#and someone from estates came in and decided they were going to fucking bin it ??

[helianskies]

actually very pissed off. just got to my desk and it seems someone has come in to clean. in the process, they have moved things around on my desk including a monitor, my plant and sticky notes, and binned a bottle i had kept on my desk PURPOSEFULLY so i could reuse it, as it was a big bottle that i actually brought ALL THE WAY BACK FROM ITALY with me last year. for 10 weeks i have worked here and never has anyone touched shit on my desk or cleaned in our office. i'm actually upset. i am seriously upset. GIVE ME BACK MY ACQUA PANNA YOU ASSHOLES.

#who the fuck do i crucify for this one huh #my supervisor can sense my disdain he knows im mad in ny corner #and i know it might sound silly over an empty bottle of watee #but i repeat: i brought it back from italy. yesterday was the first time i opened it after buying it at bergamo airport in august #i left it on my desk tucked BEHIND my laptop amongst my paperwork and other goodies i keep on my desk #and someone from estates came in and decided they were going to fucking bin it ?? #im getting mad again #theyre lucky i have another bottle at home #but that is BESIDE the point #my supervisor literally said they shouldn't be touching things on people's desks #TOO RIGHT #IF I WANTED TO BIN IT. I WOULD HAVE PUT IT IN THE BIN I SIT 1 METRE FROM AND PASS ON MY WAY OUT #getting worked up #annoying #so annoying #helia rants #and commits bloody murder #just as i was getting better at hydrating myself... they take away the only thing i had to fill up with water.... #so now i have to wait until lunch...... to get a drink that isnt tea or lemon fanta......... #im still mad btw can you. can you tell.

[scintfms]

           hi  kids  !  wow  ,  we’re  already  at  opening  and  that’s  so  crazy  !  i’m  kofi  ,  your  co - admin  ,  and  i’m  so  excited  that  you  guys  are  here  !  i’m  23  ,  from  the  est  tz  ,  prefer  she / they  pronouns  and  i  graduate  from  college  in  a  little  more  than  seven  months  ...  yikes  .  that  being  said  ,  i’m  ready  to  introduce  you  guys  to  my  latest  muse  ,  who  may  have  huge  development  changes  as  we  go  on  because  of  him  being  brand  new  ,  mr  .  saint  moon  !  he’s  um  ...  something  of  a  mess  and  idk  if  i  love  or  hate  him  yet  ,  but  i’m  happy  to  plot  with  ya’ll  on  my  d.iscord  @  𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲.#4090  !

            (  lee  juyeon ,  22  ,  cis  male  ,  he / him  )  *  fun  fact  about  me  ?  okay  ,  let’s  see  .  .  .   an  injury  stopped  my  promising  olympic  career  .  crazy  ,  right  ?  i’m  saint  moon  ,  i  live  in  the  contemporary  new  build  with  a  three  thousand  square  foot  outdoor  patio  on  ocean  lane  in  key  biscayne  , &  not  to  brag  ,  but  my  family’s  worth  around  $740  million  .  pretty  decent  for  real  estate  and  construction  developers  ,  huh  ?  we’ve  been  around  for  some  time  ,  but  in  town  ,  everyone’s  always  associated  me  with  the  gatsbys  ;  but  it’s  not  like  that’s  my  whole  identity  ,  or  anything  .  while  filming  for  key  biscayne  ,  it  was  surprising  when  i’d  get  dragged  on  twitter  for  being  “  errant  ,  impetuous  ,  &  rancorous  ,   ”  but  the  cameras  don’t  see  everything  ,  &  my  real  fans  know  that  i’m  nothing  but  coolheaded  ,  venturesome  ,  &  enamoring  .  i’m  not  too  bothered  by  it  though  ,  because  since  the  series  ended  ,  i’ve  opened  a  highly  successful  café  in  south  korea  and  planning  to  expand  to  the  states  .  follow  me  on  instagram  @SNT.MN  to  keep  up  . 

name  :  saint  moon  .

nickname(s)  :  none  .

age  +  date  of  birth  :  22  +  july  19th  ,  1998  .

astrological  sign  :  cancer  .

myers - briggs  personality  type  :  infj  .

enneagram  type  :  the  individualist  .

moral  alignment  :  chaotic  neutral  .

gender  +  pronouns  :  cis  man  +  he / him / his  .

place  of  birth  :  gangnam  ,  south  korea  .

place  of  residence  :  key  biscayne  ,  florida  .

sexual  orientation  :  bisexual  .

romantic  orientation  :  biromantic  .

occupation  :  former  reality  star  /  instagram  influencer  /  café  owner  .

nationality  :  korean  .

ethnicity  :  korean  .

language(s)  spoken  :  korean  ,  english  ,  japanese  ,  and  learning  mandarin  .

social  media  handle  :  @SNT.MN

THE  BACKSTORY  .

            saint’s  story  starts  when  his  parents  ,  moon  ji - ho  and  park  soo - ah  went  on  their  first  date  .  in  truth  ,  it  had  been  a  rare  instance  of  love  at  first  sight  when  they  bumped  into  each  other  at  ji - ho’s  office  in  seoul  ,  and  the  date  was  only  used  to  solidify  their  feelings  .  you  see  ,  ji - ho  and  soo - ah  were  fairly  well  known  with  ji - ho  being  the  second  heir  to  moon  industries  alongside  his  sister  ,  moon  eun -  ha  .  moon  industries  was  founded  in  the  1940s  ,  and  is  known  primarily  for  their  real  estate  and  construction  business  .  the  company  was  founded  in  seoul  ,  and  originally  started  out  by  purchasing  and  renovating  beautiful  homes  and  condominiums  within  the  city  .  after  thirty  years  in  the  business  ,  ji - ho  and  eun - ha’s  father  was  one  of  the  first  in  south  korea  to  reach  the  status  of  billionaire  .

            ji - ho  and  soo -ah  were  looking  to  forge  their  own  path  ,  though  .  although  they  were  lucky  enough  to  have  wealthy  parents  ,  both  of  them  have  always  liked  the  idea  of  working  for  themselves  and  getting  their  hands  dirty  .  so  ,  they  refused  ji - ho’s  father’s  investment  and  decided  to  start  their  own  real  estate  firm  .  they  went  through  the  process  of  obtaining  their  real  estate  license  in  both  south  korea  and  the  united  states  ,  specifically in  florida  .  after  studying  hard  ,  they  were  able  to  open  moon  real  estate  ,  and  it  was  a  hassle  for  them  .  they  initially  ‘ struggled ’  seeing  as  though  they  were  their  only  employees  ,  and  soon  ,  soo - ah  discovered  that  she  was  pregnant  with  their  son  .

            for  four  years  ,  they  worked  hard  with  their  bumbling  baby  boy  ,  saint  ,  crawling  at  their  feet  and  curiously  looking  at  home  or  building  buyers  .  for  a  long  time  ,  they  considered  saint  to  be  their  closer  as  he  was  the  selling  point  and  allowed  people  to  hold  him  while  looking  at  the  home  .  usually  ,  soo - ah  would  use  saint  as  a  marketing  ploy  whenever  they  were  trying  to  sell  to  young  couples  ,  and  it  always  worked  .  the  moons  became  known  for  saint  syndrome  ,  where  those  same  young  couples  would  typically  call  to  say  that  they  were  expecting  within  a  year  of  buying  their  home  .  it  only  took  a  few  years  ,  but  the  moons  were  soon  raking  in  their  own  money  without  the  help  of  ji - ho’s  father  .  

            when  saint  was  six  ,  his  family  relocated  to  key  biscayne  ,  florida  .  life  was  easy  living  on  the  water  ,  and  his  parents  continued  to  sell  gorgeous  homes  both  in  seoul  and  in  the  wealthy  neighborhoods  of  florida  .  with  such  a  lifestyle  ,  it  wasn’t  unheard  of  for  saint  to  excel  at  his  private  school  ,  where  he  was  known  for  his  academic  prowess  as  well  as  his  ability  to  play  both  the  piano  and  the  cello  .  saint  was  a  fairly  popular  student  while  growing  up  ,  and  it  showed  when  the  moons  would  host  their  annual  christmas  party  .

            he  was  fourteen  when  he  finally  started  to  understand  the  rivalry  between  thoroughbreds  and  gatsbys  .  originally  ,  he  put  off  like  he  didn’t  care  ,  but  in  reality  he  was  trying  to  figure  it  out  .  the  moons  were  a  special  case  ,  considering  that  ji - ho  was  clearly  an  heir  to  a  billion  dollar  fortune  ,  but  also  had  become  wealthy  in  his  own  right  thanks  to  his  business  with  his  wife  .  saint  never  understood  that  jabs  and  jeers  that  he  would  receive  from  thoroughbreds  ,  because  to  him  ,  they  were  all  rich  so  what  the  hell  did  it  matter  ?  he  eventually  began  to  side  more  with  the  gatsbys  ,  never  understanding  why  the  thoroughbreds  felt  as  though  they  needed  to  stick  their  noses  up  in  the  air  at  them  .

            within  two  years  ,  though  ,  saint  seems  to  have  changed  for  the  worse  .  while  his  grades  may  be  good  ,  he  begins  to  spend  more  time  with  new  friends  in  miami  .  while  there  ,  he  surrounds  himself  with  fast  cars  and  short  nights  ,  but  he  thinks  it’s  his  parents’  fault  for  buying  him  a  488  spider  for  his  sixteenth  birthday  .  saint  began  to  get  into  trouble  ,  often  pulled  over  for  speeding  and  reckless  driving  to  impress  his  friends  .  like  always  ,  a  star  is  meant  to  fall  ,  and  it  all  came  crashing  down  for  saint  when  he  thought  that  drag  racing  on  u.s.  route  1  was  a  good  idea  .  he  assumed  that  he  could  lose  the  cops  ,  but  he  was  stupid  for  ever  thinking  so  --  he  totaled  the  $1.3m  dollar  car  ,  and  after  being  treated  for  minor  injuries  ,  he  was  booked  in  the  county  jail  .

            having  rich  parents  seems  to  be  all  fun  and  games  considering  they  were  barely  able  to  get  him  out  with  a  slap  on  the  wrist  ,  but  that  very  same  night  they  sent  him  away  on  a  business  plane  to  live  with  his  no - nonsense  grandparents  .  for  the  first  year  ,  saint  pouted  and  argued  ,  screamed  and  kicked  over  being  trapped  in  seoul  .  he  tried  to  escape  the  fortress  of  a  house  in  pyeongchang  ,  attempted  to  ditch  his  security  guards  when  he  went  out  in  public  ,  but  he  eventually  realized  that  there  was  no  getting  out  of  this  .  so  ,  he  made  the  most  out  of  it  :  he  finished  school  ,  and  during  his  senior  year  with  the  help  of  his  grandparents  ,  saint  opened  goodnight  moon  ,  a  late  night  café  that  appealed  to  college  students  and  late  workers  in  need  of  a  coffee  and  pastry  pick  me  up  .  the  café  went  viral  ,  and  so  did  the  handsome  owner  .

            he  returned  home  when  he  was  twenty  ,  and  discovered  that  key  biscayne  was  filming  .  as  the  resident  who  suddenly  disappeared  ,  saint  was  sought  after  by  the  producers  and  was  introduced  mid - way  through  the  second  season  .  

THE  SHOW  .

saint  and  his  family  were  not  introduced  on  key  biscayne  until  midway  through  season  two  .  he  was  introduced  as  most  table  shakers  would  be  ,  with  a  flurry  of  local  headlines  ranging  from  KEY  BISCAYNE  TEEN  ARRESTED  FOR  DRAG  RACING  and  HOW  MONEY  GETS  YOU  OUT  OF  A  JAIL  SENTENCE  .  his  parents  didn’t  like  the  idea  of  being  on  a  reality  series  ,  so  they  weren’t  featured  although  there  were  a  few  scenes  with  them  .

he  was  the  reality  show  villain  and  you  can’t  tell  me  otherwise  !  showed  up  with  an  air  of  what  the  fUCk  ever  and  despite  the  air  around  him  since  he  was  arrested  and  shipped  back  to  south  korea  ,  he  never  let  that  stop  him  ?  like  ofc  he’s  a  rich  boy  who  got  away  with  something  bc  he’s  rich  ,  but  it’s  not  that  he  doesn’t  acknowledge  it  ,  he  just  chooses  not  to  talk  about  it  .

was  definitely  the  subject  of  show  cliffhangers  ,  probably  nearly  got  kicked  off  the  show  because  of  his  short  temperament  and  despite  all  that  would  still  be  invited  to  the  reunions  because  he  would  always  start  some  shit  .  he  was  very  vocal  about  who  he  didn’t  like  on  the  show  ,  and  probably  had  good  chemistry  with  a  cast  mate  and  fans  of  the  show  always  pushed  for  them  to  become  a  thing  (  a  wc  ...  mayhaps  👀 )  but  they  were  never  anything  more  than  friends  .

by  the  end  of  the  show  ,  saint  was  that  cast  member  that  fans  love  to  hate  .  he  was  employee  of  the  month  ,  and  that’s  on  period  !  gave  what  he  was  supposed  to  gave  and  was  highkey  problematic  (  not  in  a  bad  way  ,  but  in  a  way  where  he  was  always  the  one  in  the  middle  of  some  shit  )  and  when  people  would  question  him  about  it  ofc  he  didn’t  care  KFNDSJBFS  .

THE  PERSONALITY  .

a  little  shit  .  that’s  it  .  that’s  all  you  need  to  know  .  although  he’s  standoffish  ,  still  has  his  insecurities  because  he’s  not  the  ‘  perfect  ’  son  that  his  parents  pushed  for  him  to  be  .  very  much  so  the  black  sheep  of  the  family  ,  and  is  deemed  as  a  lost  cause  by  his  thespian  of  a  mother  ,  so  he  figures  that  he  might  as  well  live  up  to  that  name  .  comes  across  as  someone  who  genuinely  doesn’t  care  ,  and  he  doesn’t  KFDBJSFSD  .  sometimes  only  looks  out  for  himself  which  adds  more  sand  into  the  asshole  bin  ,  and  he  hates  being  asked  ‘  dumb  ’  questions  .  it’s  a  pet  peeve  that  his  mom  thinks  he  picked  up  from  his  father  .

THE  HEADCANONS  .

he  does  not  want  to  be  your  friend  KFNDSFUS  .  he  can  be  very  standoffish  just  to  get  that  point  across  ,  and  he  doesn’t  interact  with  people  outside  of  a  chosen  few  .  

can  be  wildly  off  putting  and  while  someone  else  may  be  afraid  of  confrontation  ,  he  isn’t  !  might  be  the  subject  of  bar  brawls  and  minor  scraps  because  he  genuinely  does  not  know  how  to  shut  the  hell  up  .

hates  walnuts  ;  idk  why  that’s  important  but  it  is  .  serve  him  something  with  walnuts  in  it  and  he’ll  never  talk  to  you  again  .

romantically  and  emotionally  stunted  ,  therefore  he  bides  his  time  with  casual  sex  and  noncommittal  acts  of  romance  .  can  be  found  slipping  out  of  beds  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ,  never  returns  texts  ,  and  at  times  will  pretend  that  he  doesn’t  know  who  the  other  person  is  (  ew  !  )  .

a  chaotic  boy  with  a  heart  of  gold  ,  he  just  doesn’t  show  it  and  has  mastered  the  art  of  being  fake  .  

despite  his  repulsion  of  romance  and  relationships  ,  he’ll  flirt  with  anyone  that  has  a  pair  of  legs  ,  and  he  quite  honestly  might  call  someone  daddy  just  for  the  hell  of  it  KNFDH  . 

probably  posts  those  outfit  thirst  traps  on  instagram  reels  or  tik  tok  bc  he’s  annoying  .

THE  CONNECTIONS  .

an  angsty  ex  boyf  👀 if  i  have  to  BEG  for  it  i  will  !  and  i  promise  to  make  you  cry  xD

a  best  friend  pls  !  someone  who  has  been  friends  with  him  since  before  he  was  shipped  back  to  korea  for  a  few  years  so  when  he  came  back  and  was  on  the  show  ,  they  were  THE  dynamic  duo  .

i’ve  been  really  into  his  plot  but  someone  he  works  out  with  ?  maybe  they  don’t  work  out  together  per  say  ,  but  they’re  somehow  always  at  the  community  gym  at  the  same  time  .

something  soft  ?  something  so  sweet  that  it  would  make  my  teeth  rot  ?  could  either  be  a  boyfriend  or  girlfriend  thing  or  tbh  i  don’t  know  but  i’m  literally  looking  for  something  that’s  all  fluff  and  all  marshmallows  and  if  i  don’t  get  it  then  i’ll  cry  .

a  plot  where  they  full  on  hate  each  other  .  none  of  that  cute  shit  KNFDNFHSD  .  no  lingering  feelings  ,  no  moments  of  hate lapse  --  they  hate  each  other  and  it’s  a  spicy  hate  ship  that  literally  gets  your  blood  pumping  .  

SKINNY  LOVE  ARE  YOU  THERE  ?

his  hoodrat  friends  NFDJNHFBD  i’m  kidding  but  i’m  thinking  like ...  a  billionaire  boys  club  type  of  thing  ?  perhaps  the  five  of  them  get  together  and  ppl  try  to  penetrate  the  group  or  they  have  these  instances   where  ppl  straight  up  hate  them  for  no  reason  ?  they  were  probably  the  TALK  of  the  show  bc  thought  they  were  assholes  KNFDJBFBD  idk  either  way  ,  my  hand  is  out  .  (  1  of  4  spots  filled  )

a  one  night  stand  with  some  substance  ?  like  yeah  ,  they  fuck  around  and  they  have  their  fun  together  but  they  don’t  pretend  to  not  know  each  other  in  public  (  unless  this  person  is  a  thoroughbred  and  i  oop  ,  chile  )  so  they  probs  tend  to  be  a  little  like  confidants  at  times  but  also  have  a  tendency  of  shutting  each  other  up  with  sex  .

#biscayne.intro #this is really long i do apologize KNFDNSHF

[let-it-raines]

Indirect Deposit (1/3)

Summary: It’s the oldest story in the world, isn’t it? Falling in love with your neighbor. Killian’s sure that he’s seen hundreds of books and television shows starting off that way, and he’s always thought them all to be entirely unrealistic. That is until he started getting to know Emma Swan, who just so happens to live across the hall from him, and he has absolutely fallen for her in a way that he hasn’t fallen for anyone in a long time. 

It’s the oldest story in the world...until it isn’t. Because it’s not just Emma he’s fallen in love with. It’s her unborn child too, and while everyone he knows thinks he’s crazy for falling in love with a pregnant woman, he knows that he’s not. Some things in life are worth taking the risk. 

Some people are worth loving. And some things about life may surprise you.

A/N: This fic wouldn’t happen without @csmarchmadness and @wellhellotragic. When you guys get to the end of the chapter, some things may seem familiar, and that’s because this was her fic idea that she has graciously passed onto me to write. She’s very kindly given me lots of ideas that have been incorporated. I know I don’t have her magic touch, but I hope I do it justice! Seriously, thank you for letting me write this even when it made me want to pull my hair out! All of the credit goes to you, lovely!

Found on AO3: | Here |

Tag list: Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next few parts!

@nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian

The door shakes behind him as he enters his apartment, the pounding sound it makes when it locks into its frame reverberating in his ears while he throws his backpack down on the floor, not caring for its contents or the fact that it’s not his usual spot to keep his things. On any other day, he’d carefully take off his shoes, straightening them next to the door, and purposefully unstrap his bag from his back and place it on the bench seat that he keeps in the entryway of his apartment.

But today is not any other day.

It started as any other day, his alarm going off at six, early enough for him to go for his run and get back home in order to take a shower and get ready for work, arriving on campus a little after eight for his office hours. Very rarely does a student ever come talk to him during Monday morning office hours, which is partially the reason he timed them that way. It gives him time to grade exams, not being a fan of scantrons and their automatic grading when he’s an English professor who gives exams that mostly deal with essays, without distractions as well as helping to fulfill the Boston university-required demands of him having ten hours spent in his office per week.

As luck would have it, though, he had five students waiting for him the moment he walked up to his door, each and every one of them nearly jumping from their seats on the floor and thrusting their newly graded essays in his face claiming how unfair his grading was. But it’s not. He knows that it’s not. If anything, he’s overly kind with his assignments. He’s thirty-three, not that far removed from university himself, and he remembers how much he despised professors who failed students simply because they could. So, usually, he’d take a look at these papers and consider their protests, normally deciding to help the kids, but he knew for a fact that these five never showed up to class, never came to any of his extra lectures, so he said no, not today.

They were not pleased with him, but he didn’t care. He’s lenient, but you have to show up to class or prove that you can do the work on your own if you decide not to come.

That only soured his mood a bit, something he figured he’d forget about, but then his classes were all difficult that day, no one paying attention to a single word he said, no one engaging in discussions, and all of the passion he usually held for teaching seemed to fade away. But it was just a bad day, nothing that a glass of rum at home wouldn’t fix, and then his ex showed up outside of his classroom.

What. The. Hell.

He and Milah broke up seven months ago after he walked in on her, in their apartment, sleeping with another man. That’s a sight he’s never quite forgotten, as much as he’s tried, but it often plays in the back of his mind when he’s up late at night and can’t sleep. He told her to get out then, and that’s the same thing he told her earlier today when she decided to beg for his forgiveness, to ask to come back talking about how much she still loved him. How fucking dare she try to come back, to even think that he’d want to be with someone who broke his heart and betrayed his trust in such a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to recover from it all. He had loved her, still loves her really, and he’s never quite understood where he went wrong, where they went wrong. They had a good, solid relationship…and it simply disappeared because of something Milah called one stupid mistake. Maybe he should have listened to her, maybe he should have thought about trying again, maybe it really was simply one moment of weakness, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to try to build up that trust again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So her face and the memories of her cheating on him replayed on his entire drive home, the only reprieve (or not) being flashes of memories of all of the good times too, and as he walked into his apartment, the place he has completely redone to his own tastes since they broke up, all he can do is see her face and the laughter lines he used to love so much. So no part of him cares if he keeps the place as neat as usual. No one is here but him anyways.

He doesn’t want anyone here but himself.

Huffing, he walks into his kitchen, bypassing the pitcher of water in his fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. He feels like downing an entire bottle of rum, and not the cheap stuff, but he’s not twenty-one anymore. Hangovers are a bitch, and he’s still got to edit his lectures for the rest of the week, not content with the premade ones his mentor sent him when he took over British Literature at the beginning of the fall semester last month.

He’d really like that rum.

The liquid is refreshing as he tilts the bottle to his lips, letting the alcohol run down his throat, doing little more than giving him the smallest sense of control. But after he downs the one bottle, he tosses it into the bin and pours himself the glass of water he’d just turned his nose up on, grabbing an apple and making his way to his living room, promptly settling himself down onto his couch and turning on his TV, not caring what’s on as long as there’s some kind of noise besides his breathing and the cars driving by outside.

“God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to shut everything out. “What the hell kind of day is this?”

Almost as if the world is out to get him, he hears a knock on his door. The absolute last thing he wants to be doing is talk to someone else, but then they knock again and he stands from the couch, adjusting his pants and shirt before making his way to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing his neighbor from across the hall standing outside of his door with her teeth tugging on her bottom lip and her hands behind her back.

Undoing the locks, he swings open the door, catching it to make sure it doesn’t slam into the wall, not wanting the knob to make a dent.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, forcing a smile onto his face. He may be right pissed at life today, his mind running the paces of the entire spectrum of emotion, but she doesn’t deserve any of his ire.

They don’t talk often, nothing more than hellos and the occasional friendly small talk. He knows that she’s a lawyer, that her father was a police captain who was murdered in the line of duty on a case that he wasn’t even supposed to be out in the field for. He only knows that because it was all over the news, every local channel covering the story for weeks on end, Emma’s sullen face in the background of every shot. She was always alone, no one standing by her, and in her he always saw himself when he was twelve, standing alone at his mother’s funeral while Liam gave the eulogy. The dead parents club is a club you don’t want to be in, and every time he meets a new member, he wishes that he hadn’t.

But that was five years ago, and he didn’t know her then. He doesn’t truly know her too much now. She just moved into his building a little over a year ago. He figured someone with her kind of money could live in a nicer apartment, not that their places aren’t nice, but they’re not exactly peak Boston real estate. He can only really still afford the place on his own because of the money his mum had put away for him and the extra jobs he picks up.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

That takes him aback, the way she blurted the words out not at all what he was expecting, but before he even gets the chance to answer, she’s pushing past him, running down the hallway and swinging open his bedroom door and disappearing from sight.

This day could not possibly get any weirder.

Sighing, he closes his front door and quickly makes his way back toward his bedroom, not knowing what to expect. She’s nowhere to be seen until he hears the sound of dry heaving from the bathroom.

So this day could get weirder.

He should honestly write a book of his own documenting all of the unbelievable things that happen in his life. Forget writing about academia when he has a best seller about his ex-girlfriend showing up back in his life and making him want to vomit only to have his neighbor actually vomit in his bathroom.

Top of the best seller list. No doubt.

It might need a bit of padding, some more plot, maybe something more unexpected happening, but it’s got potential.

“Love.” He knocks on the door, not really sure why he’s asking for permission to enter a room in his own home, but nothing quite makes sense today. “Swan, are you okay?”

She doesn’t respond, and he can still hear the noise emanating from the other side of the door. Not really sure what to do, he turns the knob, pulling the door open to find Emma collapsed on the floor, her arms resting on the lid of the toilet. For some reason his first thought is that he’s relieved that he cleaned the bathroom Saturday morning.

“Shit, Swan,” he groans, walking toward her and squatting down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so that it doesn’t fall into her face or the vomit that he’s attempting not to smell. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not,” she snarks, her voice shaky and not at all as solid as it usually is, at least from his limited experience of talking to her about sales at the grocery store down the street. “I need – ” she dry heaves into the toilet again, the sound causing his stomach to roll, but he tries to calm himself down by focusing on Emma, holding her hair back and rubbing his hand in soothing circles up and down her back. It’s been awhile since he’s had to soothe someone through something like this, and usually it’s a buddy who’s had too much to drink, but the mechanisms are always the same.

When she’s finished, she leans back against his bathtub, her face covered in a sheen of sweat and all of her color has been completely drained from skin. She looks miserable, and he has no idea what’s going on. So he flushes the toilet and washes his hands, scrubbing up and down his forearms until he feels clean enough. He’s not sure if he’ll ever feel clean enough, so he can’t imagine how Emma must feel. He grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water, squeezing it out before squatting down in front of Emma and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, taking the cloth and dabbing at her face, letting the cloth fall to the floor before she takes her hair, the strands seemingly never-ending, and pulls it up into a sloppy bun, brushing all of the loose strands back and off of her forehead. “I feel like I owe you a million explanations and apologies before I, you know, disappear out of mortification.”

“What? What about this situation could possibly be mortifying?”

She huffs, the smallest of smiles tugging at one side of her lips before she wipes her face down again. He smiles a bit at his own humor. He’d normally find that pathetic, but he thinks he can get a free pass today. “Every bit of it.” “Eh, I’ve seen worse. My ex-girlfriend showed up to my office today, and several of my students witnessed us getting into an argument. Talk about professional.”

He doesn’t know what convinced him to share that, why he thought that would be in any way equivalent to what’s currently happening right now, and the way Emma’s looking at him makes him realize that she thinks the same. There’s not exactly a guideline for how to handle this situation.

Maybe that will be what his book is about: How To Handle When Your Neighbor Vomits In Your Bathroom For Dummies.

“Okay, so bad example,” he sighs, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his mind runs all over the place on what to say, what to do. “I’ll come up with something better if you tell me why you needed to come into my apartment to vomit.”

Emma scrunches up her face, all of her features distorting, and for a moment all he can think about is how adorable that motion is, how he’d kind of like for her to do it again.

“Well, I lost my key for one. And I’m also having just horrible morning sickness, which is a major lie considering it’s six o’clock in the evening. This sure as hell isn’t morning.”

Morning sickness.

Morning sickness…she’s pregnant. He didn’t even know she was seeing anyone, not that it’s any of his business. She’s his neighbor. That’s all. Sure, he’s always thought she was beautiful, her flowing blonde hair and green eyes calling to him as much as her smile or the way her ass looks in a skirt when he sees her on her way to work. So he has no reason for the way his stomach twists, the way he feels suddenly nauseous as well, the way it has nothing to do with the smell of vomit. He barely knows her.

“Congratulations,” he grits out, wishing he’d been able to express more genuine joy. It’s just a shock is all. And it’s not like there’s really another way to express joy over someone else having a child. He’s not about to tell her congratulations on having sex.

But it is a weird day, so he wouldn’t put himself past it.

“Thanks. I, um, I’m sorry for all of this. I just need to call the building manager and have him unlock my door, so as soon as my legs stop shaking, I’m going to go do that.” “You can stay here as long as you need. I really don’t mind.”

“Look, you’re being nice, which I really appreciate. I was about to vomit all over the carpet outside before I dared come knock on your door. And as great as this little chat has been, I really don’t want to impose on you anymore.” “Swan, I get that, but it could take awhile for Scarlet to get here. He works another job down at O’Leary’s during the evenings.”

“Of course he does.” “So call him, and we’ll hope that he’s not working tonight, but if he is, you can stay here. You can stay in my guest room if you want. It’s got its own bathroom.”

She looks like she could vomit again before her shoulders relax and she reaches up to push her hair back again, catching all of the loose strands and slicking them down. “Thanks.” Emma calls Scarlet, who turns out not to be working, so within an hour, he’s unlocking Emma’s door, griping and moaning about how she should give a friend her spare key instead of keeping it inside her apartment. He only knows this because Will basically screams when he speaks, his voice reaching all the way into Killian’s apartment. He can’t hear Emma’s response, though, but he imagines she pretty much tells Will to fuck off.

What a day.

-/-

“Mate, I’m not bloody doing it.” “It’s been months,” Robin says, taking a sip of his water before twisting on his barstool while Roland continues to color in his book, his curly hair flopping over his eyes. “You need to get back out there.”

“No offense, but you’re likely the last person to give me relationship advice.”

“Yeah, Papa.”

Killian chuckles, reaching out his hand to give Roland a high five, the kid smacking his hand as hard as he can. That’s his best bud, always backing him up even to his dad. “See, even your son knows.”

“That’s because my son is a nosy seven-year-old who agrees with everything his uncle says but not everything his own father says.”

Roland shrugs. “I like Uncle Killian.”

“What? And you don’t like me?”

“You make me eat green beans. Killian gave me a cookie last week.”

Robin sighs, shaking his head back and forth while he smiles. “If you ever have kids, I absolutely cannot wait to load them up with sugar and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

“Considering I don’t plan on dating for a very long time, I imagine that we won’t have this problem.”

“So you really won’t go out with Rebecca?”

He shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, wishing that the thought of dating didn’t make his stomach twist. “I just can’t, mate. I’m still…I can’t. And, honestly, I’m fine with how things are. I don’t need to be with someone.”

“If you say so. But Roland is going to get older, and suddenly single Uncle Killian isn’t going to seem quite as cool.” “Please,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m always going to be cool.”

He leaves Robin’s house a little after seven, letting him put Roland to bed in peace. Most of his Saturdays are spent at their house after they go to Roland’s football games, even if he cringes a bit at all of the kids calling it soccer. He might have been in America for over a decade, but there are some things he still hasn’t switched over in his vocabulary. Others slip off of his tongue like he’s been speaking that way for his entire life, but the football and soccer distinction is something that’ll likely always stay.

He’s tempted to pull over into several bars on his way home, knowing that he’s not got anything else to do tomorrow since he finished most of his work for the next week Friday afternoon (maybe he really does need a bit more of a social life), but he’d honestly rather go home and change into his joggers and catch up on some television. To some it might make him boring, but he likes doing things that make him happy.

After he parks in the garage a block over from his building, he makes his short walk home, ignoring all of the people passing by who are going out to dinner or going out with friends. He’s spent all day with his best mate and his son, and honestly, that’s how he likes things. He likes being comfortable.

If he had the money, he’d buy a boat and spend his days out on the water reading, letting the waves move below him while he gets lost in the words that others have written.

That would be the perfect Saturday.

When he enters his building, he makes a stop by the mailboxes, figuring he should go ahead and check while he’s down here, but then he sees long blonde hair and the red jacket that she’s always wearing. It’s only been a week since he last saw Emma, since she came into his apartment, and he’s almost sure that she’s been going out of her way to avoid him. He understands. It’s not exactly a situation that you want to have to talk about all of the time. If he were Emma, he’d probably want to just forget about it.

Though it’s not something one easily forgets.

He’s just about to turn around and walk away from the boxes, respecting her space, when she turns, several envelopes in her hand that she’s shuffling. He thinks that he has time to move out of the way, to stay unseen, but then she’s looking up and looking directly at him, her eyes going wide like she’s been shocked.

So, yeah, she was definitely avoiding him.

“Hello, love,” he waves, giving her a kind smile while he makes an attempt not to cringe. “How are you today?”

Her eyes slant, almost like she’s studying him, but then they widen again to reveal the green. “Are you asking because you care or are you asking because you’re scared I’m about to vomit all over your shoes?”

He chuckles under his breath, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he clicks his tongue, not really sure what to say. He does rather like these shoes. “Can I say both?”

“You can, but I’m not sure that I’ll believe you.”

“Fair,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets so that he can stop his fingers from fidgeting. “You get anything interesting?”

Bloody hell. Why is he even bothering to speak? Everything that comes out of his mouth seems like something a teenager who’s never spoken to a woman would say. Or worse, he sounds a bit like someone who’s just never spoken at all. And the way Emma’s eyebrows raise doesn’t exactly help him feel any less awkward than he does right now.

He’s asking her if she got anything in the mail for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t think you could handle all of the interesting things I get in the mail.”

“I can handle more than you think, darling,” he promises, tilting his head so that he can look Emma directly in the eye while he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

There he goes. That’s more like him. “Right,” she says incredulously, looking up at him before back down at her mail. “So I’m just going to go. Have a good night.”

She begins to walk away, and he’s not sure what comes over him next. But, honestly, once the words start, he can’t make them stop. “What are you doing tonight?”

Emma stops in her tracks, her sneakers actually squeaking against the tile as she turns around. “I’m just going to watch some TV, catch up on some shows. Why?”

“Would you like to come over for a drink?”

She smiles at him then, something soft and subtle, but it’s a smile. “Pregnant, remember?”

Well fuck. How did he forget that? She’s pregnant. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew that she’s pregnant. And she has a boyfriend, so she probably has no interest in hanging out with someone she barely knows, not that her having a boyfriend means she can’t have other friends. That would be ridiculous. It’s just…he guesses Robin’s words about not being alone and watching all of those people go out with their friends outside, they must have impacted him in some way. He likes being alone, prefers it sometimes, but he wouldn’t absolutely hate to have someone watch TV with him.

Probably just not Emma Swan.

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes, having to work to keep his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t scratch his ear again. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’m not sure why I asked.”

He thinks she’s just going to walk away again, but she doesn’t. “Well, there are other drinks besides alcohol, you know? I happen to be a big fan of hot chocolate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, taking a step closer to him and uncrossing her arms from her chest. “And I was thinking about watching Big Little Lies. So if you have hot chocolate and like Reese Witherspoon, I feel like I might agree to having a drink with you.” “Aye, I have hot chocolate, and how can one not love Reese Witherspoon? She’s America’s sweetheart.”

“Aren’t you British?”

He winks. “That’s beside the point.”

-/-

Emma knocks on his door a little after eight, and he lets her inside. The similar layouts of their apartments must make her feel at home as she simply walks into his living room and sits down, spreading out the blanket she brought with her over her legs. He’s never known someone to bring their own blanket with them, but it’s actually a good idea. Oftentimes he goes over to someone’s house and is either freezing or is stuck using a blanket with uncomfortable material.

When the hell did he become such an old man?

He joins her with the hot chocolate he was making before she came. He only had the instant packets, not the ingredients to make the good stuff, but he’s never had the need to use anything but the instant anyways. Honestly, he usually adds rum or whiskey to it, but he didn’t tonight. Solidarity and all.

Besides, he’s genuinely confused as to what the hell is happening, so being sober is probably a bright idea. Emma’s been in his apartment twice. Once to throw up, another to spend a Saturday night watching television. He feels like there should be some kind of in between or, really, a better beginning. But it is what it is, so he’s simply going to go with it.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t know.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at him before placing her mug on his side table and leaning forward so that she yanks his coffee table closer to her, propping her feet up on the wood. “I promise I’ll move it back before I leave. I just have to have something to prop my feet up on.”

“I’m the same way.”

“Yeah? It seemed a little far away for you to be able to do that.”

He waggles his eyebrows, leaning a bit closer to her. “I’m a tad bit taller than you, Swan, so my legs are longer. It’s part of my devilishly handsome appeal.”

“Well, you have to have something to support that large ego of yours.” “Touché. So tell me about this show we’re watching.”

“Wait,” she begins, taking a sip out of her mug, “you haven’t even heard of it?”

“Well, I have, but all I know is that it’s about a bunch of rich women and there’s something about Audrey Hepburn.”

“And murder.” “Spoilers, Swan,” he teases, feeling lighter than he has in awhile. It’s nice to have a friend (maybe) who doesn’t expect anything from him but to watch TV. There’s no prodding into his life, no encouraging him to go on dates. It’s all purely conversation for the sake of lounging around the apartment and watching television. “Alright then, let’s watch this show where Reese Witherspoon is a murderer. I simply don’t believe that to be true after all that time she spent becoming a lawyer.”

“I applaud your pop culture references, Jones. That’s a good quality in a man.”

“Well, you could also technically be legally blonde, so it works.” Emma groans, throwing her head back against the couch before twisting her neck to look at him with a soft smile. “That is so not the first time I’ve heard that joke. You’ve got to be more original if you’re going to make a joke about my job and my hair color.” He raises a brow, the corners of his lips ticking up until he feels as if his entire face is smiling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you’re pretty much the definition of blonde ambition.” “Play the damn show, Killian.”

He’s surprisingly intrigued by the show, but mostly he’s surprised how open Emma is as she talks while they’re watching each episode. He doesn’t think she realizes all of the little things she’s revealing with her statements and with the moments that she laughs at, but he wouldn’t either. Hell, he’s probably doing the same thing. Mostly, though, as the hours pass and the episodes continue, he’s as wrapped up in the show as he is with Emma. It’s an entirely inappropriate feeling, this liking her, and he’s got to stuff it down. He will not be someone who cheats, he will not be someone who has feelings for someone who is in a relationship, but he will be friends with someone…just friends. That’s what’s appropriate, and that’s what he’ll do.

Besides, this is one night. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s likely just bored and saw an opportunity not to spend her night alone, which is funny to him because she’s always struck him as someone who likes to be alone. Then again, how much can he really know about someone from only short, superficial interactions?

Not much, but maybe Emma Swan isn’t as stand offish as he once believed.

Maybe Reese Witherspoon really does bring people together.

When it’s two in the morning, Emma lets out a big yawn, covering her mouth to hide it, and when she’s in the middle of saying something, another yawn catches her. She’s exhausted. Has he kept her up all this time? Don’t pregnant women need more sleep than normal people? They do. He’s almost entirely sure that they do.

“We can stop watching, love. You look like you need to go to bed.”

“No, no,” she protests, another yawn passing through her lips, “we have to keep going. We’re almost finished. I want to know what happens.”

“Swan, you’re practically falling asleep sitting up.”

“Jones, suck it up. We’re finishing the show tonight. It’s what Elle Woods would do.”

So he sucks it up and powers on, finishing watching the show and wondering about how the hell they could end it like that. It’s not a cliffhanger, but he needs more. As the credits roll, though, he doesn’t get up to turn the television off and go to bed. No, he stays exactly where he is because Emma Swan, his elusive neighbor, is fast asleep with her head on his lap, her blanket pulled up over her shoulders while she lets out small puffs of air onto his knee.

He can’t wake her. He just can’t, not when she obviously needed the sleep, so even though he’s deeply uncomfortable, he stays how he is and lets her sleep.

Eventually, he falls asleep too.

And when he wakes up, while he’s not surprised that she’s not longer there, he is disappointed.

-/-

After he woke up alone, he tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to dwell on the fact that he felt like he’d had a really good first date only to have his date not having enjoyed herself. He knows how to woo and charm a woman, but he’s not for everyone. If he was, well, then he’d be crazy. Or he’d just go on the Bachelor. The men on that show seem to attract several women all at once.

Not that he’d do that or even want that. For all of his bravado and flirting, for all of the times that he’s come home with a woman without knowing more than her name, and sometimes not even that, he actually prefers relationships. He prefers the steadiness of them, the friendship, the way that he gets to truly know the likes and dislikes of his partner. So the Bachelor probably isn’t for him, but if he’s desperately bored enough, he might watch it.

Maybe it’ll make his pop culture knowledge soar. Emma seemed to like whenever he referenced anything, always giggling a bit before telling him something just as clever. No, she was normally more clever. And he really liked the way that she’d look like she was so proud of herself after every joke that she told. That was so endearing.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick his foot against his bedframe from where he’s been folding his laundry. He is in deep after one night to an unavailable woman, and no part of that is okay with him.

Wasn’t he just convincing himself that they were friends? Or really good acquaintances? It was one night.

There’s a knock at his front door, more of a pounding really, and his heartrate increases while his cheeks flush. The only person to knock on his door in the past week has been Emma, and he’s irrationally getting his hopes up that it’s going to be her again. He shouldn’t even want to see her, not after she left this morning, not after he knows that he has feelings for her when she’s with someone else.

It’s a crush. It’s like when he was younger. It’s simply a crush, and it’ll go away.

After he finishes folding the t-shirt and places it in its correct pile, he walks out of his room and down the hall to his front door, unlocking the latches and swinging it open to reveal Emma standing there still in her clothes from yesterday holding two grocery bags. What in the world is she doing here?

“So, I woke up this morning and was thinking.”

“Please enlighten me as to what the brilliant Emma Swan was thinking.”

She rolls her eyes but steps inside his apartment, pushing through him and the way he had his arm propped up against the door until she’s completely inside and standing by the kitchen counters.

“Just let yourself in, Swan.”

“I just did,” she laughs, unpacking her bags while he closes his door and moves to stand opposite of her. “So anyways, I was thinking that we definitely need to finish the show.” He opens his mouth to say that he finished it, and she holds her finger in the air and places it on his lips. “Don’t say that you finished it without me. And I thought if we’re going to do that, I absolutely have to get you the good kind of hot chocolate. And snacks. We need snacks, so I woke up, went home and brushed my teeth and stuff, and then ran to the store.”

She’s been unpacking her bags, chocolate, whipped cream, milk, cinnamon, popcorn, and pop tarts all coming out, and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s speaking with a grown woman or with a child.

“Love, what the hell is all this stuff?”

“It’s the provisions, Jones. I’m going to make the hot chocolate the way my dad taught me to make it, which is pretty much the only way to make it, and then we’re going to stuff ourselves with my favorite food.”

“Pop Tarts?”

“Well, no. I like grilled cheese and onion rings, but the grease isn’t sitting well with me right now. And I know I’m supposed to eat healthy and all that, and I do, but I really want the damn Pop Tarts.”

He picks up the box, inspecting it while Emma goes through his cabinets. They look disgusting, but if it’s what she wants, he guesses that’s what they’ll have. “Then Pop Tarts you shall have, milady.”

“I know. I bought the things. Where do you keep your pans?”

-/-

September fades away into October in the blink of an eye, the leaves morphing into warm oranges and reds all the while the air in Boston dips and chill winds begin to blow through. It’s his favorite time of the year without question, though he does enjoy summer months and any opportunity he gets to go out and spend time by the harbor, possibly even on a boat, and even though he’s spent more hours locked away in his office grading midterms than he’d like, he’s happier than he has been in a long time.

Much happier than some of his students are going to be when they get back from fall break.

He tries to attribute it to the fact that he’s moving on from all of his heartbreak in the past, that he’s not waking up in the middle of the night and seeing flashes of Milah and the life they used to share, and he’s finding a new rhythm that he likes. That he loves really.

In the mornings, he wakes and goes for runs down by the river. Some days he listens to music, other days he lets his thoughts keep him company. Afterward, depending on when his lectures are, he either runs errands or heads to work, both of which give him the same amount of joy. Usually he’s much more fond of his students, but this semester he only truly likes the English comp class that he took up teaching for extra pay.

And he despises teaching English Composition.

But his class is full of bright-eyed freshman who for some reason actually show up to class and ask questions, a lot of them begging to write about something more interesting than your run of the mill essay topics when all he’s trying to teach them is proper grammar and punctuation.

As someone who doesn’t always use proper grammar and punctuation, it’s a bit of a difficult task.

After his lectures he usually goes to his office, talking to some of his coworkers and preparing lectures and grading assignments. It’s his normal day, really, but there’s a pep in his step that he hasn’t felt in a long time. And it definitely comes from the fact that every day a little after seven, he eats dinner with Emma.

Yeah, so that’s a new part of his routine. It used to be that he’d eat alone, going over to Rob’s once or twice a week to join them, but ever since he and Emma started their binge watching sessions and he saw how dreadfully she ate at home, they’ve been eating dinner together.

He’d gotten a little carried away from himself and googled examples of diets for pregnant women, knowing that it was none of his business and that Emma was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her baby, but he also knew from their time together that she didn’t cook. At all. And she said the things she did occasionally cook were making her feel sick. So one night while making some stir fry for himself, he realized how easy it would be to add a little extra food and have enough for two people.

And maybe after the first few times he offered Emma food, claiming he had extra, he made a little more so she’d have leftovers to take to work for lunch.

So, yeah, he’s got a little pep in his step every day. 

He’s making salmon for them tonight, and he needs to get home and get it prepared. He also needs to get some coffee before he gets home. Emma’s trying not to drink any caffeine, claiming she used to drink too much of it to begin with, so he’s been staying away from it when she’s around. He can’t stay away from it completely, so he definitely just drinks it and chucks all of the evidence before she can see it…or smell it. She usually smells it on his breath.

They’ve formed a strange friendship over the past six weeks.

And he knows that it’s a friendship, he does, even if he has feelings that are far from appropriate for her. For awhile, he felt infinitely guilty, like he was doing something wrong, but he and Emma aren’t dating. He’s not doing anything wrong. There’s no cheating involved, and he would never make a move on a woman who’s in a relationship.

It’s just not good form. Not for him. He’s sure there can sometimes be extenuating circumstances that can make it be reasonable, but he just…he can’t. Not after the way his heart was ripped out by having his relationship broken apart.

But from what he’s figured out, Emma’s not seeing anyone. If she is, she’d have to only see him during the day since she seems to spend every night with him, and that would be one of the strangest relationships he’s ever seen. He’s decided, though, that Emma must have been dating someone and when she told him she was pregnant, he bolted. The bloody asshole. He’s not even sure who the wanker is or what exactly happened, but when he thinks about it too much, all he wants to do is tear the man apart. She doesn’t talk about it, though, doesn’t allude to having gone through a breakup, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t ask.

They work how they are, and he doesn’t plan on changing anything.

He hears the knob on his door jingle, the lock twisting, from his spot in the kitchen pouring the sauce over the salmon. He’d given Emma a key last week, and just two days ago, she’d come to his door with a reluctantly happy look on her face while she held up a key.

“I need you to keep my spare key for me.”

“What?”

“I need someone to keep my spare key for me, and I don’t have anyone who lives near here who can do it.”

“So you want me to do it?”

“Are you going to steal any of my stuff?”

“No, but I don’t think anyone would answer yes to that question.”

“This is a good point. So no stealing, but I wouldn’t hate it if you left me food.”

“I believe leaving things in someone’s apartment is the opposite of stealing.”

“Shut up, Jones.”

Emma comes into view a moment later, the door opening and quickly closing. She’s already changed out of her work attire and into the sweatpants and sweater she’s been fond of lately, but she hasn’t removed her makeup or pulled up her hair so it’s like she’s a mixture of professional and casual.

He’s rather fond of when she wears her hair down. It’s long and flowing, always a slight wave to it, and it’s soft to the touch. Plus, it smells bloody amazing. He doesn’t know what kind of shampoo she uses, but he hopes that she uses it for a long time to come.

(He may have to vacuum his apartment and shake out all of his throw pillows from all of the blonde hair everywhere.)

“Hey,” she greets, a timid smile on her face. She’s holding a brown paper bag, and he’s really not sure what’s in there, especially since she’s holding it rather closely and stays on the other side of his island with it.

He continues to pour the sauce over the salmon before turning around and sliding it into the oven. When he turns around, it’s to Emma still standing there with her bottom lip tugging between her teeth. “What’s up, love? Why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your nerves are practically radiating over your entire body.” He takes a step closer to her, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Swan?”

“Nothing.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, raising her hands in the air, “so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but some of my coworkers brought me a cake today.” “Why is that a big deal? It seems sweet.”

“Because today is my thirtieth birthday.”

“Happy – ”

“No, no, no. Okay, so I haven’t really celebrated my birthday in a long time, and I don’t usually like it. But I figured we could eat this after dinner. It’s, like, a birthday cheesecake or something. And before you say anything, yes, I checked to make sure I could eat it. There’s no funky cheeses in or anything. I just thought it’d be nice.”

He smiles to himself, shaking his head a little bit before stepping toward her and brushing a brief kiss against her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin underneath his lips. “Happy birthday, darling. I’d love to eat your cheesecake.” “How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”

He pulls back and winks before moving his brows across his forehead in the way that he knows makes her laugh. Sure enough, she giggles, shaking her head back and forth as she takes the cheesecake and moves it into his fridge.

“So what are we eating?” “Salmon and a salad.”

“Really?” “Yep, gotta cancel out all of the cheesecake we’re obviously going to be eating over the next few days. It’s good, though, love. I promise. My brother makes it all the time when I visit him.”

“So you’re telling me that you fly to London just for your brother to make you salmon you can make yourself?”

“I mean, I do enjoy seeing my brother too.”

“That seems like it’s not reasonable at all. You guys should be eating, like, tea and crumpets or something.” He raises a brow. “Darling, is your entire knowledge of London based on television shows set centuries ago?”

“Maybe,” she begins, scrunching up her face in the way that he’s really come to like, that he’s always liked. “I’ve literally only ever lived in Boston. I grew up here, went to college here, work here. The furthest I’ve been away from here is Seattle, and I only went for a two-day work conference. I was in conference rooms the entire time.”

“We’ll just have to remedy that someday. I can suggest a lot of places if you and your little one ever want to holiday somewhere.” “Oh,” she gasps, her entire face lighting up. Ever since her morning sickness has waned, he swears that she’s been glowing in all of the stereotypical ways that sometimes pregnant women glow. It could just be her makeup, but he thinks she glows a bit. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s simply become delusional. Her breasts are rounding out, though. He has noticed that no matter how much he tries to keep his eyes trained on hers. “I have a bump finally. Like, one that other people besides me and my jeans notice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, hold on.” She gets up from her stool and comes to stand in front of him, pressing her sweater against her stomach to reveal the smallest of round curves. He knows that she’s pregnant, has known for awhile, and even with all of the other signs and symptoms, it’s lovely to get to see this. It’s even lovelier that she feels comfortable sharing it with him. “See? I have a bump. I never thought I’d be one of those women who gets excited about stuff like this, but I’m excited, you know?”

“Not from experience, but yeah, I know.”

“Hush,” she laughs, letting her sweater go loose. “Maybe if you were less healthy and sat on your ass all of the time, you could have a little bump too.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The salmon is fantastic if he does say so himself, and even though he knew that he would enjoy it, he’s glad that Emma does, especially since it’s apparently her birthday. He’s never been one to celebrate much, but he at least celebrates a little. She seemed mostly averse to the idea, but he’s hoping that she’s having a good night.

He really does.

She deserves to have good days.

God, he’s a goner. It’s ridiculous.

They spend the evening eating and continuing to work their way through the American version of The Office. He’d never seen it, so Emma insisted. Like, really insisted. She’s seen it before, but she sits there and laughs the entire time like it’s the first time she’s watching it. It took some adjusting to get used to Michael, but now that he has, he really enjoys the show.

And the cheesecake is damn good.

“I mean, obviously Jim isn’t going to stay with Karen,” he tells Emma when they’re each two pieces of cheesecake in and it’s one in the morning.

“You don’t know that.” “It’s a TV show, and he’s been in love with Pam for years. They’re going to give them the happy ending. What’s the point of television if not to give people something to root for? To give them a happy ending because life doesn’t always work that way?”

Emma sighs next to him before she scoots closer to him, their thighs touching, and rests her head on his shoulder. He feels the shiver the runs down his spine, the gooseflesh that’s rising on his skin under his shirt, and it’s the most pleasant feeling he’s had in a long time.

“I like happy endings. I used to…my life has been hard,” she admits quietly, the words almost lost in the material of his shirt, “and I thought maybe that I could never have anything happy, never have anything good in my life without having it taken away from me, but then I got pregnant, you know. And while I don’t believe anyone should have a child in some desperate attempt to be happy, I know that this kid makes me happy. It’s something that’s mine, and even though it’s hard, I love having a family again. I love getting to love someone else again.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to respond to her quiet admission of all of the heartbreak she’s been through, so he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her closer, pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “You’ll get your happy ending, Swan.”

-/-

Emma: I can’t make dinner tonight.

Killian: Why not?

Emma: I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and since it’s making me miss work, I have to stay late.

Killian: Are you okay?

Emma: It’s just my 16-week check up. Nothing to concern yourself with.

Emma: Don’t eat anything good without me.

Killian: I won’t.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you just go all starry-eyed and then look disappointed?”

“I did not,” he scoffs, stuffing his phone in his desk drawer and looking back to his computer where Liam’s got a smug look on his face. Haughty. He looks haughty. “I was just replying to some texts.”

“With your girlfriend?”

“Bloody hell. You know I don’t have a girlfriend, you wanker.”

“What about that woman who you spend your nights with? She seems like a girlfriend.”

“So how’s work?” he asks, rolling his eyes and changing the subject. “You get to captain any new ships lately?” “You know as well as I do that I sit in an office all day filling out paperwork and when they’re feeling the need to put on a show, I have to get all dressed up and wander out to inspect the ships.” He watches Liam slide on his glasses before licking his thumb to turn the page of whatever it is he’s reading. When did his brother become such a middle-aged man? Even more so than Killian and his blanket preferences. “I also know that you’re changing the subject.”

“How’s Loren?”

“Bloody brilliant as always. She’s at her mum’s tonight, but I’m sure she sends her love. So you seriously don’t want to talk about this woman? Emma, right? I think you let it slip once that that’s her name.”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair before tapping his finger against the stubble on his chin. “Aye, Emma. Her name is Emma.”

“And you say you’re not dating?”

“Correct.” “And yet you’ve had dinner with her every night for what? Two months now? Loren and I are married, and we don’t even eat dinner together that often.”

“We like to eat,” Killian laughs, reclining himself in his office chair since he knows that there’s no getting out of this one. “And it’s nice to have company that’s not Robin or Roland, as great as they are.”

“So what’s the problem then? You obviously like her, and don’t protest. Your cheeks are blushing, and every time you talk about her you scratch behind that damned ear. I’m assuming she likes you or else she wouldn’t spend all of this time together. Are you really just so stubborn so that you won’t date again?”

“I’m sorry I had my bloody heart ripped out of my chest, Li. That’s not something I can just get over like it didn’t happen. I was convinced I’d found the woman who I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and she didn’t feel the same way. I still don’t understand it. It hurt, it still hurts, and if I have scars from that, I can’t even begin to imagine the scars Emma must have from her boyfriend leaving her after she told him she was pregnant.”

He knows he’s messed up, that he’s shared too much, the moment the words leave his lips. He doesn’t even know if it’s true, doesn’t want to invade on the parts of Emma’s life that she doesn’t want to share, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have shared her private life with his brother.

“The woman you like is pregnant?”

“Yep,” he answers nonchalantly, looking away from the screen so that he doesn’t have to see the way Liam’s looking at him with slanted eyes and parted lips. “She’s sixteen weeks pregnant, and I think she’s going to find out if she’s having a girl or boy today, if my googling is any indication.”

“Killian,” Liam sighs, the disappointment in his voice obvious, “I love you and support you, but this isn’t one of your best decisions. Her life is obviously complicated, and you need something simple. Because I know you. You’ll fall hard and fast and get attached to both her and the baby only for the father to come back into the picture and you to get left in the dust.”

Liam’s words ring true, but he’s not about to let his brother terrify him away from one of the best friends he’s had in years. And he’s not about to leave Emma to be alone, pregnancy or no pregnancy. They are friends, and him wanting them to be more than that won’t change anything. If he has to, he’ll stay her friend and nothing more for the rest of his life. He simply likes to spend time with her and for her to be happy.

He likes when she’s happy.

She makes him happy.

“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to be. We’re simply friends, and her being pregnant doesn’t change who she is as a person.”

“Just think about what I’ve said.”

“I will.”

He won’t.

When he gets home several hours later, he takes the opportunity of having the night to himself to clean his apartment. He doesn’t need to deep clean it, but he definitely needs to straighten up and dust off the bookshelves. He probably needs to wash the sheets in the guest room too. It’s been awhile since they were touched, and everything in that room is beginning to feel a bit stale. But he really won’t go down to the basement to do laundry until Thursday when he’s also got some clothes he needs to wash.

So he focuses on the living room, taking all of the books off the bookshelf and dusting underneath them all the while candles burn to make everything smell less sterile. Or like lemons. Sterile and lemons. It’s like a hospital in here.

He’s sitting on the ground in his living room organizing some of his old binders from when he was getting his doctorate that he saves for God knows what reason when his front door swings open and Emma comes into view, her favorite oversized plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging along the ground. He doesn’t look up, just sees her mismatched socks, and continues to restack the shelves.

“Killian?”

The sound of her voice, the way that it’s strained and watery, gets his attention, and he’s immediately up off the floor, not caring how much it hurts his knees after being on the ground for so long. He’s by her in an instant, and even though she’s looking at the ground, he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the way her eyes are read and puffy, all of her makeup removed. And he doubts she removed it with the wipes she uses.

“Emma?” he questions, placing his thumb on her chin and guiding her gaze up to his. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

She nods her head up and down before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. He can feel her bump in between them, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her even closer, letting her bury her head in his shirt as he rubs his hand up and down her back. He’s got no clue what’s happening, not a one, and the only thing that comforts him is knowing that the baby is okay. He just hopes Emma is okay too.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she sniffles, the words murmured into his t-shirt. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to c-cry, but I…I had a bad day.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to ignore it?” “Talk about it, but I want ice cream first.” “I don’t have any ice cream.” “Yes, you do. I put it in your freezer last week.”

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back, swiping his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears. They’re still watery and puffy, but he hopes that changes soon. He also cannot believe she snuck ice cream in here.

“Go get your secret ice cream, love, and I will put my listening ears on.”

“You’re such a dork.”

He settles down on his couch while Emma gets her ice cream, coming back with the small container and handing him a spoon. It’s banana split flavored, and while he doesn’t love that, if Emma wants him to eat some ice cream right now, he’ll eat some ice cream. Mostly though he just wants her to know everything is okay.

After she’s eaten half the carton, she finally puts the spoon down and the ice cream on the table. It’s going to melt, but he really shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.

“I’m having a girl,” she finally says, the corners of her lips ticking up into a small smile. “I saw her on the monitor today, and God, Killian, it was like…it was like magic.” “Yeah?” he asks, and he can feel the own smile on his face. That little girl is going to be so loved.

“Yeah.” She pulls her knees up to her stomach and wraps her blanket around her knees again. “I’m really excited, which I’m sure doesn’t make sense with the breakdown I just had.”

“It makes perfect sense, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, wiping at her eyes again. “Okay, okay, so I’m going to tell you some stuff, and I really hope you’re not going to judge me for it.” “Never.” “That’s what you say now.”

“I promise I won’t judge, love. This, like whatever that blasted gym is called down the street, is a judgment free zone.”

She laughs a little bit, and he already feels a bit better that she feels better. He’s still absolutely terrified of what she has to say.

“My parents are dead,” she blurts out, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, the surefire sign that she’s nervous. “My mom, I didn’t…I never even knew her. There are pictures I have, pictures from when I’m a few months old, and that’s really all I have. I actually, she didn’t die, not that I know. She left me and dad, and since I don’t like to think about that, I like to think that she’s just…dead.”

“I do the same thing with my dad,” he admits, and Emma’s head shoots up so fast that she must get whiplash. He’s guessing she wasn’t expecting that. “It hurts so much to feel unwanted that you rationalize and try to convince yourself that something else happened.”

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

“I’m sorry for you too. Bet you didn’t expect our parental history to be so similar.” “Not at all. I just…is your mom dead too? Because I’m sure you saw the news of when my dad was killed, and I – I’d hate for you to have been through what I went through.” “Cancer,” he shrugs, pushing down all of his emotions. He’s come to peace with his parents’ deaths...or abandonment, really. They still sting on occasion, but he’s come to peace with them. “She died of cancer. I think we make quite the pair, Swan. So is that why you’re upset? Your parents?”

“In a way,” she admits, curling into an even smaller ball, “but not really. I mean, I miss my dad every day, but that’s not why I told you not to make fun of me. I told you not to make fun of me because well, I…I got pregnant through a sperm donor.”

Well, there goes every single theory he’s had. Like, every single one. He was not expecting that at all, not in the slightest, and he’s not sure what to say. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to say anything. It’s really not a big deal, but she obviously feels like it is. She wouldn’t be announcing it in this way if she didn’t think so.

“I just…I have been alone for a lot of my life when I really just wanted a family, but I seem to have crappy luck in that department. And the same with guys. God, one day I’ll have to tell you about all of my shitty boyfriends. But I don’t know, I didn’t want to have to wait for a guy to have my own family. I wanted to take it into my own hands, so I did.” “That’s brave of you, love.” “Then why does it make me feel weak? What am I doing to this little girl? She’s not going to have a dad, grandparents. She’s just going to have me, which is what I wanted, but what if she resents me for that one day? What if I screw her up because she doesn’t have anyone but me because I’m alone? That’s why I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out that I’ve been selfish and have already messed my daughter up.”

“You’re not going to, not beyond what’s normal. You’re already a great mum. I promise. And you’re not alone.” “But I am.”

“I know this might be forward, Emma, but I will always, always be by your side if you let me. You don’t have to be alone.” “You say that now, but what happens when I have the baby, when I’m tired and cranky and have this loud little girl that’s going to take up all of my time. You’re young, you’re kind, and I really don’t understand why you spend so much time with a sad pregnant lady.”

He shrugs. “I like you. I like being around you. And if you let me, I’ll like being around your little girl even when you’re both having meltdowns. You mean a lot to me, love. These past few months just cooking with you and getting to know you and arguing over the merits of British television versus American television – ”

“American is better.” “So you say. But these weeks have been incredible, and I really do consider you one of my closest friends.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but then her lips close and she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle while she settles herself on his lap. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, just kisses the crown of her head and holds onto her in the way she’s holding onto him.

-/-

Months begin to pass at a quicker rate than they have for his entire life. He’s not entirely convinced that hasn’t entered some kind of time warp because before he knows it, he’s finished with his semester at school and on Christmas break for two weeks. He spends his time between preparing for next semester, hanging out with Robin and Roland as they take Roland around to city to look at decorations, and working in Emma’s spare bedroom to set up the nursery for her daughter. It doesn’t take him long to finish painting and building the crib, but considering that’s all Emma’s bought besides a few outfits, there’s really nothing else to do.

Naturally this means that he drags her out shopping, finding every Christmas sale that he can as he goes down the list of things every newborn needs. He’s put far more research into this than he should have, and as prepared as Emma is with her job, she’s not so much that way in other parts of her life. She kind of just figures that things will work out, that she’ll make them work out, and with what he’s learned about her, she’s not wrong. It doesn’t make him feel better about everything, though, so he helps her go shopping and after weeks of prodding, he convinces her to allow her coworkers to throw her a shower.

It was like pulling teeth, but even Emma will open up to accepting free stuff.

She has off Christmas Eve, and while she apparently had a few offers from some of her friends from work, she’s spending it with him, going to Robin’s house so they can have dinner with he and Roland. It’s not the most festive of celebrations, but for people who don’t have a large friend group or family, having a seven-year-old running around on a sugar high talking about how Santa coming is about as good as you can get for Christmas Eve.

He’s watching Emma talk to Roland about the latest episode of Paw Patrol, showing as much enthusiasm as she does when they’re in a fierce debate over their own shows, and he can feel his smile stretching across his entire face.

“You’ve got it bad, mate.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, not even bothering to look at Robin while Emma quickly glances at him with a soft smile on her face and an elf headband perched on her hair, “I do.”

She falls asleep at his apartment that night, snuggling into his bed underneath all of his covers, and while he’s sure that Emma wouldn’t mind, would probably insist that it’s fine for him to stay in his own bed, he turns on his fan and kisses her forehead, whispering Happy Christmas before he settles down into his guest room, making sure to text Liam before he falls asleep.

January passes in a literal flurry of snow, the new semester starting with everyone having to brush their coats and hats off when they step inside. It’s beautiful yet annoying, and he won’t mind when it finally starts to get a bit warmer.

He decides that he loves Emma like the pathetic fool that he is one night when she comes knocking at his door around two in the morning and asks if he’ll go to the store and buy her bride’s cake ice cream. It’s not at the first store or any of the damn stores he goes to that night, and as frustrated as he is coming home with banana split ice cream since he knows that’s her favorite, he realizes that there’s not a single other person in the world who he’d spend over an hour in the middle of the night looking for ice cream for.

She really likes ice cream.

When he gets back to his apartment, she’s asleep on the couch with the comforter from his bedroom wrapped around her, and he doesn’t even care.

He doesn’t. He just wants her to be happy. They’ll eat the ice cream tomorrow.

“Killian,” she gasps one day when they’re sitting in her living room, the both of them on their laptops doing work.

“Yeah, love? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she promises, looking over at him with her entire face aglow. “You’ve got to feel what she’s doing in here though.” She moves her laptop and grabs his hand, placing it over her stomach where he can feel a definite pressure from where her baby must be doing high kicks. “Do you feel that?”

“How could I not?” he whispers, his voice leaving him with the disbelief that he can feel Emma’s daughter moving inside of her. Emma’s been feeling her for months, but he never has. “That’s incredible, darling.” “It’s insane. It’s like she’s practicing karate or something in there.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” he laughs, moving his hand around her stomach and feeling the movements follow. “Hello, little love. Are you practicing inside mummy? I’m sure that can’t be too comfortable for her, yeah?” He looks up at Emma with a smile that immediately fades when he sees the water that’s forming around her irises. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she insists, even as she wipes her tears off of her cheeks. “Nothing is wrong. Hormones, you know?”

He doesn’t believe her, but he lets it slide, knowing not to push her right now. “Yeah, little love, I think you really are driving your mum crazy.”

At the end of February she gives him the invitation to her baby shower at work, insisting that he doesn’t have to come, especially since they’re giving it in the middle of the day. But he’s the one who insisted that she accept their invitation to host one, and he wants to always be there for her. So he cancels his classes for the day, citing a family emergency, and heads to her law office with a bag full of small things that no one bought off of the registry but that he knows that she needs.

Seriously, he knows far too much about pregnancy and the first year of a baby’s life.

“How can I help you, hon?” a receptionist named Anna asks him when he walks in.

“I’m just dropping by for Emma’s baby shower.”

Anna’s face lights up, and she immediately gets out of her chair. And comes to stand next to him. “Oh, you must be the daddy. It’s so nice to meet you. We love our Emma, but she is so reserved sometimes. I’m surprised she’s even letting us do this.” “Ah, yeah,” he awkwardly mumbles, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he’s led to the breakroom. “I’m not – ”

“Killian?” Emma questions, interrupting him from correcting Anna. “What are you doing here?” “You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?” He nods to Anna before walking over to Emma and pressing a kiss against her cheek while her perfume invades his senses. She looks absolutely beautiful today, glowing in all of the clichéd ways. “I cancelled my classes for the day. Figured I’d mooch off some of the cake and help you take your gifts home.”

He sees the blush rise on her cheeks, and she just shakes her head back and forth, looking down at her shoes…which are slippers. She must have not bothered changing back into her heels. He doesn’t blame her. Not that he has worn heels. He just can’t see how they could possibly be comfortable.

“You’re ridiculous, but thank you. Ruby’s grandmother made the cake, so you’re in for a treat.”

Emma’s definitely the quietest of all of the people in the breakroom, but it’s nice to see her laughing and spending time with other people besides him and his friends. She may claim to not be the most social of people, but he can tell how comfortable she is laughing and joking around with her coworkers, opening up all kinds of outfits that make jokes about Emma being a lawyer as well as several things that he knows he’ll be unpacking in the nursery.

Emma wasn’t joking when she said he was in for a treat because as Emma wraps her arm around his waist while he carries her last round of presents, he realizes that this has been a surprisingly fun day.

Well, surprising isn’t the right word. He loves any time they get together.

As spring begins, all of the snow fading away and green grass and bright flowers blooming again, he thinks that time really is zooming forward at an alarming rate. At least for him. For Emma, she’s miserable in her last month of pregnancy. He can tell from the look on her face every day when she gets home from work and the way she doesn’t want to do anything, usually snapping at him when he suggests something. He’s completely and totally aware of how odd their friendship is, how he’s basically in a committed relationship without being in a relationship at all, and he really doesn’t care.

Liam thinks he’s crazy, Robin might too, and while he might be, again, he absolutely doesn’t care.

Two weeks before her due date he starts sleeping at Emma’s apartment. She can only get comfortable when he’s wrapping his body around hers, supporting her stomach with his arms while she tucks her freezing feet in between his calves. He’s not even really sure how they figured this out. Like most things with his relationship with Emma, it all just happened naturally.

Emma losing her key and having to vomit in his bathroom may very well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

At three in the morning on April sixth, Emma wakes him up and, through the grit of her teeth, tells him to grab the damn hospital bag because she’s having the baby. He’s never been more terrified of anything than he is hearing those words, and he’s not even the one giving birth. There’s more screaming, crying, cursing, and crushed hands than he expected, but fifteen hours after checking into the hospital, Emma has the tiniest, most precious baby girl in her arms.

Sawyer Reese Swan.

“Hi, my name is Sawyer, and my mummy is a lawyer.” “I am going to hurt Killian,” Emma whispers to Sawyer, running her finger over her face like she’s been doing for the past two hours. “He’s making fun of the name of my sweet baby, and if I wasn’t extremely hormonal and hurting like hell, he would get a nice slap across his face. Yeah, he would, baby.”

He leans down and presses his lips to the crown of Emma’s head, wiping her hair back. “You’re teaching your daughter to be violent from the very beginning.” “Yes, yes I am.” Her eyes move away from Sawyer to look up at him, the green bright even though they’re still red rimmed. “Thank you for being here today, and all of the time. You don’t…you don’t have to be here at all. You don’t have to be so good to me, to us, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.” “Hey,” he soothes, settling down onto her mattress and placing his hand over her forearm while the other tugs at Sawyer’s hat, “there is never any need to repay me. Since the day you knocked on my door and threw up in my toilet, I have been absolutely thrilled to be your friend and to be by your side. I wouldn’t change any of this.” “Yeah?” “Absolutely.” He wants to tell her he loves her, but he can’t. Not like this. He’s wanted to for months. He is absolutely in love with her, but now is not the time. He’s not sure there will ever be the time, but now is definitely not it. But he’s absolutely besotted with she and Sawyer. “You are my absolute best friend. I would say that you’re my favorite person, but that’s this little girl.” He looks down at Sawyer’s small face, the way her lips twitch, before looking up at Emma, who has a tear falling from her eye that he has to wipe away. “You’re my best friend too. And she is pretty great, isn’t she?” “She’s perfect.”

-/-

“Wow, your daughter looks just like her daddy,” the nurse tells Emma when she’s coming in to check how Emma’s healing, and the more he looks at Sawyer, the more he agrees, which is impossible. He’s very much in love with Emma and would love to be a father figure for Sawyer if that’s what Emma allows him to be, but it’s physically impossible for him to be Sawyer’s dad. Emma went to a sperm bank, was artificially inseminated, and besides that, they’ve never even slept together. There’s no physical way for him to be her dad. Emma probably just has a type, dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s all.

But it nags at him for the next few hours as Emma sleeps and he cuddles with Sawyer, walking her back and forth in the room, admiring the petite features and relaxed face that she’s miraculously keeping, the crying at a minimum so far except when she struggled latching the first few times. It couldn’t…there’s no way. He’d donated sperm a few years ago, just the one time, and it had been a desperate attempt to pay for his rent when he was in between jobs right after getting his Masters. It’s not something he was proud of, not wanting to have a child out in the world he didn’t know about, not wanting to be like his father in any way, but Sawyer…she looks like him. He can see a bit of Emma, but he mostly sees himself.

Which is all crazy. Newborns all look the same.

Is he crazy? Is this just some kind of desperate attempt to be the father of his best friend’s baby? Because that sounds like something a lunatic would do.

He is not a lunatic.

Maybe he is a lunatic.

“Hey, little love,” he coos when Sawyer stirs in his arms, her small blue eyes opening up to him, “are you sleeping well? Like mummy? Yeah? You’re already doing so well. An overachiever, I tell you.” Her small arms reach up to him as much as she can, which isn’t saying much, and he gives her his finger, letting her tiny fingers grasp around his larger one.

“I want a picture of you two.”

Emma’s voice shocks him, making him turn to look at her in the bed. She looks exhausted, beautiful but exhausted. She did a lot today…or yesterday. It’s probably five the next morning now, but he’s honestly not sure. He hasn’t checked his phone or watch in awhile.

“Why, love?”

“Because moments like this need to be documented. Come here.”

He steps closer to her, sitting down on the side of her bed while she gets her phone of off the side table and begins taking pictures, just a few before she asks for him to hand Sawyer back to her.

“Emma, love,” he begins, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “can I ask you something?”

“As long as I don’t have to get up out of this bed, you can ask me anything you want.”

“Where did you go…to have her?”

“Huh?” “What sperm bank did you go to?”

“Weird question but okay,” she hums, looking down at her daughter while she talks. “Um, I went to the New England Center.”

Is this…there’s no way. He’s crazy. He has to be crazy. Babies all look the same. How could anyone even tell who Sawyer looks like? He’s just tired and overwhelmed. That’s all. There’s no way that she would have chosen him. There was an entire book full of donors when he was there.

“Do you remember anything about your donor?”

“Yeah,” she cautiously sighs, eyeing him while helping Sawyer latch on to her breast, this time going easier than the first few times, “of course I do. I spent forever picking one out.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Killian, what’s this about?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” “Then tell me.”

“Um, okay,” she sighs, running her finger over Sawyer’s dark shock of hair peeking out beneath her hat, “he had black hair, blue eyes, and I think he was 6’1. I’m not sure though. The details are a little fuzzy right now. He went to college at Oxford, which I thought was super cool. He never had braces, his family didn’t have any hereditary diseases. His mom did have cancer, but it was because she was a smoker, not something he could have passed down. It didn’t say where he grew up or anything, but I figured that didn’t matter. I’m sure there was other stuff, but I felt like those were the highlights. Good genes, smart, healthy.”

His heart is practically beating out of his chest, threatening to break the skin, and he has to take several deep, calming breaths in an attempt to get himself back to normal. He’s not sure he’s ever going to feel normal ever again, especially as his stomach continues to drop only to rise again.

“Did you know his age?”

“I think he was twenty-five-ish when he donated.”

Holy shit.

He thinks that he’s Sawyer’s father.

#cs fic #cs ff #direct deposit #cs march madness #captain swan

[alliebruns-blog]

Races, Recces and Adventures for 2019

First off SORRY FOR NOT DOING BLOGS (to the 3 people that read them)

2019 has already been quite the year. Let’s get the excuses in, shall we? I have finally moved out of London to lovely sleepy Somerset – home of the Mendips, hills and lots of cows. The running here is ace and I feel like I have finally shaken off the horror of 23 years in London. But it’s a big change – the first month I felt like I was on a different planet – then I had to find work (you know that thing that actually pays you?) So I took a step back from internets for a bit. 

Another reason for lack of bloggage. It seems I have been writing them for everyone else but me this year. For some reason my inbox went a bit mad and I’ve been asked to write pieces, blogs and interviews for a Bulgarian Travel and Adventure Magazine (apparently I am going to be on the cover?!), Run Deep, Precision Hydration, Lessons in Badassery, Dure, Red Bull and Trail Running Magazine. Plus, I have to do my day job. And look after 4 dogs. And a 9 year-old (not mine but sort of is mine now….) and a man human. Jokes. He’s looking after me. 

 So what’s been going on? EVERYTHING HAS. 2019 started with BBR trotting over the The National Running Show in Birmingham where we had a stand and I gave a couple of talks. I was I the throws of a horrendous depressive episode and had to attempt to put a face on. I still wasn’t over Panama really. I think it took me about 3 months to get over it in the end. I had to do a talk on a panel about mental health and running (oh the irony) and then my own talk about running across deserts, jungles and that.

It was very difficult attempting to inspire people when I actually felt like a piece of shit. The show itself was ace and weirdly we have been asked to come back – but more on that a bit later.

I got out in January and February to do a couple of reccees for White Star Running. The weather was JOKES bad. 60mph winds and rain made for a very interesting trot along the coast.

We were checking the route for Septembers Run Jurassic races which are going to be amazing. Have a look at what’s on offer here - and rest assured that it shouldn’t be weather like this on the day…..

Then came the first race of the year - Larmer Tree Marathon in Dorset. Lest gusty with 40-50 mph winds making for another interesting run, and it was also Pickle the ultra dogs first official marathon – she loved it. Look at her little face! 

Then it was off to Bulgaria to do some talking about running. Myself and David from the Bad Boy Running Podcast were asked to go and do a talk at a running expo they had there and it was MEGA fun – defo returning nest year to do the 100KM ultra they are organising – it’s BEAUTIFUL in Sofia.

Back home and it was off to Rat Race’s Ultra Tour of Arran for the second year. 62 miles over 2 days with “some” elevation (A LOT) and some demons to slay. As you know I did NOT enjoy this last year - my fear of heights and ledges almost got the better of me, but this year was different. We had about 10 Do-Badders with us and some of them were first time ultra runners, so I felt a bit like I had a duty of care to them.

As part of my role with Rat Race, I did a little talk to people about the Bucket List which was great and I managed to get round the course with the whole squad without crying. Only issue was I ended up with an eye infection that meant I couldn’t wear my contacts. This is not recommended on mountainous trails. I fell over 3 times - my knee looked like someone had gone at it with a rifle. It really knocked my confidence for trails and I have been super careful ever since. I really hate falling over.  

Arran was beautiful and epic as always. I cannot recommend this race enough. Its otherworldly out there. Here are some pictures – the weather was so kind to us. If you get booking it now it’s pretty cheap – or even better register for a rat race season ticket and it sort of pays for itself! 

Next up was London marathon. It was my sixth year and I wasn’t looking forward to it having only just really moved away. I used to love this race, but I had done so little in the form of road running I was dreading it a bit. So I decided to spice it up by running it in reverse to the start and then running it the right way round.I need some night running experience for later I the year so why not?  I also wanted to raise money for my old friend Scott who we lost to suicide last year. If you want to give a few quid, the charity has been set up now and you can find it here.

We got up at 12am after 3 hours sleep and got our stuff together – we were running with a couple of friends starting at Birdcage walk. We decided on a 5-6 hour time as I had the real thing later on, and this was a training run ultimately. That didn’t go to plan and we ended up smashing out 20 miles in about 3 hours – meaning as we came into Greenwich everything was shut. ARGH! I need coffee! I’ve never waited for a Macdonalds to open, but that day I did! We decided to march out the last 6 miles as we had the time and my legs were already staging a protest about the relentless road pounding they were getting. Once we reached the start we headed over to a hotel on Blackheath where my amazing friend and Head of Crew™ was staying.

We had the BEST BREAKFAST EVER and got I got changed into fresh kit and then it was time to do it all over again. I forgot how much waiting about there was at London. I think I stood in the pen for about an hour, little legs seizing up, feeling cold for once. London is usually boiling. I took a minute to look around at the people running. Lots of them were doing their first and only marathon. Some of them made me want to cry. I saw a guy dressed in a bin bag looking nervous, fiddling with his headphones. He has  a message scrawled on his arm in sharpie – obviously written buy one of his kids. It said “I love you daddy and I am proud of you”. He kept looking at it. It made me want to cry. Sometimes humans can be wonderful. I bumped into the legend that is Anna Mcnuff in my start pen. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. Brilliant. She’s running the length of Britain barefoot so was a training run. I had SO MANY QUESTIONS but she seemed very cool about the whole thing. She really is relentlessly cheerful, that woman. 

 Then we were off. I felt pretty good considering the fact I had already done it once that day. As always there were huge crowds and bottlenecks and I was running a lot faster than I had done in a while. You can’t help it at London. You kind of get swept along. I was very wary of eating and drinking – I hadn’t eaten much during the night run and I am used to picnics on ultras now. I tried to take it easy but it felt easier to run at pace so I did what felt good. For once I wasn’t wearing a pack and it’s amazing how much that frees you to go a bit faster. I was relying on the water stops for all my hydration and that worked. 

One of the things I really noticed about the marathon this year is the aggro. I am so used to the chilled nature of trail runners that I totally forgot about what happened in New York. Road runners can be total arseholes. There were points when I ran over to the water station, signalling I was doing so, only to be physically bashed on the shoulder by other runners and told to “move out of the fucking way”. When I take water I tend to slow down, walk at pace, finish the water and then run on. It’s pretty obvious. I walk close to the edge so people can pass me. I’m sorry but people need to have a bit more patience. Fucking idiots. ANYWAY I managed to finish in a pretty OK 4 hours 10 mins. Getting out of the mental finish area was awful as always, and I had to meet up with a couple of people because my personal hell wasn’t ending there. I had signed up to help out on a Rat Race private event for the next two days and needed to get to Richmond to drive up to Cirencester. No boozy celebrations for me! So off I went to work with 300 bankers who were out on a jolly for 3 days running, cycling and kayaking 165 miles along the Thames. Wednesday came and I had never been happier to see my bed! 

Turns out road running smashed your body up a lot – especially 53 odd miles of it. My back was killing me, my legs hurt. So I did something I am not very good at – I had a bit or a rest. A few days off, runs at the weekend, went to physio. And then, two weeks later, it was time for The Ox Epic.

This is one of my favourite races of the year. Set on the Rushmore Estate in Wiltshire, its a whole weekend of camping and running courtesy of White Star Running. You can choose what race you do. Theres a 10km in the dark, a 10km in the morning, a half marathon and a 50 miler. So what did I choose? I CHOSE THEM ALL. Last year I managed to accidentally win the Epic - this year was a different story. This was a training run for something much bigger.

Once again White Star pulled it out the bag - a beautiful weekend and everything went like clockwork for me and him indoors, despite the fact we had all four dogs on site plus a 9 year old to look after. I managed to keep the same pace for all the races and not feel broken, plus I had a really nice weekend! We ran some laps with the dogs, some without, took out time at the aid stations, walked the hills and ran the flats. All in, we managed to get 76 miles in the bag over the weekend and finished knowing that we could do more. It was a chance to practice fuelling and hydration and catch up with old and new pals. Highly recommended and I will definitely be back next year - perhaps with my eyes on the prize again.

Pretty much everything that I have done in the first part of this year has been pointing towards my one A game race of the year which is happening this weekend (18-19 May). The Climb South West Devon Coast to Coast Ultra. I signed up last year on a whim. It’s 117 miles from the south coast to the north coast of Devon non-stop. This is the furthest I have run without a break, so it really is a huge deal to me to get through it. We’ve been out and about doing a couple of back to back weekend recees to see what the route is like. It’s self nav and we will run a lot of it in the dark. It runs along the Two Moors Way, across Dartmoor and Exmoor, through some horrendous terrain. There are a lot of muddy bridleways, fields and hardly any markings.

Elevation is mental – it literally feels like your going up hill all the time. It’s a really important race for me because it’s one I am not sure I can do. I have a plan A. B. C and D in place but I can’t see myself finishing in under 39 hours. Will I finish at all? Dunno. Stay tuned I guess….

So yeah, a lot has gone on so far this year, and there are some awesome plans in the pipeline for the rest of the year. 

Adventure time! AGAIN! 

I am resurrecting my position as Rat Race Test Pilot for 2019-2020 and doing 4 big recees this year, as well as pretty much all the events.  

June sees me travel to Spain for the Sea to Summit test pilot outing. The highest mountain in mainland Spain is 80km from the coast. Our route connects a start line on a beautiful beach on the Costa Tropical to the summit of Mulhacen (3482m) via a tough 2 day running route, giving 2 marathons back to back and nearly 4000m vertical height gain. No biggie. Plus it’s going to be BOILING and we start at 2am to try and avoid the sun. This is Ben Nevis twice in a day. Fun. 

August sees me trotting off to Malta for The Maltese Falcom. There are 3 islands that make up Malta. This ia a full traverse of the island chain. 3 disciplines. Run across Gozo. Kayak to Comino. Swim from Comino to Malta. Run across Malta. Hot. Historic. Warm sea. An island totally geared up for Endurance sport.  And all in one day. Another world first. 

In September I am off to Scotland to do something I have always dreamt off. A full coast to coast traverse of Scotland on foot. This is a west-coast-to-east-coast outing, n foot, over 6 days. The difference here is that Rat Race have devised a route that encompasses crossings of water and the use of some rivers and lochs, for which we will carry and use pack-rafts. This very unique route means we will hike or run, get to a body of water, use the raft to cross it or traverse it and then carry on by foot. An insane format in a simply stunning setting and incredibly remote area. The route goes from a starting location at Mallaig to finish just north of Inverness. This is the wildest country in the British Isles. We will be vehicle supported for some of the outing; and then self-contained (pack on back) for a significant portion of the rest. Almost 100% off-road. And in September. Be kind, weather! 

October I will return to Scotland for a multi day traverse of the Outer Hebrides. Another dream event. It is around 150 miles from the bottom to top of this rugged island archipelago off the West Coast of Scotland. We will attempt this journey over 6 days. We’ve not quite worked out the logistics on this (have I not learnt anything from Panama??) But I am SO EXCITED TO DO IT! 

In November I am travelling back to Namibia to crew for the Race to the Wreck event. That means I get to see the beauty of the desrt from the crew vehicle with a bit of running, but most importantly, it means I get to encourage, help and inspire people to complete the crossing. I would like to thank Rat Race for constantly believing me and allowing me to do these awesome things. I am one lucky piglet.  

Also here’s a thing – if you fancy joining me on any of these funtime recees then you can – just drop me an email here for more details. 

I am also doing a few other things in between mega adventures to keep up the training and fly the flag for Rat Race and White Star. There’s the Dorset Invader Marathon, the Man Vs Series, the Run Jurassic Series, Ultra Tour of Edinburgh, not to mention my first Threshold event at Race To the King. Basically it’s BUSY. But I am happy. And that’s the most important thing. 

Finally – big announcement – Bad Boy Running are thrilled to have been asked to curate a new section at The National Running Show 2020. We have been given the honour of curating the Ultra Zone – a brand new zone that focuses completely on Ultras. We have our own stage, our own guests and our own talks and panels, We are in charge. We will be announcing out line up in the next month or so but if I were you I would get your tickets NOW because you DO NOT want to miss this. You can get your free ones here using my code AMB18. We have some of the biggest names in Ultra running confirmed and it’s going to be mega. You can register for your free ticket here. Massive thank to Mike for believing in us (and trusting us – he may regret this….)

I’m also going to try and bet better at this blogging thing – I have a lot to write about so not short on material – it’s just the time. Having said that I am happy to write for anyone else that fancies it. Just drop me a line and I will take a look at it. So yeah. That’s it. Whirlwind update done. See you next week. If I survive.

[initiala]

Thank you everyone for continuing to read and support this fic!

A warning for this week, the second flashback is about how Emma lost her first litter - a miscarriage. If that will bother you, it's very short so it's easy to pass over that set of italics. Otherwise, enjoy the update!

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

The bed was empty when he awoke, though a rational person would hardly call it 'awake'. He lingered on the fringes of consciousness until he was sure he wouldn't fall asleep again, then rolled over and hugged Emma's pillow. He breathed in her scent as his sluggish brain pieced together the world around him.

According to the clock on the nightstand, it was almost noon - which explained why Emma was up and out of bed. His back ached something fierce, which explained why he'd slept so long. And the frosty tinge in the air meant she'd made good on her promise to air out the apartment.

Killian sat up with a groan, rubbing his eyes, and the noise must have alerted Emma because she popped her head in the door. "Morning," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Bloody exhausted," he admitted. "We weren't up that late."

She smiled in that way that meant she was holding back an 'I told you so' and came to perch on the bed. While she talked, she made him lean forward so she could remove his bandage. "No, but in all the excitement of yesterday, someone forgot that he'd been seriously injured and overexerted himself. You didn't even budge when I got up this morning, and even if I get up to pee you always move to keep me in bed with you."

He yawned wide enough that his jaw cracked. "Fuck - I feel as if I've been pounded with mallets."

"Next time I tell you not to hurt yourself, you'll listen."

"You can just say 'I told you so', love."

"No," she said, getting up. "I'll just think it real loud. Go take a shower, it'll help you wake up."

He snorted and moved to get up. His legs weren't cooperating much and he struggled to find comfortable clothes - sod Liam, he'd wear pajamas if he wanted to. He showered quickly, or as quickly as his body would allow, and while he wasn't fully awake when he got out, he still felt better than he would have otherwise.

Emma had started a pot of coffee while he showered. Leaving his prosthetic in the bedroom, he followed his nose out to the kitchen, where she also had a box from the bakery down the street. "Please tell me there's something not covered in sugar and glaze in there," he said, making a face; his dearest had a sweet tooth and that much sugar tended to upset his stomach.

"Sit," she told him, pouring him a mug of coffee and sliding it over to him. "I did get some croissants for you, don't worry."

He watched her putter around, wiping down the countertops that already looked spotless, putting things away for the sake of it, rearranging old magazines and books and fluffing the pillows in the living room. "Darling, you're nervous enough to make me nervous," he said, picking apart a pain au chocolat. "And Liam's my brother."

She paused momentarily, then smoothed a blanket over the back of the couch before going to close the windows. "I just want to make a good impression," she muttered, going back into the kitchen.

Killian managed to get her to sit down next to him when she came out with a mug of cocoa. "It'll be fine," he said, pushing the box of pastries towards her. "And if it's not fine, I'll break Liam's nose for you."

She snorted at that and picked out a bear claw, eating it with a distant look in her eye. They continued eating in silence until a knock at the door startled them out of their quiet reverie. Emma looked at him with barely-concealed panic before getting up to answer it. Killian started to get up as well, but, frustratingly, found it more difficult to get up now than it had been to get out of bed.

Emma opened the door and Killian heard Liam say, "We finally meet."

Killian smiled to himself as Liam - just as he knew he would - enveloped Emma in a bear-hug. Killian shuffled over to the entryway and caught his brother's eye as he let her go. "Brother."

Emma moved out of the way just in time before they embraced. Liam seemed to be aware of where his wound was, because where Killian slapped his brother on the back in greeting, the same gesture was not returned to him. "Just where do you get off by getting yourself hurt, Killian?" Liam asked when they parted.

He shrugged. He leaned against the wall and tried to make it look nonchalant, and not what it really was: he really was bloody exhausted. "Well, it's coyote hunting season, so maybe they just thought there were coyote out."

The last time Liam had looked so exasperated was probably when Killian was fifteen and pestering him about when he'd make his first shift.

Much as he tried to hide it, Killian couldn't keep the glum expression off his face. He batted around a few rocks with an old splintered off piece of wood, trying to keep himself occupied outside old Mrs. Haskins' place. The littles were annoying him but he wasn't allowed to leave yet — which was the stupidest thing ever, he was fifteen, he could look after himself. But no, he wasn't considered an adult of the pack yet, just another pup, so every month he went without fail to one of the pack elders and sat around with the others too little or too old to make the monthly change. But while he couldn't leave until Liam picked him up, nothing was stopping him from getting away from everyone, so he sat on the front steps of the old townhouse and waited.

Liam would probably say he was sulking, but how could he do anything else? There was something wrong with him, last night just proved it and not even Liam could do anything to fix it.

"Little brother, why do you look like England's just lost the final at the World Cup?"

Killian looked up as Liam strolled down the street, hands tucked into his pockets and not at all looking like he just spent the night running with the pack. "Nothing," Killian muttered.

"Killian."

He shook his head and went back to his rocks. Liam sighed and muttered something about checking in with Mrs. Haskins. A few minutes later they were ambling back to the council estate, London beginning to wake up around them with morning deliveries, corner shops opening their grates, and early joggers and dog walkers. "Why don't you try telling me what's really wrong, brother," Liam said as they rounded the corner towards home.

Killian debated not saying anything. It was dumb. He knew it was dumb, Liam would know it was dumb, it wasn't worth it. But then Liam nudged him on the shoulder and his resolve broke. "Cullen and Michael didn't come last night," Killian said quietly. "I'm the oldest one left."

"Ah."

"Liam, what if something's wrong with me? What if I never change - or if I can't? Mum and Dad were werewolves, but maybe we have a human ancestor and I got their stupid human genes instead?"

Liam's head fell back with an enormous sigh. "Killian, we don't have any human ancestors."

"But-"

Killian flinched as Liam lightly boxed him on the ear. "Don't be a git. If you weren't a werewolf, we'd know." They stopped on the corner and Liam looked down the street. "Tell me what you smell."

Killian looked where his brother did, sniffing cautiously. "The bakery's making up fresh dough, the bin man's late, and -" An unfamiliar scent hit his nose as Liam stepped in Killian's way. He inhaled, then realized what it was. "Brother! You were with a girl last night?!"

Liam reached to box his ears again and Killian ducked out of the way. "You nosy little-"

"You told me to!"

Liam got him in a headlock, messing up his hair. "Well, that settles that, then. You're just a late bloomer, lad, your time will come when it comes."

He didn't think Liam would box his ears this time, but it was a close thing. "The healer should have checked your brains while they were at it," Liam said. "We're much larger than any coyote - even normal wolves outsize them."

Killian caught Emma eyeing him and tilted his head in a question. "Let's move this into the living room," she said, her gaze flicking to how he was holding himself up on the wall. He suppressed a smile - nothing got past his Swan. "Killian should be resting anyway and we can all be more comfortable. Do you want any coffee, Liam?"

While they discussed beverages, Killian went to go claim a comfortable spot on the couch. Emma had more pillows than frankly anyone ever should, but in this case he was grateful to have a soft incline to rest against as he all but collapsed on the couch. Liam followed, carrying Killian's mug. "I figured the cocoa wasn't yours," he said, handing it over. "Unless you've truly gone American."

"No," Killian said, taking a sip before setting it aside. "Emma's been attempting to corrupt me with all the sweets she keeps around, but she has yet to succeed."

Liam smiled. "I couldn't help but notice something else succeeded." At Killian's questioning look, he said, "The ring on her finger."

There was a spot under Killian's ear that always itched whenever he became flustered; he reached up to rub it and Liam's smile widened into a grin. "Ah," Killian said, looking down. "That happened… rather quickly, I admit, but we agreed to make things official last night. That is, we agreed last night that on a future date we would-"

"Relax, brother, I'm not going to lecture you," Liam said. "You mooned after her for months, I'm the one who convinced you to come over here and give it a go, did I not?"

"You did."

"To which I'm very grateful," Emma said, coming into the room with a mug for Liam and her own. "I know things are moving fast, but I hope we'll have your blessing," she added as she sat down.

"I know quite a few elders who would argue that's part of the point of mating season," he said with a smile, "but rest assured that you have my blessing. And my congratulations to the both of you."

Killian very much wanted to get up to hug his brother, but his body had decided it had had quite enough movement for now, thank you very much, and so he settled for a firm handclasp. Emma took care of the hugging. "Now, as for you," Liam said as they sat back down. "Are you certain it wasn't a silver bullet? There's no reason I can think that you're so… immobile."

Emma made a noise that sounded like a laugh, but she covered it by taking a sip of her cocoa. "No, we checked. All of us could handle it once Granny removed the thing. He just overexerted himself yesterday."

Undoubtedly Liam could still smell what that meant, but tactfully didn't comment on it. "Still. I've been hearing things from this side of the pond about some anti-human movements. It wouldn't surprise me if things have spread enough that the humans have heard and start fighting back. Maybe not this moon, but the next… who knows?"

Emma looked pained. "God, that bullshit made it all the way over to England?"

"Well, it's sort of hard to ignore, particularly when your crews are all made up of magical folk. They hear all sorts of things from every community. It's quite a useful way to keep in the know, really."

It was useful, Killian agreed, but wading through the complaints their employees could lodge against each other was tiresome. They asked in the interview process if a vampire could work alongside Fae, or anyone could handle working with a werewolf on a ship during the full moon, but apparently once at sea all promises of good behavior were long forgotten. "We could ask Alice," he said. "We have to see her anyway, and Robin's got her foot in both the magical and human worlds. She'd be the one to know if it's spread to the uninitiated."

"Or she'd know if it's those 'in the know' are deciding to fight back," Liam added.

Emma held up her hands. "Wait, you're not serious. You know it's Regina who started talking about all of that, and if anyone is just looking to stir up blood, it's her. She's got her hands full with all those turf wars she's starting right now, but I bet anything all that talk stemmed from the fact that she just doesn't want any non-werewolves in the North End."

Killian looked at her sidelong, taking in the pinch of her lips and the way her cheeks paled; it wasn't fear that made her look like that, no, it was anger. Emma had rightfully never forgiven Regina for murdering her parents and taking control of the North End pack. "So it's a real estate ploy?" he asked.

"Not the way we're hearing it," Liam muttered into his mug.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Emma said. "If we talk to Alice and Robin we can find out if any other groups are being moved out of the area - either by force or just because they're getting uncomfortable with how rowdy the pack's getting. But Regina's not an idiot, she can't just go spouting off any anti-human rhetoric she wants and not blow the cover of everyone in the magical community. I don't know what you've been hearing, Liam, but you know how gossip spreads and gets blown out of proportion."

He looked chagrined for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. But there's no smoke without any fire."

Emma's cheeks grew paler and Killian held up his hand. "Let's just table it as Regina stirring up more trouble in her section of the city and our crews are a bunch of gossips. May we move on to a more pleasant topic of conversation?"

Emma caught his eye and smiled gratefully; she hated any reminder of her past and what Regina had done to her family. The conversation turned back to their engagement and the matter of Killian's injury was left alone.

Granny's words turned out to be prophetic: Emma made Killian stay home for a week while Liam took care of things at the office. After the first few days - and after Killian was able to move around without exhausting himself just by going into the next room - he managed to convince her to stop fussing over him and return to work. It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy her company, but he knew how her boss felt about how much time off Emma could take at once and she needed to save that up for when mating season rolled around.

And their honeymoon.

They managed to keep their engagement quiet for that first few days, but after Emma returned to work and couldn't hide it any longer, Ruby arrived at their apartment that night in a whirlwind of wedding plans and half-made seating charts. Liam, joining them for dinner, watched in amusement as Ruby bowled both Emma and Killian over with an impassioned speech about pack politics and who needed to be invited and how there was no way in hell the niece of the alpha could get away with a quick legal ceremony at the courthouse. "It's not like it's every day that one of us does the human thing anyway," she added. "You've gotta let us throw you a party to remember."

"She reminds me of Anna," Liam said quietly while Ruby and Emma went over a list of event halls and who could schedule something so last-minute. "Only Anna wasn't half as terrifying when she found out Elsa and I were to be mated."

"You and Elsa stuck to the traditional way of things," Killian said. "Anna just wanted to throw a party for it because that's how Anna is."

Liam smiled and his hand drifted up to his neck, where his mate-mark was hidden under the collar of his shirt. Quite frankly, Killian was surprised Elsa hadn't come along with Liam, the two were almost as inseparable as he and Emma were. But to hear Liam tell it, Elsa had her hands full with the operation of her brewery and didn't feel she could leave it for even a week. "True. Remind me to work something out with her to stock your bar for the reception. She might even give you a friends and family discount."

Killian snorted, but made a mental note to tell Emma; his sister-in-law specialized in brews that could knock even a golem on his arse. They'd save a small fortune just in supplying alcohol that was stronger than 6%.

By the time Liam was set to leave, Killian was back on his feet (for the most part; he would be happy to be sitting in his office for most of the day) and Ruby had somehow sweet-talked an amazing deal at an estate in western Massachusetts for a wedding just a few days before Christmas. "Don't be surprised if my sister-in-law shows up here in a few days," Liam said as he stopped by to say goodbye on his way to the airport. "The moment I say 'wedding', she'll be booking a flight."

"We might need the help," Emma admitted.

Killian agreed, though he wouldn't say it out loud. Who knew so many decisions needed to be made for a wedding? "We'll look for a redheaded whirlwind," he promised, and the brothers embraced.

"Elsa and I will see you in December," Liam said as he left.

As Killian closed the door, Emma slumped against the wall. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Liam?" she asked. "No, Liam was fine. I think he likes me, even."

"Trust me, you'd know if he didn't," Killian said drily. "He's not shy about letting someone know when he dislikes them."

She smiled and pushed off the wall, going back to their table, which had been commandeered by Ruby and was now completely covered in wedding plans. "No, Liam wasn't bad. It's… all of this. Which isn't bad, it's just… It's stressful. And I didn't realize just how stressful it would be, or else I wouldn't have asked to have it so soon-"

"Well, darling, I believe the original idea was to have a quick ceremony and be done with it. And that wouldn't have been nearly as stressful."

Emma sat down and buried her face in her hands. "No, and now she's actually roped Uncle James into it and he agrees with her. Apparently there's even a bank account just for this."

His brows furrowed. "Your uncle set aside funds for you to marry? This isn't the eighteenth century, love, I'm not asking for a bride-price."

She snorted and sat up, hands falling into her lap. "No, Mom and Dad…" She swallowed and he saw how her eyes went glassy. "Mom and Dad set it up. I had a small inheritance when I turned 21 and apparently if I never married the human way I'd just get this money when I had my first litter."

Pain.

She hurt all over - that wasn't right, no, she burned all over. There were people talking around her urgently, the vague sensation of cold pressed against her forehead. Her body seized and she felt something pass from inside her - no, no, it was too early, no it couldn't be, no, not her pups, no -

The burning feeling increased, a searing pain on her neck and she cried out, every nerve ending flooded with too much feeling. She just wanted it to stop, wanted to stop feeling and hurting and go back to before all of this, exhaustion and agony twining together in a black pit she couldn't wait to collapse into. Only one thought flitted through her mind before she let the darkness claim her -

He's gone.

His heart broke when the scent of salt hit his nose, just before a tear slid down her cheek. He went to her, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. "Emma, if this is all too much, just let me know. I'll fight off Ruby and your uncle single-handedly."

She snorted, dissolving into watery giggles and he smiled. "Was that supposed to be a joke?" she asked.

"Aye, but know that even if I had both hands I could still do it with only one." He pulled back a little and tipped her chin up. "Please, love, is this something you truly want to do?"

He swiped away another tear and she nodded. "It's stressful, but it's also bringing up a lot of memories and feelings I don't want to think about. This - us - is so different from anything I had before, it shouldn't even factor in. It should be happy, it shouldn't be me all down because of everything that happened in the past. But it creeps up on me."

He kissed her forehead again. "It's still part of your past, love. Part of who you are." Killian moved to sit and pulled her into his lap. She smiled and swatted at her cheeks quickly. "Now, then let's work to make this a happy occasion for both of us. Let's make some decisions together - and let's not worry about the cost of things for now, either. I'll pay for the whole bloody thing myself if that's what makes you smile again."

She shook her head, her smile widening. "No, we'll share the cost of it - you're gonna make me have a stroke one of these days otherwise."

"Perish the thought," he said, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "What's first, then?"

She chewed on her lip and he could feel the tension in her body. "Well, a lot of things could be decided if we settled on colors… is it too cheesy to have red so close to Christmas? Like, red and white?"

"Do you want those colors?" he asked. She sighed and he pressed on. "I'm not asking to pass the decision off on you - I'm asking if that's what you want. Forget the fact that it may be a little thematic with the holiday - is that what you want? Even if we waited until March?"

Emma hesitated, then said, "Yes."

"Okay. Then that's what we'll do. I happen to think I look rather dashing in red anyway," Killian said with a cheeky grin. She elbowed him. "Now," he pushed away other color swatches and focused on the reds. "If we want white, then let's go with the more wintery reds to offset it." He tossed a few other colors away. "The cranberry red is lovely. A deep red, offsetting the white in a bit of a romantic way," he paused to kiss her shoulder again, "symbolizing my passion for you… and I suppose there would be plenty of decorating options available for the time of year."

Emma picked up the color swatch. "I like it," she said. "Your passion for me?"

She twisted in his lap to look at him in amusement and he just smiled in return. "Red is a very passionate color, love."

"I know, but you're all poetic about it. I just like red."

She set the swatch aside and pulled forward another set - "Why are there so many shades of white?" Killian asked, slightly horrified at all of the options.

"Now you understand why I was about to have a meltdown last night."

"Well these are just ridiculous," he says, picking out all the ones with yellowing tinges to them and flinging them over his shoulder. Then went the greens and oranges and - "I swear most of these are just pastels masquerading as white," he snarled while Emma covered her face in her hands and laughed.

Finally left with things that at least resembled white as he expected it to be, the name of one caught his eye.

According to the tale he'd been told, Emma's mother had been born late in the season, but during the first blizzard of the year. It was bad enough that Emma's grandmother hadn't even been able to leave their home or summon the pack's midwife, going through the whole birthing process with only her mate at her side and whatever instincts she had in what felt right. But the pup had come healthy and whole while snow swirled and fell outside, and from that came her rather unusual name.

Killian picked up the color swatch. "Snow White," he said softly. "For your mother's memory."

Emma's breath hitched and his arm around her waist tightened. She took the swatch from him and picked up the cranberry red, pairing them together. Her throat worked for a few moments and finally she leaned back against him, resting her head against his. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He hummed as he nosed the hair just behind her ear. "We'll do things for your father and my mother as well," he said, his tone just as soft.

"What about your father?" Emma asked.

Killian shook his head. "The less we make an effort to honor that bastard's memory - nevermind."

He generally preferred not to discuss his parents, but particularly because of the disgraceful way his father had died and left himself, his mother, and Liam with his mountain of heretofore unknown debt. His poor mother had worked herself to an early grave to whittle the debt down to a manageable size, one that Liam had finished settling before their business took off. Killian realized he probably should discuss that with Emma before they mated properly, but he didn't wish to add to her emotional burden as of now. "A sad and sordid tale for another time," he said. "For now, we'll settle on honoring our parents who deserve it."

"Okay," Emma said, but she sounded as dubious about his aversion to the topic as he felt about bringing up the subject with her at all.

They made it through quite a bit of the details that night, but where Killian had initially set out to cheer her up in planning their wedding together, he found that his own spirits fell as he remembered just how much of his own family's history he had yet to tell her. That was something that good mates did, right? What if his failure to divulge old family secrets meant he wouldn't be a good mate? It wasn't as if he hadn't told her of his own misdeeds in the past, the sad tale of Milah and how he'd been cast out of his original pack. Just the bigger things, the misdeeds of his father and the whispers that had followed the Jones brothers for years until they'd proven they were not cut from the same cloth of their father.

And besides, there had to be other things in her past that Emma hadn't mentioned yet.

This is normal, he thought to himself as they decided on the layout of their rather simple invitations. It's just a bit of cold feet, and it doesn't help that we've only been together a short time. Other mated pairs have joined together on much less than we have now. We'll get to sharing these other parts of ourselves as time goes on.

He hoped they would, anyway.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fluff #cssns #amanda writes #bad moon rising #the werewolf au

[butwhyduh]

The inheritance pt 2

Avenger cast au

Warning: cursing, hint of smut, death.

Word count: 1886

Summary: Tom Holland is informed he's inherited a fortune from his grandfather he never met. He and many members of his family go to the family estate and learn that they will compete to win the estate. For @uglypastels movie challange. The quote will be in the next chapter. Sorry.

"So we call the cops, right?" Elizabeth said pacing.

"Good luck. The signal is always terrible and the storm has made it impossible," Zoe told them crossing her arms.

"We drive into town and tell them," Chris suggested.

"The bridge was about to overflow on the way over," Benedict said. "Didn't you notice? Its probably flooded by now."

Tom hadn't noticed. The thought that he might have to spend all weekend with a dead body never once crossed his mind. For a second he thought about Jacob actually being right about his family. Who would have guessed?

"So we are stuck? What are we going to do with him?" Anthony asked.

"I'll wake up my father," Laura said leaving the room. Tom hadn't moved from his spot and realized he still held his glass and sat it down. He looked around the room in shock.

Everyone began pulling out various devices and indeed there was no signal. The storm raged outside. Christopher and Sebastian carried the body into the dinning room and closed the door.

The body was cold to the touch and pale but appeared to be unmarked. No one said anything. The room was thick with apprehension.

"Did he have a heart attack?" Jacob asked almost hopefully.

Bendict removed Jeremy's hat and his head tilted to the side where a dark blue strip shone around his throat. A gasp filled the room.

"He was- He was killed!" Anthony said. He stood from his chair and began pacing. "We are trapped with a fucking corpse."

"Probably all weekend, unfortunately," Don interrupted Anthony's pacing. The group stared at him.

"What the hell do you mean?" Chris asked sharply. Christopher put a hand on his shoulder.

"I would like to know as well," Mark said.

"The road floods in a spot in high rain. If it stops now the road might be open tomorrow. If it keeps raining, who knows? You can stay in a guest room. There are plenty" Robert said shrugging.

"What are we going to do with him?" Chris H said. He peered at the body. "He can't stay there all weekend."

"I would advice against moving him," Don said. The group looked at him. "Messing with a crime scene and all."

"Well we can't leave him there. In the fucking floor of the dining room," Christopher said loudly. "Take pictures or whatever. But I'm moving him to the cellar. It'll probably freeze tonight or get close so he won't... you know."

Don shakingly grabbed his phone and snapped a few pictures before Christopher and Sebastian carried him out of the room and down to the cellar in the kitchen. Laura looked away when they walked by. Elizabeth stared at the body. When the two men returned to the room, Sebastian noticeably paler, Don began talking again.

"I hate to bring this up now, but the will must be delivered this weekend. The reason being, is that it is on an automated system that will automatically close for 10 years if not found this weekend. So as a group, you must decide to either wait 10 years, or go forth with it tonight," Don said to the astounded group.

"Who's going to say yes?" Robert said bitterly.

"Who's going to say no?" Benedict responded.

"We'll write it down, anonymously. And I'll tally it up and we'll decide," Don said. He pulled out a piece of paper and ripped it up for all of the people who might receive the inheritance. They each were handed a paper and Tom stared at his.

Did he want to go ahead with this 'game' after someone died? Could he really pass up an inheritance? Jacob sat near him warily. He certainly wasn't going to decide. Finally Tom wrote his answer down and gave it to Zoe who was counting them silently.

"I need a drink," Robert said as he turned in his paper. He poured himself a scotch.

"Of course you need a drink. You always need a drink," Benedict muttered.

"Strong words coming from a man who drank at least of bottle of Bordeaux," Robert quipped. "You always did take after mother."

"And how is that? Let's talk about mother. She's only been dead for 15 years. Not that you stuck around after you got out of school in the first place," Benedict said slamming his wine glass down. The room watched the 2 quietly.

"I'm sorry but we all didn't get shipped off to a fancy English boarding school for gifted kids. I was here when not in military school. I needed to leave for my health. Something no one else cared about," Robert said taking a drink.

"You could have come back when she got sick. When mother was dying. Take care of your mother," Benedict retorted.

"I wouldn't talk to highly of taking care of your parents. Neither of you were there for your father. You know, the man who died to bring us all here tonight," Sebastian interjected.

"Okay, guys let's get along," Zoe said. "I've tallied up the numbers and the majority have voted to continue with the hunt. So I guess that's what we'll do..."

"God help us all," Elizabeth said taking a drink.

"So the paperwork is very clear that the first clue will be given at 8 am tomorrow. So enjoy your evening and I will meet you in the morning. This evening has been... difficult to say the least. I will try to call out early in the morning. We can't do anything now," Don said before leaving the room.

Tom looked around, unsure of his next move. Jacob looked at him. His eyes showed deep confusion. Tom pinched his eyebrow and breathed deeply. His throat felt tight from the stress of it all.

"Let's get some sleep, man," Tom told Jacob. The pair left for their room.

"What. The. Fuck?" Jacob asked Tom as he shut the door. "There was a dead body. A literal dead human in the fucking vegetable bin now."

"I don't know. I have no fucking clue. I've literally never seen Dad like this. I thought he was going to fight Benedict. So do you have any signal?" Tom asked laying on his bed.

For the next 30 minutes they tried to get some form of communication but found nothing. Finally Tom laid face down on the bed. It was getting late. And the stress of seeing a dead relative he never knew was... a lot to say the least.

The room to the right, and next to Jacob's bed, began to make noise. A rhythmic noise. Jacob scrunched his nose up at the thought.

"Who is fucking right now?" Tom asked covering his head with a pillow.

A feminine moan filled the air. The two men looked at each other. They knew who it was. The moans turned to gasps and yells of "oh god" with the distinct sound of a headboard slapping the wall. The sound of a male grunting was added to the noise.

"Jesus, how can someone be having sex after seeing a dead body," Tom groaned. "Who does that?"

"Murderers," Jacob said wiggling his eyebrows. "Sex maniacs? Horny ghosts? Your cousin Sebastian and his wife?"

"Please shoot me."

"I wouldn't say that too loud around here. Plus, they aren't banging against your wall anyways," Jacob reminded Tom.

The sounds hit a crescendo and then died away. Jacob lightly clapped as Tom rolled his eyes. With the noise stopped they laid down and tried to sleep.

Tom drifted off fitfully. His hands were clenched around the blanket and he slept in his shoes. Jacob snored softly.

Tom opened his eyes to find himself back in the dinning room. "What the hell," he gasped. He was alone. The electrical lights were replaced with actual candles on every surface. Tom heard the ticking of a clock in the corner. The red walls garish in the flickering light.

He walked out to the hallway and down a set of stairs into music room. A soft piano played in the corner. Tom felt himself freeze as it played by itself. He rationalized it by thinking it was an electronic one like they have at hotels.

A soft voice sang a song he didn't recognize through an arched doorway. "Hello? Is there anyone there?" Tom followed the voice. As he got closer he realized it was nursery rhymes being sung.

The archway led to a tightly spiralled staircase down surrounded by plants. Tom must have walked into a greenhouse. He looked around the lush greenhouse lit by streaming moonlight before looking down the stairs. He knew the voice was down there but he was nervous to follow.

Steeling his courage, Tom followed the woman's voice down the dark staircase. The tight iron stairs wound down into a rather plain hallway made of stucco or cement. More candles poorly lit the hall. It was a stark contrast to the ornate upstairs that had beautifully painted, wallpapered, and embossed walls. The air felt humid and cool down there.

The hallway was narrow and it reminded him of world war 2 bunkers he had seen. The woman's voice sounded close as she sang about little ducks. The path sharply turned to the left and it opened into a wine cellar with rows of bottles stacked tall. There were multiple rooms attached with more wine and spirits. His father and Benedict couldn't hurt this stock no matter how hard they tried.

"Hello? Where are you?" Tom asked certain he heard her voice now. Bottles at the far end of the room fell to the floor. "Are you okay?" Tom asked walking towards it.

Bottles in the far back began crashing to the floor. Tom could see there was no one with him. The bottles slowly started crashing in line towards Tom. Tom gasped and ran to the stairs as his heart beat out if his chest. He leaped up multiple stairs at a time as the thunderous sound of the bottles followed him.

When suddenly he was awakened by the sounds of screaming. Tom sat up in bed. He held his racing chest. It was a nightmare. That's all it was. He was laying in a bed in his grandfather's estate. He relaxed visibly.

Another scream pierced the air and Tom jumped to his feet. Jacob sat up suddenly. They looked at one another as a third scream, this time more of a mangled cry came.

"What was that," Jacob asked.

"I haven't a clue," Tom said searching for a weapon. He found an old umbrella in the closet and he opened the bedroom door to the hallway. Jacob scrambled to his feet to follow.

An attractive blonde woman pressed her face against a tall thin man man with curly hair and glasses. On the ground lay the woman Tom's grandfather had labeled the one who got away. Tom froze in fear. His arm still raised with the umbrella.

"Woah," Jacob said.

"Is- is she dead?" Tom asked tensely. He finally lowered the umbrella.

"I'll check," the unknown man said. The woman moved off of him and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest with wide eyes. He bent down and touched The woman's neck.

"What is going on?" A groggy Sebastian asked opening their room door. The man on the ground almost jumped from his skin.

"Good Lord," the man exclaimed. "She...err. . She's dead."

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#tom holland #tom holland smut #avengers #avengers 4 #avengers infinity war #marvel #spiderman far from home #spider man: homecoming #spidey #sebastian stan #rdj #benedict cumberbatch #don cheadle #zoe saldana #laura harrier #chris evans #chris pratt #chris hemsworth #elizabeth olsen #chadwick boseman #the inheritance

[analogscum]

BLACKOUT (1985, d. Douglas Hickox)

I’m gonna let you in on the process, my dear Scumbags. The method behind all of this madness, if you will. This is how I tend to go about picking a movie to write about for this site: I look at the VHS box art. I would like to say that this is because I want to make the experience of reading ANALOG SCUM like scrounging through the grimy back section of a video store of yore, but the reality is that I’m lazy and easily swayed by aesthetics. So you can imagine my elation when I came across the box art for 1985’s Blackout. I mean, look at this puppy! There’s a bondage gimp man brandishing a knife, with a very rock n’ roll title font, what’s not to love?! This is one of those titles that haunted (tee hee) the horror section of my local National Video as a young’n, and I’m sure horror fans around my age or older remember those piercing blue eyes staring at us through that leather mask. Based on this box art, I thought I would be watching a sleazy giallo-inspired slasher, with nudity and gore to spare, maybe even of the SOV variety, which is a-ok in my book. But then…I learned that Blackout was a made-for-TV movie. Oh fudge.

So there’s this lady in a red trench coat, right? She walks up to a house and knocks on the back door. Then she rings the doorbell, and it sounds like a buzzer, which, who has a doorbell on their back door, and that’s not how a doorbell sounds. Fucking CARE MORE, filmmakers. The lady finds a spare key and enters the house. It’s pretty eerie. There’s classical music blaring, and the remnants of a child’s birthday party are still on the dining table. The lady goes into a side office, where the classical music is blaring from, and turns off the record player. But what’s that? The TV is on in another room. So the lady heads downstairs. It’s dark. It’s creepy. And in the TV room, there’s another lady and three kids, and they’re super duper dead! Whoa! Afternoon ruined!

And so enters Detective Grandpa. He’s a grizzled old gumshoe who you just know is going to take this case way too personally and the guy who did it is going to become his white whale, etc. etc. etc. Detective Grandpa learns that the patriarch of this murdered family, one Ed Vincent, has gone missing. So of course that must be the perp who done it! Cut to: a guy hitchhiking by the side of the road. Huh? So he gets picked up by someone driving what looks like a Yugo or a Gremlin or some other terrible late 20th century car. Anyway, this fucking guy immediately starts tailgating a lumber truck for no goddamn reason. Ease off the gas, dicknose! Then he tries to pass the lumber truck on the right hand side, which, c’mon, asshole, and then ANOTHER LUMBER TRUCK comes in the other direction, the car swerves, goes up a hill, comes crashing down, and fucking EXPLODES. Was it worth it, ya tailgating son of a bitch?!

Now the movie turns into The Diving Bell and the Butterfly for a few minutes, and we see things from the perspective of the hitchhiker. Turns out he’s suffered serious facial injuries and will require a series of total reconstructive surgeries, plus he’s got amnesia, so he has no idea who he is, whoops. We meet a bunch of his doctors, who don’t matter, plus his nurse, who is played by Kathleen Quinlan, aka the lady from Apollo 13, plus her cop boyfriend, played by Michael Beck, aka the guy from The Warriors and zero other good movies. She’s a recent divorcee, and he’s extremely pushy about wanting to get married, and gets super annoyed when she tries to assert her personhood, but don’t worry about it. Anyway, our homie gets all of his surgeries, and decides that he wants to look like Keith Carradine, which is fine. It’s a choice. It’s like saying, hey, make me look like a more wholesome Klaus Kinski. But yeah, eventually he and Kathleen Quinlan fall in love, and decide to get married. Michael Beck takes this extremely well, by which I mean he yells at her and then pretends he was only worried about their financial situation. Oh hey, is that a wall on Michael Beck’s bedroom that’s covered in photos of Kathleen Quinlan? I thought I said don’t worry about it!

Cut to: six years later. Keith Carradine is going by the name Allen Devlin. He’s a super successful real estate agent, he and Kathleen Quinlan are happily married, and they have three kids. Detective Grandpa, meanwhile, has been forced into retirement by the powers that be, definitely because of political reasons and not because he’s a degenerate drunk. But then someone anonymously sends him a newspaper clipping with a picture of Allen Devlin, and he’s like, oh fuuuuuuuuck, I’m off to Washington state to harass some innocent people! He accosts Allen on a crowded elevator and is like, Oh hey, Ed Vincent! And of course Allen is like, um, no, you’ve got the wrong guy. And Detective Grandpa is like, oh no, you’re definitely Ed Vincent, remember, you had a wife and three kids and then they were fucking murdered?! Anyhoo, see ya later! And then he just gets off the elevator and Allen is like, what the hell was that about, some old rummy just called me a killer?!

Detective Grandpa then does what he should’ve done in the first place were he not a whisky-soaked dickhead and shows up at Allen Devlin’s office. He shows Allen a bunch of crime scene photos and Allen is horrified and agrees to prove his innocence however he can. THE VERY NEXT SCENE, they go to the doctors and the doctors are like, hey, look, Allen’s dental records don’t match Ed Vincent’s, so this movie should basically be over now. But Detective Grandpa is like, nah, who needs scientific evidence when you’ve got a sleuth’s intuition and blah blah burp. At this point Michael Beck gets pulled back into the movie, and once again rightfully points out that the movie should be over at this point because scientifically speaking Allen can’t be Ed Vincent, and Detective Grandpa responds by calling Michael Beck a “young hot shot computer type.” Ugh. So Allen hires a private investigator to look into his past before the accident, which goes pretty much nowhere. Kathleen Quinlan starts getting threatening phone calls from someone calling themselves Ed, and addressing her by the dead wife’s first name. Oh, and out of the fucking blue, Mr. Bondage Guy from the box art shows up and starts attacking women around town, and Detective Grandpa is like, oh yeah, forgot to mention this, we had similar attacks out in Ohio, creep in a gimp mask going around rapin’ everybody up in here, but they stopped…AFTER THE VINCENT FAMILY MURDER!!! SPOOOOOOOOKY!!! It’s like, c’mon, you’ve GOT to set this up way before the mid-point of the movie! It’s like getting a sandwich with one too many meats: do you want a serial killer hoagie or a bondage rapist grinder? PICK ONE, BLACKOUT!

So the private eye that Allen hired winds up dead, and the police of course suspect Allen. Allen, meanwhile, is starting to think that Detective Grandpa and Michael Beck are conspiring to set him up, because of course he would think that! This sentient bottle of Captain Morgan and the creepy cop who clearly still loves his wife suddenly start lobbing accusations of murder at him? C’mon, what’s he supposed to think? But then one of the kids finds a gimp mask in the garden shed! Oh noooooo! Kathleen Quinlan is like, gaaaaah maybe you are a murderizer! And brandishes a knife at him, and Allen is like, c’mon, baby, you know me better than that, I have no idea how that super sexy mask got in our garden shed! Look, to prove that I’m not a murderer, I’ll have myself committed, so that the cops can’t arrest me (which is not how that works), and then when the crimes continue, I’ll be exonerated for good! So off to the loony bin he goes, and into the garbage bin this movie goes.

Detective Grandpa gets the DNA results back from the lab on the super sexy gimp mask: no traces of Allen anywhere on the thing. And then a guy gets arrested for attempted rape, and they find a different sexy gimp mask on him! All of a sudden, Michael Beck, who has been calling Detective Grandpa crazy this whole time, is like, this could be a copycat crime, I think Allen is the real bad guy here now because the plot needs me to! Detective Grandpa is like, nah, your man confessed, there’s no real evidence to tie Allen to any of this, I was wrong, I’m going back to my elderly bachelor’s apartment in Ohio, but before I do that, can I use your bathroom? Michael Beck is like, sure, no problem, just ignore my wall festooned with pictures of Allen’s wife, if you could. But whoops, he doesn’t, and Detective Grandpa is like, holy shit, you set this whole thing up because you wanna go back to boning Kathleen Quinlan, you sent me that newspaper clipping, didn’t you? And Michael Beck, toilet clown that he is, tries to have it both ways, and is like, ok fine, I sent you the newspaper clipping, but I did it because I really thought he may be the guy you’re after, not because of this obvious romantic vendetta of mine! Psssssssh. So then Detective Grandpa is like, did you make those phone calls and plant the gimp mask too? To which Michael Beck is like, how dare you, I may have sent you a newspaper clipping in the hope of getting my unrequited love’s new husband accused of murder, but I’d NEVER plant evidence! Get off your fucking high horse, Beck, and just admit that you’re a creep, yeeeeaaaaaah.

To his credit, Detective Grandpa stops by to see Kathleen Quinlan, and is like, hey, I fucked up, your husband is definitely innocent, and Michael Beck definitely set this whole thing in motion because he’s still in love with you. Which comes as a huge shock to Kathleen Quinlan, and I hate when movies do this, because women are fucking smarter than this. Men in general, but especially creepy men, are terrible at hiding their unrequited feelings, and women definitely know, they just choose to ignore it. Whatever. So Kathleen Quinlan goes to see Allen and is like, I know you’re innocent now, I just want you back, and he’s like, ok, you’re right, it’s time for me to come back to my family, but oooooh boy am I mad at Detective Grandpa and Michael Beck! Anyway, I should be home just in time for…OUR SON’S BIRTHDAY PARTY!!! SPOOOOOOOOOOKY!!!

Michael Beck, because he’s awesome at ideas, decides to show Kathleen Quinlan that he’s not a creep by accosting her in the Safeway parking lot. Smooth move, Xanadu. He’s like, look, I know that I made a few oopsies, but I still think that your husband is a murderer, and you and your family are in danger. So finally Kathleen Quinlan just unloads on him. She’s like, you’re a manipulative jerk, that’s why I didn’t want to marry you, and that’s why we’re in this situation now, and you need to fucking nut up and get over this childish crush you have on me, and while you’re at it stay away from me and my family, I never want to see you ever again. So Michael Beck totally respects these wishes and…nope, nope, sorry, he parks his car across from the house and goes and stalks them. To make sure they’re “safe.” Fuck offfffffffff, dude.

So the kids are celebrating the youngest’s birthday, they’re decorating the house and blaring the rock n’ roll radio (let’s go!). Kathleen Quinlan asks one of the kids to go close the garage door, but he’s like, nah, I’m on the phone with the radio station so that they’ll give little fuckin’ Mikey or whatever his name is a shoutout on the air! So Kathleen Quinlan goes herself to take care of the garage door, but the lights aren’t working, so she grabs a flashlight, and then, OH CRIPES IT’S MR. BONDAGE GUY!!! She fights him off and manages to knock him out. Meanwhile, Detective Grandpa has stopped for gas, when he hears the birthday dedication to little fuckin’ Mikey or whatever his name is on the radio and he’s like DEAR GOD!!! So then Kathleen Quinlan is like, I must know! So she pulls off the super sexy gimp mask, and whoopdie fuck, it’s Allen. Great. So he wakes up and starts smacking her around and he’s like blargh bloogh I’m crazy now, I’m Ed Vincent and I think you’re my wife, so everybody’s going to hell tonight! The kids don’t hear any of this, of course, because of that blasted rock n’ roll music! She barricades herself in the car, and oh shit, there’s Michael Beck’s dead body! He starts busting out the windows, she crawls out of the driveway, and he’s about to gank her with an axe, when all of a sudden, Detective Grandpa shows up and puts two between the eyes. RIP Allen Devlin. RIP Ed Vincent. And RIP Blackout.

Mostly this movie is just a deeply frustrating viewing experience. The central premise, an amnesiac accused of murder, is a really smart and fascinating one, because there are so many ways you can run with it: is this guy really a secret cold blooded killer? Is this detective just letting his obsession (and all that liquor) cloud his judgement? Or are they both being manipulated by someone else for their own nefarious means? Unfortunately, the filmmakers decided to go with the most predictable and boring answer, while also taking the most needlessly convoluted route to get there. However, the performances are all good, more or less, and there’s some excellent cinematography, courtesy of Tak Fujimoto, who would go on to do incredible work with Jonathan Demme and others, so at least the movie looks good. Still, you can’t help but lament what a lost opportunity this is from a storytelling perspective. This is exactly the types of movies that should be getting remade: films with interesting plots that failed in execution. Just imagine what someone like Nicolas Winding Refn or David Fincher could do with this story, right?!

I’ll wrap things up with a strange and macabre addendum. Thanks to Nate Phillips, who runs the fantastic online storefront Media Crypt (I own a few of their shirts, and you should too!), for pointing out to me the fact that Blackout inspired a real-life murder! The film premiered on HBO on July 28, 1985. Less than a week later, on August 3, Ed Sherman of Hartford, CT, murdered his pregnant wife, Ellen. Just like in the film, Ed cranked up the air conditioning to slow down decomposition, and throw off the time of death, in an attempt to establish an alibi. During the trial, witnesses claimed to have discussed watching Blackout with Ed the day after it aired, and the film was even shown to the jury by the prosecutor. In the end, Sherman was sentenced to fifty years in prison, but died of a heart attack only four years into his sentence. The case would eventually be covered on an episode of “Forensic Files.” So that just goes to show ya, Scumbags: crime doesn’t pay! Or maybe it would if you pick a better movie than Blackout to base your crime on. I dunno. I don’t really do crimes.

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