I can just imagine Mary Margaret and Emma coming home to this sight - Killian and David sprawled out on the living room floor, in their jeans and shirts and socks and sleeping with nasal snores and dream-twitches pulling at their fingers, mouths.Henry asleep on the couch - lanky body slung across the entire sofa.And Emma just sighs and throws knit blankets over them, and swears that she’ll just get them an Erector Set for Christmas so that they can have an excuse to sprawl out on the floor together.
(She thinks it might be because neither of them were able to experience the boyhood they deserved.)(With secret missions in the forest.)(And scary stories whispered while annoyed parents shush and affectionately demand they quiet down, please.)(With forts and fights and scrapes from battles against imaginary forces.)(No chance to be little boys.)(Like she never had the chance to be a little girl.)And she smiles and brushes her fingers at the hair the peak of their foreheads because this is Killian and this is her father and it sets off some unfolding behind her breast bone that pushes at her throat and swoops into her stomach.(She needs to stop drinking rosé so late at night.)
I don’t understand american school years what the fuck is a freshman or a sophomore why do you have these words instead of the numbers
what why would you use numbers
so IT FUCKING MAKES SENSE WHAT THE HELL IS A SOFT MOORE OR A FRESH MAN WHY ARE THE MEN FRESH
America makes no sense, as usual.
bless the person that actually made the chart
laughter from France
France what the fuck