, and it was not as unpleasant as it mostly was when girls laughed. The “with” not “at” made all the difference.

Because he was eighteen years old and still desperately trying to pass for normal, Sherlock said, “I’m Will.”

She was twenty-one, and Mary Morstan and the rest of her pseudonyms were well into the future. So because it was the simple truth, she said, “I’m Rose. Nice to meet you, Will. I can teach you how to skip rocks properly if you want. Though it’ll wreck your attempt to look all Byronic and interesting.”

Sherlock frowned, though he wasn’t quite sure what Byronic meant, honestly. “I wasn’t trying to look like anything.”

“Oh come on. Alone, staring out over the sunset sea, the wind ruffling your hair. Very ‘Adieu, Adieu, my native shore.’”

“This is my native shore, I just wanted to look at the tide pools. Anyway, why are you here?”

“I,” she said, grandly, “Am way too close to shitfaced and I need to take a break for an hour. And I thought you looked Byronic and interesting. Where are there tide pools?”

He angled his head to their right. “Back that way. Maybe half a mile.”

“Let’s go see them!”

“I’ve seen them. And you aren’t wearing the appropriate shoes for climbing.”

Rose looked down at her cheap flip-flops, shrugged, and said, “God hates a coward. Come on.”

They’d looked at the tide pools, and Rose hadn’t complained as they scrabbled over rough Purbeck stone to get to them. Being a small woman, she’d asked for a hand up on two occasions, but she didn’t complain, and she was genuinely interested in the sea slugs and anemones they found.

Then they’d moved on to another section of swimming beach, and now she was trying to teach him to skip rocks.

“Oh! You almost had that one,” she exclaimed, as his latest effort sank.

“What sort of trajectory am I trying for?” he asked. “It really isn’t obvious.”

“Ummmm…” and she pitched another stone, which made four hops before sinking. “I mean, I guess, like fifteen or twenty degrees. But it depends on the rock.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“You just take the rock and then you know how you have to throw it. It’s mostly practice.”

“You’re very good at it.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” she said, and the next stone made six skips before it sank. “You got a projectile and need it put someplace specific, I’m your girl.”

“Really?”

“Really. What are you best at?”

He thought about it for a minute.

“Deductions. That’s what I’m best at.”

“Like… in geometry? If AB equals BC then A equals C?”

“Sort of. But it’s not just that. I can do it for other things. And people.”

“How?”

“Just like in geometry. You use if-then logic and come to the appropriate conclusion. Except most people aren’t aware of all of the givens, and I am.”

“O-kay,” she said, slowly, “So, like, what can you deduce about me?”

He cocked his head, doubtfully, and asked, “You want me to do that?”

Rose shrugged. “Why not? What have I got to hide?”

Sherlock wished he hadn’t mentioned it, now. It would spoil what had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. She was only asking because she’d never seen him do it… nobody really wanted his deductions. Everyone had something to hide.

But she had asked and declining would be nearly as offensive, he supposed. So he let himself really look. Excessive dark-blonde hair, no jewelry, black midriff-baring top with thin straps and no bra (irrelevant, he chided himself), well-developed lean musculature particularly in the shoulders. Mid-priced wide-legged flared jeans clumsily home-hemmed, since she fell between the “petite” and “regular” lengths. He walked behind her, continuing his examination, and smiled. The grey plaid flannel shirt she had knotted around her waist had a great deal of relevant information.

Returning in front of her, he asked, “May I have a look at your hands?” Rose complied, extending them forward, palms up. Her hands, with their emerald-green fingernails and distinctive musculature, had almost everything else he thought he could get, except-

“And a better look at the tattoo, please?”

Rose smiled and raised an eyebrow at that, but complied, slipping a thumb under the waistband of her jeans and tugging them down another inch or two to reveal a small, stylized design of a leafless tree struck by lightning (and incidentally a crest of pale hipbone and just a flash of red plaid underwear).

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Entirely.” And Sherlock was.

“So what do you deduce?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. You’re an American-“

“Well that was a toughie,” Rose teased.

“From Iowa. You’re a natural linguist but you’re studying chemistry. You played softball seriously, as a pitcher, until a rotator cuff injury which you opted not to have corrected bought your sporting ambitions to an end within the last year. Upper middle class family, strict parents. You currently live with a wire-haired terrier you dislike, you’re sentimental, and you’re a keen amateur cook.”

And that had done it, of course. Her face, which had formerly seemed naturally happy, had closed off and become hostile. She took a step away from him, and said, coldly, “Has Victor been talking about me behind my back?”

“You know Victor Trevor?” Sherlock asked.

“Everybody knows Victor. Answer the question.”

“No, he hasn't. I told you. I looked and I listened. Teeth straightened in adolescence, a selection of newish mid-priced clothes, spending a semester abroad? Well off but probably not rich family, then. You know, at no notice, idiomatic phrases in two separate languages describing an unusual activity? Clearly, there’s a gift for languages. The mild splay of the fingers in your dominant hand and unusual muscular development in your shoulders, along with your obvious aptitude for throwing suggests softball and pitching. The slight pull and hesitation when you draw that arm back would allow any doctor to diagnose a rotator cuff injury, a career-ending one without surgical correction, and yet you lack scars. Thus softball is over.”

Rose cocked her head and looked at him, but at least the anger was gone. So he continued.

“There’s particularly contoured dog hair common to wire-haired terriers on your jeans, meaning it’s fond of you, but none on your shirt, meaning you don’t pick it up, and you aren’t fond of it.”

“Marco’s a drooler and he scratches. Anyway I’m more of a cat person.”

“Cats eat you after you’re dead. They don’t even wait until they’re starving, just mildly peckish.”

“True, but on the other hand, I’m dead in this situation. So who cares?”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Very practical. You’ve got enough minor knife and burn injuries to your hands to suggest you spend a lot of time cooking but your forearm development isn’t substantial enough to indicate professional work in the field. I can tell you study chemistry because of the marks on your shirt. They never properly clean the lab benches off and you lean into the edges and get some trace amounts of peroxide or acid on the material… which then produces distinctive straight lines of bleaching the next time the shirt is laundered. I have some of the same ones, see?”

He gestured to his trousers, where the bleaching effect occurred on him, given his greater height.

“Huh,” Rose said, “I never really thought about that. So why Iowa?”

“Ah, I was right!”

“Not really. Nebraska. But just across the river from Iowa.”

Sherlock sighed. “Accents are difficult with anyone young enough to have watched television as a child. But the Iowa accent is marked by monopthongs and “T”-glottalization, and you have it.”

“I have no idea what those things are,” Rose said, musingly, “But since most people around here think New York and L.A. are the only two cities in America that’s actually really good.”

Sherlock felt the blood rushing to his face with pride, and so he kept on, “You’re sentimental because that flannel is battered and you’ve fixed three different tears rather than just discarding it, even though it was never terribly expensive.”

“I saw Nirvana in this shirt.”

Sherlock frowned, wondering if she meant she was Buddhist, and then recalled the band.

“That tattoo,” he wrapped up, “Is a Marius Cook, done about five months ago. I’ve made a bit of a study of the major tattoo artists of the United Kingdom, you’d be surprised at how often it’s useful. You’ve been of legal age to get tattooed for some time but waited until you were well away from home and then did it instantly but kept it someplace easy to hide, thus: strict parents.”

It was dark, now, and someone had pulled out a guitar and was strumming amateurish chords. Sherlock and Rose had looked at one another and, in a moment of pure intoxicated understanding

The semen had more or less dried on her thighs by the time Rose decided that Will wouldn’t be back, even to collect his shirt. She sighed and rubbed her stubble-burned face. Then she pulled on her underwear and jeans, and sat and looked up at the stars, which were slightly more mobile than they ought to have been.

She’d liked him. He wasn’t handsome, but five years and twenty pounds of weight gain would probably have made him so. And he was sweet. Clumsy and inexperienced, yes, but intelligent and fun to talk with… essentially, she’d been very happy with the encounter and now she felt…

Cheap. Which was undoubtedly what her mother would have said about anyone who fucked a man who she’d just met and was expecting to never see again. So Rose had a bit of a self-pitying snivel, and cried about her troubles.

Eventually her natural good humor resurfaced (she had the beneficial confidence of someone who had taken a birth control pill every day for the last three years) and she said, smiling to herself, “Jilted by a gentleman. If I can get ruined and discarded by a redcoat I can have my own Gothic novel.”

She collected the blanket and Will’s shirt, then ambled back to the party, which was still in full swing, although the Oxford contingent seemed to have gone. Her flatmate Magda spotted her and called out, “There you are, you whore. Where’d tall dark and skinny run off to?”

“I think I frightened him away,” Rose replied, lightly, “English boys are all prudes. Are there any more of those screwdrivers?”

Magda gestured wildly at the five gallon drinks cooler behind her. “About half.”

“Good. About half sounds just about right.” And she wadded Will’s shirt up, tossed it into a nearby rubbish bin, and poured herself a drink.

They both forgot all about it. The vodka helped Rose do a great deal of this within the first twenty-four hours. Then there was the fact that Byronic-and-interesting Will was neither the first nor the last of a long string of men that would eventually span four continents, some of whom would disappoint her in far more spectacular fashion. By the time she buried Rose and became Mary, she could skim stones without even vaguely recalling that summer afternoon.

Sherlock didn’t forget much, and so deleting Rose took an effort of willpower. He performed a few subsequent experiments with sex and came to the conclusion that it was unlikely to be productive of any good and indeed, subjected him to undesirable sentimentality. Cocaine was a far more efficient euphoric and asked much less of him, in the end. The choice to purge his files on the subject en masse was therefore simple logic and had nothing to do with wishing to shed the recollection of a callow, prematurely-ejaculating version of himself.

When, much later, he plugged the memory stick marked AGRA into his laptop and began reading the files, the name Rose Addison didn’t stir even the faintest reminiscence.

“Oh no. Oh my God, you’re- You died! You jumped off a roof!”

That was the first thing she ever said to him.

#WIP #Marylock #BBC Sherlock fic #pre-series #unilock #Was going to be smutty but I dried up on how to write those bits and so is just #t-rated #Quarto's fics

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madonnawilshire-blog · 4 years

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Skincare Strategies For Skiers And Snowboarders

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Just like with bleaching your own hair in the sun, putting lemon juice on your skin can lighten the redness associated with acne, and help to lighten aged scars left behind as carefully. Just dab some on your breakouts with a cotton scraping. Be careful that you don't overdue it although people point out that it can sting and burn quite. Exercise Regularly: Aurora Cream Review Fluctuating weight gain and loss can cause your skin and facial muscles to lose tone and check flabby or sagging. Necessity maintaining an appropriate weight, exercise benefits your skin, hair and face's tone and show off. By using quality makeup, it will protect your skin, not damage getting this done. Invest in high quality makeup products just anyone invest in high quality food. Take into account the fact that part of the makeup is absorbed by your body while using pores. You won't harmful substances to penetrate in entire body and attack it in any way, can? And the most important thing of all: NEVER sleep with your makeup during. It will make your skin look older laptop really is and will clog your pores, thus contributing towards the rapid evolution of acne or other similar skin disorders. Light and portable skin cancer rates all through globe creep upward, as well as more more people realize opt-in list of sun protection. The above-mentioned summer Skincare Tips are very useful for others to block the ultraviolet rays in the hot months. In fact, prolonged as as every day . how preserve our skin, we can see enjoy the sun's rays and have a beautiful season. When washing your face to take off acne, make use of your hands. Fabrics or exfoliators can damage your skin even further, so both your hands are the gentlest tool you may use. Paired with a mild soapy warm water you'll be able to clean deal with and rid yourself of acne fresh! You got to love modern technology. Today, there a variety of innovative and modern wrinkle treatment methods offered in clinics such Laser Facial procedures, the wrinkle filler remedy and far more. Laser Facial stimulates collagen growth with your skin. Around other hand, a wrinkle filler generally injected into the skin's top later lower wrinkle formation in the and neck of. It's simple yet great. Moisturiser helps to smooth the through preventing water loss, and ultimately actively works to keep DIY Skincare pores and skin looking beneficial. Travelling is not only tiring but various forms of transport work dry your skin. This can occur through such things as air physical fitness. Moisturising regularly can help to cut back the involving this and is defined as a should have for any holiday make. Inside a place where it has become standard for female to be "superwomen" and have a job, stop a family, and check out school, sleeping for 8 hours an evening may seem impossible. However, sleep is a crucial part of having healthy, beautiful looking skin. Consider it: don't you notice a lack of sleep on other people's faces? They often have dry, dull looking skin that's accompanied with those lovely under eye circles and bags under their opinion. Not attractive. Attempt to reach least 7-8 hours of sound sleep every evening if you need to avoid giving the impression of a spook. Use correct cleanser to clean your skin twice daily, especially the actual which is more delicate. Alpha hydroxyl acids which are derived from fruit, Aurora Anti Aging Cream milk or sugar has the bleaching and exfoliating affect on skin. Allowing the surface skin cells to slough off, revealing newer, less damaged skin cells beneath. Use natural toner to close the pores after cleansing and post disaster with lotion.

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knightofwalpvrgis · 5 years

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Here’s my much more controversial take on the nature of Harry Potter criticism (hatred), and how it’s come to affect the Fantastic Beasts series.

As I’ve said, I noticed something particularly forced about the nature of the negativity surrounding FB1 back in 2016 - forced hit-pieces that criticize the film but apparently barely comprehended it...regurgitations of the plot not accurately depicting the film at all, showing a lack of attention and active listening among certain audience members. It was insulting, and people kept on looking for excuses to consider the film a disappointment despite the good reviews from the audience and fans, and the good box office performance, not to mention the esteemed accolades from the Academy and BAFTA.

The criticism for FB2 seems motivated by personal feelings based on certain plot points, the same lack of active listening and a determination to blame the film for your lack of superficial enjoyment or comprehension, and determined negativity in the face of completely unwarranted controversy and a bro-y, anti-intelligent rejection of the complexity and thematic maturity of the story. And the latter part is something Harry Potter has always struggled with.

People don’t like dark, thoughtful films in the US. Everything either has to have tons of action and/or tons of humor. Blockbuster four-quadrants even in the eyes of critics, “shouldn’t take themselves too seriously”...and when they do, that’s grounds for panning? For vicious insults? And insinuations that, in fact, it isn’t the film that’s too cerebral for them. It’s the audience that is too cerebral for the film.

But dare you express this sentiment, and you’re simply met with exclamations of “pretentiousness!” and arrogance...which is, of course, ironic and hypocritical.

My point is, I don’t want to see Rowling sell out. Of course there’s allowed to be difference in opinion and we should consider the flaws of every piece, but the Fantastic Beasts films arrived with a seething, unwarranted, determined underbelly of hatred to begin with, and that makes it hard to stomach some of the “criticism” it’s faced and consider it legitimate or professional. Alongside the usual absurd, meaningless imputations of “greed” (yes, every film is essentially a “cash grab”...stop using that buzzword guys, it means nothing) the biggest, most ridiculous criticism I see comes from people who really don’t want to let their condescension of this series go. They still want to treat it like it’s a lighthearted kids series despite that fact that 1) it’s not 2) it hasn’t been for kids in quite a while, for the majority of its run, and has always been quite dark and 3) Fantastic Beasts 1, to prove this, played to an audience of 65% over 25 year olds. FB2 played to an audience of nearly 70% over 25 year olds. And there’s minimal marketing to kids, yet people keep acting like it’s a franchise for kids.

That box office breakdown? The Nicholas Barber and Dani Di Placido reviews who’s entire critique revolves around “it’s too dark for a kids film!”, that go back to Harry Potter era when, film after film, people complained in reviews that it “was darker than any children’s film had the right to be”...the Dana Schwartz tweets and articles that indicate the perfect problem that these types of audiences face as the Fantastic Beasts series progresses...there are adults at the center of these films. They’re actually dark. They’re not child friendly. They’re hardly even marketed as a family film and they play at the box office like adult blockbusters, and in a sense, they are adult fantasies, and that sensibility stretches back to the Harry Potter series.

People like Dana Schwartz LOVE to write articles about how “Harry Potter is only good for small-scale escapism”, and this, in my opinion, is indicative of the problem facing audiences now...they’re forced to realize that in their determination to believe Harry Potter is lighthearted and for kids, they’ve ignored the fact that it is neither lighthearted NOR appropriate for young children. It was a series for teens and this new series is an extension from that original audience. Audiences have spent so long being enchanted by the Harry Potter series for very superficial reasons that have almost nothing to do with the characters or the plot. But they won’t ever admit to that. In their determination to see HP as cozy and quaint and child-friendly, they’ve mentally edited out, censored, and sanitized everything that makes the original series dark and adult...creating a warped, rose-tinted, shallow, conflict-less version of the original story that barely resembles the story. It resembles the version of the story that’s most friendly to their belief that it’s for kids. But, AGAIN, it’s not.

And so we get these warped, confused reactions to the Fantastic Beasts series full of people who are incapable of following a novelistic plot like they did while “reading” (but mostly only watching, and not fully comprehending) the original series. Expectations going into these movies are for lighthearted and kid-friendly content that these films don’t deliver...because Rowling doesn’t write lighthearted and kid-friendly content, for the most part. You have a maddening variety of reactions that mostly consist of: people who selectively attend to the few bits and sequences of lightheartedness and mild humor to keep that rose-tinted, child-friendly view in tact, coming out with a vastly incomplete and inadequate understanding of the plot. Then you have the same people who insist the film is “tonally jumbled” because they expected lightheartedness, and instead got thematic heaviness, darkness, violence, and melancholy, which interferes with their expectations and wants. Then you have the people that complain that the series is “too grimdark”. And because of the thematic riskiness and adult nature of the material, you have people attacking Rowling for being “problematic”, viciously attempting to outsmart her and make her look stupid, and arrogant, inaccurate interpretations of her stories to try to fit a pre-determined criticism.

All in all, I cringe at the idea of the GA and certain critics forcing something like Rowling’s Wizarding World into the space of WB’s new DC franchise. These stories have such depth, detail, and intelligence that people refuse to acknowledge and credit them with, and frankly, Rowling deserves way better than that. I think Rowling should pull this brand away and keep it in literature. Do the theme parks even need to stay open? Force people to read a book. Call off the merchandising, the video games, the films, just write books. Write Fantastic Beasts as a novel series and don’t even allow WB or anyone else to adapt it into films, because the blockbuster GA and the armchair critics should be forced to form another pathway in their brains, and actually invest in a novel. Instead of distracting themselves with silly excuses and endeavors, and reasons to characterize Harry Potter and further Rowling stories as blockbuster schlop along the lines of a superhero series.

To the silly, condescending assholes saying this franchise takes itself too seriously: it’s a series based off of Rowling’s experiences with death, poverty, depression, and abuse, and all of her written works deal with analogues and themes that she feels passionately about. She’s not a corporate filmmaker like George Lucas. And she shouldn’t put up with the abuse, the ignorance, the determined hatred, and the condescension for one second. This is an urban fantasy story about WW2. I suppose Rowling was mistaken for thinking that an audience that still believes her work to be for kids would ever stomach that.

TLDR; I’m aware of the main criticism regarding the film and it’s plot, but my issue came from the over-inflated negativity that’s come at this film for a rather small reason. Because even negative reviewers of the film said that the film was well made. And so my issue lies here: The film, in terms of direction, cinematography, design, acting, score, theme, and world-building has been praised consistently by esteemed critics. And yet we’re calling the film “the worst film of the year”, wishing the franchise ruin, and determinedly construing BO numbers negatively and giving it bad publicity for reasons like 1) “I hate Johnny Depp/J.K. Rowling/David Yates” 2) “I don’t like that the story went this way and did this with these characters” 3) “it was boring/convoluted/too plot-heavy” 4) “it’s too dark”

One of the most egregious RT certified examples:

“The film acted as a kind of reverse-Mirror of Erised - showing me exactly everything that I didn’t want”

-The Mary Sue

These aren’t objective criticisms. Since when do personal expectations and feelings about the direction of the narrative constitute as objective film criticism to decide the word-of-mouth and general publicity surrounding a film?! Even when most concede the film is well made, it’s still being trashed by some, even by the same people who concede this, because...it’s boring and “too much happens”? There are MANY films that are worse made that have just as overstuffed and convoluted a plot that haven’t gotten the bad publicity that this film has because of nothing but franchise good-will.

My stipulation is that a vocal minority of people are being melodramatic and over-inflating their negative reviews because of personal feelings regarding the story and “canon”, just as some are trying to find excuses to avoid crediting the story with the maturity it deserves to be credited with, in the face of an even darker and more aggressively political film.

Does Rowling’s voice, her themes, and her style need emphasizing? I’d encourage people to read everything she’s written to realize that Rowling is not a dewy-eyed, lighthearted woman, if Harry Potter wasn’t dark enough to display that to begin with: in her writing, Rowling is obsessed with exploring themes of death, life, trauma, political corruption, and bigotry. She’s fascinated by the facets of life that are mundane and often ugly, outcasted, or weird. And she loves subversion, twists on tones, archetypes, and genres. She often ruminates, in all of her work, on the dark underbelly of society and human nature, and focuses on our tendency for irrational and despicable violence, self-hatred, discrimination, corruption and power-lust, sadomasochism, murder, torture, rape, you name it. It’s a recurring theme. Harry sacrifices himself to death after the murder, maiming, and torture of his loved ones at the hands of incredibly sadistic and depraved fascist villains who aren’t above killing and harming children, to protect his compatriots and loved ones. Kyrstal Weedon kills herself with her mother’s drugs after being raped by her mother’s drug dealer and tangentially causing the death of her brother after running away from her drug dealing prostitute mother to conceive a child with a teenage boy. Cormoran Strike investigates crimes pertaining to all manner of human evils, including authors that ruminate on pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia, people with amputation fetishes, sexual attraction to murder and abuse, and the Fantastic Beasts series has started a running theme of infant murder and death, vicious abuse, and morally gray acts of violence, some of it righteous and vengeful. Can you think of the last film that killed a baby (or two) in any way? The only film I can think of is the Hard R Darren Aronofsky Thriller, Mother! “But Harry Potter is so lighthearted and fun!”

People need to stop so violently and inaccurately mischaracterizing Rowling’s work as lighthearted simply because they have nostalgic attachment to some of the superficial elements of her original series. Unfortunately, some people don’t like Harry Potter for the story and that’s why they don’t see it as the often dark, horrific, complex, and melancholic story that it ultimately is. And that surface-level plane of attachment can’t sustain any sort of long term interest in further Wizarding World stories, unfortunately. That is why the Fantastic Beasts stories are being treated the way they are. Your superficial, childish interest in only Hogwarts Houses and Quidditch isn’t very substantive, and can’t sustain your interest in something that’s incredibly plot heavy! Rowling is known for giving the reader more. That’s why her books are known for being very long. And that’s why the only major criticism this film is dealing with is - “the story is too convoluted and overstuffed”.

#fantastic beasts #harry potter #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newt scamander #newtina #grindelwald #crimes of grindelwald #fbawtft #fbtcog

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corruptapostasy · 5 years

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The Only Option

Chapter One

Summary:

“...A sleep-induced sickness? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

No cost too great.

“It...It..It’s in my head..It..It won’t go away...”

No mind to think.

"You may have seen me put a blade through Her heart, but I was foolish to think She was really gone."

No will to break.

“The Void bends to no one. It merely makes room. It asks a price, but never asks in words. You must pay in kind."

No voice to cry suffering.

“...No matter what happens, just know that I will never stop loving you.”

“Oh, my Root... I’ve known that since the beginning of time.”

The Only Option: Chapter One

“M-My King, The Watcher’s Report has come in for you to look at.”

The King blinks out of his musings as the voice rings out through the silence, and he looks over to see the trembling visage of the advisor, holding up a stack of stone tablets, all of them bearing the insignia of his disciple’s mask, before carefully extending a claw to tap the surface of his work desk. “Thank you, Wek. Set them down here.”

“Y-Yes, My King.” The little bug scrambles to do exactly that, placing each tablet down like they’re made of spun glass, giving one last, long, reverent bow before quickly shuffling her way out of the room, visibly flustered to be in the presence of her great God.

He couldn’t help but sigh a little after watching her leave, giving a little shake of his head; sometimes he wished his nobility wouldn’t act so fearfully reverent towards him whenever he walked by. It was almost tiresome to be around those that worshipped the ground he walked on, especially when they acted so very nervous around him and his visage. He lets his gaze stray to the tablets and let out another, heavier sigh, before walking over to his desk and sitting down in his chair, taking a moment to let his tail hang over the arm rest and for all his legs to tuck against his carapace, before he picks up the nearest stone. The tablet was encased in a grey slate, displaying Lurien’s mask, acting as a fail-safe, preventing anyone lacking his divine touch from opening them and reading the contents inside. He idly presses his thumb against the outline of the mask, watching as the slate cracks and crumbles, before dissipating into white fragments of light that dissipate from view. The writing of the tablet glows white against the smooth black surface, and the King begins to read.

“Lively Crossroads: Temperature was around 72 degrees, with a mild breeze coming in from up above. A minor confrontation broke out involving two drunken pill bugs outside of a tavern, one of them being arrested while another was sent to the local hospital for minor wounds and cracks to the shell. A family of newcomers were properly settled down into their homes, and repairs had to be made to several street signs after being dented inwards by a group of rowdy adolescents.”

The King couldn’t help but hum to himself as he read over the transcript, giving it a once over at least two or three more times before finally setting it down, deciding that nothing in the Crossroads needed his attention as of this moment. Nothing needed to be fixed, no crimes needed to be judged, all the subjects seemed relatively happy, going about their daily lives. Perfect. He picks up the second tablet, repeating the unsealing process and beginning to read once again.

“Greenpath Gardens: Temperature around a steady 86°, with a light fog surrounding the Lake Of Unn. Gardeners are hard at work taking care of the various fauna, including the lilies and the tulips. There was a small breach in one of pipes in the north-west side of the Gardens, in which the acid had eaten away at the surface of said pipe, which had rusted due to what seems to be negligence in cleaning duties. No one was greatly injured, however one of the Menderbugs was sent to the City hospital for minor acid burns.”

The King couldn’t help but curl his lip in a soft sneer, not out of anger or disgust, but simply irritation. The damnable acidic liquid was a rather unavoidable aspect of the Kingdom, and one he couldn’t help but need to work his way around. He had his suspicions that the acid originated in the depths of the Fungal Wastes, where the spores of the mushrooms and the chemicals of the soil somehow mix into the water pouring in from underground streams, creating some kind of foul reaction that causes the water to turn acidic, which in turn begins to leak into other areas of the kingdom. He would’ve sent Menderbugs to attempt to plug up the water, perhaps work on making pipes that would funnel the water into other sections of the kingdom, but he had a suspicion that the mushrooms subsisted entirely off of this bubbling broth, and the Mantises wouldn’t exactly take kindly to their home lands being slowly killed off due to starvation. Best to not ruin the treaty, especially one that they worked so hard to forge.

He finally lets out a sigh upon re-reading the last section, before making a mental note to have one of his advisors send a message to the managers of the Gardens; he wanted to make sure that they covered the cost of the injured bug’s medical bill, as well as the broken pipe, if it wasn’t already fixed. The fact that the Report didn’t say was almost unusual. He picks up yet another tablet, but pauses in opening it, looking up from his work to tap a claw against his desk in idle thought before simply nodding to himself in silent agreement. He picks up a hand-held bell off of the surface of his desk, ringing it briskly, at least three times, and there was a small bit of silence before the soft fluttering of wings is heard, and two bright white eyes peek out from beneath a spherical shell. The King merely glances back to his work and undoes the next seal, speaking loud enough so that his creation would hear him. “Go down to the kitchens and bring me my meal.”

The creature doesn’t say a word, and merely disappears out of sight. The King starts to read once more.

“City Of Tears: Temperature around 67° degrees, no winds, and a steady rain throughout the day, week, month, etc. Soldiers had to apprehend a thief that tried to mug one of the citizens in one of the many back alleys of the city, and he is now being held in the capital’s prison. One of the houses over in the Elevated District is in dire need of repairs due to water damage, and several doctors had been seen wandering the City making house calls due to an undetermined sickness, seeming to affect the old and the young.”

That last part immediately grabs the King’s attention, and his claws stiffen. Illnesses were unfortunately common from within the capital’s depths; constant, endless rainfalls tend to soak through even the toughest of metal plating or expensive cloth, so doctors and medical professionals were always busy tackling the common cold and such. Nothing too out of the usual in that regard, but sick subjects wasn’t exactly something he wanted, nor was it something he needed, especially if children were getting ill, as well as the fact that the illness in question had yet to be properly identified. The water damage to that one building was concerning as well, especially since most of them were crafted from stone and glass. Perhaps he would have to have his architects try to figure out a way to more appropriately funnel the rain, to make it so that it wouldn’t lead to such inconvenient problems.

There was also Lurien himself. He had read the Reports for as long as he had bestowed him the title of Watcher, and they were usually much more detailed than this. Much more thorough. It was strange, though it didn’t exactly concern him; he knew Lurien better than anyone, and he knew that the oddity of a bug happened to be somewhat of a workaholic, the type that tended to not rest all that much, and when there is no rest, work tends to get sloppy. Perhaps he ought to pay him a visit, just to see how he’s doing. After all, it’s high time he steps out of the Palace grounds, at least for a little while. Being cooped up for too long was something he could never really tolerate, as vexing as it was, but he couldn’t blame himself for his little quirk; it was nothing more than a primal instinct from his long dead days.

He sees a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and looks over to see the little creature floating back in again, its beady white eyes narrowing behind its shell, tendrils of black slipping out of the seams, holding up a plate of roasted meat and cooked vegetables, as well as a goblet of sparkling wine. He reaches out to take the platter from the creature, nodding to it before moving to set his dinner on the desk, next to the rest of his unopened Reports. He speaks, barely with any thought in mind, his voice quiet and unassuming. “Thank you.”

The little Wingsmould floats there, no indication that it heard anything at all, before moving to float away, the tendrils of black slipping back into its core, like they were never there to begin with.

••••

A week passes in the kingdom’s depths, slow and steady, before the King finally realizes that something is wrong. He began to see it in the Reports as the days went by, small, almost inconsequential details, ones that slipped by his grasp and grew to become troublesome problems.

“A Doctor from the City came to the Crossroads to visit a sick child, one who had been displaying several odd symptoms, including sleep deprivation.”

“A bug fell asleep on one of the benches in the Western side of the Garden and began to display what seemed to be sleeping fits. When he was woken up, he seemed delirious, as if not knowing where he was.”

“There was a mining accident over in the Crystal Caverns, one that resulted in the hospitalization of at least 2 miners. A third had sleep-walked and activated a dormant machine, one that the previously mentioned workers had been relaxing on taking their lunch break, and as a result, were nearly crushed under the weight of the pistons. The third bug has been taken into custody at the City prison. The injured bugs are in critical condition.”

That last Report was enough to have him finally decide to get himself involved; it was troublesome enough that this odd phenomenon was somehow occurring amongst the local populace, but the sheer fact it was impacting the focus and the minds of his workers had the potential to be dangerous, especially considering they were responsible for the cogs of the kingdom running smoothly. He could not afford to have this unforeseen affliction getting in the way of his work, the work of the people, and he needed to put a stop to it. Of course, in order to learn how to do such a thing, he first had to learn of this sickness, what it was, and how it worked, how it affected the body of those that were infected, and he needed to learn of it quickly, in order to avoid the potential of this sickness spreading to the populace.

It was his duty as King to analyze and eliminate any possible threats to his kingdom, to his people, and it was a duty that he would see through.

“Send a message to Lurien and Lady Monomon at once. Tell them I wish to discuss a matter of great importance.”

•••

He lets out a sigh, soft and subtle, as he walks along the Pathways to the Archives, an ocean of fog flowing around his feet, his gait regal and refined, just as it always has been, his tail idly twitching beneath his robes. The atmosphere was thick, heavy, and though the path was made of stone, there was evidence of nature growing all across it, patches of dew and moss that felt cold, soft beneath his feet. Bubbles grew out from the flora-laden walls, the ceilings, no doubt due to strange abnormalities of the atmospheric conditions that occurred this deep underground, and he couldn’t help but crane his head up ever so slightly to gaze at a particular one, thicker than the other ones he’s seen, less transparent, more plump, almost...spongy looking in texture, as if there some form of flesh contained within. Perhaps the bubbles were some kind of odd fungus that wrapped its prey up in its own mass to absorb the creature’s organic structure into its own? He wouldn’t put it past Monomon to cultivate such strange creatures, not with her and her scientific wiles.

As if even thinking of its gracious and ambitious mistress was enough to rouse it, the entrance to the Archives was revealed to him, a golden archway of light overrun with the moss and lichen of the canyon, looking as if it hadn’t been touched with a gardener’s shear or trowel in ages, and knowing Monomon, that very well could be the case. He casts one more glance behind him, to check if the equipment was secure, and that his guards from the City were still present, before turning to make his way into the glamorous bronze building, the bubbling and frothing of deadly acid so vigorous that he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet. Even as he walked amongst the narrow tunnel of the Archives’s entrance, he could hear distant conversation, the tone loud, one sounding much more irritated than the other, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh and shake his head. Right from the start of his reign those two always seemed to be at each other’s throats, and it seemed that would never change. In a way, it was amusing, heavily so, (were circumstances different, he gladly would’ve sat back to watch) but it still didn’t change the fact that now was not the time for a petty squabble. He could begin to make out the words now, slowly walking closer, seeing the dark figures of his two closest disciples illuminated from the glow of the acidic pipes.

“And you’re absolutely certain that your experiments won’t end up causing any unnecessary deaths?”

“Oh don’t be silly! Whatever gave you such an outlandish idea? Like my precious creations could even hurt a lumafly.”

“Are you not aware that I see your so-called progress on these...things, and how they have a tendency to literally explode?”

“Oh, pfft! How cares about a little rattling of the pipes or two?”

“I do! And you should too! I know you have an odd tendency to bathe in this horrid acid, but I’ll have you know that most bugs die when coming into contact with it! And those are just the lucky ones!”

“...Ok, I will admit that there are a few...quirks, to the Ooma’s designs..”

“Quirks is putting it lightly, Monomon. Very lightly.”

“It’s nothing I can’t figure out. It’s probably an instability in their inner cores, some type of chemical reaction or rapid increase in pressure that causes it to react so violently.”

“I certainly hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want to send in a Report to the King about how the entire Canyon is flooding with acid because your Archives got blown up.”

The King finally reaches the end of the tunnel, walking into the main room, one of his hands slipping free from his cloak to lift to his mouth, letting out a soft clearing of the throat, the guards behind him immediately freezing to a stop and moving to position themselves on either side of the doorway. “Ehem. If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring this conversation to a different topic.”

Both Monomon and Lurien blink upon seeing their ruler, the former half-submerged in a vat of acid, the rim of the tank level with that of the floor, her upper tendrils resting against it, while the latter was standing at least a few feet away, his robes sparkling with that of gemstones and glamour, clearly having adopted the look from the nobles of the City. Monomon was the first one of the two to speak, her mask shifting into that of a grin, one of her tendrils lifting up to give the King a soft pat to the forehead, the sensation warm, almost slimy, with the slightest hint of an electric tingle. “Oh, terribly sorry, King. I just got a wee bit distracted is all while we were waiting for you to arrive. My little creations have been coming along nicely, and I suspect that by the end of the year, this Canyon could be a living electrical network!”

“You mean living time bombs.” Lurien shakes his head, his mask remaining as passive as always.

King merely lifts a hand to take Monomon’s tendril in his claws, giving it a soft squeeze before letting go. “That is pleasant to hear, Monomon, though it is best that we end that topic as of right now. Currently, as far as I know, the unexplained sickness has begun to build within the populace of the kingdom, and I need to see to it that I cure it.” His gaze shifts to that of Lurien. “Tell me, are there any new cases in any of the sections of the kingdom?”

His gaze peers into that of the King for a moment before he tilts his head up, and the small hole that’s been cut into the polished white surface of the mask begins to glow, the faint whispers of divinity beginning to fill the air. It was a sight that was both familiar and yet also not, and he felt the slightest of tugs within his being as Lurien’s blessing began to bloom to life once more. He merely watches, the dim memories of bestowing the blessing upon his second disciple, of flooding his body with his own divinity, his piercing bright light, flickering at the back of the King’s mind like a dying ember. Those times were somehow simpler, in all of it’s endless chaos, though they were days the King did not wish to revisit.

Finally, Lurien’s head lowers, and his expression somehow gains a more rigid look despite the mask never once shifting or changing. “...Two more cases as we speak, in the Crossroads. Two kids, one 10 years old, the other one 6.”

The King’s hands clench, his knuckles growing tight, before he turns to face the guards, giving them a stern nod. They silently drag forth a golden box in front of the two advisors, plated on all sides, marked with a large key hole, and place the key in the King’s now outstretched hand, before exiting the building in its entirety, never once looking back. Monomon went still, her mask tilting never so slightly, her tendrils curling in on themselves slowly, her voice slightly more quiet than usual. “..So, we’re starting off with that method, are we?”

The King merely moves to place the key in the lock. “No. This is merely a check-up; the doctors in the City are only experienced with minor illnesses or a cracked shell. They won’t know how to deal with this new sickness, not unless the information on how to do so is sought out and spread. And the only way to do that, is to examine an infected individual.”

He turns the key, swiftly, and the plating falls away with a loud clatter to reveal a beetle, no cloth to be seen on his body, his limbs bound in white chains, securing his arms behind his back, rendering him incapable of struggling. The bug didn’t make a single noise, and merely looked downwards, his expression looking vacant, with just the sheer vestiges of guilt dwelling within his eyes. Monomon slowly raises herself up on her tendrils, the tank she was submerged in rippling and sloshing, waves of acid spilling down the sides of the metal to drop to the floor, though she paid no mind to it. Instead, she merely lowered her mask closer to the face of the bug, and she went silent for a few moments. “..This bug is infected, is he?”

The King watches, his own expression growing steely, almost cold. “Indeed. He worked in the Upper Sector of the Mines, when he had fallen asleep. Apparently, in his sleep, he activated a machine that ended up nearly killing two of his coworkers.”

“...A sleep-induced sickness? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither have I. And that’s what troubles me.“

Lurien slowly walks forward as well, bending down to stare the bug in the face, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. “...So, you called the both of us here to examine this fellow?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Do we have any limits on what exactly we can do?”

The King lets out a sigh, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead, swearing he could feel a headache about to come on. “You cannot kill him, nor can you perform any acts towards his body that requires cutting him open.”

“But taking a look at all of the inner organs would be a viable way to examine how this virus operates.”

“For once, Lurien and I agree.” Monomon leans back to glance between the two of them, and when the King gives her a sharp glance, her mask twists into that of a sheepish look. “..From a scientific standpoint, it would make more sense. The flesh is going to show wear and tear from fending off the sickness, especially if it’s theoretically induced by sleeping.”

The King’s headache grows, and he can’t help but let out a groan, shaking his head in exasperation. “....You understand that cutting open my subjects is the exact opposite of protecting them, yes?”

“Of course, but we also understand that just looking him over from the outside won’t do much good.” Lurien shifts, and his hand lifts free from his robes to put a hand on King’s shoulder. “This might be the only way we can go about things.”

“You haven’t even tried yet.” The King’s hand comes up to rest upon his Watcher’s, but his gaze is unwavering.

“We don’t need to try, King. That’s the thing.”

Before the King can reply, the bug lifts his head to gaze at his mighty ruler, and shakes his head. “...I...I don’t want to hurt someone again.”

All three of them turn their heads to glance at the forlorn man, and Monomon is the first to speak. “..You think it can happen again? Your... sleep walking?”

The bug nods, softly. “I know it will. It…It’s been happening for a while. My... My sleep, I mean. It... It’s been weird..”

“How so?” The King steps forward, eyes narrowing in thought, in suspicion.

The bug visibly flinches away, a faint twitch of involuntary reflex, and his eyes show of both fear and awe all at once, and his voice, already hoarse and soft, starts to crack. “I...W-Well, the thing is...I never dreamt. Never had a dream once in my life. Just...I j-just fall asleep and wake up. But, at least a week ago, m-maybe two, I started dreaming. D-Dreaming of this...I-I don’t even know what it is...All I know is that it’s bright and hot and...and strong and...” He starts to shake, and his eyes start to fog over. “It...It..It’s in my head..It..It won’t go away...”

The King couldn’t help but stare for a moment at this, and a moment was already too long. He feels his knuckles clench under his robes, his tail quiver, and he straightens his spine, taking one deep breath, two, before finally speaking once more. “...Are you sure you want this? This can likely mean your death. Surely dreams aren’t worth that of death.”

The bug’s eyes snap back into focus after at least a moment or two of breathing, and he shakes his head, rapidly. “No, no, I want this. Do it. Kill me, tear me open, do anything you want. If it means ridding me of these dreams, of that horrible..That horrible...” He shudders, a full-body quaking that leaves the chains rattling like an unsteady pebble that’s about to fall from the lip of a cliff, his voice rising in volume, in desperation. “Do it, for the good of the King, for the good of Hallownest, do it! If this is an illness, I...I need you to find it! Find it and kill it! Before it gets the chance to hurt anyone else!”

The King finds himself unable to say a word, turning his head to glance at both of his disciples, to judge their reactions. Monomon was looking the slightest bit disturbed under her mask, her tendrils tensing and clenching in a nervous, almost skittish manner, while Lurien simply watched the whole exchange, his face forever covered within the depths of his mask, his head shifting to stare into his King’s eyes. He slowly nods, as does Monomon, and no words are spoken. None needed to be. The King tried to keep his gait as impeccable as it always was, even as he heard Monomon call for her assistant, even as Lurien began to question the Teacher where she kept her tools. He never looked back.

When he was sure that no eyes were watching him, no eyes were perceiving him, he stumbled, sagging against the wall, as if he had just been struck by a fatal blow, lifting his hands to his face to see that they were shaking, shaking and trembling like a gods-damned child. He had just watched a bug, teetering on the scalpel’s edge of his own sanity, cry and beg for death, to be cut open and have his guts ripped out of his bleeding husk. Something within that sickness had contorted his mind, his thoughts, his very being until death seemed like a blessing, until he found himself staring into the figurative abyss and jumped head first into it.

And all he, the King, could do was sit there and watch. Sit there and let it happen. That bug, insane as he was, in essence, gave his life for him. For him and the glory of his kingdom. And all he did was walk away.

His hands clench.

...No. No, he could not let this cloud him. Cloud his mind. It was just...It was just one simple procedure. One bug. One sacrifice, for the sake of untold lives saved. That infected body had chosen his fate, chosen to die, chosen to sacrifice. He could do nothing to change that, and as his duty as King, he needed to focus his mind to the future. He could not show weakness. This was all it was. A momentary bout of weakness. A momentary cost.

His claws clenched so hard he could feel the soft shell of his palms creak, before he finally took a deep breath, and his emotions fell, cast down by unseen blades. Then he began to walk once more.

Not even a day later, he had received a Report from his Watcher, one that he had left alone for hours before finally opening.

“The Miner was examined with a simple glance over at first, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He looked and seemed completely healthy, aside from a slight fatigued look to the carapace beneath his eyes, and his jittery, skittish nature. Monomon’s assistant first took blood in an effort to see if there was any visible contamination, any oddities, and when, finally, the operation was made. His organs were worn, slightly so, as if put under significant stress, but aside from that, there was nothing. The sickness, as far as we know, is completely invisible to our eyes. My only question to you, My King, is this.

What do we do?”

#hollow knight #pale king #monomon #lurien #The Only Option #Pale King is not a villain #things are complicated #my art #my writing

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yogaadvise · 5 years

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How to Manage Restlessness and Impatience During Meditation

" As well many ideas", "Can not rest still", "When will it more than?", "Am I doing it appropriately?", "Absolutely nothing's occurring". Have you ever before had those ideas throughout your meditation?

Well, you're not the only one, these are without a doubt the greatest problems people make about their reflection practice. As brand-new meditators, all of us had these issues, and even after years, they still appear every now and then. However please do not give up, these are, in truth, good experiences.

Understanding Uneasyness as well as Impatience

The initial step to managing restlessness and impatience is to recognize the feelings. There are 3 basic kinds of experiences you can have during meditation:

Falling asleep

Having thoughts and feeling restless

Slipping into the field of silence as well as limitless possibilities in the spaces in between thoughts

While all of us would certainly favor for our meditations to be silent, all these experiences are correct.

Meditation is a process of purification. The mind as well as body gain deep degrees of rest, which enable stresses, fatigues, as well as contaminants to be released. This release enhances the task of the mind as well as body, creating you to have ideas and also perhaps feel restless.

Your essence, who you truly are, has been covered over by layer upon layer of the nonsense life has actually sent your way. Reflection is a procedure of peeling off these layers to reveal the elegance that exists within. Also though you may whine about these disruptions, they are the sign that something excellent is occurring. As Mother Teresa said, "Restlessness is only the surface level of a lovely root of energy within."

Also bear in mind that you can think thoughts at the shallow, surface area level of the mind as well as also at deeper, more polished levels. Simply because you are having thoughts in reflection does not suggest that you aren't in an extremely peaceful state. What is essential is when you understand that you're believing thoughts, you turn your attention back to the object of your meditation, such as your concept or breath. This is appropriate meditation. To choose to proceed assuming the thoughts would, in the context of meditation, be a waste of time.

Mediation as a Representation of Your Life

Your meditation experience is usually a representation of your life. If you are excessively weary or not obtaining sufficient excellent high quality remainder in the evening, you might sleep throughout your reflection. If your life is very active and also chaotic, your reflections may be restless and also distressed. Reflection aids you create a happier and also extra harmonious life, nonetheless, purposely taking steps to balance your way of living will likewise sustain your reflection experience.

Remember the story of the turtle and the hare? A lot of us live our lives like a hare, rushing off in all directions, multi-tasking, or shed in the haze of our own complication-- while it was the tortoise's measured consistency that won the race. Even though you might really feel as though you are "lacking time," you really have the entire of endless time prior to you. Slow down!

Try the complying with eight suggestions to take care of restlessness and impatience throughout your meditations.

1. Don't Waste Time Studying Your Meditation Experiences

As mentioned previously, reflection is a purification process. The ideas, feelings, as well as feelings you might have throughout your meditation are the trash being thrown away. So, unless you're the kind of person that browses the trash to see what you have actually thrown out before the waste truck shows up, do not lose time evaluating your meditation experiences. Whether you are having mundane thoughts regarding your day-to-day activities, seeing stunning images and listening to holy vocal singing, or you are listening to Deepak speaking about non-local truth, they are not vital. The objective of reflection is to improve your life. The experiences during reflection will be what they will certainly be, what is crucial is the shift in awareness you start to appreciate in your everyday lives as an outcome of your meditation experiences.

2. Take a Few Minutes to Prepare Before You Start Your Meditation Session

This may assist decrease any kind of disturbances. You can meditate anywhere but locating a silent place is preferable. If you go to home, switch over off the phone, placed the children and also animals in another space, as well as allow other participants of your house understand not to trouble you.

3. Prior To Your Morning Meditation, Stay Clear Of the Lure to Consider Your Computer System and also Smartphone

Let the activity of the day wait a little longer or your reflection will be loaded with emotionally composing response to e-mails as well as texts.

4. Attempt Preceding Your Reflection with Mild Yogic Stretching Exercises

This allows you to get the kinks out and rest even more comfortably.

5. Take a Few Deep Breaths

As you breathe in, understand just how your body really feels in addition to what's happening with your thoughts as well as emotions. As you breathe out, have the intent of releasing anything that doesn't problem you because minute. You can return as well as address it after the meditation but attempt to deposit any kind of unnecessary distractions.

6. Straighten Your Physique with Your Energised Field with an Easy Centering Exercise

Either resting or standing, area one hand degree over your navel, fingers directing up, hand toward the center.

Raise the other arm straight up over your head, again with fingers prolonged upwards and also palm toward the center.

Take a full breath in as well as, as you launch it, bring your palms together at your heart center.

Repeat this three times, alternating the hands if you wish.

7. Prepare for Meditation with Alternate Nostril Breathing

In the afternoon, after a day's task, it's typically advantageous to take a couple of extra minutes to resolve your body and mind before starting your reflection. A little extending, when possible, and also a 10 to 15 min nap (napping is one of the shed pleasures of modern culture) or 2 to 3 minutes of alternate nostril breathing is a great method to work out to prepare for meditation.

Using your right-hand man, shut your right nostril with your thumb.

Exhale slowly through your left nostril.

Inhale through your left nostril. Use your right third finger and also little finger to block your left nostril.

Release your thumb and also slowly breathe out via your right nostril.

Inhale with your right nostril.

Again, location your thumb back over your right nostril, release your third finger as well as little finger, and proceed breathing as well as rotating as before. This is an effortless, continuous circulation of the breath without any regulated stops briefly, permitting the breath to stream at its own rate and also rhythm.

8. Commit to a Routine

Although the procedure of reflection itself need to be uncomplicated, a little self-control relating to the method can be handy. Before starting your session, choose for how long you intend to practice meditation for and devote to sticking to that time whatever your experiences.

When you initially leaned to meditate, you did so for a reason. Meditation will ultimately fulfill this and also unfold various other prizes past your wildest desires. Discover to accept your experiences as part of the strategy. Do not sacrifice what you really want wherefore you believe you must have today. All customs tell us that patience is a virtue and also ultimately, the incentive of patience is patience.

Are restlessness or impatience maintaining you from getting in touch with your reflection practice? Join us for our online Primordial Noise Meditation Course and learn just how to conquer these obstacles. Learn more.

#meditation #morning meditation #yoga #yoga nidra

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crabpin09-blog · 5 years

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Back again Exercises On Tumblr

Several research workers as well as clinicians paying attention to bone wellbeing extreme caution, even so, that it evidence for men and women with osteoporosis to be involved in these sorts of routines is inferior to go as opposed to the present brittle bones work out tips, that recommend only reasonable-high intensity workouts simply simply because hefty training may possibly be harmful to breakable osteoporotic bone fragments. Amid older men and women dwelling in an organization, people who performed the workouts demonstrated considerable increases in the power of the muscle tissues that flex along with lengthen the foot, additionally to drastically significantly better balance. Medical professionals like many other exercise routines that will get our hearts and minds moving , at the same time, like sprinting, cycling, dance in addition to going swimming Even so respective authorities level to walking, particularly, because of to the actual fact most much healthier individuals can do it in addition to put to it, in addition to scientific studies have shown amazing positive aspects. Despite the fact that the ACSM's get-property meaning is essentially which normally you must workout a muscle tissue correct up until it is actually tired so as to market place adapt, and in addition you should make use of a excess fat that generates you sincerely really feel worn out right after lifting it 8 to 10 cases. Workout routines could possibly change, nevertheless sufferers could very well get going caring for steadiness and adaptability appropriate soon after which usually improvement to much more tough workouts that involve weightlifting, pushing, tugging and spinning our bodies. The posterior section in the muscle tissue assists in workout routines these kinds of given that the seated row as well as treat travel, although the anterior part is active almost every single several hours the chest muscle tissues function (which consists of in force-ups as well as counter demanding). In addition to that's to do fundamental actions for each muscle tissues, prior to undertaking shaping workout workouts. Apply experts strategy to sign up 300 people, who'll think about segment in both stretches and balance workout routines or aerobic schooling. Inside of Modern australia, physiotherapists, chiropractic doctors and osteopaths use guidebook and in addition actual therapies to handle reduced back ache The solutions commonly include a number of type of spinal manipulation and restorative massage, along with advice to stay active and do exercising workouts. Arm workout routines may be incorporated in drive working day , nonetheless i like getting each day put aside for them even though. This online video screens numerous wonderful routines that folks is capable of undertaking in the home to goal their back. This kind of as staying full of energy, performing correct workouts and in addition task a mental health method to assistance take care of the pain. Right here are a hardly any of these mild exercises that have been acknowledged by our experts for assisting with lessen back discomfort.

The visible difference was equivalent to twenty numerous several years of brain aging, as well as this was appropriately right after considering various other variables that will impact human brain well being, which include additional extra weight , raised bloodstream stress , smoking cigarettes along with eating, in acquiescence to the discoveries published throughout the log Neurology. The investigators found a better mental health drop for a number of who noted low-activity workouts, for example lighting strolling and yoga, when compared to men and women with high-activity quantities and workout workouts like operating as well as aerobic routines. Leg Swing: this is amongst the ideal as well as easiest exercise routines that may be accomplished to boost your spinal well being. So as to perspective your ab muscles, it suggests you could potentially have to decline several entire body excess fat, which generally might be accomplished with all the routines outlined previously mentioned. Having said that, you want to tend not to forget about that variety is crucial in respect to strength instruction - so make certain to continuously do several exercise routines for each as well as each and every part on the total entire body, and actual physical motion several various components from the body for an substitute to concentrate on one particular specific portion continuously. Contrary to building up exercise routines, endurance-concentrated guidance are normally based generally upon times, not amount of packages and in addition repetitions. Abdomen building up workouts of almost any variety this type of as stomach crunches may also have increased help for your spinal column and also torso and also might support you to stop long-term stress as well as personal injuries. Nevertheless the ACSM's consider-residence meaning is that you just should working out a selection of muscle tissue until it's fatigued such as a way to market place modify, and you also must make use of a excess weight which can make you're perception worn out following picking up it 8 to ten periods. Exercise routines might fluctuate, but affected individuals could begin caring for stability as well as suppleness then improvement to far more technological exercise routines that entail lifting, pushing, taking along with spinning your whole body. The posterior area from the muscle mass helps in exercise routine workouts this kind of mainly because the seated row and also take care of travel, whilst the anterior section is lively essentially each and every as well as each and every days and nights the chest area muscle tissues are operating (like in press-ups as well as counter pressing). Back To Life Review - Emily Lark’s Back Pain Plan Analyzed Back To Life

#back pain #lower back pain #low back pain #upper back pain #back ache #back problem #neck pain #sciatica #backpain cure #cure back pain #treat back pain #lower back pain treatment #cure lower backpain

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bloojayoolie · 5 years

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Being Alone, Andrew Bogut, and Animals: 5021t-9 @manhattan acc waiting 4 LOVE! years dld, 60us HUNKY ELDERBULLN NEED Good looking, friendly, outgoing trained, very housetrained behaves when home alone **** TO BE KILLED - DECEMBER 13, 2018 **** AVERAGE RATED <3 "HIS FAVORITE TREAT IS BACON," HIS OWNERS LET THE INTAKE STAFF AT THE SHELTER KNOW before they turned their back and walked away from him forever. Cody is a 9 year old boy whose been an upstanding doggy citizen all his life, so for him to wind up in a kill shelter in his golden years when he should be living his best life is absolutely absurd. Not to mention SAD. But Cody's a happy boy with a radiant, attention-getting smile and he's not going to let this low point in his life get the best of him. He needs all of us to share him to the moon and back to get his plight out there. Cody's hero is out there. Lets help him find him/her. Cody is both a sweet chocolate tootsie roll and a breath of fresh air. His Average rating speaks for itself, though nothing beats interacting with him. Always a family pet and having a home, this 9 year old fella entered the shelter putting his best paw forward and continues to impress. His adorable teddy bear face is quick to smile, begs for attention and affection, plus he has the perfect energy level to be both engaging and relaxed. The list goes on and on with Cody. We wonder if he goes the extra mile knowing he's up against the odds landing on this dreaded list, though his charm is entirely authentic. Cody has a long life ahead to cherish a new home, he does so well with dogs to boot. We are so hoping someone will fall in love him before its too late. He really is exceptional. Please message this page if you can foster or adopt him. CODY@MANHATTAN ACC Hello, my name is Cody My animal id is #50214 I am a male brown dog at the Manhattan Animal Care Center The shelter thinks I am about 9 years old, 60 lbs Came into shelter as owner surrender Dec. 10, 2018 Reason Stated: LANDLORD WON'T ALLOW Cody is at risk for medical reasons. Cody was diagnosed with canine infectious respiratory disease complex which is contagious to other animals and will require in home care. Behaviorally, Cody would be suitable for most homes. My medical notes are... Weight: 60 lbs Vet Notes 10/12/2018 [DVM Intake] DVM Intake Exam Estimated age: 9y Microchip noted on Intake? yes Microchip Number (If Applicable): 981020017101754 History : owner surrender Subjective: BARH, normal appetite no defecation concerns Observed Behavior - allowed all handling Evidence of Cruelty seen - no Evidence of Trauma seen - no Objective P = wnl R = wnl BCS 5/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean mild lichenification AU, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam: unremarkable PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupnic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: male intact 2 testicles soft symmetric, no leakage or discharge MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat, there are crusts and scabs on all four paws CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Rectal: visually normal Assessment dermatitis Prognosis: good Plan: simplcef 275mg/ po sid for 14 days SURGERY: consider in house neuter 1619 12/12/2018 S/0 - Diagnosed yesterday by DVM 1619 - notes not entered yet. DVM 1493 observed moderate serous nasal discharge on visual examination EENT - serous nasal discharge moderate, eye clear - no coughing heard R - WNL A - CIRDC suspected + Move to isolation + Enrofloxacin 10 mg/kg SID for 14 days + 10mg/kg doxycycline PO SID for 14 days + 2 mg/kg cerenia PO SID for 4 days + Proviable x 5 days SID PO + Recheck in 7 days for resolvement and return to general population PROGNOSIS EXCELLENT URI Details on my behavior are... Behavior Condition: 1. Green Behavior History Behavior Assessment Upon intake, Cody at first had a tense body. After giving him multiple treats, he started to loosen up and allowed additional handling. He was collared and scanned for a microchip while the owner was holding him. Date of Intake: 12/10/2018 Basic Information:: Cody was brought in to our facilities as an owner surrender due to the owner currently living in housing that does not permit pets. This owner had had Cody for the past 4 years after a friend gave him to them. Cody is currently 9 years old and is a brown and white large mixed breed male dog. He has no reported health issues in this home and last saw a vet in 2017 for vaccinations and microchipping. Previously lived with: 2 adults How is this dog around strangers?: Around strangers, Cody is friendly and outgoing. He will play exuberantly with adults. How is this dog around children?: Cody has spent time with children ranging for 1 year old and up. Around them, he is described as being relaxed, respectful, and tolerant of his ears getting pulled. He will play gently with children. How is this dog around other dogs?: Cody reportedly gets along better with female dogs than male dogs. He likes to play exuberantly with dogs. How is this dog around cats?: Cody has never lived with a cat before, but will reportedly chase after and bark at stray cats in the neighborhood. Resource guarding: Cody has no resource guarding behaviors. Bite history: Cody has never bitten another animal or person. Housetrained: Yes Energy level/descriptors: High Other Notes:: Cody's owner reported no behavioral issues and stated that he is not bothered by loud storms or fireworks. He will drop a treat with the "drop it" command. He is not bothered when pushed or pulled off of furniture and will jump down with the "off" command, when held or restrained, when disturbed while sleeping or resting, or when bathed. His owner did not brush him. He will pull his paws away when his owner attempts to touch them, therefore they have been unable to trim his nails. He will whine if he hears someone in the hallway. He will sniff when a stranger approaches his owner or family. Has this dog ever had any medical issues?: No For a New Family to Know: Cody is described as being friendly, affectionate, playful, and confident. He likes to follow you around when you are home. He likes to play with balls and will play fetch. He has been kept indoors only. He is used to wet and dry dog food twice a day from a variety of brands. His favorite treat is bacon. He is very house trained and does not have accidents. He will use wee wee pads, as well as any surface outside. When he is left home alone, he lays down and is well behaved. He has never been left alone in a yard. He has been crate trained and does well for 2-3 hours. He knows the commands sit, down, and go to crate. For exercise, he is used to walks on the leash. He pulls gently but will stop when corrected. He has never been walked without a leash. Cody's favorite things to is to run and be active. His owner's favorite things about him are how very friendly he is, how he is good with kids, and how good he is at learning commands. Date of intake:: 12/10/2018 Spay/Neuter status:: No Means of surrender (length of time in previous home):: Owner Surrender (In home for 4 years) Previously lived with:: Adults Behavior toward strangers:: Friendly Behavior toward children:: Relaxed, respectful, and tolerant Behavior toward dogs:: Exuberantly playful Resource guarding:: None reported Bite history:: None reported Housetrained:: Yes Energy level/descriptors:: Cody is described as friendly, affectionate, playful, and confident with a high level of activity. Date of assessment:: 12/12/2018 Look:: 1. Dog's eyes are averted, with tail wagging and ears back. Allows head to be held loosely in Assessor's cupped hands. Sensitivity:: 1. Dog stands still and accepts the touch, eyes are averted, and tail is in neutral position with a relaxed body posture. Dog's mouth is likely closed for at least a portion of the assessment item. Tag:: 1. Dog follows at the end of the leash, body soft. Paw squeeze 1:: 1. Dog does not respond at all for three seconds. Eyes are averted and ears are relaxed or back. Paw squeeze 2:: 1. Dog does not respond at all for three seconds. Eyes are averted and ears are relaxed or back. Flank squeeze 1:: Item not conducted Flank squeeze 2:: Item not conducted Toy:: 1. Minimal interest in toy, dog may smell or lick, then turns away. Summary:: Cody approached the assessor with a soft body. He was distracted during the assessment, sniffing around the room, but also displayed social behavior. He allowed all handling and displayed no concerning behaviors. Summary (1):: 12/11: When introduced off leash to the female greeter dog, Cody engages in soft, bouncy play. The previous owner of Cody cites that he has been playful toward other dogs, though preferential toward those who are female. Based on history and observation, Cody may be most compatible with social female dogs. Date of intake:: 12/10/2018 Summary:: Tense at first, then loosened and allowed handling Date of initial:: 12/10/2018 Summary:: Allowed handling ENERGY LEVEL:: Cody is described as having a high level of activity. We recommend long-lasting chews, food puzzles, and hide-and-seek games, in additional to physical exercise, to positively direct his energy and enthusiasm. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: AVERAGE (suitable for an adopter with an average amount of dog experience) Behavior Asilomar: H - Healthy * TO FOSTER OR ADOPT * HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! * STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://newhope.shelterbuddy.com/Animal/List Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account \ Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU CANNOT GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications. Shelter contact information Phone number (212) 788-4000 Email [email protected] Shelter Addresses: Brooklyn Shelter: 2336 Linden Boulevard Brooklyn, NY 11208 Manhattan Shelter: 326 East 110 St. New York, NY 10029 Staten Island Shelter: 3139 Veterans Road West Staten Island, NY 10309

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Being Alone #Andrew B

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idristardis · 6 years

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The Writing’s On The Wall - CSLB

Summary: Normally quiet and sleepy, Storybrooke, Maine has been going through the polar opposite of a crime wave. There hasn't been even so much as an incident of shoplifting in MONTHS. Until the day an anonymous graffiti artist starts leaving murals and street art all over prominent town buildings. Who's behind it? Why don't the townspeople want to press charges if/when the "vandal" is caught? And what does all of this have to do with Sheriff Emma Swan and local bakery owner Killian Jones?

Rating: Mild T (mainly for a little kissin’ and a little swearin’)

Word Count: 15,000 on the nose!

Possible triggers: I’m not really sure I’d consider these triggers, but this fic does contain mentions of past!Millian and past!Gremma (both in a positive light) and past!Swanfire (in a negative light), so if none of those things float your boat, I’d recommend taking a miss on this one.

Tropes: Mutual pining, friends-to-lovers, modern au (no magic), Henry-being-too-smart-and-cute-for-his-own-good, Zelena-being-Zelena, the author makes many jokes (lovingly) at Will Scarlet’s expense.

Background pairings: Snowing, Outlaw Queen, Frozen Jewel.

A/N: It’s hard to believe this day is finally here!! I felt like I ate/slept/breathed this fic for so long and then ended up having to wait the whole month of February to post, lol. Seriously, though, it’s humbling to be the “grand finale” of the CSLB, and I only hope my work lives up to the honor. This month has once again proved the depth and breadth of talent possessed by the writers and artists in the OUAT and CS fandoms. You guys all rock and should be very proud of what you’ve achieved!!

This fic was a labor of love - and it’s the longest thing that I’ve written and completed in forever - so I am extremely excited to share it with you all. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing beta, Hollie aka @the-captains-ayebrows who helped me refine the plot and pacing in so many ways - this story wouldn’t be half of what it is without her input - and my wonderful artist, Bianca i.e. @shipsxahoy who made the beautiful banner at the top of this post and a seriously awesome gifset that you can find HERE. I also want to thank the mods and the entire team at the @captainswanbigbang for running such a wonderful CSLB event (and for putting up with my frequent down-to-the-wire check ins and over-the-top word counts). You ladies have done a wonderful job and I’m so grateful to have been a part of it!! Now, without further ado (too late!!), The Writing’s On The Wall.

Also on AO3.

February 13th - Midday...

In retrospect, Emma thought, I really should have seen this coming.

Life in Storybrooke had been quiet – almost freakishly so – for the last few months. Not that the small, sleepy coastal Maine town she called home was normally a hotbed of criminal activity, but usually there was something going on that required her to flash her badge and threaten the local riffraff with a night in one of the cells at the sheriff’s station.

But not lately. It was mid-February and quite literally nothing arrest-worthy had happened since early December when she’d locked up Will Scarlet for attempting to steal the holiday decorations off the town common.

She knew for a fact that had been the last arrest she’d made, as Scarlet’s motives had been memorable. Apparently, he’d had some half-cocked idea of holding the decorations hostage until the mayor agreed to “ransom” them back for a hefty fee. (Emma had laughed for a solid minute when he’d explained. As if Regina would ever have gone along with that).

Since then, though - nothing.

No bar fights, no petty theft, no DUIs, no domestic disturbances, no vandalism...not even any cats stuck in trees.

Emma’d had little to do except catch up on backlogged paperwork and finally start converting the sheriff’s department’s oldest files from hard-copy to digital.

In other words, she was bored out of her freaking mind.

Or she had been.

Because now, suddenly, the crime drought had ended rather spectacularly.

Emma had practically stumbled on the scene of the crime when she’d left the station a little before noon. She’d already been running late for Galentine’s Day lunch with Mary-Margaret - a longstanding tradition they’d kept up since meeting at the University of Southern Maine nearly ten years ago - when she’d seen it.

It had been hard - if not impossible - to miss.

“What the actual hell?!” Emma exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks and staring at the building opposite the station. The response felt entirely appropriate when confronted with fifteen foot tall graffiti that absolutely hadn’t been there that morning. Whoever the culprit was, they were pretty talented, but also extremely brazen. They’d vandalized the brick wall of a two story office building in broad daylight, not twenty-five feet away from the sheriff’s station. Apparently, they didn’t care if they got caught, Emma mused. I mean, it’s beautiful, but that’s pretty damn cocky.

Sighing, Emma pulled out her phone to call Mary-Margaret and let her know she was going to be running even later for lunch, and that she’d explain when she got there.

All the while, her eyes barely strayed from the wall looming above her, adorned with a stunning multitude of simple (yet gorgeously painted) hearts in varying sizes and shades of pink, red, white, and purple.

(If she took a few more photos than were strictly necessary for the case file, that was her secret).

January 19th - Late Afternoon...

The bell above Second Star Bakery’s door jangled loudly, signaling that said door had been thrown open with considerable force. Though he would’ve liked to offer a sharp word to the culprit about the civilized way to enter a room, Killian kept his attention on the cupcakes he’d been in the middle of frosting, slowly looking up towards the source of the noise. The polite, “customer-service” smile on his face melted into something more genuine when he saw who his visitor was, and he approached the front of the shop with a spring in his step.

"Henry, what brings you by on a Friday? I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow afternoon for your usual visit with your Mum," he said, leaning on top of the display case nearest to the door and looking curiously at Henry Swan. The boy rocked slightly on his feet, shifting his weight side-to-side and averting his eyes when Killian’s gaze landed on him.

"I know, but I needed to talk to you about something and it couldn't wait any longer.” He was unusually fidgety. It struck Killian as odd, but before he could ask about it, Henry’d started speaking again. "Um...can you take a break for a few minutes?"

A tendril of concern tickled the back of Killian’s mind, but he tamped it down. Henry’d always been a good lad, and Killian was sure that, given a chance, he would explain what was on his mind. “Of course I can,” he nodded at Henry before pointing to the case in between them. “Now, how serious is this conversation? Does it require cupcakes, cookies, or eclairs?”

Henry shook his head, and his brow briefly furrowed in thought. “Pie,” he replied firmly after a few moments of careful consideration.

Killian arched an eyebrow. “Ah, that is serious,” he said, bending down and fetching the nearest pie out of the case. “Apple spice alright?”

Henry nodded and moved through the cafe tables dotting the bakery floor, heading for one towards the back. Leaving one of his sales associates, Wendy, in charge of things up front, Killian warmed a couple of healthy-sized slices of the pie and put them on a tray. Propping the tray on his left forearm, he steadied it with his good hand and carefully navigated between the tables. (Times like these always made him wish he had full use of his left hand, but an accident nearly seven years ago had taken his naval career - and much more - with it. He’d never regained full range of motion in his left hand, but he’d adapted to the injury - the other losses had been harder to recover from). Sliding into the chair opposite Henry, he waited while the boy dug into his pie.

And waited.

Though he was determined to give Henry enough time to bring up whatever was on his mind, after several silent moments stretched between them, Killian couldn’t resist nudging the conversation along. “Henry...I thought you wanted to talk. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Though his attention had been focused solely on his pie until that moment, at Killian’s question Henry sat back in his chair with a sigh. His eyes flicked up to meet Killian’s hesitantly. “If you thought that...someone liked you...like...that way...but they hadn’t really said anything, what would you do?”

Ah, Killian thought, inwardly relieved. Girl problems. This I can handle. I think.

He folded his arms on the table and leaned towards Henry, regarding him with a grin. “Well, first things first. Are the feelings mutual?”

Henry’s gaze locked on his. Killian had the distinct (and slightly unsettling) feeling the boy was trying to read him - but what exactly he was looking for, Killian wasn’t sure. He seemed to find it after a moment, nodding thoughtfully as he replied. “I think so. I mean...” He paused to take a large bite of his pie. “...I’m pretty sure.”

“Well,” Killian scratched lightly behind his ear. “I think you have to figure that out for definite before you decide how to approach this other person. It could be pretty awkward otherwise.”

Henry put down his fork and opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again immediately - an action he repeated twice more before a look of determination crossed his features and he blurted, “okaywellhowdoyoureallyfeelaboutmymomthen?”

The tinny strains of a Mumford and Sons tune floating out from the kitchen were suddenly the loudest noises in the entire bakery.

But the only thing Killian could hear was his heartbeat skidding to a complete halt before promptly lurching into overdrive.

“Pardon?” he asked, sure he must have misheard Henry’s (admittedly rather garbled) question - yet simultaneously sure he hadn’t. “Say that again? Perhaps with breaths between the words?”

Henry slumped back in his chair. “I said how do you really feel about my mom?”

Right, so the lad did say those words. In that order. Right.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to school his features into something closer to nonchalance than panic. (He had a feeling he failed based on the way Henry was looking at him).

“Henry,” he began cautiously, “I don’t understand...I thought you were asking me about someone at school...someone who you thought fancied you.”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head vigorously before pausing to contradict himself. “I mean, yeah, there kinda is someone I think I might like, but that’s so not the point of this conversation,” he finished before renewing his previously abandoned attack on his pie.

“Not the point...” Killian echoed faintly, scrubbing a hand over his face and back through his hair. This was, quite literally, the last thing he’d expected when he’d opened up shop in the morning. For the first time in the slightly more than three years since he’d owned the bakery, Killian was actually glad there were hardly any customers - with the wildfire nature of Storybrooke’s gossip mill, this conversation was the last thing he wanted anyone overhearing.

He can’t know, Killian thought. He can’t.

But then why bring it up? His inner voice countered in annoyingly logical fashion.

“Henry,” he tried again, “why would you ask me that?”

Henry stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “I was just doing what you said.”

That didn’t clarify anything. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Henry asked, putting his fork down. “You said finding out if the feelings were definitely mutual was really important before figuring out how to talk to the other person. So that’s what I was doing. So,” he asked again, “how exactly do you feel about my mom?”

Killian still could not fathom that this conversation was really happening, but Henry seemed as though he could - and would - stay planted in his chair until Killian answered him, so he chose his next words carefully. “You know I care a great deal for your mother, lad. We’ve known each other for several years now - her friendship means the world to me, and I wouldn’t trade having her in my life for anything.”

Henry simply looked at him for a few moments before throwing his hands up in the air. “Friendship?! Really?! That’s what you’re going with?!”

“Aye,” he said gently. “It’s the truth, Henry.”

Now, the boy did roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he scoffed, “but not all of it...especially not when I think my mom might be in love with you.”

February 13th - Lunchtime...

“Well, whoever did this...it’s gorgeous,” Mary-Margaret mused, handing Emma her phone back after looking at the photos of the mural.

“Yeah, but...unfortunately, it’s also a crime,” Emma replied, pocketing her phone after taking one last glance at the photos. “Or it should be.”

Mary-Margaret tilted her head inquisitively. “What d’you mean?”

Emma sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and picking at her last few onion rings. “I canvassed the people who work in the building, but only a couple of the offices are actually occupied, and neither tenant was bothered by the graffiti. In fact, they really liked it.” Mary-Margaret hummed thoughtfully before Emma continued. “It’s one of the few buildings in town not owned by the immortally cranky Mr. Gold, and when I called the landlord to notify him, he’d already heard about the incident and didn’t want to press charges when and if we found the ‘artist’ in question. Said it sounded like it improved the value of his property.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment. “Well,” Mary-Margaret said eventually, “I guess that’s actually lucky for you, right?”

“How so?”

“Now that you don’t have to chase down leads on this mysterious artist-vandal, you won’t have to work late on Valentine’s Day. See? Lucky!!”

Emma chuckled and shook her head. Mary-Margaret was an eternal optimist who saw the best in everyone. Emma was convinced it was this innate decency and kindness that had led Mary-Margaret to befriend her when she was a 20 year old freshman and single mother commuting to USM’s Portland campus from some no name town an hour up the coast.

Though a junior when they’d met, Mary-Margaret had been the same age as Emma, and had slipped into her life as if she’d been there forever. The fact that Mary-Margaret had gotten a job teaching at Storybrooke Elementary after graduation, and had married Emma’s friend and co-worker David Nolan ensured she probably would be in Emma’s life for the foreseeable future. Her sunny disposition generally balanced out Emma’s more pragmatic (some would say prickly) take on things - but occasionally, they just didn’t see eye to eye, and when it came to Valentine’s Day, they couldn’t be further apart.

Of course Mary-Margaret, being so kind-hearted, would be enthusiastic about a holiday devoted to love and romance. Emma didn’t have anything against actual love and romance, but an overly commercialized holiday devoted to a sappy version of it? That she could do without. “Just because I don’t have to work late doesn’t mean I don’t have to work,” Emma replied. “It’s not that lucky.”

Mary-Margaret shrugged in response, her optimism undeterred. “Well, do you at least have any plans for tomorrow night?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like where I think you’re headed with that question.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mary-Margaret’s eyes were wide, her tone a shade too innocent.

“Uh huh,” Emma muttered. “Sure you don’t.”

Mary-Margaret frowned briefly before finishing her coffee and putting the cup down with a sigh. “I only want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

Now it was Emma’s turn to sigh. “I’ve got a wonderful family, friends who care a frankly ridiculous amount about me,” Emma raised an eyebrow, causing Mary-Margaret to chuckle, “and an amazing kid. I am happy.”

“I do know that - and I’m glad,” Mary-Margaret said, though her words were laced with concern. “But you know that’s not the kind of happiness I’m talking about. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“I don’t need to have romantic plans on a made up holiday in order to be happy, Mary-Margaret,” Emma said, weariness creeping into her tone. They’d had similar discussions before.

“I know you don’t have to, but-”

“Besides, I’ve had dates on and off over the past few years,” Emma cut in. “You’re really talking about more than that.”

“Yeah, I am,” Mary-Margaret conceded. She paused, her gaze flicking to Emma’s before proceeding hesitantly. “It’s been almost four years since Graham died...I’m just afraid that between dealing with losing him and the impact of your past with Neal, you’ve closed yourself off. I don’t want that for you, Emma.”

Emma didn’t really have a comeback for that. Neal had been a con and a cheat, not to mention too old for her teenage self, and the only good thing he’d brought into her life had been Henry. Her history with him featured frequently in conversations about Emma’s lackluster love-life (generally with Emma tossing a good amount of expletives in his direction), but Mary-Margaret didn’t usually bring up Graham.

Graham had been everything Neal wasn’t - kind, patient, funny, and sweet. They’d fallen into an easy relationship not long after Emma’s post-college return to Storybrooke. Under the former sheriff, Art King, they and David had been co-deputies in the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department. Graham had charmed her effortlessly almost from the start. They’d been happy for about eighteen months, until he’d collapsed one day during his morning run - ripped away out of the blue by an undiagnosed congenital heart defect.

Emma took a deep breath and released it slowly. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that after Graham’s death, she’d turned inward - protectively walling off her heart against further hurt. She hadn’t really had a serious relationship since - but the pain of losing Graham was only one reason.

Yeah, but you can’t exactly admit that the other major reason you’re not actively looking for something serious is that you’ve gone and developed feelings for Killian, Emma thought. At least, not without Mary-Margaret completely freaking out on you and trying to get you to actually do something about them.

“Emma?” Mary-Margaret’s soft voice broke through Emma’s internal musings and pulled her back to the present. “I’m sorry if I pushed - I just care about you and I want the best for you. Sometimes I get carried away”

“It’s alright, you didn’t,” Emma said, reaching out to squeeze Mary-Margaret’s hand. “Honest. But I’m really fine - and you have my word that I’m happy. I promise if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

Mary-Margaret nodded, squeezing Emma’s hand in return. “Deal.”

“As far as tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time for a date anyway. I’ve got to get Henry ready for the school dance and embarrass him by taking as many photos as humanly possible,” Emma said. “That’s all the Valentine’s excitement I need.”

Emma felt slightly guilty for not revealing she did, in fact, have plans with Killian after Henry went to the dance. It wasn’t a date, so technically she wasn’t lying, but she was aware if Mary-Margaret knew, she’d take it the wrong way. Emma just didn’t have the energy to convince her that movie night with Killian, beer, and a giant pepperoni pizza was completely and totally platonic.

(Not that she wanted it to be. But the one thing she wanted more than exploring a relationship with Killian was to not lose him from her life. Anything that had the potential to wreck their friendship - like the fact she’d been well on her way to in love with him for most of the past year - was firmly off limits).

January 19th - Late Afternoon...

Killian gaped at Henry, positive his jaw was on the floor. He tried - and failed - to form words several times before finally finding his voice.

“I’m fairly certain you’re mistaken,” he said. “Granted, your mother and I are very close, but we’re just friends.”

Henry shook his head. “C’mon, Killian. I’m twelve, not stupid - and I know what I heard.”

That got Killian’s attention. “What are you talking about?”

“It was a few weeks ago,” Henry explained. “Just before New Year’s Eve. It was late, and I was getting ready for bed, but I’d forgotten some of my school books in the kitchen. When I went downstairs to get them...I overheard my mom talking to Auntie Elsa on the phone.”

“Eavesdropping is bad form, lad,” Killian admonished.

“I know - and I didn’t mean to. But she sounded kinda sad and I wanted to make sure she was okay, so I stayed and listened for a few minutes...and she was talking about you.”

Killian’s stomach churned at the thought that something about him had upset Emma. Causing her any sorrow or discomfort was the last thing Killian wanted. Against his better judgment (this felt far too much like gossiping behind Emma’s back), Killian asked, “why was she upset?”

Henry averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Killian. “She said something about not being able to change how she feels, but not being able to tell you the truth either...and something about not knowing what to do. Then she just said ‘yeah’ and ‘uh huh’ a lot while Auntie Elsa must have been talking.”

“You still shouldn’t have listened to your mother’s conversation, Henry,” Killian said. A headache was starting to form behind his temples. “But all I can ask is that you not do it again.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, gathering their plates and cups. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work, but you know you’re welcome anytime.”

“That’s it?!” Henry cried in disbelief, following Killian towards the counter. “You’re not going to do anything about this?!”

Kilian dumped their plates into a rubber kitchen tub earmarked for used dishware and turned to face Henry, crossing his arms over his chest. “What exactly do you want me to do? I don’t think what you heard means your mum’s in love with me. Just that there’s something she feels she can’t tell me right now.”

“Yeah,” Henry retorted, “It’s that she loves you!”

“Henry, listen-”

“I’m pretty observant,” Henry cut in, “and I know both of you look at each other differently than you do anybody else - by the way, you should know it’s really sappy - and you spend a ton of time together, and...you care about each other, like, a lot. Plus, you take care of each other all the time. You’re...you’re almost as coupley as the Nolans!” he finished triumphantly, as if that statement alone proved all of his points.

“Nobody’s as coupley as the Nolans,” Killian rebutted. “Henry...I want you to know I’ve heard you,” he said seriously, “but the friendship I have with you and your mum is precious to me...I don’t want to do anything to risk it.”

It was as close to an admission of feelings as he could bring himself to allow.

Henry shook his head,disappointment filling his gaze. “But don’t you think you’re losing out on something even more special if you don’t take the risk?”

Killian didn’t quite know what to say to that, and before he could come up with an appropriate response, the bell over the door was jingling once more, signaling Henry’s departure.

January 24th - Dinnertime…in Storybrooke, at least...

“H’lo?” the voice slurred out a greeting after the person on the other end of the phone finally picked up.

“Liam?” Killian asked, before catching sight of the clock and doing a quick mental calculation. “Ah, shit...sorry. You were already asleep, weren’t you?”

“Almost,” his brother sounded slightly more alert now. “You caught me just in the nick of time, little brother. Now, to what do I owe the honor of this late night transatlantic call?”

Killian bit back the automatic correction of younger brother that itched to leap off his tongue. He felt badly enough for not thinking about the time difference before calling - he didn’t want to get sidetracked by protesting a habit Liam was never likely to change. Besides, he really needed advice. “I need your opinion on something, Liam.”

“Must be important - I can hear the nerves in your voice from here,” his brother quipped.

Killian nodded, even though he knew Liam couldn’t see him. “Possibly the most important thing.”

“Ah,” Liam said knowingly. “Must be about Emma, then. Finally decided you want to tell her you’ve been in love with her for ages, but haven’t been able to actually do it yet?”

“How in the world did you guess that?!” he blurted, speaking over Liam’s chuckle. “Have you been talking to Henry?”

Liam was silent for a long moment before responding, a bit of hesitance in his voice. “Actually, Elsa.”

“What?!” Killian was truly boggled. “When?!”

“We’ve been in touch a bit since I visited you last year,” Liam said briskly, clearly trying to change the subject - though Killian definitely filed it away for further discussion later. “Anyway, she sees the way you two moon about over each other as clearly as I do. We’re both a bit puzzled at why it’s taken this long for one of you to do something about it.”

“We’re friends,” Killian replied instantly. “She’s...my best friend, actually.”

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt, Kil,” Liam said dryly. “But truth be told, you wound me.”

“Git,” Killian replied.

“Wanker,” Liam answered, the laughter bleeding into his voice at their habitual sparring. After a brief pause during which Killian could hear him yawn, Liam spoke again, his tone more serious. “So, she’s your best friend. How long have you known her?”

“Four years. You know that, Liam.”

“Aye. You met her even before you fully moved there...it was when when you visited for your mate-”

“Robin’s wedding, yeah,” Killian cut in, unsure of where his brother was going with his trip down memory lane.

“Right - he married that mildly terrifying woman, didn’t he?”

“Regina - though I wouldn’t let Robin hear you say that,” Killian replied, impatient for Liam to cut to the chase. “What’s your point?”

“My point, little brother, is you’ve known Emma for a very long time...and you’ve each had a rough go of it. Life dealt both of you shit hands...and what’s always struck me about you both is that neither of you have ever let anything stop you from fighting for what’s important to you. Why should it be any different now, when what you want is each other?”

“You’re so certain she feels the same way?” Killian asked, afraid to let himself hope.

Liam sighed, but when he spoke again, his tone was gentler. “Elsa didn’t betray any of Emma’s specific confidences, but given what she did say...I don’t think you have to worry...and if it’s any consolation, from what I observed of you two myself when I was there, I’d say she’s right.”

Killian exhaled slowly. “It’s a big leap to make. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since…”

“Milah,” Liam finished for him. It wasn’t a question. Killian had fallen hard for Milah Clarke when he’d only been a few years into his naval career. Losing her in a car accident not long after the incident that had crushed his hand and ended his career had sent Killian reeling and it had taken him a long time - and no small amount of help from Liam - to pull himself out of his grief and heal.

“Yeah,” Killian replied. “So you can see why I’m terrified of screwing it up. I just...what if I tell her I want to be with her, and she says no?”

“Mm,” Liam hummed in agreement. “You’re forgetting one thing, little brother.”

“What?” Killian asked, pressing the phone tighter against his ear, as if he could absorb Liam’s words through sheer force of will.

“You’re not with her now, and if you never say anything there won’t even be a chance of that changing. Be brave, Kil. It’ll be worth it.”

Valentine’s Day - Mid-morning...

KJ: Alright. Operation The Writing’s On The Wall is a go!

HS: Excellent! And Killian?

KJ: Yes?

HS: I’m glad you decided to take the risk. :)

KJ: Me too, lad. Me too.

HS: Oh, and Killian...I think I’m gonna take a risk too.

KJ: ?

HS: I’m going to ask Violet to dance tonight at the school’s Valentine thing. Wish me luck!

KJ: Best of luck, Henry.

Killian sent the final text, pocketed his phone, and picked up the first can of spray paint, ready to enact the plan he and Henry had concocted during ad hoc “strategy sessions” at the bakery. The lad had been persistent - showing up at Second Star after school every day for a week with different pieces of “evidence” supporting his case. All that, plus Liam’s recent advice, had convinced Killian to take action.

Thus, Operation The Writing’s on The Wall had been born.

(The name had been Henry’s idea).

Henry had also opened up a bit during their conversations about his blossoming affections for one of his classmates, Violet Clemens. Killian was touched Henry had turned to him for advice, though given the state of his own romantic affairs, he wasn’t sure he’d been able to help him very much.

He still wasn’t sure this wouldn’t end in spectacular disaster. Though he’d known deep down for some time that he’d been falling in love with Emma, because of past hurts he’d been afraid to explore it. But he’d come to realize Henry and Liam were right, he couldn’t keep holding back the truth. No matter how this turned out, he had to at least try to tell her. He didn’t know if this was the best way, but Henry had convinced him if Emma were going to take his declaration seriously, he needed to get her attention in a big way.

When did I start taking romantic advice from a pre-teen? He thought with a shake of his head. Contemplating the stretch of blank wall in front of him he hefted the can, adjusting it slightly to get a better grip with his good hand. No matter. In for a penny, in for a pound…

He raised his arm and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he let the paint fly in graceful arcs across the brick, nearly closing his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm of the work.

If this works, it’ll all be worth it...

Valentine’s Day - at night…

Emma shifted from foot to foot, cradling a warm pizza box in her arms and waiting impatiently for Killian to respond to her fervent knocking. After another moment or two had passed without any sign of him coming to let her in, she reached up and thumped on the door again. “C’mon, Jones!” she shouted for good measure. “The pizza’s getting cold...and so am I!!”

Finally, she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway and the door to his seaside cottage swung slowly open. Killian grinned at her. “Evening, Swan. Patient as ever, I see.”

“Uggh,” she groaned, pushing past him with a good-natured bump of her shoulder against his. “I was freezing my ass off out there. Quite literally.”

He chuckled as he closed the door behind her. “Now, that would be a shame, it’s true.”

Her stomach swooped and she felt herself flush a little - to hide her reaction to his teasing, she turned and put the pizza box down on the kitchen island. Arching a brow at him. “I’d think you’d have a little more sympathy, especially considering I brought you pizza. Instead, you’re mocking me for falling prey to the vagaries of Maine winter weather.”

“Vagaries?” Killian asked, quirking his own eyebrow at her, he moved to the cabinet to get them plates. “Interesting word choice.”

She shrugged. “Hey, I do listen when you fancy-talk. Sometimes.”

He snorted and set the plates down next to the pizza. “How kind of you.”

“You know I try,” she said with a laugh before walking back to the entryway to hang up her coat. She paused as she passed back through the open plan living area, taking a moment to soak up the room’s coziness. It was one of Emma’s favorite places. An inviting, squishy-soft sofa faced a series of built in shelves crammed with books, knickknacks, and photos. The shelves flanked a squat fireplace lit with a warmly crackling fire. Killian’s television sat in one corner, and an armchair that matched the sofa was in another. Above the mantel hung a beautiful seascape that had been painted by Killian’s late mother, Alice.

(Apparently, Killian had taken after his mother artistically - though he’d long denied it, saying his talent never amounted to more than “doodling.” It frustrated Emma greatly that he’d never shown her much of his work).

When she returned to the kitchen, Killian had slipped two slices onto each of their plates and was rummaging around in his fridge for their beers. “So...what are we watching tonight?”

Killian handed her the plates, tucked a roll of paper towel under his left arm, and picked up the beers with his good hand, nodding in the direction of his television. “You can look over the selection yourself,” he murmured. “I had a bit of trouble deciding.”

“Really?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as she moved to sit. “That’s not like you.”

He chuckled softly as he followed her and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “Yes, well,” he said, trading her one of the beer bottles for one of the plates of pizza. “Your list of off-limits movies was rather lengthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just didn’t want to be hit over the head for two hours with soppy romantic cliches. I get enough of those when I do movie night with Mary-Margaret. I’ve hit my quota for the year already, I think.”

“That is impressive, seeing as we’re only halfway through February,” he grinned, before taking a pull from his beer.

“Mm, well that’s Mary-Margaret for ya,” Emma concurred, leaning forward to look at the DVDs spread over the surface of the coffee table. There were action movies, a couple of selections from Marvel, and - predictably, where Killian was concerned - Star Wars. But a DVD set slightly apart from the others caught her eye. She grinned. Perfect. “Hmmm...how about that one?”

Killian nodded and got up to put Garden State in the player. They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying their pizza and beer, sometimes watching the movie and sometimes ignoring it in favor of trading their more colorful stories from the past week. (When Emma recounted the tale of her mysterious and artistic vandal, an odd expression flashed over Killian’s face, but it was gone and he was telling her about one of his amusing regulars at the bakery before she could process what had happened).

Around the point in the film when Zach Braff and Natalie Portman were standing on top of construction equipment at the bottom of a quarry and screaming their heads off, Killian glanced over at her, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “How’d it go...getting Henry ready for the dance?”

She sighed and rolled her head to the side so she could look at him without sitting up from where she was slumped into the couch. He was closer than he’d been before - the two of them had gravitated into each other bit by bit during the course of the film. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you? Part of the point of this movie night was to help me forget that for a while.”

He chuckled, shifting closer as he spoke. “C’mon now, Swan. Surely it couldn’t have been that bad.” He nudged her shoulder gently with his own. “It must have been at least a little bit exciting.”

Emma didn’t answer immediately, staring at the television without really seeing it. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “It was...a bit...but also kinda terrifying...realizing he’s old enough to be excited about going to school dances.” She let herself lean further into Killian, dropping her head on his shoulder. Normally, she’d hold herself back more - casually touching him made her want things she was sure she couldn’t have, and she usually made sure to only do it in the smallest of doses - but tonight she just needed the comfort of his solid presence. “Is it horribly cliched if I say it felt like he was a toddler just a few days ago?”

“Not at all, Swan,” he murmured, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her further into his side. This is comfortable, she thought to herself. Dangerously so. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, soaking up Killian’s warmth as he continued. “It’s only natural you’d feel that way since the lad’s started showing an interest in dating and-”

She jerked upright, the motion causing his arm to fall away from her. But the flicker of regret she felt at that was mixed with a much larger dose of astonishment. “Dating? Who said anything about Henry dating?! Do you know something I don’t know? Killian, has he told you he likes someone?! Who?”

The apples of Killian’s cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly pink, which Emma secretly found adorable - but she pushed down the flip-flopping sensation in her stomach and waited him out. She needed answers about Henry too badly to think about how Killian somehow became even more handsome when he was flustered.

Finally, he spoke, tilting his head down and glancing up at her from under a slightly furrowed brow. “The lad...err...he does talk to me from time to time, Swan. Without betraying his trust, I can say there are...things...of a slightly romantic nature...that an almost-teenage boy doesn’t exactly want to share with his mother,” he said softly, reaching out to rest his left hand gently on her knee, “no matter how close the two of you may be.”

Emma considered that for a moment, swallowing down the nervous flutter caused partly by the thought of Henry taking his first steps (however tentative) into the world of dating, and partly by Killian’s proximity. She must have been lost in her thoughts for longer than she’d realized, because Killian had started speaking again, this time rather hesitantly.

“I...I do hope it’s alright he came to me Emma. You know I would have shared it with you - or urged Henry to do so himself - if I thought it were anything for you to be worried about. I hope I haven’t overstep-”

“No!” she cut him off, dropping her hand on top of his and interlacing their fingers. His eyes followed her action, seemingly transfixed by the way she’d reached for his injured hand without a second thought. “You didn’t - not at all. Killian,” she paused, waiting for him to look up at her before continuing. “I’m glad he feels he can talk to you about things like that...you have to know, I’m so glad he has you.”

“He does,” Killian agreed earnestly, his gaze never leaving hers. “You both do.”

Emma’s pulse picked up as the air around them thickened and grew warmer. Her mouth was suddenly dry and nothing could have torn her gaze away from Killian in that moment. For his part, he seemed equally transfixed, his eyes finally breaking from hers to flick down to her lips. Is he getting closer or is that me? Emma wondered. Maybe it’s both of us. Killian opened his mouth to speak again - to say what, she didn’t know - when suddenly her phone started ringing.

Craaaaaaaap.

-/-

Killian watched as Emma leapt off the couch, struggling to yank her phone out of her pocket before the caller hung up. She managed to answer it just in time, mouthing sorry at him before disappearing into his kitchen to take the call.

He flopped into the cushions with a sigh before scrubbing his hand through his hair. How the bloody hell did that happen?! One minute they’d been having a totally normal movie night, and the next they were bang in the middle of what had felt like some sort of relationship changing moment. Almost. The truly boggling thing was that they had reached that point, but not at all in the way Killian had anticipated.

Of course, if you’d gotten over your own nerves and eased into declaring your feelings the way you’d planned, things might have been very different right about now...one way or another.

Glancing over the back of the couch, Killian could see Emma pacing around the kitchen with increasing speed, her phone still glued to her ear. She was gesturing emphatically with her free hand, the tone of her voice rising in pitch. Though he couldn’t really make out what she was saying, he had no trouble catching it when she semi-growled “are you fucking kidding me, David?!”

Killian wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or disappointed that it seemed their evening were coming to an abrupt and unexpected end. The ache of his as-yet unconfessed feelings mingled unpleasantly with relief that he hadn’t done something to utterly screw up their friendship.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” Emma said, striding back into the living area, her words pulling him from his reverie. “You would not believe what I’m going to have to go deal with.”

Killian got to his feet, following her towards the entryway. He leaned against the wall, watching her bundle herself back into her coat. “Scarlet?” he guessed. She nodded. “What’s he done now, then?”

She whirled to face him, her expression a picture of exasperation. “Disturbed the peace, for one. He had the oh-so-brilliant idea that serenading his ex on Valentine’s Day would be the best way to get her back. It seems that neither she, or her new girlfriend, agreed.”

“Oh dear,” Killian said with feigned sympathy, his eyebrow quirking up. “That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” Emma grumbled. “Ana’s neighbors didn’t take too kindly to it either, as he decided he was going to stand under her window and belt out love songs for half an hour. David’s still on scene taking statements. I get the fun job of picking Scarlet up at the hospital and arresting him once they’re done treating him.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah...the best part is I’m also going to have to charge him with public indecency. He decided the perfect way to carry out his plan was dressed as Cupid.”

“In Maine? In February?!” Killian asked incredulously. “What was he thinking?!”

Emma shoved her beanie back down over her curls. “Who the hell knows what, or if, he’s ever thinking. Apparently, his...loincloth or whatever...was very, um, skimpy. David mentioned they’re worried about frostbite.”

“Jesus,” Killian muttered, “I actually almost feel sorry for him.”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “I guess his heart was in the right place...but some guys are just not cut out for grand romantic gestures. Anyway,” she looked up at him, her gaze unmistakably tinged with regret, “I’m sorry I’ve gotta cut our movie night short, especially for this nonsense...but I’d better get a move on.”

“Don’t worry about it, Swan,” he said. “I understand - duty calls. Maybe we can get lunch this week.”

“I’d like that,” she said with a soft smile before turning to leave, her reluctance to go sparking a fresh wave of hope that perhaps he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

He shivered in the burst of cold air that swept in when she opened the door, watching her go and raising a hand to wave as she jogged down the walkway towards her car.

As the door swung shut, he leaned against it, his head falling against the wood with a thunk. He scrubbed a hand over his face and back into his hair, sighing heavily.

The plan - at least this part of it - had been simple. Movie night with Emma had already been on tap before he and Henry had concocted their “operation.” Whereas Henry had argued for boldly taking romantic action, Killian had thought highlighting the familiar would be comforting - he’d theorized it would put Emma at ease.

So this had been the compromise - dramatic romantic graffiti to get her attention, and then a quiet night in where he’d reveal that he was the artist and then tell her he was more than halfway to being in love with her. Simple, right? It had proved to be anything but. He sighed again and pushed himself off the door when something Emma had said suddenly struck him. A grin spread across his face, a new version of the plan beginning to take form in his mind.

Scarlet might not be able to pull off a grand romantic gesture...but I certainly can.

February 22 - Mid-Afternoon…

“I take it you know Kristoff finally proposed?” Elsa asked, her expression discernibly wry even through their less-than-stellar Skype connection.

“Um, yeah,” Emma laughed. “If the approximately thirty texts Anna sent me over the past week hadn’t given it away, Ingrid came around the other day to share the news.”

“And to gently probe about your own love life, right?” Elsa arched a knowing eyebrow.

“Let me guess, she called you?” It wasn’t really a question. Emma knew her adoptive mother well, and she’d been expecting her visit from the moment Anna had sent her first exclamation point riddled text. It wasn’t hard to fathom Ingrid would have contacted Elsa too.

When she’d been bouncing her way through the foster system as a kid, Emma hadn’t imagined someone like Ingrid Fisher - a fierce and protective foster mother who hadn’t given up on her even when she’d run away, met Neal, and come back to Storybrooke pregnant and alone. Ingrid had adopted Emma as well as Elsa and Anna (her two orphaned nieces) and had never looked back. It hadn’t always been easy, but eventually the four of them had become the family Emma’d never dared to let herself dream of - something she was grateful for every day.

“Yup,” Elsa confirmed with a sigh. “She was fairly disappointed to hear that work’s been keeping me so busy lately. She hid it pretty well, though. I’ll give her credit.”

“Mm,” Emma hummed in agreement. “I got pretty much the same reaction when I told her I’m more focused on figuring out Henry’s love life than my own right now.”

Elsa laughed before catching herself. “Wait a minute, are you serious? Henry has a love life? When did that happen?”

“I’m not really sure,” Emma’s brow furrowed, and she reached for the cup of cocoa sitting on the kitchen table. “He hasn’t really said too much to me about it - I only found out because Killian spilled the beans when I was over at his place last week.” She took a sip of cocoa. “Apparently, Henry’s been talking to him about someone at school that he likes, and he came home from the Valentine’s dance with a goofy grin and a friendship bracelet I’ve never seen before. I’ve tried to give him his space, but…”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you more when he’s ready, Em,” Elsa reassured. “You know you’ve got a good kid there.”

“A great one,” Emma agreed. “I just...I don’t want to pull an Ingrid on him, but...I guess I’m understanding how she feels a bit more. It’s tough when your kid gets their first real crush - he’s growing up faster than I can deal with.”

Elsa looked at her sympathetically for a moment. “If anyone can make it through the terrible tween years, it’s going to be you and Henry, Emma.”

“I know. I do. Really.” She smiled at her adoptive sister gratefully. She was still a bit rattled by Henry’s burgeoning romance and the fact he didn’t seem to want to share too much about it with her, but talking with Elsa always had a way of calming her down and making her see things more clearly. “Anyway...I know you must want to hear about all the crazy things you’ve missed out on here this past week.”

Elsa laughed. “True. I know that Anna’s engagement can’t have been the only big news. I need my weekly dose of Storybrooke gossip.”

Emma spent the next forty-five minutes filling Elsa in on the happenings of their small hometown, and listening as Elsa related the news of her week in Boston. She missed her sister deeply, but was so proud of her for pursuing her legal career even though it had taken her away from home. Weekly phone or video calls were their way of staying close even when they couldn’t be in the same space and Emma cherished them.

She was just wrapping up telling Elsa about the absolute insanity that was the ongoing Will Scarlet saga when a thoughtful expression crossed Elsa’s face. “What’s that look for?”

Elsa hesitated, then looked directly at Emma, her gaze piercing even through the computer screen. “You said earlier you were at Killian’s last week, and you just mentioned you were at his place when you had to go take care of Scarlet. Did you and Killian spend Valentine’s Day together?”

“Oh,” Emma was caught short, not having expected that. “Um...kind of.”

“Kind of? What exactly does that mean, Emma?”

“You sound like Ingrid,” Emma grumbled, putting her now nearly empty mug down and crossing her arms over her stomach.

“Emma,” Elsa chided, leveling her with a look that demanded answers more effectively than anything she could have said.

“It was a movie night. Just like every movie night we’ve ever had since we’ve been friends. Nothing else,” she replied, though she couldn’t meet Elsa’s eyes.

“Huh,” Elsa responded. “Then why are you blushing and not able to look at me?”

“Jeez! Are you this persistent in court?” Emma muttered.

“Yes,” Elsa replied calmly. “Especially when I know I’m on to something. ”

“Oh my God, El!” Emma exclaimed, finally locking eyes with her. “It was a normal movie night - it was,” she reiterated at Elsa’s skeptical look, “but then...it got a little weird.”

“In what way?”

Emma shrugged. “We started talking about Henry...that’s when I found out he’s been talking to Killian about dating...and things got a little...emotional. Killian said something about always being there for both of us and...wealmostkissed,” she finished, speeding through the last few words before she chickened out.

Elsa looked thoughtful, but not surprised. “Don’t you think this invalidates your argument?”

“Huh?” She stared at her sister in confusion.

“What we were talking about at New Year’s,” Elsa said matter-of-factly. “When you claimed you couldn’t tell Killian you were in love with him because he absolutely and positively only saw you as a good friend. Seems like that’s not so much the case, is it? I mean,” she continued, “he was about to kiss you too, right?”

Emma nodded weakly. “Yeah,” she murmured.

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa sighed ”I hate to see you so twisted up about this. You’ve got to tell Killian how you feel.”

The two women simply stared at each other for a moment, Emma spoke. “What if I’m wrong though?” she asked quietly. “Or what if he does want something more too, but it doesn’t work out? He’s one of my best friends. I can’t lose him,” she finished, emotion rendering her voice little more than a whisper.

Elsa regarded Emma candidly. “First, anybody who sees the two of you together can tell how much you care about each other. When I was back home for Christmas the amount of heart eyes the two of you were making at each other was off the charts. Plus, you spent most of Ruby’s Christmas party glued to each other’s sides.” Elsa chuckled. “You’re almost more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret.”

“No one is more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret,” Emma shot back instinctively, a hint of a smile finally breaking through the tension that gripped her.

“That may be true,” Elsa conceded, “but the two of you looked pretty darn together for people who aren’t actually dating. Liam agrees with me, by the way,” she finished before her eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Oh he does, does he?” Emma queried, noting that Elsa suddenly looked like she wanted to slide off her chair and out of sight. “Just how long have you two been comparing notes?”

Elsa straightened, shaking her head firmly. “Oh no...no deflecting. This is not about me.”

“Hm, countering my deflecting with evasion,” Emma mused. “That means it’s been at least a few months. Oh!” she brightened, a thought striking her. “I bet it’s been since his last visit here - you were home then for Ingrid’s birthday. Is he the real reason you’ve not had time for dating lately?”

“Emma!” Elsa said sharply, a pink blush staining her normally pale cheeks. “I will tell you all about it. Later. I promise. Right now, this is about you, and you have to remember a couple of important things.”

“I’m listening,” she murmured.

“As you yourself said, Killian is one of your best friends...and he’s Killian. Do you really think if you tried being together and - for whatever inconceivable reason - it didn’t work out, he’d just cut you out of his life? You know him better than that, Emma. That man is as loyal as they come.”

Emma pondered her sister’s words. Elsa did have a point - Killian wasn’t the sort of person who would just cut her, or Henry, out of his life if a romantic relationship between them flamed out. She thought back over their friendship - meeting him four years ago when he’d flown over for Regina’s wedding to a childhood friend of his, and re-meeting him when he’d moved back to Storybrooke to start his bakery. Graham had died in the year in between the first and second times she’d met Killian, turning Emma’s life upside down.

But Killian had been just who she’d so desperately needed back then - her other friends had all been too concerned, too worried, too much. Killian hadn’t been a total stranger, but he’d been enough of an unknown quantity that being around him had been peaceful, a way of escaping the sometimes smothering shared history she had with all the people in her life who’d known and loved Graham too. Killian had slowly revealed his own hurts and losses, and his reasons for wanting a fresh start in a fresh country. Gradually their friendship had deepened, taking on a life of its own beyond comparing the battle wounds life had given them. He’d become her rock - and over this last year, she’d realized friendship just wasn’t enough to encompass everything he meant to her. She knew it was a cliche, but she’d gone and fallen into the deep end of love with her best friend.

Cautiously, she nodded. “You may have a point,” she acknowledged. “You said there were a couple of things, though. What was the other one?”

“You already love him, Em. You’ve admitted as much to me a few different times. Those feelings haven’t gone away, have they?”

Emma shook her head. “You know they haven’t.”

“Exactly. So things between you are already different because you have made that leap - in your heart, at least. You can’t unfeel what you feel...If you tell him, either you’ll be able to work through it and let it go, or the more likely thing will happen.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll be ridiculously and disgustingly happy together and unseat the Nolans for the Cutest Couple in Storybrooke title,” Elsa finished triumphantly.

Emma rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “That is not possible. They’ve reigned for too long. Buuuuut...I think you’re right about the rest of it.”

“I know I am.”

Emma hesitated for a moment. “I’m scared, El.”

“Of what, exactly?” her sister asked, patience coloring her tone.

Emma had the feeling Elsa knew what she was going to say, but Emma forced herself to speak anyway. “I can’t lose him the way I lost Graham.”

Elsa was silent for a few moments. When she finally spoke her tone was serious, and her question, once again, was unexpected. “Do you regret being with Graham?”

“No!” Emma’s responded instantly. “But losing him was horrible and Killian...I know it’s not fair to compare them...but he means even more to me. I don’t know how I’d cope if we were together and he…”

Elsa nodded. “If you’d known what was going to happen, would you still have gotten involved with Graham?”

Emma sighed. “Of course. I’d never trade the time we had together.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Elsa said, her tone slightly smug. “So why wouldn’t that be true for you and Killian too?” Emma looked up to find her sister smiling at her through the screen. “The prosecution rests,” she said with a grin.

“Very clever, counselor,” Emma said with begrudging admiration.

“Thank you. Now, what are you going to do about Killian?”

Emma sighed again. “I don’t know. I’ve got to think of the right way to bring it up.”

“Well, personally I’d suggest blurting it at him and then tackle-kissing him,” Elsa teased.

Emma laughed, the tension starting to leave her body. “Just because that worked for Anna and Kristoff, doesn’t mean it’s going to work for me.”

“I know,” Elsa replied. “But whatever you decide to do...don’t wait too long. For both your sakes.”

February 23 - Early morning…

Emma left the house feeling upbeat, her conversation with Elsa the day before having instilled a new sense of determination in her to finally, finally talk to Killian about her feelings.

That determination lasted all of twenty minutes, and fizzled out abruptly when she approached Second Star after dropping Henry off at school. She’d planned on walking right into the bakery, grabbing her usual order, and confidently asking Killian if he wanted to get dinner that evening - somewhere other than Granny’s. Then at dinner she would tell him - she’d spent a lot of time the night before figuring out the best way to ease into it - and hope that Elsa was right and it wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

But as she walked up to the bakery, admiring the way the warm light from inside spilled out its wide front windows into the gray wintry bleakness of the overcast day, her steps slowed and then stopped.

What if Elsa’s wrong? It’s not like this is a gigantic town - we won’t be able to avoid each other...maybe this is a mistake. Being friends is good. It’s enough.

Except the moment she spotted Killian through the windows, emerging from the back room with a tray of freshly baked muffins, the warmth that shot through her system and the fluttering feeling that burst to life in her belly proved her a liar.

You can do this, Emma.

With that final internal pep talk, she closed the remaining distance to the bakery and pushed inside. The bell over the door jangled merrily as she entered and Killian’s gaze followed the sound. As soon as his eyes caught hers, he grinned. “Why Swan, to what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were covering the early shift this morning.”

“I am,” she replied, “but you know me...the earlier I have to go in, the more I want bear claws to offset the pain of doing paperwork. Care to help a girl out?”

“You know it, Swan,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Emma fought the urge to moisten her own in response, biting her bottom lip instead. Killian moved towards the front case and grabbed a couple of the biggest bear claws, dropping them into a light blue bag emblazoned with the Second Star logo and handing them to her. “Should still be warm - I put them out just a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, swallowing hard. This is it - now or never, Emma. “Hey listen, I was wondering if you were free-”

Before she could finish, the door swung open with such force its bell didn’t just ring, it nearly flew off. A gust of icy wind followed the entrance of a statuesque and elegantly dressed redhead who made a beeline for the counter without sparing a glance at Emma or bothering to close the door. “There you are, Killian darling!” she exclaimed in a lightly accented voice. “I’m just bursting with news!”

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He glanced in her direction briefly before responding to the other woman. “Good morning, Zelena,” he said quietly. “Lovely to see you again. Give me just a moment and I can give you my undivided attention.”

The woman - Zelena, Emma mentally corrected - whirled around, noticing Emma for the first time. A smile, bright but tinged with something a bit frightening around the edges, lit up her face before she turned back to Killian. “Alright,” she practically purred, “but don’t keep me waiting too long.” With that, she brushed past Emma and moved towards the corner table, gracefully sinking down into one of the chairs and pulling out her phone.

Emma looked at Killian, whose attention was still on the woman in the corner. She had no idea who this woman was or why she was treating Killian with such familiarity, but suffice it to say that the big moment she’d been gearing herself up for was gone. Gesturing to the door, Emma broke the brief silence that had fallen between them. “I, uh, actually do have to get going,” she said, “but I’ll text you later, alright?”

What looked like disappointment flickered across Killian’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Zelena piped up, her voice piercing the silence. “Whatever you’re doing tonight, cancel it,” she said, her words clearly aimed at Killian. “We’re going to need to celebrate and I’ve got just the place in mind.”

Suddenly, Emma couldn’t stand being in the bakery for one more moment. Barely meeting Killian’s eyes, she muttered a quick goodbye and stepped out into the coldness of the day, the freezing air seemingly penetrating her heart instantly. She thought she heard him call her name, but didn’t stop or look back. She was finding it hard to draw breath and emotions she refused to name had tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

There’s probably a rational explanation. Killian would have told you if he were seeing someone new, she tried to reassure herself. Wouldn’t he?

The uncertainty followed her all the way to the station, and she had trouble concentrating for most of the morning. She was actually grateful for the call that came in just before lunch. It seemed the artistic vandal had struck again, this time down at the Cannery.

Thankful for anything to take her mind off Killian, she picked up her radio, let David know they had a case, and headed for the docks.

-/-

As Emma bolted from the bakery, not even stopping when he called after her, Killian’s heart sank. He’d been so glad to see her, but Zelena’s somewhat unexpected appearance and ill-timed interjections had thrown everything off. He needed the large contract she was offering him - supplying baked goods for the local chain of B&Bs she owned with her partner would have a huge impact on his business - but he wished she’d shown up at literally any other time.

Turning back to her after it was clear Emma was truly gone, he mustered up a smile and agreed to meet Zelena and her partner, Cruella, at a quiet restaurant near the waterfront that evening to sign the contract and - as she put it - “celebrate properly.” As soon as they’d confirmed their dinner plans, she whirled back out the door in a flurry of red curls and a cloud of expensive perfume. He was momentarily frozen in place as he processed the events of the morning before shaking himself out of his stupor.

Before he could meet Zelena he had to finish setting out the rest of the items he’d already baked that morning, and in the afternoon he and his head bakery assistant, William Smee, had to start on several special order cakes. But first, he had a very important errand to run. He finished putting the muffins into the front case and headed back to the kitchen.

“Smee,” he said loudly in an attempt to get the other man to look up from where he was piping thin streams of melted chocolate in elaborate shapes onto waxed paper. Smee didn’t respond and Killian belatedly realized he’d popped headphones in. “Smee,” he repeated more loudly, tapping him on the shoulder. Smee startled, smudging one of the chocolate designs with the side of his hand.

“Oh dammit,” Smee muttered, dropping the piping bag on the counter and reaching for a rag. Pulling his headphones off, he glanced up at Killian. “Was that really necessary?”

“Sorry,” Killian replied, “but I need to head out a bit earlier than planned for that errand. Wendy should be in soon to cover the front, but can you finish setting everything else out and keep an eye out in case there are customers before she gets here? I’ll be back after lunch and we’ll get going on the first of those orders.”

Smee nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Hey, would you mind bringing back-”

“A tuna melt on rye and a double order of fries?” Killian guessed, and Smee nodded again. “Not a problem. See you in a bit.”

Killian took off his apron and hung it on a peg by the back door before grabbing his jacket, keys, and a satchel filled with several canisters of spray paint. Pulling his hat out of his jacket pocket, he tugged it down over his ears as he shouldered the door open and stepped out into the cold, crisp air. Walking down the alleyway that ran behind Second Star, he moved with purpose in the direction of the waterfront.

He was about to take the next step in his plan to court Emma - he only hoped it worked.

-/-

Emma stared at the back wall of the Storybrooke Cannery, her mouth slightly open in awe. Writing scrolled across the entire back wall of the building in looping, elegant lines. She’d not been immediately familiar with it, but a quick websearch had revealed it was part of a Shakespearean sonnet.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

She gazed at the words - lines of green and gold boxed them in like a frame - for a moment longer. There was something vaguely familiar about the swoop and swirl of the writing, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d seen it before. She turned to Eric Prince, the Cannery’s day shift supervisor, with a frown. “You’re sure no one saw who did this?”

Eric shrugged. “The first shift was in full swing and all my guys were on the line - it’s pretty quiet back here unless it’s lunchtime or shift change.”

Emma nodded. “Of course,” she said, feeling a bit defeated that once again she had nothing to go on. “Do you want to press charges when we find who did this?”

Eric looked at her, then up at the graffiti. “That’s not really up to me - I kind of like it. But you’re going to have to ask the owner.”

Emma sighed. Talking to old Mr. Svendsen, whose family had run the Cannery practically since Storybrooke had first existed, was not high on her list. (He was a sweet man, but getting on in years and notoriously hard of hearing - conversations with him tended to last forever and she just did not have the time). Still, she knew she had to see this through. “Alright,” she said. “Is he in his office?”

“Uh, yep.” Eric turned towards the building and Emma followed him inside.

Emma found, after a roughly half hour conversation, that Mr. Svendsen didn’t want was to press charges. He apparently liked the graffiti, and decided it gave the building a nice change of pace.

Shaking her head as she stepped back outside, she turned to look at the graffiti once more. “I’ve got to be missing something here,” she muttered. “Twice in a month? In this town? It’s got to be the same person...but no one wants to press charges. I don’t get it.”

“Talking to yourself, Emma? That’s not good,” David said with a grin as he came around the corner of the building.

“Ha ha,” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m just frustrated this has happened again and we’re no closer to figuring out who’s behind it than we were the first time - and that the building owner doesn’t want to press charges this time either. I mean, it is a crime.”

“Well,” David said thoughtfully, “I see your point...but this isn’t the worst thing we’ve had to deal with on the job. It’s actually kinda romantic, isn’t it?”

“Not you too!” she cried, throwing up her hands in disbelief. “That’s practically the same thing that Eric and Svendsen said.”

“Well maybe we’re onto something,” he said with a grin, falling into step beside her as she headed back towards the cruiser.

“It’s more like you all have some kind of Valentine’s hangover,” she grumbled. “We’re supposed to enforce the law, David, not admire the work of vandals.”

“I know that,” he said jovially. “But we can’t do anything if the owners don’t want to press charges...besides, you’ve got to admit, that,” he pointed over his shoulder at the graffiti, “is not just vandalism...whoever’s doing this is really good.”

“I guess,” she conceded, though privately she did agree with David. “Still wish we had some clue to go on though.”

David looked at her thoughtfully as they got in the cruiser and backed out of the parking lot. “I think that’s the real root of the problem.”

“What is?”

“It’s not that this is - technically - a crime that’s bothering you,” he replied. “You’re more upset you can’t figure out who did it.”

Emma was silent for a moment before she groaned. “Okay. Yes. Fine. There are no real clues and no one will press charges so I feel like it’d be kind of pathetic if I keep investigating anyway, and the not knowing is driving me nuts, I’ll admit it. Okay?!”

“As long as you admit it,” David said, trying - and failing - to muffle his laughter.

“You are impossible,” she said, doing her best to inject a glare into her tone since she couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to actually look at him.

“Yeah, but I put up with you, so…”

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you Nolan?” she replied, teasingly. “Well, just for that, you’re buying lunch,” she said as she parked near Granny’s.

They got out and headed towards the diner, David grumbling good-naturedly. As they reached the steps, the door swung open. Before Emma knew it, she was face to face with a slightly harried looking Killian.

After their encounter at Second Star earlier in the morning, Emma had hoped to have a bit more time to process her jumbled thoughts and emotions - but as she’d been actively trying to avoid thinking about how awkward it had been, she hadn’t actually dealt with anything she’d been feeling.

All of which led to more awkwardness now. They stared silently at each other for what felt like an absurdly long amount of time. Killian recovered more quickly, breaking their shared gaze and looking down at his feet for a moment before glancing back up at her. “Swan, I’m glad I bumped into you. You left so quickly this morning, I never got to explain-”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Emma cut in, acutely aware of the fact they were standing in Granny’s open doorway and David was only a couple of feet behind her. “I had to get to work, you had plans to make. We’re both adults,” she said, dropping her voice so David couldn’t overhear her. “Not everything we do has to revolve around each other’s schedule.”

She’d been aiming for breezy and unaffected, but her tone must have come off as slightly bitter, because Killian flinched before plastering on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right, of course. I know that, but I rather enjoy spending time with you, Swan...and I’d hoped you did too,” he muttered, before raising his voice to a more normal pitch and addressing both her and David. “Got to head back now. Smee gets disgruntled if I don’t feed him regularly,” he joked, lightly shaking the bag of food he had clutched in his hand.

He brushed past her gently, giving her one last fleeting, emotion-filled glance before heading down the steps. She didn’t have time to react before he was gone and David was urging her inside.

She muddled her way through lunch, only half paying attention to David’s theories about the art vandal and his stories about what he and Mary-Margaret had done last weekend. She responded in the appropriate places, but part of her attention was elsewhere.

She was still thinking about Killian when they headed back to the station for the rest of their shift. As they walked into the office, Emma’s phone buzzed. Fishing it out, she was a bit nervous to see a text from Killian. But when she read it, the tension she’d unconsciously been carrying leached out of her body and a smile spread across her face.

KJ: Sorry if I was a bit rude when I saw you earlier, Swan. Big business dinner tonight - that slightly scary woman you met this morning is a new client who’s been keeping me on my toes.

She breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly followed by a cringe of embarrassment - she couldn’t believe she’d been so ready to be jealous of someone who turned out to be a client of Killian’s. She was the one who owed Killian an apology for acting so strangely that morning - but she couldn’t really apologize without explaining why she’d been out of sorts in the first place, and confessing your undying love for your best friend over text message just seemed unbearably like something out of one of Mary-Margaret’s beloved rom coms.

ES: Nothing to apologize for - I was the one who got kinda short with you. Sorry about that, btw. Hope all goes well tonight. Tell me all about it soon. Lunch tomorrow?

His affirmative response came back nearly instantaneously, and Emma smiled. Her day was suddenly looking up, and tomorrow she’d have another chance to try to change things for the better between her and Killian. This time, she wouldn’t screw it up.

Late February-Early June…

Emma didn’t screw up that second chance with Killian - but it wasn’t due to any great show of bravery on her part.

Their lunch the day after their awkward encounter at Granny’s had been interrupted by Leroy, one of the workers at the town’s mine, getting into a fight with a group of bikers. Emma had had to dash out of the diner mid-lunch, apologizing profusely to Killian. He’d understood and they’d agreed to try for a movie night the following week.

But then Henry’d come down with the flu and Emma’d spent two weeks taking care of him and all thoughts of movie nights - and confessing feelings - were strictly off the table. When Henry was finally feeling better, it was Killian’s turn to be less available. The Easter season was always busy at Second Star, and ever since he’d signed the contract to be the main bakery supplier for Zelena and Cruella’s local chain of inns, he’d been flooded with work. He’d had to hire and train two new bakers just to keep up with the orders for the inns so he and Smee could focus on the rest of the bakery’s pre-existing workload.

In the middle of all of that, Elsa had spontaneously visited for Ingrid’s birthday in late April, and, in a move that pretty much confirmed Emma’s suspicions about the two of them, Liam had turned up for an extended vacation around the same time - he’d stayed until almost the middle of May. Killian had been grateful to have the time with his brother (not to mention another set of hands in the bakery - the pair of them had practically been raised in their aunt and uncle’s bakery in England. Liam was almost as skilled as Killian, even if he’d not pursued baking as a career), but by the time Liam had headed back home to London the spring had flown by.

Emma also had been pursuing the artistic vandal all over town. In March, the side wall of the flower shop, Game of Thorns, was painted with “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” from Jane Austen’s Emma. April saw the convent’s garden retaining wall get decorated with a portrait of a woman. Her face was mostly hidden, but her long golden hair seemed to float on an invisible breeze and her arm was outstretched. Most striking of all, she held a vibrant crimson heart in her hand.

In May, the artist (Emma had finally given up on calling him a vandal) was back to Shakespeare. This time it was a quote from Much Ado About Nothing - “I were but little happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours” - covering the sidewalk in front of the middle school. The words were outlined and embellished with golden flourishes, and followed by a pair of clasped hands, the fingers interlaced. Something familiar about that image tugged at the back of Emma’s brain, but it refused to cohere into a usable clue.

Emma was still frustrated she couldn’t uncover the artist’s identity - particularly since after the art at Game of Thorns and the convent, it had become clear that whoever this artist was, they intended these messages for her. A little voice in the back of her mind had wondered - at first - if she should be creeped out by that.

But there was just something about this art that was familiar. It made her feel warm and safe, as though the artist’s emotions were bleeding through the work, reaching out, and wrapping around her. It made her feel cherished - she couldn’t bring herself to take a cynical view of it. After several pieces had appeared around town, she created a photo array of them all at the station, and spent far too many hours staring at them when she should have been working.

(If a little voice in the back of her head insisted it was Killian...well, she chalked it up to her own wishful thinking and forced herself to set the thoughts aside).

The last several months had also wrought a difference in her relationship with Killian. Though they’d never really talked about the Valentine’s Day Near Kissing Incident, and the circumstances of their hectic lives had kept Emma from making another serious attempt to discuss her feelings with him, things had slowly and subtly shifted between them.

In the few times they’d been able to spend any significant time together over the past few months, they’d been far more tactile - Killian curling an arm around her shoulder at Ingrid’s birthday party, Emma looping her arm through his as they strolled through the park, his hand on the small of her back as they listened to Liam tell stories about his work, and on and on.

They were almost testing the waters of couplehood without explicitly discussing it - afraid if they examined what they were doing too closely, they wouldn’t have the courage to actually keep doing it.

Emma wasn’t sure what had prompted it, but she was definitely enjoying it - it had made her even more hopeful that when she finally got a damn moment to make her confession, it would be well-received.

But she was beaten to the punch before she could ever put her newfound resolve to the test.

First Saturday in June…

“Hey Mom?” Henry’s voice preceded him down the stairs of their apartment, his heavy footfalls thunking from his room to the kitchen where Emma was sitting at the table enjoying her morning coffee and flipping through the Storybrooke Mirror.

“Yeah, kid?” she replied, looking up as he plopped himself down across from her.

“Could we go to the library today? Like, soon-ish? There’s a couple of books I need for a project, and uh...I really need Belle’s help finding them,” he said, fidgeting as he waited for her reply.

“Why’s it so urgent?” she asked, raising a brow expectantly. She had a feeling that she knew what was coming - she just needed Henry to say it.

“I, uh, didn’t exactly start it as soon as I should and...I can get it done in time, don’t worry!” he reassured her, “but I need to go pick up these books today if I’m going to make it happen,” he said, flashing her his best i’m-cute-and-usually-better-prepared-than-this-so-please-don’t-punish-me-for-leaving-homework-till-the-last-minute-just-this-once grin.

After holding his stare for a moment, Emma shook her head and laughed under her breath. “Sure kid.” She had no doubt Henry would create something amazing, and it really wasn’t like him to leave things late, so she wasn’t worried it would become a habit. “But why do you need me to go? Usually, you head down there on your own.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed, “but I was kinda hoping we could go to Granny’s for pancakes after.”

“Ahhh, now the truth is revealed,” Emma laughed. She pretended to think for a moment, but really, Henry had gotten to her the moment he’d said pancakes. “Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

-/-

Emma should’ve suspected something was up when - after they’d finally left the library and headed for the diner- she started getting slightly strange looks from the townsfolk. Everyone was smiling at her, and a few people gave her a thumbs up - most disturbingly, Leroy winked at her.

Shrugging it off and following Henry into Granny’s, she noticed her son was absorbed in his phone, texting with dizzying speed. “What’s up?” she questioned as they slid into a booth.

“Huh?” he looked up for a moment before his phone buzzed and he was engrossed again. “Oh, um, it’s just Avery...we’re trying to figure out plans for tomorrow. He was asking if I could come over for the afternoon. Can I, please?”

“Maybe. If you get that project finished first, okay. Do that and then we’ll talk.”

“That’s fair,” Henry said with a grin as the waitress arrived at their table.

“I’m glad you think so,” Emma said with a chuckle. They ordered and spent the time waiting for their pancakes to arrive chatting about what Henry had done in school the prior week and some of the plans they’d already been making for his summer vacation (which, according to Henry, couldn’t start soon enough).

It wasn’t until Emma was paying their bill that Henry’s phone started buzzing again. He looked at it briefly and fired off a text before they headed out the door. As they descended Granny’s front steps, Henry spoke again. “Mom, do you mind if we walk home by the park?”

“Yeah, sure...You still need to get to your homework as soon as we get home, but I don’t see why not as long as we don’t stay too long,” she agreed. “It’ll help work off the mountain of pancakes we just inhaled.” They turned in the direction of the park, enjoying the warm breeze and dappled sunlight as it fell through the trees lining the wide streets.

Though Emma began to regret agreeing to Henry’s suggestion as even more passers-by shot odd looks and smiles her way. Seriously, what is UP with everyone today?!

She didn’t have much longer to wonder. As they approached the park, Emma saw her name, painted in large, looping curls and swoops, stretching across the sidewalk in front of the main entrance gate. An arrow, outlined in gold, pointed down the walkway leading away from the gate, and she could just make out the clustered shapes of several hearts a few feet beyond that. “What?” she asked, dumbstruck. “Henry, did you know this would be here?” she glanced back at her son, who had stopped a few feet behind her.

Well, this certainly explains all the strange looks.

“Uh, maybe?” he replied sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yes, kinda,” he corrected. “Okay, yes.”

“Wait a minute,” she turned back to face him. “Do you know who’s been behind this? Have you known the whole time?”

“Look, Mom...but don’t you want to find out who’s at the other end of that path?” he asked. “I’m going to head home and get started on my project, and,” he continued, seeing she had opened her mouth to interject, “I’ve asked Mary-Margaret to come around and keep an eye on me - so don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Go!” he smiled at her encouragingly and shooed her towards the park entrance.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me every single thing later, Henry David Swan,” she warned, though the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth made her words far less stern than she’d intended. He nodded and took off down the street as she turned back to the park entrance.

She gazed at her name again for a moment before stepping into the park and onto the path. As she followed the arrow to the cluster of hearts, her pulse accelerated and a sense of nervous excitement settled over her. A little further into the park, the path diverged and she looked around in momentary confusion before spotting more words painted on the left-hand path, the one leading towards the gazebo in the center of the park.

“This is it. This is life...” she murmured aloud, reading along with the words. There was something vaguely familiar about the phrasing - it tugged at her memory, and she must have recognized it on some subconscious level, because her pulse kicked up even further.

She followed the path a bit further and saw more words painted on the old, cracking asphalt.

“...And I'm in love with you...I think that's the only thing I've ever really been sure of in my entire life…” she whispered, again reading along with the text. Another group of hearts and another golden arrow followed that part of the quote, which she now recognized was from Garden State.

In that moment, she was certain.

She’d had her suspicions - and hopes - as to who the mystery artist was. But that quote cemented it. Her steps picked up speed as she headed for the last stretch of the path, looking ahead as she approached the gazebo.

There, stretching along the last section of the pathway, were the final words. “... I don't want to waste any more of my life without you in it.” Killian stepped out from under the roof of the gazebo, a small smile on his face. “Hello, Swan,” he murmured.

She didn’t stop moving, she didn’t slow down - in fact she sped up as she got closer to him, and when she reached him, she promptly punched him in the shoulder.

“Oi!” he cried, “what was that for?”

“It was you all this time?!” she shouted. “Do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?!”

“I’ll have to admit, I’d envisioned you saying something like that - but in a decidedly different tone,” he muttered, wincing a bit and reaching up to rub at where she’d punched him. “Look...I realize this might’ve been a rather...elaborate...way of confessing my feelings...but you have to know, Emma. It’s you...it’s been you for quite some time now, and that’s not going to change.” He raked his hands through his hair, nerves visibly increasing as her silence continued. “I’m trying to say I love you, Swan, and thinking of how to tell you has been bloody terrifying-”

“So you decided to do it in the most public way possible?” she asked, finally finding her voice. “That was a big risk.”

“Aye,” he said, taking a few cautious steps closer to her. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand, his fingers sliding just into the hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed her cheek. “But you deserved the grandest of romantic gestures, love. I was willing to take the chance.”

Her arms wound around his waist as she stepped even closer to him, until there was really no space left between them at all. She took a deep breath. Here goes. “I love you, Killian. It was you...all this time,” she continued, her tone infinitely softer and laced with her abundant affection. She pressed up on her tiptoes, whispering, “do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?” against his mouth before sealing her lips to his.

They sank into the kiss, their embrace growing closer and closer until Emma’s arms were draped over Killian’s shoulders and his were wrapped firmly around her waist. They had difficulty parting from one another, even when breathing became a pressing issue. They dove back in for kiss after kiss, becoming lost in each other.

It’s really amazing how different this is when you love someone so deeply, Emma thought hazily as Killian nibbled at her lower lip. She gasped sharply at the sensation, his tongue flicking out and soothing the spot before darting into her mouth to curl around her own. Just like that, their kiss took on another dimension, growing more passionate, hotter, wetter, and deeper - and Emma could no longer think at all.

Long moments later, they finally drew back, but kept their foreheads pressed tightly together. As they tried to regain their breath, Emma chuckled.

“What, love?” Killian said, a soft smile on his face.

“Oh, just...clearly Henry was in on this whole thing, I know that much now,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “But you’re going to have to tell me how you pulled all of this off without anyone wanting to press charges over any of the paintings...how much of the town was part of your master plan?”

“Well, love,” he said with a grin, taking every chance he could to use her new nickname. “That sounds like a perfect story for our first date.” He turned and started walking back up the path away from the gazebo, curling his arm around her shoulders when she fell into step next to him. “Can I pick you up tomorrow night at seven?”

She looked up at him, her face feeling like it would split in two from the force of her grin. “That sounds perfect.”

One year later…

The graffiti appeared once again, after another sleepy year in Storybrooke - but this time, Emma had no doubts as to its source. One morning when she opened the door of the seaside cottage she and Henry now shared with Killian, the simple question, Will you marry me, Swan? looped its way down the front walk to the welcome sight that was Killian, down on one knee, at their gate.

(His smile was bright, his cheeks were flushed, and while one hand held a very particular type of jewelry box, the other nervously tugged at the hair behind his right ear).

Killian grinned when she used her own can of spray paint (shoved in her hand by Henry before he’d nudged her out the door) to write her simple, but perfect, response right next to his knee.

Yes.

#cslb #cslb 2018 #cs ff #captain swan #ouat ff #my fic #the writing's on the wall #this has been a labor of love #and i'm intensely proud of it #and excited to share it #but also sad to realize it's really finished #it's a bittersweet feeling to be sure #but i'm really happy with how this fic turned out #and can't wait to see what you all think!!#enjoy!!!!!!!!

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