#HE DIES FIRST HE JUST DOES. GOD. so what if some people make shakespeare sounding posts about the curse that I don’t understand. we are JUST | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lacrimosathedark · 3 years

Text

Who'd like some good old fashioned name analysis?

Okay, so, I been doing so much research for Resident Evil stuff and learning shit about fairy tales and timelines and genome editing and searching for impossible Romanian poetry I got overwhelmed and went, fuck it. Why not just look at their names? Maybe I'll learn something there.

So, here I have done it. Name meanings for characters of the Mold Saga so far aka 7 and 8 aka Biohazard and Village.

(Sorry I'm on mobile I'll put a cut here when I can)

Ethan: Firm, enduring, strong, impetuous, long-lived. An incredibly consistently common and popular name. E name just like Eveline, so could be a successor of sorts to the mold.

Mia: Derivative of numerous other names of many possibilities. Mia as a word means “mine” in Italian and Spanish. Mamma Mia is a well known Italian phrase, particularly due to the ABBA song and musical of the same name, and it being the catchphrase of the Nintendo character Mario. The phrase means “my mom”.

Winters: First and last season of the year where everything becomes dormant and cold and either dies or sleeps.

Eveline: Contains “Eve”, as in both the biblical first woman. Also means a night before an event, and the game takes place in the span of one night. The name Eve means “ life”, “living one”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”. Another possible name origin is as a variant of Aveline, which is a diminutive of Ava, which is the same pronunciation as the name Eva as pronounced in Village.

Baker: Occupational surname. In older times consider an upper-middle class job, much like the family. Also adds the emphasis of the “food” and also how they essentially make more molded.

Jack: God is gracious, supplanter. A nickname for John and other related names, but also a name in itself. It is also a word with a couple meanings, including a heavy lifting tool, to steal something, to take control of something, or an everyman.

Margueritte: Pearl. French name for ox-eyed daisy. Derived from Margaret. Sounds like maggot.

Lucas: Light. Derived from Lucius which means “the bright one” or “the one born at dawn”. Luke is also an Apostle of Jesus and was a physician.

Zoe: Life. Came from the name Eve. Fitting as Zoe was practically pushed out of the family after Eveline’s arrival, replaced as the daughter of the family.

Joe: He will add. Was added as DLC. Short for Joseph. Joseph is the name of multiple biblical figures. One is a child of Jacob and Rachel and Jacob’s favorite son in Genesis (note: Jack is a nickname for Jacob) who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, but rose to become vizier, the most powerful position nest to the Pharoah, and forgave his family and brought them to Egypt. One is the husband of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who loved and raised a child he knew was not his against social norms. Another is a disciple known as Joseph of Arimathea who notably took Jesus down from the cross for his burial and testified when he revived and was gone.

Rosemary: Dew of the sea. Combination of Rose and Mary or the plant rosemary. Roses as a plant vary in meaning depending on color. Mary and its variations have many differing meanings, among them being, “beloved”, “love”, “bitter”, “rebellious”, “wished-for child”, and “drop of the sea”. There are also the allusions to Mary, mother of Jesus as she is sometimes worshipped with roses, and you say Hail Marys on your rosary which is only two letters from her name. In regards to the plant, it is relatively resistant to drought and cold, though some breeds are susceptible to frost and they don’t like too much water. They have fibrous roots, so they spread and fan out like we see with the mold. They thrive in more alkaline soils and seem to have been named by a taxonomist named Carl Linnaeus. In stories, folklore, and tradition, the plants or flowers are often used for remembrance, specifically for the dead. It’s also been used as a spice and in medicine.

Miranda: Worthy of admiration. Latin in origin. Character in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and whether she is a strong female character or not is highly debated, as she frequently defies men like her father, but often when they expect and/or want her to. She is otherwise compassionate and naive. The titular character of a Polish novel in which everyone is a mage and Miranda is a medium connected to another character, Damayanti, who is portrayed as the ideal woman and has a romance with the male protagonist, yet sacrifices her body so her spirit can experience a higher state of consciousness. Miranda can contact her soul, and disappears when she dies. Miranda in the US refers to the required practice by police of reading suspects their rights before interrogation.

Eva: Latin form of “Eve” and meaning “life”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”.

Duke: A ruler of a duchy. A title bestowed by royalty or passed through family, often given to royalty or nobility, but can be given to anyone. In France, the peerage system was abolished in 1789 (vive la révolution), brought back in 1814, and finally perma-abolished in 1848.

(Note: While the wife of a duke becomes a duchess, the husband of a duchess does not become a duke. At least, from what I gather. This shit is confusing.)

Alcina: Strong-willed. Greek origin. There are two operas using the same story about a sorceress named Alcina who lives on an island with her sister Morgana and seduces every knight who comes to the island, but turns them into plants, animals, or stones when she bores of them. When the source of her power is destroyed, she, her sister, and their palace crumble to dust. The Hungarian name for Alțâna, a commune in Sibiu County, Romania in the historical region of Transylvania.

Bela: Bela Lugosi was an actor who famously portrayed Dracula. His name is Hungarian and meant to be spelled Béla meaning “heart”, “insides”, or “intestines”, roughly translating to “having heart” or “having guts” in modern terminology, as in being brave. However it is considered a male name and as Bela is female there is also the possibility of the influence of the name Bella short an l, Bella an Italian name meaning “beautiful”.

Cassandra: The one who shines and excels over men. Name of a Trojan princess and priestess in Greek mythology. She was given her gift of prophecy by the god Apollo but, in most versions of the tale, he asks for sexual favors in return, and she initially agrees but then rejects him once she’s gotten her gift. In anger he cursed her to always tell true prophecies that no one would believe and was thus thought a madwoman. She served a temple of Athena, goddess of wisdom, handicraft, and warfare. When Cassandra was assaulted and possibly raped in Athena’s temple and dragged out while desperately clinging to Athena’s statue, Athena was so enraged by the damage done to her temple and/or her priestess that she enlisted the help of both Zeus and Poseiden to exact revenge on the Greeks for failing to punish the man who attacked Cassandra and caused the resulting damage. Zeus gave her one of his own bolts of lightning and she struck them down at sea. While Cassandra was never believed, she was always right.

Daniela: God is my judge. Feminine form of Daniel. Daniela is also a genus of moth with only one species in the genus, Daniela viridis. It is also another name for the Italian wine grape Prè blanc.

Dimitrescu: Child of Dimitri. -escu suffixes in Romanian are like -son suffixes in English, it derives from parentage (ex. Jackson is Jack’s son, Dimitrescu is Dimitri’s child). Dimitri means “devoted to Demeter”. Demeter is the Greek goddess of the harvest, agriculture, sacred law (i.e. cycle of life and death), fertility, and the earth. Like many Greek myths, she is repeatedly wronged, and rather severely, by multiple male figures. Demeter in particular is a mother who has her daughter Kore, later known as Persephone, stolen away from her and goes on a rampage searching for her and those responsible.

(Note: Considering the founders had these names it’s a bit dumb seeing as this trend of parentage -escu names supposedly came about mid 19th century (1800s for those who find that confusing cuz I do), long after the Village was founded)

Donna: Lady or lady of the home. Italian name and a title of respect. Derives from the Latin term Dominus. The Romanian form of the word (not the name) is Doamnã. The Atropa belladonna aka deadly nightshade have berries and foliage that contain tropane alkaloids including atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine which are extremely toxic and can cause hallucinations and delirium, but are also used in pharmaceutical anticholinergics. Throughout history people cluelessly used the berry juice as eye drops to cosmetically dilate their pupils, giving them a seductive doll-eyed appearance. Symptoms of belladonna poisoning are dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium, and convulsions. The plant's deadly symptoms are in atropine’s ability to disrupt the parasympathetic nervous system’s involuntary regulation like sweating, breathing, and heartbeat.

Angie: Diminutive of many names containing “angel”. Angels are messengers and warriors of Heaven, a realm souls go after death. Angel statues are also common grave markers. Children are also often told they have guardian angels, a being watching over them to protect them.

Claudia: No sure meaning has been found, but some think it comes from claudus, meaning “lame”, “limping”, or “crippled”, or clausus, which means “shut” or “closed”.

Beneviento: Good wind. Neapolitan spelling of Benevento, the name of both a province and its capital city, located in the Campania region of Italy.

Salvatore: Savior. Italian name. In the movie version (I specify as I have not read the book and the movie synopsis has more on the characters) of The Name of the Rose, the character Salvatore is hunch-backed and twisted, and has a history of not-really-acceptable religious beliefs. He was also tortured and falsely accused of witchcraft. He dies when a library is set on fire.

Moreau: Moorish, dark-skinned. French surname. Titular doctor in The Island of Doctor Moreau, in which said doctor performs disturbing and torturous experiments on people and animals, especially through vivisection, to make beastial humanoid creatures.

Karl: Free man, strong man, manly. Werner Karl Heisenberg was a German theoretical physicist who made notably important contributions to hydrodynamics, ferromagnetism, cosmic rays, and subatomic particles. Karl Marx was a German philosopher, economist, historian, sociologist, political theorist, journalist, and socialist revolutionary who believed societies develop through class conflict, and in a capitalist society this is the “ruling” class (the bosses) having power over the working class. He believed people should have equal footing and should and would inevitably fight for it. Karl Jaspers was a German existentialist philosopher and psychiatrist. His humanist ideals had him dissatisfied with the medical community’s approach to mental health and worked to improve it, and philosophizing on it after.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: Since I’ve seen accusations of the RE character and his influences being so, I feel I must state it here. Karl Heisenberg is NOT a Nazi. Both Heisenberg and Jaspers lived through World War II and neither were Nazis. Jaspers was blackwalled because of his Jewish wife. Heisenberg was forcibly drafted into the Army Weapons Bureau, but pre-war he had been repeatedly slandered as a “white Jew” and his career held back, and post-war became more political, worked against traditional primacy in the education system, and actively protested the government considering equipping the army with American nuclear weapons. Capcom reps have also stated that Karl Heisenberg has nothing to do with Nazis.)

Heisenberg: Calling mountain (could not find a specific definition, “heisen” means “to call” and “berg” means “mountain or hill”). Reference to Werner Karl Heisenberg, (explained above). Likely unrelated, but another well-known (in the US at least) name thief of Heisenberg comes from the popular TV show Breaking Bad as the alias/street name for the main character Walter White who takes the name and starts selling drugs when he is unable to afford medical care for his in-need child, but grows more twisted throughout the series. Also place name.

Berengario: Italian form of Berengar, which is derived from Germanic root words meaning “bear” and “spear”.

Cesare: Italian form of the Latin word Caesar, which is an imperial title like an emperor or empress. The word Caesar itself may come from caesaries meaning “hairy”.

Guglielmo: Italian form of the Germanic William, meaning “vehement protector” or “desired helmet”

Nichola: Anglicized form of the Greek Nikolaos meaning “victory of the people”. Also a variant of Nicholas (Considered a female variant but fuck gender roles and the description says he.). This character is also referred to as Father like a priest I looked into saints and while I found no notable Saint Nichola (meaning on Wikipedia) there are multiple Saint Nicholases, most notably Saint Nicholas of Myra, also known as the Wonderworker and the model of Santa Claus. Stories of him include gifting gold coins through a window of a home for three nights to prevent three girls from being forced into prostitution, calming a storm at sea, saving three soldiers from execution, and chopping down a possessed tree. More connected to where his treasure is found, there is also a tale of him resurrecting three children who had been murdered by a butcher who had had intended to sell their meat as “pork” during the famine.

*BONUS TIME*

By that I mean these are less important so I did slightly less research and/or didn’t feel like typing all the research so there’s less info, but it’s still relevant, so here you go!

Chris: A rare name in its own right, often a shortened version of names like Christopher, meaning “Christ-bearer”, and Christian, as in the religion.

Redfield: Literally red field. Fitting for the trail of blood in his wake because have mercy on any of his enemies, but regrettably including many of his friends and allies (rip in peace Piers Nivans).

Elena: Shining light. Greek origin.

Leonardo: Strong as a lion. Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese version of Leonard.

Lupu: Wolf. Romanian surname. Fitting as the surname of the man we saw become a lycan before our eyes.

Luiza: Renowned warrior. Polish, Portuguese, and Romanian name.

Iulian: Romanian name from the Greek iulius meaning “youthful” or “juvenile”, or ioulos meaning “downy-bearded”.

Vasile: Romanian name from the Greek basileus meaning ”king”. Vasile Voiculescu wrote a poem called Schimnicul, The Recluse in English, about varcolacul.

(Note: For those who don’t recall or didn’t notice his name in Ethan’s diary, this is Luiza’s husband.)

Rolando: Famous throughout the land. Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese variant of Roland.

Elba: Spanish form of Alba, which can mean “dawn”, “white”, or “elf”, depending on origin.

Dion: Shorter form of Greek Dionysios meaning “of Zeus”.

Wilson: Lineage surname, “Will’s son”. Very common surname in English.

Charlie: A name in itself but often a nickname for names like Charles meaning “man” or “warrior”

Graham: Gravelly homestead. Habitational surname, apparently derived from Grantham in Lincolnshire, England.

John: God is gracious. The most common name ever with the most variations.

Perlman: Ashkenazi Jewish surname. Also literal, “perl” possibly meaning “pearl” thus being an occupational name, or Perl being a woman’s name making it mean “husband of Perl”.

Emily: Rival. Latin name.

Berkoff: Could be Jewish, Dutch, or German surname. Definition not quite certain, but likely related to birch trees.

Josef: German, Czech, and Scandinavian version of Joseph.

Simon: He has heard. From Hebrew Shim’on.

Roxana: Bright, dawn. Latin form of Greek Rhoxane and Persian Roshanak.

Anton: Priceless, praiseworthy, flower.

Sebastian: From the Latin name Sebastianus which meant “from Sebaste”. Sebaste is a town in Asia Minor and comes from the Greek word sebastos meaning “venerable”.

Eugen: Well-born.Romanian form of Eugene. From the Greek name Eugenios.

(Note: This is the man who lived in the house with the red chimney.)

Ernest: Serious. Germanic name.

(Note: This man is noted to be missing in a letter to Luiza and his diary is found with the Cannibal’s Plunder in Otto’s Mill.)

63 notes · View notes

incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Note

Imagine if the suitors went to the beach for a whole day in the modern world...what crazy crap do you think will happen

Here are a handful of crazy and/or cute headcanons that came to mind! :D

-Mozart swatting away seagulls because HE IS TRYING TO EAT IN PEACE

-Jeanne watching him, MC offering him two water guns with a silent nod (sunglasses on, we’re going full meme)

-Jeanne then proceeds to shoot at them (no gulls were harmed in making of this promotional video) and his aim is impeccable it would be disturbing if the thwarted squawking wasn’t so funny

-Little kids start swarming around Jeanne asking how he’s so amazing and wanting to play team battles, inviting him to join

-Napoleon encourages him, and even Mozart joins in despite not liking getting wet very much (he wants Jeanne to have some positive fun times bc he BIIIIIIIG depressy)

-In the end they both admit to having fun, and one of the kids even teaches Jeanne a special ten step handshake (Jeanne has no idea what that was but the kiddo was smiling so he figured he’d go with it)

-HE AND MOZART STILL SECRETLY USE THE HANDSHAKE FOR FUNSIES BUT TELL NO ONE BECAUSE THEY DON’T LIKE F U N DON’T LOOK AT THEM

-Dazai, alternatively, gathers the fallen gull army and becomes their god with a singular cylinder of Pringles. No I will not elaborate--THE SEA GULLS GOT HER!!!!!!!!

-Spends most of the beach day wetting his feet in the tide pools and talking very earnestly to the gulls about this new thing he learned about called tax evasion while people pass by this fucker in full kimono at the beach and are convinced he’s lost it

-Dazai is very much not sane but we knew this already, offers sea shells to little kids that ask him what he’s doing and tells them to listen to the secrets bird friends can tell them

-If Dazai sounds like an Animal Crossing Villager, that was entirely by accident but remains no less true

-Surprising absolutely no one, Arthur suggests volley ball after watching people play and invites some pretty ladies to join him

-Arthur ends up needing two more people to play, so he invites Vincent and Theo (Vincent is so excited about trying something new that Theo can’t say no despite wanting to make a volleyball-shaped crater in Arthur’s face)

-The funniest part about the volleyball game is that not only is Arthur a shit player (CANON WEAK ARMS FOOL) Theo destroys with his spikes, and Vincent’s reach is insane--the two brothers end up becoming the talk of the beach

-I just laugh imagining Vincent sincerely complimenting people around him and the ladies swooning because he’s just so nice and pretty is he even real

-Men aren’t happy about that^TM but at the sight of Theo’s defensive glower they keep their malicious traps shut--which turn on whichever girls weren’t interested in Vincent jahkslgjh

-**Kaguyasama narrator voice** Today on Arthur Shenanigans: Arthur loses

-Poor Isaac is hiding under the umbrella clutching sunscreen bc HE IS A PASTY BOY HELP HIM

-MC brought a few of the newest Maths/Physics books in her time for him to read, and while he doesn’t enjoy the intensity of the sun--not like vamp weakness, it’s just the strain on his body (too many stimuli too many people too much noise) that makes him tired and ultimately thirsty bc aberrant. But the change of scenery's not so bad.......

-MC laughs when she gets out of the water and the salt dries visibly on her skin, Isaac’s eyes bug out and he asks if it hurts (startles when Leo flicks sea water at him and asks how on earth they got in the water when it’s so cold!!!)

-Leo chats with him and he likes being able to draw theorems and the like in the sand, it’s like one big chalkboard (until a kid tramples across them in the middle of writing, POPPYCOCK!). Isaac ultimately has fun but prefers to stay inside poor bub

-Leonardo, surprising no one, falls asleep in the sand the second he gets there HE IS HOME (Italian beaches, amirite)

-MC decides to, after a point, bury him fully in the sand for shits

-Comte notices and aids in her shenanigans from his beach chair, snickering the whole time

-When the two are satisfied they go for a swim together, trusting Leo to look after Isaac if need be (even if he’s a mummy rn)

-Comte is relieved to hear that she knows how to swim, but also watches carefully and doesn’t let her drift out too far by keeping closer to the shore himself (riptides!!!! can be!!!!!!! dangerous!!!!!!!!!!) if he had his way (he would never impose but he worries ;-;) she’d be wearing floaties SAFETY FIRST

-They splash at each other like maniacs and chat amiably until they start swimming away as fast as possible when Leo wakes up, laughing

-How do we know that Leo woke up?

-Because he sat up ramrod straight and a tower of sand fell. He then proceeded to jump up and sprint to the water despite Isaac’s startled cries about being careful, and swam after them like a shark to get his revenge (it was like something out of an anime s2g)

-Mostly just tugs on MC’s leg, picks her up in the water, and yeets her across in retaliation; really harmless, she’s cackling the whole time

-Dunks Comte’s head in the water while he’s being scolded, and MC has to de-escalate their increasingly dangerous shenanigans before the life guard comes after them LMFAO

-They concede only bc MC looks sad/worried abt being kicked out, and agree to keep things fun FIGHT TO THE DEATH LATER TONIGHT

-Napoleon goes for a nice long walk along the shoreline and climbs the rocks if he finds any til he gets to the top (he does not go to his happy place HE GOES TO HIS HIGH LONESOME PLACE) wishes that Jupiter could be here to enjoy the brine

-Our boy Napoleon is simply just vibin he loves the beach. A little further off the sound of people is p muted, it’s just the crashing waves and crisp smell of salt, the light breeze ruffling his hair

-Sebas is absolutely watching through binoculars and writing down how majestic Napoleon is while making sure no one gets lost/wrecked as he takes notes

Bonus: since volleyball games can often happen back to back on a sizable beach, the boys^TM were playing and Arthur called out “Theo duck!!!!” and just as Theo was saying “Are you fucking kidding me did you really think I’d--T H W A C K” Theo gets nailed in the back of the head (Arthur later died after being put in a headlock)

Shakespeare didn’t feel like playing volley ball and didn’t have much else to do (can’t swim and has no interest), so he just sat back and tried to throw Theo off his game as much as possible

Por ejemplo: Theo misses a serve and Shakespeare just “For never was there a story of more woe; O bard Alexa, verily, play us Despacito” “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

Jeanne also gets hit by a stray volley ball, but when Vincent said “Oh no, Jeanne, duck!” he has one of either two reactions: 1. Boulevard of Broken Dreams plays obnoxiously loud as he dodges inhumanly fast 2. he quacks, gets nailed, and doesn’t react because he doesn’t have any brain cells to damage

1K notes · View notes

ourownsideimagines · 3 years

Text

Hide My Wings Tonight: Not Another Gloomy Play (Chapter 5)

Surprise! Not dead! I suddenly got the oomph today to finish not one but TWO chapters. Chaoter Six will be posted later, but I figured after two years of waiting I would go ahead and put up Chapter 5 right now.

Read it here on AO3!

Or read it below the cut

Based on the one-shot request by @jinxthequeergirl

---

Aziraphale had not seen his sister filled with such joy in centuries as he did in the years following the beginning of her and Crowley’s arrangement. Not that he knew of said arrangement of course, but he didn’t question what his sister did as long as she was happy. He worried about her, that much was for sure, but after she’d blown off his question the first twenty times he’d stopped asking, and started to enjoy the smile she once again gave so freely.

And (name) enjoyed learning to dance. Her demonic partner was not the best at the task, but they were learning together by watching others, and interacting. No one would question their presence at parties and masquerades. And though (name) would never admit it, she enjoyed spending time with Crowley. There was something about him that drew her in. Perhaps that was just how demons were. Enticing to even the purest of minds. Or maybe just to her.

She didn’t like Crowley, Heaven’s no - how could she, he’s a demon - but his company was a nice change from her doting brother and the snobs up in Heaven.

And of course, with their first arrangement, came another one. One that would change the world forever

You see, arrangements can be a tricky thing.

The one that (name) had with Crowley was simple enough - Crowley would help (name) learn any new dance she desired, as long as she was willing to help him with small things. She had been a bit reluctant to these terms at first, but found that there was some joy in her disobeying Heaven. It was like a huge fuck you to Gabriel behind his back.

Did his coat need mending? Simple enough - it might not look beautiful, but it was presentable. Did Crowley need a name? Most certainly, (name) could get that. Did he need help getting into somewhere he couldn’t get into otherwise? Not a problem, (name) was good at talking her way into places. Did he need Aziraphale distracted for a while while he did some misdeeds? (Name) could turn a blind eye and take her brother out to lunch. Whatever he asked for, (name) was willing to do it.

Aziraphale had caught onto them rather quickly, much to (name)’s dismay. He’d been upset. He didn’t know about the dancing, but he knew that she’d been sneaking off to see Crowley and to help him with his hellish intentions. It had taken hours for (name) to get him to calm down and listen.

And that was how the second arrangement began. This one was just a bit trickier to get away with. After all, hiding something from Aziraphale was one thing. But hiding something from heaven was another - they had eyes everywhere. Even if it didn’t seem like it, someone was bound to be watching. And if not now, then later.

Aziraphale had been against the idea for so many years, helping Crowley, or God forbid, getting Crowley’s help. But with the way (name) and Crowley insisted it could do us some good, how was he to resist?

So that was how it had been, for many years. The angels helped the demon, and the demon helped the angels. Heaven hadn’t noticed, and as far as (name) knew Hell hadn’t either. That didn’t mean any less sneaking around - Aziraphale refused to meet with Crowley privately. It always had to be in a crowd, somewhere inconspicuous.

And the Globe Theater during the preview of Shakespeare's new play, Hamlet, was anything but.

Aziraphale had promised a crowd, but (name) could count no more than fifteen heads among the crowd - that included the Bard himself, and the woman carrying snacks, Juliet. As they waited for Crowley, Aziraphale purchased himself a bunch of grapes, miracaling a coin out of nowhere.

“If you were going to do that,” (Name) said as Juliet walked away. “You could have just miracled yourself some grapes.”

“Now where would be the fun in that.” Aziraphale said, smiling down at the fruit before popping one of them into his mouth. He glanced around quickly. “He’s late.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” She teased. “Stop looking so nervous. You’re the one who wanted to meet with him here.”

“Yes, well, I assumed there would be a much bigger crowd.”

“There’s never a crowd for a show like this.” (Name) argued. “People are depressed enough as is, they don’t want to be going to a show that will just make them feel worse.”

“I don’t feel any worse.” Aziaraphale argued.

“Yeah, well, you’re also not like everybody else.” The two were silent for a moment. Then, almost as if she could sense him, (name) turned her head and watched as Crowley sauntered into the arena. He saw them, and took no time at coming to stand beside (name).

“I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in with the crowd.” (Name) wanted to smile at this. Aziraphale, on the other hand, huffed, and ate another grape before he spoke.

“That was the idea.” He grumbled, glancing over at the demon. Remembering his manners, he offered the fruits to him. Crowley, however, ignored them.

“Ah, hang on.” The demon grimaced. “This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” He scrunched up his nose. “No wonder nobody’s here.” (Name) smiled at this.

“Shh, it’s him.” Aziraphale grasped his sister's arm, catching her attention.

“Prithee, gentles, madam.” He said. “Might I request a small favor? Could you, in your role as the audience, give us more to work with?” (name) tried not to frown at this, but she had never been very good at controlling her mouth - both what came out of it, and what shapes it decided to make. Shakespeare didn’t seem much interested in her tho, his eyes focused more on Aziaphale who asked;

“You mean, like when the ghost of his father came on, and I shouted ‘He’s behind you!’?”

“Just so!” Shakespeare said. “That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on the stage feel appreciated. A bit more of that.” (name) wanted to argue. She wanted to say that it made no sense, but she didn’t have the chance. “Good Master Burbage, please! Speak the lines trippingly.” The actor on stage didn’t take the advice too well, and (name) was sure he was ready to explode on the bard at any moment.

“I am wasting my time up here.” He hissed.

“No, you’re very good!” Aziraphale insisted. “Isn’t that right, my dear sister?”

“I-” She bit her tongue. Aziraphale has a bad habit of putting her on the spot like this. That, plus a loose tongue, was never a good pairing. “Yes. I just love all the… talking.” She said.

“And what does your friend think?” The actor asked, clearly looking towards Crowley.

“He’s not our friend. We’ve never met before, we don’t know each other-”

“I think you should get on with the play.” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale, and (name) had to raise a hand to cover her mouth. If Aziraphale heard her laugh, he would surely lecture her later.

“Yes, Burbage. Please.” Shakespeare said. The actor continued.

“To be or not to be - that is the question-”

“To be!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet. Buck up!” He turned to (name) with excitement, but it quickly died when he saw the bored look on not only her face, but on Crowley’s as well. Still, the actor gave him a grateful thumbs up and continued on. (name) had to keep from laughing when she noticed Shakespeare mouthing along to the soliloquy, looking very proud of himself.

“He’s very good, isn’t he?” Aziraphale gushed.

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.” Crowley dramatized. (name) watched as Shakespeare reached for his pocket, stating how he ‘liked that’ and wandered away while scratching it down on a scrap of paper.

They stood there a few moments longer, listening to the soliloquy.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale finally spoke, popping another grape into his mouth. (Name) took this opportunity to snag a few, cradling them in her hand as she trained her eyes on the man standing on stage.

“Why might you be insinuating that I might possibly want some?” He was behind them now, coming to stand on Aziraphale’s side.

“You’re up to no good.”

“And the two of you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” (Name) spared him a glance. He wasn’t even trying to pretend that he was watching the play. Even behind his glasses she could see him glancing at her, then back to Aziraphale.

“Well there is no rest for the…” Aziraphale paused, causing (name) to snicker. The actor on stage threw her a look, which she chose to ignore. “Good.”

“We’re meant to be heading up to Edinburgh at the end of the week. Aziraphale has a couple of blessings to do and I have a minor miracle to perform.” (Name) popped a couple of the grapes into her mouth - they were the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, causing her to hum with joy.

“Oh? Is that right?” Crowley looked at her again and (Name) fought to keep a smile off her face. “Well, I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh end of the week as well - tempting a clan leader to steal some caddle.”

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Aziraphale piped in, too focused on the play and his food to realize what was coming next.

“Well, that’s why I thought…” this caught Aziraphale’s attention, and he all but snapped his head in Crowley’s direction. “Well, it’s be a bit of a waste.” Crowley was starting to smile again. He knew exactly what he was doing. “All of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot possibly be insinuating,” Azirapahe was beginning to raise his voice, and (Name) hushed him before the actor could throw another tantrum. “What I infer you are implying.” He said in a hushed tone.

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” Crowley was turned to watch the play now, but (name) never looked away from him. “The arrangement-“

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale demanded.

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list.

“Yes, but if hell found out they wouldn’t just be mad,” Aziraphale reminded him. “They would destroy you.” The joy of seeing the demon had finally worn off as (name) let Aziraphale’s words sink in.

They would destroy you.

“Nobody ever needs to know.” Crowley said, lifting a hand to show them a rusted coin. “I’ll toss you for Edinburgh.”

There was a pregnant pause. (Name) could feel the words forming on the tip of her tongue. We shouldn’t do this, she wanted to say. It’s way too dangerous. But she couldn’t. Because a life without seeing Crowley every now and again would be… well, she’s not sure it would be worth living.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed. “Heads.” Crowley smiled. Then, he held the coin out to her.

“Would you do us the honor?” He asked. As (name) took the coin, her fingers brushed gently against his own, and despite how well dressed he was and how warm it was, his fingers were cold. Aziraphale’s eyes were trained on the coin so he didn’t see when Crowley gave her a sly wink.

The other arrangement.

(Name) held onto a sigh as she flipped the coin, fingers snapping gently as she did. When the coin landed, she knew it would be tails, but she played her part and gave a small groan of annoyance.

“Well, brother of mine, it looks like we will be the ones going to Scotland.” She displayed the coin. “Guess I’m just a bit unlucky.” She lied.

Before either of them could speak, they heard the bard moaning from the other side of the pit.

“It’s been like this every performance Juliet, a complete dud. It would take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.” (Name) didn’t miss the look Aziraphale gave Crowley. The same face he gave her when he wanted something sweet, or was begging her to help him get a new book.

Crowley scrunched up his nose, but let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll do that one.” He said. “My treat.”

“Oh, really?” (Name) shuffled a bit, annoyed words threatening to spill from her lips. But Crowley spoke up quickly.

“I still prefer the funny ones.” He gave (name) one last glance before making his way toward the exit of the theater, probably on his way to start on his demonic miracle. It was at that moment that (name) realized she was still holding Crowley’s coin.

“Oh, bugger.” She muttered. “Could you hold on a moment, brother. I will return in just a moment.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Quite. Just need a breather, is all.” He didn’t seem to like that answer, but didn’t argue as (name) tore away from him and walked towards the theater exit. As she popped out onto the empty streets, she could feel eyes on her. To her left, Crowley was leaning up against a wall, waiting for her.

“Sneaky bastard.” She said, “You forgot something.” She said, holding out the coin to him. He stared at it for a moment, but didn’t hold out a hand to take it. So she pulled back, slipping the coin into a pocket she had secretly sewn into her dress. “Is everything okay, Crowley?”

“How are you?” (name) was taken aback by the question, but Crowley seemed genuine in his curiosity.

“I am… fine.”

“You seem happy.” He said. “Even if you weren’t enjoying the show, you just seem… happier.”

“Well,” (name) started. “I am. Times are changing. I haven’t had to visit upstairs in quite a while. And Aziaraphale is happy. So I am happy.”

“Good. That’s… good.” There was silence between them. “I still owe you from last time, too.” He said. (name) hummed in agreement - she hadn’t gotten her promised dance lesson for the last temptation she had assisted him with.

“I guess this next one will just have to be a bit longer, then, no?”

“It would seem.” Crowley was smiling. “Have fun in Edinburgh, Angel.”

“Have fun with Hamlet, Demon.” She shot back, trying not to laugh as he grimaced. Crowley pushed off the wall and began to saunter off, leaving (name) to return to her brother. When she reached into her pocket, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

The coin was gone.

#hide my wings tonight #HMWT chapter 5 #chapter 5 #crowley x reader #crowley x angel!reader #crowley x fem!reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x angel!reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #x reader #x angel!reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #Aziraphale’s sister!reader #my writing #reese writes

34 notes · View notes

donteattheappleshook · 4 years

Text

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows

***

A Captain Swan AU loosely based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Rated M

Read on Ao3 because tumblr eats my italics

Summary:

Emma and Killian hate each other. They have since the night they met. Or at least since the morning after. So Emma is dreading having to deal with them being Maid of Honour and Best Man at her brother's wedding. But, as their friends grow more and more annoyed at their constant bickering and a masquerade Stag and Doe turns everything on it's head, the entire bridal party come to a startling realisation: Emma and Killian might just be perfect for each other. With a little scheming and some well-timed chaos, maybe they can stop yelling at each other long enough to realise it too.

An enormous, huge, giant thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for her fantastic beta work and for helping me with this fic right up to the last second despite all my procrastinating. You are lovely and the best <3

Part One

Her head. Oh, god, her head. Why did her head hurt so much? Emma groaned, a pathetic whimper coming out as she tried to roll over on the couch. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll of its own at the movement, protesting against the liquor that was still swirling around inside.

Right. Liquor. Drinking. Drinking last night. Drinking with David. David. She was going to have to kill David. David, who insisted she show up early to this weekend extravaganza disguised as a wedding. The one who claimed that since he’d lost his best man when Mary Margaret stole his little sister to be her maid of honour that he was entitled to a brother-sister pre-bachelor party. It’s only fair, he’d insisted, flashing her those big puppy dog eyes and Emma had caved. She always caved when it came to her brother - or his fiance for that matter. She was weak when it came to those two. And now she had to murder one of them. Murder her only brother two days before his wedding for forcing what must have been an entire bottle of expensive scotch down her throat while they played poker and smoked cigars (and later sang along to the entire Mama Mia soundtrack - not that she’d ever admit that). Pity. She really liked David.

“Emma, Emma, bo-bemma, Banana-fana fo-femma, Fee-fi-mo-memma. Emma!” The loud singing announced her brother practically bouncing into the room and throwing himself on the couch near her feet. Emma groaned again and threw a pillow over her ears to try and block out the off-key hollering from the asshole next to her. She was liking him less and less with every passing second.

David laughed and ripped the pillow out of her grasp. “Rise and shine sister-mine!” he chanted. She was actually going to murder him. She reached out, a pathetic attempt to strike him but her hand just fell limply at her side.

“They will never find your body,” she told him. He laughed again and Emma cursed David and his super liver. She’d been his sister since she was ten; since Ruth found her on the street, burning a book of fairy tales to keep warm, and had taken her home for the night. That night had turned into forever and now, after eighteen years of living with the man, she’d never once seen him suffer a hangover.

“How are you so chipper?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she’d gargled sandpaper. David smiled, hauling her up by the shoulders until she was sitting like an almost-human.

He threw his arms out. “It’s a beautiful day?” he offered. “I’m one morning closer to marrying the woman of my dreams? Everyone who I love and who loves me is on their way to celebrate the happiest moment of my life?” Emma frowned at him. How dare he be so happy so early. David laughed at her misery again but patted her shoulder sympathetically before rising up and walking across the hall to the kitchen. Then, as if out of nowhere, a giant cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and two extra-strength Tylenol capsules appeared on the table in front of her. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep for a minute there.

Emma reached for the coffee like it was a lifeline - which it really was if she was being honest. She drank deeply and felt the effects almost immediately. She downed the pills and water next. She couldn’t quite manage a smile since this was still technically his fault, but she offered David a thankful look for taking care of her. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have to murder him. Just some light maiming.

“You might want to jump in the shower,” he told her as she shuffled into the kitchen, he himself already looking and smelling fresh as a daisy. “You look a little rough,” he said with a grimace. Emma scowled at him and threw a nearby banana at his head which he easily dodged. She caught a glimpse of her reflection though, in the metallic gleam of the toaster and, well, he wasn’t wrong. “Just thought you’d want to freshen up and wake up before everyone gets here,” he suggested.

That’s right. It was Thursday. Everyone was arriving today. Oh, God. Emma had not played this right. Getting hammered on the night before the festivities even began. Today everyone would be arriving and settling into their respective rooms in the estate (read: mansion) owned by Mary Margaret’s parents - seriously the place was enormous. Mary Margaret had told her once how many bedrooms it had but the number had been so ridiculous and so superfluous that Emma had struck it from her memory. Nobody with an only child needed a house with rooms in the double digits. And this wasn’t even their home. No, they considered this place their ‘summer cottage’ where they would entertain friends on the private lake. It was convenient for a wedding though, she had to say. The whole bridal party was staying there for the entire weekend.

Tonight was the Stag and Doe. Leave it to David and Mary Margaret to find a way to avoid having to be apart even for their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It wasn’t like they’d ever been apart since they were fourteen years old - why start now? It was themed. Of course it was themed. Mary Margaret loved themes and David loved Mary Margaret so he let her have whatever damn theme she wanted, and since her parents had put their foot down against their daughter getting married on Halloween, they were having a costume stag and doe . She groaned. There were so many people coming. She knew. She’d had to organize it.

Tomorrow was the spa day for Mary Margaret and her bridesmaids and she assumed the boys would be treating David to some sort of manly pre-wedding tradition. All the out of town family would be arriving for the rehearsal dinner on Saturday. And then finally, the wedding was on Sunday. This weekend was a marathon, she mused, not a sprint.

Dozens of decorators, caterers, florists, and lots of other jobs Emma had never heard of were already running around the grounds - yes, the place had grounds - setting things up for what would certainly be the most lavish and extravagant (knowing Mary Margaret’s parents) yet classy and intimate (knowing Mary Margaret) wedding the world had ever seen. And all of them were under the direct orders of Regina Mills, David and Mary Margaret’s wedding planner and probably the most terrifying woman Emma had ever met.

Emma needed to boot and rally. She was the maid of honour and the groom’s sister. This weekend was not about her. Her job was to make sure everything ran smoothly. That the two most important people in her life had the most amazing few days of their lives and nothing and no-one was going to stand in her way.

Except maybe her speech, Emma thought as she turned on the shower and stepped under it. The hot water felt good and helped wake her up a little. The speech. The speech that she’d had nearly a year to write and still only had a blank page to show for it. How was she supposed to write a speech about love when she didn’t believe in it herself?

Well, that wasn’t completely true. She believed that some love was possible. But only for certain people. People like David and Mary Margaret who had found ‘The One’ when they were in the eighth grade and had never looked back. But they were the exception, not the rule.

Love had only ever left Emma hurt and alone. Love had only ever left her behind. First her birth parents who abandoned her on the side of the road as an infant. Then the string of foster parents that had cast her aside when they decided she wasn’t what they wanted. Then Ruth who had died far too young and left her and David behind. Then Neal, her high school boyfriend who had been her first everything before he disappeared to another city without so much as a ‘see ya’ text. And now David and Mary Margaret were getting married and starting a family of their own - one she wouldn’t be as much of a part of, no matter how much her brother insisted things wouldn’t change.

No, love wasn’t in the cards for Emma. She told people she didn’t have time for it but really she just didn’t have the heart for it. A heart could only take so many blows before it learned to rebuild itself out of something stronger. The taunting lilt of ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ flitted through her head and she shook it away. She was fine like this. She was happy. She had a job she loved, a nice apartment, and good friends. She didn’t need love.

As she finished drying her hair and putting on enough makeup so that she didn’t look like an extra from The Walking Dead, Emma heard the commotion of people arriving. She could pick out Mary Margaret, Belle, Elsa and Ruby’s voices easily and she rushed out to greet her friends. They squealed when they saw her and her head only protested a little as they wrapped her up in a tangle of limbs that passed for a group hug.

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “How was the pre-bachelor party?” she asked and Emma only grunted in response.

“You guys got here okay?” David asked, squeezing in to grab his bride-to-be and give her a kiss that would make you think she’d been away for months and not for a night.

“Save it for the honeymoon would you?” Ruby said in mock disgust and David looked at her with a wolfish smile.

“Don’t be jealous, Ruby! I’ve got one for you too!” David rushed to grab a protesting Ruby and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Emma smiled as she watched her friends laugh and joke and tease each other. She loved having them all here together. Soon the boys would get here too and for one, perfect weekend everything would be just the way it should be. All her friends in one place, celebrating together for the first time since her college graduation.

Well, almost perfect. All of them being here also meant he would be here. He and his snark and his ego and his womanizing ways. She supposed it was a small price to pay for the reunion. And she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the look on his face when she put him in his place.

“Oh! It’s Killian,” David said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a message. Speak of the devil , she thought. “He says they should be here in five,” David informed them, tucking his phone away.

“Great,” Emma said sarcastically and David shot her a begrudging look. She saw Ruby and Belle roll their eyes as Elsa and Mary Margaret started putting things away.

“Be nice,” David warned her.

“I’m always nice!” she insisted, offended. “ He’s the one who can’t seem to manage to be a decent human being for more than five minutes.”

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret insisted from the kitchen. “You’re just as guilty. I don’t know why you egg him on.” She shook her head and Emma balked.

“I do not! I just think that the man needs reminding every now and then that he’s not God’s gift to women.” It was David who rolled his eyes this time. “Seriously, David, how you can stand to have him be your best man -” she started.

“Nope,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to complain about that. You chose Mary Margaret over me when we both asked you, so I had to find someone else. Besides, Killian is my best friend.” She balked. David rolled his eyes. “My best male friend,” he corrected. “So, again, be nice .” He gave her a stern look.

“But he’s just so… so…”

“So what?” Ruby asked, looking like she was really enjoying this.

Elsa shot her a look. “Don’t encourage her, Ruby.”

Ruby grinned. “Oh come on, it’s fun! It’s like a free show watching those two go at each other.”

“We do not go at each other!” Emma insisted again. “I just find it hard to say nothing like all of you do when he goes around acting so… cocky.”

“Cocky?” Ruby prodded and Belle elbowed her.

“You know what I mean. Every time he comes here, it’s all, oh, I’ve done this and don’t worry, I know how to do that ... Look at me, I’m so handsome and -”

“Handsome?” Mary Margaret interjected with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut it!” she cast her friend a warning glare. “I mean he thinks he’s the hottest thing since the Hemsworths. And it doesn’t help that he always drags along some bimbo whose sole purpose in life seems to be to fluff his ego and his…” she made a vague hand gesture, “you know.”

“Woah, Emma, tell us how you really feel, why don’t you?” Ruby laughed.

“He’s really not actually -” David started but she cut him off.

“Look, it’s nothing against the women okay - I’m sure on some level they’re really nice or whatever, or have some great heart or talent, but honestly, any woman who is willing to be Killian Jones’ date must have the IQ and backbone of a slug.”

“He’s not bringing a date,” David told her before she could go on.

Emma reeled back from the news. Killian Jones without a date? Impossible. The man couldn’t stand to be caught dead without something shiny on his arm.

“What? Has he finally slept with every woman in America and abroad?”

David rolled his eyes. “He’s bringing his brother. Something about him being on shore leave and wanting to spend time with him.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, putting her head in her hands.

“See?” Belle piped in softly, misunderstanding her distress. “I’ve always said you judged him too quickly-”

“ There’s two of them !?” she demanded, hoping someone would tell her it was a joke. There was a collective groan and a small laugh from her friends. “Is one Jones in this world not enough?” she asked the room.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a smooth, accented voice called from down the hall. “Hello? Is someone getting married here?”

“Robin!” Mary Margaret cheered, perking right up as though there was anywhere left for her to perk. “We’re in the kitchen!” she called.

“How the bloody hell do we find the kitchen?” came another accented voice, this one rougher around the edges. “This place is a maze.” Will! Emma rushed out with Mary Margaret to help their friends navigate the enormous house.

They found them looking confused in the front hall and Emma practically threw herself in Will’s arms as Mary Margaret greeted her guests.

Will had been in the same foster home as her when they were little. He was only a few years older, but he’d made a point to look out for her when most of the older kids had been inclined to pick on the smaller ones. She’d run away when he’d been transferred to another home for fighting and, after Ruth adopted her, she thought she’d never see him again. But with some help she’d managed to track him down in high school and was happy to find out he’d been placed with a distant relative the state had managed to locate in the area - a second cousin, Robin.

Robin was in college and on his own at the time, but took Will under his wing and had brought him up more like a little brother than a son. When David, Mary Margaret, and Emma had all ended up at the same college as Will and Robin, the friendship had been inevitable. Will introduced them to Ruby, and Mary Margaret became quick friends with Belle and Elsa when they all joined and felt like the odd ones out in the same sorority. However, Will had also unfortunately introduced them all to his classmate and drinking buddy, Killian Jones - something Emma would never forgive him for.

“Hey! You’re going to ruin my shirt!” he told her, pretending he wasn’t hugging her back.

“Your shirt’s already wrinkled,” she told him.

“It’s disheveled,” he corrected her. “There’s a difference.”

“Come now, Swan, I know it can be difficult to find men at your age, but there’s no need to throw yourself at poor Will like that.”

And there it was. Ninety seconds. He’d lasted a whole ninety seconds before saying something rude and asshole-ish and just… ugh. She hated him.

She opened her mouth to retort but Robin beat her to it. He turned on Killian, finger extended in warning. “You! No. None of that. We talked about this.”

Killian snapped his mouth shut and held his hands up in innocence but she could see him biting back a smile. Ugh, he even looked smug when he was being chastised. She looked him over, arming herself for the battle that was soon to come, scanning for anything she could throw back in his face when she needed it, something to bring him back down to size.

He was handsome - she had to give him that. He was probably one of the best looking men she’d ever met and she remembered thinking so the first time they were introduced. But when he opened his mouth... god. The sheer level of douche that was contained in one man. It made her shudder at the thought and angry at her past self for judging a book by its cover. Why her friends put up with him, she’d never understand.

The others had joined them in the hall by now and pleasantries were being exchanged. But as she hugged Robin, and Killian exchanged how-have-you-beens with David and Belle, she could feel his eyes on her. That was another thing that drove her crazy about him. He always seemed to be paying too much attention to her - probably sizing her up the way she did him.

But sometimes… sometimes she’d caught him watching her with an expression that wasn’t mirthful or arrogant - a small smile curling the corner of his mouth as if against his will, his brow softened from it’s usual expressiveness. It made her unsteady, made her feel unbalanced because she didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of the fact that she kind of liked it. That scared the shit out of her.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” Killian was suddenly saying and she realised she may have been the one staring this time. “Everyone, this is Liam. Liam this is… everyone,” he smiled. Emma raised her brow at them both. Another Jones. This could not end well. “It’s Liam’s first time in the States,” he informed them as Liam shook hands with everyone.

“Well,” Liam interjected, “first time off a ship anyway.”

“Welcome,” David said, patting him on the shoulder.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” Mary Margaret cheered, hugging him.

“Nice to meet you,” Elsa smiled, offering her hand. Liam looked from Mary Margaret to her and for a second his eyes went a little wide - Elsa could have that effect - before he took her hand and held it a fraction too long. Elsa’s smile shifted as she looked at him and Liam finally released her hand.

“Thank you,” Liam smiled, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. “I do hope I’m not intruding,” he offered. “Only it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to see my brother and…” Holy shit. Was he blushing? Emma thought. How the hell was this guy related to Killian?

“Of course you’re not,” she found herself saying before she could stop herself. He must be adopted. That was the only explanation. “This family has always had a soft spot for picking up strays along the way,” she insisted. “Emma,” she told him her name.

“Ah, Emma,” he said, casting a look at Killian. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Emma cast her own look at the other brother, skeptical of what he could have possibly said about her. He maintained his look of innocence. Liam smiled and took her hand, shaking it. “A pleasure,” he said and she smiled back almost instinctively. Maybe her judgement had been off when she’d first met Killian but she liked to think she was a pretty good judge of character. And Liam, well Liam had an air about him. It was the opposite of Killian’s. Where Killian exuded cockiness and pretense, Liam was modest and sincere. Well what do you know, she thought, there is a Jones out there I could like.

Quickly, once all the greetings had been taken care of, Emma informed everyone of the schedule for the weekend. “What will the guys be doing tomorrow?” she asked, looking pointedly at the best man.

“We’re going camping,” Killian informed her. It almost pissed her off how perfect a choice that was. David loved camping. “Lots of good old fashioned male bonding,” Killian joked. “I’ve packed enough cigars and whiskey to take down a horse. Let’s see if we can get Dave hungover for the first time in his life shall we?” Emma braced himself for whatever he was going to say next. “Besides, it will give us a chance to give him some tips for the wedding night.” He winked at the groom.

“Well, that’s our cue, I think,” David said, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Let’s go find everyone a room and have a drink and maybe some pizza before people get here.”

As the gang headed into the kitchen, Killian went about hanging up his jacket and setting his keys down before picking up his bag, calling after them. “Don’t worry Dave! I can tell you what to do so you don’t bleed your first time!” Emma lingered behind. She couldn’t help herself.

“You know you talk a lot for a guy nobody listens to.”

And there it was, that cocky, amused smile he seemed to save only for her. Emma ignored the little flip her stomach did - convincing herself that it was just leftover hangover symptoms.

“ Swan ,” he said almost affectionately, but there was a mocking there too. “We didn’t have a chance to say hello! You look…” He paused, taking in what she was sure were dark circles and pale skin. “Alive... mostly. How absolutely wonderful for someone, I’m sure.”

She didn’t even let it phase her. If he was already relying on physical insults she’d already won. “I noticed you didn’t bring a date.” He eyed her skeptically. “Did you forget to pay your tab at Escorts ‘R Us this month?”

He smiled. “I don’t see your date, Swan. Or is he already making a hasty escape out the bathroom window? Don’t take it too hard. Not everyone can have as many suitors as some.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha,” she snorted. “Yeah I know all about your many suitors. Tell me something,” she started, inching closer and speaking low like it was a secret. He leaned in almost like a reflex. “Does your right hand know that you sometimes cheat on it with your left?”

He laughed outright at that. “Ah, love, it might shock you to discover that some of us are capable of finding willing partners for the world’s oldest dance. But I can understand how some might be led to believe one’s hand is one’s only option.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah, I’m gonna bet that partners like you are part of the reason so many dancers prefer their own hand. Might have something to do with why you only ever have a date for one night...”

It was his turn to inch forward. He stepped closer until there was barely any breathing room between them but Emma held her ground, tilting her chin up at him and meeting his gaze. “Oh, believe me. My prowess leaves nothing to be desired,” he promised. His voice had dropped, sounding gravelly and making his accent more pronounced. Emma steeled herself, ignoring the way the heat of him and the smell of his cologne warmed her skin. He always smelled so damn good, like leather and the sea. It was destabilizing and she nearly stumbled on her next words.

“And yet, you brought your brother as your date. Something tells me he doesn't put out.” He smiled at her and it was that smile she’d seen before - the unsettling one. The one that messed with this thing they had going - this mutual distaste. She needed to wipe it off his face. “Maybe I should find out,” she added with a suggestive brow and watched with pride and a small flicker of disappointment as the smile fell from his face.

“I’ll not have you defiling my brother, Swan!” He said it in jest, but he didn’t seem quite committed to his mock offence. She worried she may have pushed too far.

“Emma! Killian! Let’s go!” Belle shouted from the kitchen. “We’re ordering pizza and Ruby is getting hangry. Killian I swear she’ll put mushrooms on yours if you don’t come tell us what you want!”

They broke apart and it was only a second before Killian’s regular cock-sure bravado was back in place.

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating that she should lead the way down the hall.

Only four days. She told herself. She could handle four days.

-/-

“So tell me, Mary Margaret,” Killian asked later as they were all eating their pizza. Emma had nearly let slide his ‘ really Swan, anchovies?’ comment, but then suggested he try the one with garlic since it was unlikely he would find anyone desperate enough to kiss him tonight. He refused, insisting that experience had taught him to be optimistic. She’d muttered something about women with no standards before Robin had told them to knock it off and eat their bloody pizza. “What exactly does this party tonight entail? All Belle said was that I had to dress up? It’s lucky I still had my Halloween costume from last year.”

“You mean your halloween costume from every year ,” Emma snarked. Killian smirked.

“Why mess with perfection?” he asked. “Besides, Captain Hook is always a killer with the ladies.”

“No!” Mary Margaret covered her ears. “We’re not supposed to know what you’re dressing up as!”

“Way to ruin the surprise,” Emma said harshly and regretted it when she saw genuine surprise and regret cross his face. She ignored it, turning to the groomsmen who weren’t aware of the plans for the night. “We’re having a masquerade ball. Belle and Elsa spent weeks making everyone gorgeous masks to choose from and wear with their costumes. Nobody can know who anyone is, though. We’re doing this the right way. Nobody reveals their identities until midnight. That’s how long Mary Margaret and David have to find each other once we separate them at the beginning of the party.”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that these two haven’t told each other exactly what they’re dressing up as? I don’t buy it,” Robin shook his head.

“We took care of that,” Emma laughed. “Well, Belle did. Belle picked out their costumes and has kept them a secret. Thanks again,” she said, turning to the woman in question.

“My pleasure,” she said. “Actually, Elsa helped a lot. Her taste is impeccable.”

“Well, you couldn't have left Swan to do it. They’d both be wearing jeans and leather jackets.”

Emma shot him a look but Elsa was quicker. “How exactly is that different from your everyday look? Worried she might have picked out the wrong shade of black?” she challenged, eyeing up his black jeans, black boots, and black shirt. His black leather jacket still hung in the closet in the front hall. Liam hid his guffaw behind his hand and Elsa smirked proudly.

“Don’t worry,” Emma jumped in. “Killian doesn’t need a costume. He’s always dressed like a giant tool.” It wasn’t her best insult but hey, they couldn’t all be winners.

Killian smirked, stepping closer to her, invading her space a little, His voice was low and suggestive. “I’d be happy to show you my giant tool, Swan,” he offered and Emma pulled a face.

“ Oh my god, just bone already ,” she heard Ruby mutter under her breath.

“What?” they both snapped but Ruby pretended like she hadn’t heard them.

Liam laughed again and Elsa turned to him with wide, almost sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Liam,” she said and he turned to her. Emma wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight redness on his cheeks. It was very like his brother’s. “I’m so sorry. Killian didn’t tell us you were coming,” she glared at her friend. “Do you have a costume? I’m sure we could put something together if you -”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he answered. “Killian forgot to mention a costume when he invited me.” He shot his brother a look. “But thankfully, my brother still had his costume from the time he played Westley in that Princess Bride stage play in college.”

Emma lit up just as Killian grimaced. “I’m sorry, the time he what ?” she asked, beaming. Oh, this was too good. She definitely needed to hear that story. Liam smirked, looking at his brother’s embarrassment and Emma once again marveled at how much she liked the older Jones brother.

“Hey! No more costume talk!” Ruby jumped in. “We can’t have David and Mary Margaret knowing who anyone is! It will spoil the game!”

“Sorry,” Liam said, looking a little abashed. “Mum’s the word,” He cast Emma a glance out of the corner of his eye, leaning in to stage-whisper. “He had the ponytail and everything,” he told her conspiratorially. It took everything she had not to burst out laughing, instead settling for tossing a shit-eating grin and a ‘ just wait ” look at Killian. Killian looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Liam, you might be becoming one of my favorite people.”

He grinned.

“We should start getting ready,” Belle chimed in. “People will be arriving soon.”

“Oh I can’t wait to see the costumes!” Mary Margaret squealed and then turned suddenly. “Emma!” Emma jumped. “Will you let me do your makeup? Please? You never let me and it’s my wedding!”

Emma sighed, giving in to her friend’s decades-long attempt at dolling her up. The last time she'd caved had been prom night. “Fine.”

“Oh thank you! You’re going to look gorgeous!” Mary Margaret squealed before quickly catching herself. “Not that you don’t always look gorgeous!”

Emma saw Killian open his mouth but didn’t give him the chance. “Can it, Ponytail.”

He pressed his mouth into a tight line but the corners turned up despite how obviously he was trying to fight it.

“Wait, first let me show you your costume,” Belle said to Mary Margaret. Emma didn’t know which one of them was more excited at the prospect.

“Okay! Emma, meet me in my room okay?” The bride-to-be waited for Emma to nod in agreement (defeat) before rushing off with Belle, Elsa and Ruby following quickly behind. Emma stood shaking her head as they ran away giggling. David corralled all the boys, rushing them off in the other direction to do… whatever guys did to get ready for a party. She watched them all disappearing down the hall, whooping and cheering. She thought she might have heard Will shout something about David finding his True Love and she shook her head.

“This is why I’m never going to fall in love,” she groaned to nobody in particular, shaking her head. “It makes people act like idiots.”

“At least we can agree on one thing,” she heard a voice answer. Her eyes snapped up to see Killian, still hovering in the doorway. He smiled slightly at her. “Not in the cards for me either, I think.” There was something vulnerable about the way he said it, like there was some secret that she was missing. Just for a second, she caught herself wondering what it was, feeling a slight tug in her chest at the defeated way he spoke. A connection? She smothered that feeling right away.

“Lucky for the women of the world,” Emma answered.

He only gave her another one of those small, half smiles before following the others down the hall.

“Emma! Get your ass up here!” Ruby shouted from one of the bedrooms. Emma left the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the way getting the last word with Killian hadn’t left her feeling as smug as it usually did.

-/-

“Ah, there’s my best man,” David said as Killian walked into the room. “Leaving me in my hour of need already?”

“Please, I was gone for less than a minute. Couldn’t you guys keep yourselves entertained for that long without me?” he asked mirthfully.

“What were you doing back there?” Will asked, sounding like he knew the answer already.

“Speaking with the lovely Emma, I’ll wager,” Robin answered with a smirk.

“What else is new?” David asked, rolling his eyes before Killian could defend himself.

“Why is this your hour of need, exactly?” Killian asked, choosing not to contradict them. He had, in fact, been talking to her, so he didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

“Because Robin has a better costume than me!”

It was Killian’s turn to roll his eyes. “His name is literally Robin. Who else could reasonably dress up as Robin Hood?”

“But that’s just it! She’ll never suspect it!” David insisted. The men all paused, exchanging looks. David held up the costume that had been laid out for him on the bed. “Belle dressed me as Prince Charming. I love her to death, but she’s just as much of a romantic as Mary Margaret. It’s too obvious, she’ll find me in a second.”

“He has a point, you know,” Robin agreed.

“Hey, Belle put a lot of work into picking your costumes,” Will reminded them. He cleared his throat when Robin shot him a wry look. “And the others. They all put in a lot of work…”

Killian grinned. “And wouldn’t it just be great to see their reactions when they realise we’ve switched it on them?” Even David smiled, excited at the harmless though somewhat juvenile prank. Will looked nervous though.

“Listen, I just don’t want to be the reason we ensue Elsa’s wrath,” he defended. Liam glanced at Will, and Killian noticed a slightly downtrodden look on his brother’s face. He frowned.

“It’s my Stag and Doe,” the groom insisted. “I say we do it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. He slapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s see if true love really does conquer all, shall we?”

Robin considered this for a moment, arms crossed as he stroked his beard. “All right, but if we do this, we should really commit. Everybody confess what your costume is so we can pick the most un-David-like one.”

Will still didn’t look convinced. “What’s with him?” David asked.

Robin smirked. “He’s just worried that Belle will be mad at him. Or is it that you picked your costume with her in mind and don’t want to give it up?”

“Really, Will? You’re still hung up on her?” David joked. “Why don’t you just tell her already?” Liam perked up then, looking back at Will after having been staring at the floor for a moment.

“Oh, I was under the impression that Elsa was your girlfriend,” he said casually. Four pairs of suspicious eyes turned to him. “You just seemed so set on not upsetting her is all…” Killian didn’t buy it.

Will looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody hell, Elsa? No. She just scares the hell out of me and she should scare you too,” he warned. “That is not a woman you want to cross.”

“Indeed,” Robin agreed, coming up behind his friend and wrapping an arm around him. “Will only has eyes for Belle.” Will elbowed him. “Elsa is, as of present, unattached.”

“Huh,” was all Liam said, suddenly far too uninterested in the conversation. It took Killian a moment, frowning at his brother, trying to read what he was hiding before it hit him.

“ Oh, no, ” he groaned and everyone’s eyes snapped up to him.

“What?” Liam demanded, playing innocent.

“No, no.”

“ What?”

“My own brother!” Killian cried. “Abandoned. Betrayed by my own kin!”

Liam rolled his eyes but his tone was way too defensive. “Shut up, Killian.”

Robin snorted but hid it quickly behind his hand as Killian shot him a death glare.

“Am I missing something?” David asked, looking between the brothers.

“What you’re missing, Dave, is that my brother, sworn bachelor, the last of the sworn bachelors, the last of the Jones’ to carry on the good name and reputation of man about town and sea, has fallen in love.” He cast his eyes to Liam again. “Traitor!”

“Oh, come on, Killian. Stop being dramatic. I’m not in love.”

“Not yet!” he cried. “But I’ve seen that look before - it’s in the eyes. I’ve seen it in my fallen comrades. First David, then Will. Robin was lost to me before I even met him, married at nineteen like some lovesick fool.”

“Careful now, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Robin warned. Marian and Roland were joining the group the day of the wedding, thinking that subjecting a six year old to three days of wedding festivities seemed unreasonable.

“And now my own brother! Seduced! Stolen away by the Ice Queen. We stood together! Now I stand alone.”

“That’s a bit much don’t you think?” Graham said.

“You like Elsa?” David asked Liam and Killian rounded on him.

“ That’s what you got from what I just said?”

“I mostly tune you out if I’m honest,” David said casually before focusing on Liam again. “If you like Elsa you have the perfect costume. The Princess Bride is her favorite movie. She and Emma are obsessed with it - it’s a little annoying actually. If you wear that, you’ll definitely get her attention.”

“Oh, well…” was all Liam said, clearly flustered to Killian’s disgust. He did not like how pleased his brother looked at the idea.

“Killian,” David said then. “Let’s see your costume. Mary Margaret won’t come near me if she thinks I’m you. She’s seen your pirate costume a million times now.”

“I think the hair might give it away, Dave,” Killian laughed, gesturing to his own dark hair that contrasted so drastically with the groom’s fair head. “Besides,” he smirked. “You don’t have the cleavage for it.”

David rolled his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to wear a shirt unbuttoned to your waist.”

“What exactly is your obsession with this Captain Hook costume, Brother?” Liam piped up. “I’ve never seen it but it would seem it’s rather famous. Why the fixation on Peter Pan?”

“It’s because he’s the boy who never grew up,” Will offered, receiving a punch in the arm from the person in question. “At least that’s what Ruby dubbed him for all his womanizing.”

Killian rolled his eyes, familiar with the nickname. He never bothered to mention that he liked the character of Hook, not Pan. Not the devil child but the melancholic man who clung to the last bit of hope left in him.

“I’m hardly a boy,” Killian glared. “And I don’t womanize. Every woman I take out knows exactly my intentions. I’m not some child playing games.”

“Then you won’t mind giving up your costume,” Robin insisted.

“I told you it would be too obvious,” he reminded them again.

“So am I understanding correctly?” Will asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re just all throwing the girl’s rules out the window?” Will asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. If Killian himself weren’t so annoyed at Will’s crush on Belle, he’d have found it funny.

“Yes,” David said simply. “Liam, you keep yours so that you have an ice breaker with Elsa and Killian, well, I guess you can keep yours for your vanity.” Killian rolled his eyes. “The rest of you,” he demanded. “Let me see what you have.”

David, Will and Robin spent far too long debating who should wear which of the three costumes, even going so far as to look through the clothes they had brought to see if they could make a new, fourth costume, before finally making a decision nearly an hour later. As they headed to their respective rooms to change, Killian noticed his brother lingering. He sighed again.

“So, Elsa then?”

“I mean, she seems nice,” Liam answered but Killian could see him trying to fight the little smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Nice? Elsa? I mean sure she can be friendly sometimes, but I’ve always found her to be a bit cold, distant.”

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you, brother.”

“Nonsense,” he smiled. “All women like me.” But then looked at Liam again. “You really like her?”

“I don’t - she seems interesting. I’d like to get to know her better, yes.”

“Unbelievable. You’re in the country for ten minutes and you’ve fallen for the first blonde you’ve seen.” He shook his head, utterly, totally disappointed by his brother.

“I wouldn’t be the first Jones now would I?” Liam muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Unbelievable,” Killian sighed.

“You keep saying that,” Liam pointed out.

“Well it is! A few years ago we were all free, unattached. We could head to the bar, meet some nice girls, have some fun. But now, I swear David has to ask permission before he goes out with us. And Will won’t go anywhere unless we agree to invite Belle along so he can stare at her like a git and not say a word. When did all of the bachelors die off? When did all my friends drop off the face of the earth. I’ll tell you when. When they decided to fall in love!”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this, Killian?”

“How dare you?” Killian snapped. “I’m thirty-two. I’m hardly at the age of needing to settle down.”

“Then pray tell what age is appropriate to settle down?”

“I’ll let you know if I ever hit it,” Killian smirked. Liam rolled his eyes.

“So what, you’re going to keep man whoring around? Don’t you want to be with someone? Have something real? Fall in love?”

“Love is overrated. I plan to die a bachelor.”

“You mean alone,” Liam corrected him. “I don’t believe you for a second, brother,” he said, but he shook his head in a way that told Killian he didn’t plan on arguing any further. Let Liam disbelieve him. He didn’t need his brother’s approval. He’d tried love once and it had brought him nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Killian had learned young that love only ended in pain and heartbreak. He’d seen it with his mother, who’d been unhappy her entire married life only to pass away young and leave behind a father who was so heartbroken of the loss of the woman he mistreated that he abandoned his two sons.

He’d sworn off love at six years old. He’d only faltered once since, despite his best efforts to resist it. And that time had only served to reinforce his belief that he was right. Love was a waste of time. He didn’t need it. And he didn’t want it. Let the Davids and the Robins and the Wills - and apparently the Liams - of the world have love. He would stick to one night. One night was clear. One night left no expectations, set no precedent. One night was safe.

“So then,” Liam started, snapping Killian from his admittedly rather gloomy train of thought. “What about Emma?” he trailed off.

Killian’s head snapped up as though he’d been struck. “What about Emma?” he asked wearily.

“She seems nice, is all. Funny, smart, rather beautiful too…”

Killian felt his heart jump into his throat. Emma? Liam and Emma? Was his brother really suggesting that he was interested in Emma romantically? Or even just physically? The idea of his brother and Emma together stirred a feeling inside of him that he didn’t like. The same feeling that had come over him when Emma had taunted him with the idea of her and Liam earlier. What was it - anger? Disgust? Jealousy ? No. He wasn’t jealous. Emma could sleep with whoever she wanted. So could his brother for that matter. So could he. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll admit that she’s rather pleasant to look at but believe me, the woman is a harpie. She’s got a wicked tongue on her. She’s cold and defensive and she has walls a mile high.”

“She seemed rather pleasant to me. Witty too.”

“Oh, aye, she’s got wit, that’s for sure.” He caught the corner of his mouth ticking up and forced it down. “She’s quick and rather amusing when she’s not yelling at me.”

“You don’t seem to mind her yelling at you.”

He laughed. “She’s quick to anger, that’s all,” Killian shrugged, trying to go for blase but knowing he was failing. “Makes her rather fun to argue with. She has a way of seeing people… she’s quite perspective really.” She was. She could and would call him on any and all of his bullshit. He was always surprised to realise how much he enjoyed that. But she had him pegged wrong. Always had. And he couldn’t forgive her that.

“So you don’t like her then?” Liam continued, frowning. “I suppose I can understand that. I heard you talking in the hall. She does seem like she can be rather…”

“Rather what?” Killian said quickly, shocked by how vehemently his body reacted to the idea of someone speaking poorly of his rival - someone besides him anyway.

Liam’s eyes went wide and then settled into a knowing expression Killian didn’t like. “Nothing,” he said, but the word held weight.

“She’s just… she’s had a hard life,” Killian found himself saying. Shut up, why are you defending her? he demanded of himself, but he couldn’t stop the words that came out. “She’s been through a lot - like we have. And she’s done some rather impressive things with her life despite it. She’s a detective you know?”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. You’ve told me a lot about her actually…”

“Right,” Killian caught himself. Clearing his throat. He didn’t like what his brother was implying. Killian didn’t want Emma. Of course he didn’t. They fought and they bantered and they teased but that was all their relationship was. It was all it ever had been - well, almost. There was that first night... But regardless, he didn’t want his brother to get tangled up with her either. For his brother’s sake only. Emma pushed everyone away. He wouldn’t want to risk his brother being hurt like... “Well, yes, she is cold and distant and incredibly frustrating and - I don’t know if you want to go there. Not worth the effort I think and -”

“ Killian.”

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m not interested in Emma,” he explained carefully and Killian was angry at the relief he felt. “But I think maybe…” Killian steeled his jaw, fists clenching and shoulders straightening as his brother eyed him with… pity? sympathy? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Something in his expression must have warned Liam off. “Nevermind,” he finished.

Killian let out a heavy breath, thankful that this conversation was over. “Shall we go get ready?” he asked. “I think people will be arriving soon. I’ve seen Mulan’s car pull up. And if she’s here, the party is bound to get underway quickly.”

“Aye,” Liam said, swinging his arm around Killian’s shoulders. “Let’s.”

-/-

“Emma!” she heard Elsa call for her from the room next door. She banged on the adjoining wall to let her friend know it was fine to come in. A second later Elsa was making her way into the room, awkwardly looking behind herself as she struggled with her costume.

“Could you give me a hand with these laces?” she asked, referring to the corset like back of her Swan Lake ballerina costume. It was pretty, graceful, and understated like her friend.

“Sure,” Emma said, gesturing for her to turn around so that she could help her with the intricate lacing. When she was done, Elsa brushed her hands down the front of her dress, making sure it looked right.

“Thanks.” She looked Emma up and down and frowned. “You’re not ready yet? The party’s already started. I’m running late because of these damn laces. What’s your excuse?” she asked, taking in Emma’s jeans and leather jacket.

“Oh, I’m ready,” she said, grabbing a hat and a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.

Elsa frowned. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

Emma clipped her badge onto her hip. “An undercover cop.”

Elsa stared at her for a long moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest and frowning. “Are you fucking kidding me, Emma?”

“What?” she asked defensively. It was either this or a sheet with holes cut in it,” she said. “You know, to be a ghost,” she clarified when Elsa didn’t react.

Elsa let her head fall into her hand, rubbing at her forehead in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Emma. It’s a costume party. You are a cop. You can’t just go as yourself. This is a pathetic excuse for a costume and you know it.”

“You were actually a ballerina!” Emma insisted, gesturing at the dress she knew her friend had worn in a real performance in college. Elsa glared at her. She was annoyed at her friend, but probably more at the fact that she knew she was right. She’d really hoped they’d have let her get away with it. She was never one for dressing up.

“That’s different,” Elsa explained slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “I wouldn’t go around wearing this on the street. You haven’t even changed out of what you were wearing when we got here.”

“So you think I should go with the ghost?” she asked, smirking a little. Elsa shook her head in exasperation.

“Emma, this party is for Mary Margaret. You know what she wants it to be. She wants magic and beautiful dresses and men dressed as princes and heroes. This is her fairytale wedding and you cannot wear jeans to a masquerade ball.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, but it’s a little late now. I don’t have another costume and nothing I brought is fancy enough to qualify as a gown.”

Elsa thought for a second, looking her over as she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms. “Hang on a second,” she said finally. “I might have something.” And with that, she disappeared out of the room, trailing crinoline and feathers behind her.

Emma pulled the hat and sunglasses off, groaning as she pulled her hair out of it’s messy ponytail. She should have seen this coming. She should have known her friends wouldn’t stand for her cop out of a costume - they fought her every Halloween and this was her best friend’s wedding. She just… she didn’t have it in her. The whole fairy tales and True Love and princes and princesses - it just all felt so… fake, unrealistic. She didn’t want to get dolled up and attract the attention of some guy who would make her promises and then break them as soon as the lights came on and the masks came off. She remembered the last time she’d let some guy she met at a party convince her she meant something - she’d learned that lesson quickly. Never fall for a pretty face - especially one with an accent and a penchant for seducing blondes.

“Here,” Elsa announced, returning to the room and shaking Emma out of her thoughts. She was holding a dress on a hanger, the skirt of it draped over her arm. It was beautiful. Ice blue and floor length with intricate beading. The neckline was modest but she could see the plunging back. It was Elsa embodied: elegant, sophisticated, and just a little ethereal.

“This is gorgeous,” Emma said, reaching out to tough some of the delicate stitching. “Where did you get it?”

“I wore it to Mary Margaret’s black-tie New Years Eve party last year, remember?” Emma shook her head. “Oh right, you weren’t there - you had that case. Anyway, I forgot it here in the morning and haven’t been back to pick it up since. I feel like it would do nicely for tonight.”

“You’re going to dress me up as a princess aren’t you,” Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Elsa beamed.

“You bet your ass I am!” she laughed. “If your brother’s going as Prince Charming, it’s only fair you get a royal makeover too. Come on. If I know Mary Margaret’s mom, I’m sure we can dig up a tiara or something in one of these rooms. Shall we?” Emma bit her lip. She knew she wasn’t going to win this one. “Hey, you’re doing this for Mary Margaret,” Elsa reminded her and then gestured pointedly to her own costume. “We all are.”

Emma sighed. “Okay. But you better have a damn good mask. If David sees me in this, he’ll never let me live it down.” Nor would Killian, she thought, cringing at the teasing that would surely ensue from him seeing her in something other than jeans. Elsa laughed and dragged Emma along in search of a crown.

-/-

“Liam!” Killian called, poking his head into his brother’s room and looking around for his absentee sibling. “Are you nearly done putting your face on? The party’s in full swing and you’re missing it!”

“There’s a slight problem,” Liam’s voice carried across the room from the bathroom as he walked out and Killian had to put his fist to his mouth to stop from laughing at the sight of his brother. It didn’t work. “Shut up,” Liam warned as Killian burst out in a fit of laughter. Liam stood in front of him, looking not at all impressed in the tightest shirt and pants Killian had ever seen. The sleeves ended several inches above his wrists and the pants several inches above his ankles. Liam threw the mask he was holding at his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized, trying to contain himself. “I don’t think it fits,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Clearly it doesn’t fit, little brother ,” Liam said with a glare. Killian returned it.

“Younger brother,” he corrected.

“No, I believe in this case little brother is correct,” he smirked, gesturing to himself again. He turned around to head back to the bathroom and Killian, who had been glaring, burst out laughing again.

“Oh, I do hope Elsa’s an ass woman,” he said. “You’ll certainly win her over with pants that tight.”

“Alright, enough. Give me your costume.”

“My costume,” Killian demanded, stepping back and placing a protective hand out in front of him. “Why?”

“Because this is your fault. You’re the one who gave me your old costume without accounting for the fact that I am the much taller and broader shouldered of the Jones brothers.”

“Or the one who needs to cut back on sweets,” Killian shot back. “Besides,” he challenged, “how will this costume fit you if you’re so big and strong you can’t fit into that one?”

“Give me the jacket and the jewellery,” Liam said. “I’ll find a pair of black pants and a buttoned shirt and it will have to do.” He eyed his brother who was still clinging protectively to his costume. “And the hook,” he demanded.

“What will I wear then, if you’re going to take the very shirt off my back?”

“This,” Liam answered, gesturing to himself. “Should work. You’ve barely filled out since college,” he smirked.

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Liam gave him a leveling look and Killian rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he ceded, shedding the beloved jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to his brother. Liam caught it in one hand and headed to the bathroom to change, pausing at his suitcase to grab a pair of pants and a shirt.

“You know you’re blowing your chances at winning over Elsa though, don’t you? No dashing childhood crush to seduce her with.”

Liam cracked the bathroom door open and poked his head out, tossing the costume at him. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone,” he frowned. “Besides,” he smirked. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t need a bloody costume to do so. Not all of us need glamour and trickery to convince a woman to speak to us.”

“Oi!” Killian shouted, offended. “I don’t need any tricks to get a woman to speak to me!”

“Is that why you pick a fight with Emma everytime you see her?” Liam’s voice was muffled through the door.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Killian snapped. He was getting very tired of his brother speaking cryptically about he and Emma’s relationship. As though they were anything but friendly rivals. So what if he looked forward to seeing her at these get-togethers? So what if he was disappointed when she was kept away by work. He simply looked forward to having someone to spar with, someone who kept up with him and could challenge him. He loved a challenge, and if Emma Swan was anything, she was a challenge.

“Of course not,” Liam patronized as he emerged in Killian’s jacket. He held out his hand and Killian passed him the pirate necklaces and the clip on earring that completed the look. “Better get dressed, party’s started,” Liam told him then looked him over carefully. “Isn’t ‘The Princess Bride’ Emma’s favorite movie as well?”

Killian looked down at the costume he held in his hands, ignoring the fact that it was, in fact, her favorite and that she might, just maybe, forget their rivalry for a second if they had some common ground. It would be interesting to speak to her without their prickly game standing between them for a moment. The last time they’d done that had been… well, a very long time ago indeed. “What of it?” he asked his brother and hoped Liam wouldn’t push the subject.

“Nothing,” Liam said and when Killian met his eye he saw the same look he’d seen earlier. It unsettled him. But then his brother smirked and the moment was broken. “Just too bad you don’t still have the ponytail.”

Killian scowled, whipping the hook off his arm and shoving it a little too forcefully against his brother’s chest, turning to storm out of the room to the sound of Liam’s laughter following along behind him. “It was one semester!” he shouted but Liam only laughed harder.

-/-

Emma poured herself another drink from the bar, readjusting her mask which unfortunately, though beautiful, had the annoying habit of sliding down her nose. One corner was still damp from when it had dipped into her drink. She didn’t know how people did this back in the day. Wearing masks was fun, the mystery of it all and the anonymity was almost thrilling, but it was highly inconvenient. She set the drink down to tighten the silk string that kept it on for the tenth time that night.

The party was in full swing. The house was packed, every room full of people squished together dancing, laughing, drinking, and shouting at each other to be heard over the music. Emma looked around proudly. She had to say, she’d done a pretty good job for someone who hated fairy tales. She loved parties, though, so she chalked it up to that. Well, that and Elsa and Belle’s beautiful masks and Ruby’s awesome taste in music… and David had helped with the decorations. It had definitely been a group effort.

Emma scanned the crowds, trying to spot any of her friends and realized that she couldn’t. She almost laughed. The masquerade thing really did work. She knew what Elsa and Liam - and likely Killian - were dressed as, but she hadn’t seen anyone else from the bridal party’s costumes and there were so many friends and family here to celebrate that she wasn’t even sure she knew all the guests, let alone that she’d be able to identify them with half their faces covered.

She made her way across the kitchen which was being used as a bar and into what could only be described as a great hall where people were dancing, hoping to spot Elsa among the throngs of people. She perked up when she caught sight of white feathers and excellent posture. Squeezing between Cinderella and Gaston who looked about two seconds away from making out - weird - she crossed the room toward her friend, only to stop dead when she caught sight of a silver hook and a generous display of chest hair.

Ugh. Killian. Elsa was talking to Killian. His face was half covered in a silky black mask but she’d seen that stupid pirate costume enough times to know it had to be him. She rolled her eyes as he leaned down to say something in Elsa’s ear and her friend threw her head back laughing, her hand coming up to rest on his bare chest as she leaned in closer.

Gross . Emma thought Elsa had better taste than that. She wondered what Killian could possibly be saying to make her friend blush and giggle like some infatuated school girl. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and the uneasiness in her stomach when Elsa ran her hand up from his chest to his shoulder under the guise of trying to hear better over the music. His hand went to the small of her back and the smile on Killian’s face felt like a punch to the gut. She’d seen that smile, relaxed, excited, soft. She’d only ever seen it so rarely before and only ever…

She turned away, done with watching the disturbing display in front of her. If Killian and Elsa wanted to flirt and whisper little secrets to each other and exchange meaningful little touches, she wasn’t going to stick around to see it. Really, she thought Elsa had better taste. She thought Elsa was a better friend than to… what? What exactly was Elsa guilty of? Cozying up to her hot friend? Getting close to Emma’s… rival didn’t feel like the right word.

She just wasn’t prepared for it, that was all. There had always been some sort of unspoken thing between the women of the group - Killian was no man’s land - or, rather, no woman's land. Despite his constant flirtatiousness and innuendos, nobody ever took it seriously, nobody ever really considered dating him or going to bed with him, at least not since that night. But there was never really a reason, no agreement made. Elsa could do what she liked. Emma didn’t care. Why would she care? Killian, while awful, was undeniably attractive and if Elsa wanted to - well, Emma didn’t care.

“I see my brother’s not wasting any time,” she heard behind her, the voice somewhat dulled by the thrumming of the music. Emma turned, smiling when she was met with bright blue eyes, just noticeable through a black leather mask, and a cheeky smirk. She looked over the costume he wore so well, a little flustered despite herself at seeing someone dressed as her childhood (and adulthood) crush.

“Liam,” she greeted, holding up her glass in a toast. “How are you enjoying the party?” The smile slipped from his face for a moment before he bit his lip against another.

“Well, I must say it’s just gotten infinitely better,” he answered.

“Ah, so I see Killian isn’t the only smooth talker in the Jones family,” she teased.

“Alas, it’s a family trait. Inherited from our father unfortunately,” he answered, his smile faltering for only a second. “What do you suppose he’s saying?” he asked, gesturing at his brother and Elsa.

Emma scoffed. “If I know him, he’s probably showering her with insincere compliments and using that inherited silver tongue to convince a perfectly intelligent woman that she wants to do something incredibly stupid.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sleep with Killian Jones.”

“I feel as though I should defend him.”

“No need,” Emma assured him. “Everyone knows who Killian is.”

He frowned. “And who is he?”

“Take your pick: playboy, womanizer, egomaniac. I swear David and the guys must just keep him around for entertainment. There is not a sincere bone in that man’s body. Well,” she laughed, turning from the scene in front of them back to the better-Jones. “Maybe one.”

“I see.” His jaw was tight and Emma worried she’d gone too far. She’d forgotten for a moment that this was his brother. She thought about how she’d feel if someone talked about David like this. But then again, David would never deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regardless. “I shouldn’t insult your family.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons. I summarize then that you’re not a fan of him.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Surely he can be a bit of a scoundrel at times but I wonder… What exactly is the nature of your feud with my brother? Killian never told me anything apart from the fact that you seem to despise one another.”

Emma hesitated. She’d never told anyone this story before. Sure, her friends had asked in the past, wondering why she hated him so much, especially given their first meeting. But she’d always skirted the question, not wanting to explain herself, not wanting to admit how stupid she’d been, how blind and how reckless. It was humiliating really. But Liam was sweet, and seemed genuinely interested. And she’d just spent the last few minutes insulting his only brother (as far as she knew) and she felt she at least owed him an explanation for it.

“Did Killian ever tell you about the night we met?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe so,” he said, bringing a finger up to scratch a spot behind his ear in a way that was so reminiscent of his brother it threw her for a moment. Between their eyes and their mannerisms and their smiles, for all their differences, the Jones brothers certainly had a lot in common. There was no mistaking their kinship.

“We met at Will’s birthday party about five years ago. He and Killian had a class together so Will brought him along with our usual group. You might not believe it, I don’t think anyone would really, but I didn’t hate your brother the first time I met him.”

“Oh no?” he asked, waiting for her to continue.

“No, we - we actually hit it off really well. He was funny and easy to talk to and actually kind of…” Emma trailed off, finger running over the rim of her glass as she remembered his easy smiles and the way his shoulders shook when he laughed. She remembered the way he spoke, loudly and animatedly with the group but also softly and what she’d thought was sincerely when it was just the two of them. “Sweet,” she finished lamely. “He was sweet.”

She cleared her throat. “I liked him. I was stupid and young and he was charming and well, you know how he is, he’s your brother.” She couldn’t look at him now when she told him the story. It was too embarrassing. She felt as vulnerable now as she had that night and while she’d let herself then, it had been a hard lesson on why she should avoid letting herself feel that way again.

“I do,” he said.

“Anyway, we ended up spending most of the night together in a back booth in the bar. Everyone was dancing and drinking and we just sat there talking.” They’d talked for hours. They’d talked about nothing, silly things, movies, books, what they’d wanted to be when they grew up. But also about real things, things Emma had never talked about with anyone apart from David, not even her closest friends; about her childhood before Ruth, about Neal, about what she wanted out of life but was afraid of going for, afraid of failing. She hadn’t even meant to tell him most of it, but he’d listened in that rare way so few people do, the way they do when they actually care about what you have to say and aren’t just waiting for their chance to talk. She felt stupid now for all the things she’d told him.

“We didn’t even realise the others had left until the lights came on and we were being kicked out because the bar was closing,” she continued. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He asked me back to his place but I said no.” She rubbed at her neck, feeling awkward now sharing this with Killian’s brother as she recalled the details of the night and the next morning. She’d said ‘no’ because she liked him, ‘no’ because she didn’t want to go and ruin something good by turning it into a one night stand.

Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, fingers brushing over the bare skin there and her breath caught at how warm he felt against her. It was comforting, familiar though, and almost unsettling in that familiarity. She remembered another set of fingers running up her arm outside her apartment building years ago.

“You don’t have to tell me -” he started.

“No it’s okay,” she cut him off. “He was surprisingly okay with it,” she said. Well, not so surprising considering what he got up to later. Liam didn’t need to know about the kiss - or the other one for that matter. She bit her lip, remembering. “It was late so he offered to walk me back to my apartment. I lived in kind of a shady area back then,” she explained. “He did and we went our separate ways,” after a while , she thought, “and we made plans to meet up the next morning.”

“So, what happened?” he asked, his fingers still idly tracing patterns on her arm up to her shoulder.

“What happened,” Emma started, clearing her throat again as the anger set in. Anger was good. Anger helped with the humiliation, with the hurt. “What happened is I went to his place the next morning and some girl in a towel answered the door.” She saw his eyes widen. She couldn’t see his eyebrows but she knew they were likely shooting up to his hairline.

“What?” he asked, mouth gaping open.

“Yeah. Some blonde, obviously a blonde. He’s got a type, you know. She told me Killian was in the shower and it wasn’t hard to figure out that after I turned him down, he went out and found someone else to get his rocks off with. So yeah, that’s when I realised exactly what kind of guy he is.” He’d probably only walked her home as a favor to Will.

“I’m sorry, love, that must have been awful,” he said. Emma shrugged.

“It is what it is. Honestly I’m just annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner. I’ve met enough guys who are only after one thing and I don’t know why I convinced myself he wasn’t.” She gave him a small, insincere smile.“Must have been the rum,” she shrugged. There hadn’t been any rum though. Neither of them had had a thing to drink since they’d sat down in that back booth, hadn’t felt the need for it. It had been so easy.

“Perhaps,” he started, and Emma turned to look at him. She’d been fixated on her glass for the last few minutes. She couldn’t really make out his expression in the dim lights, his voice soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the music. “Perhaps you should ask my brother about that night,” he suggested. Emma’s eyes snapped to his in surprise and what almost felt like betrayal.

“Why would I do that?” she demanded, feeling defensive. She pulled back a step, wanting to put a little distance between them after this unexpected turn - what was it with her and baring her soul to the Jones brothers? Was she that much of a sucker for blue eyes and an accent? - but he followed her, moving with her and leaning in close to speak so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music.

“Because, Swan, there are two sides to every story and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that it’s always better to give someone the benefit of the doubt.”

Emma blinked at him, slightly distracted by him being so close to her. The room was crowded and she felt the stickiness clinging to the back of her neck from the heat of so many people packed into one place. A lot of that heat seemed to be coming from him. His hand was still on her arm, having drifted down to her wrist, his thumb tracing over the back of her hand as he spoke, his mouth next to her ear and his breath warm against it. The smell of him was heady around her, like leather and sea air and - wait, had he just called her Swan?

She looked up then, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make out his face under his mask. Something about him… something was familiar, more familiar than brotherly resemblance. His jaw ticked, the muscle clenching in a way that was so… she'd seen it before, it - Oh. Oh, no way . She looked him up and down, taking in the lean frame, the dark, flippy hair that stuck out of his mask rather than the curls she expected, the sharpness of his jawline where Liam’s was softer, the shape of his mouth… Killian. Oh, he was a dead man.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” he said.

She turned her head up to meet his eyes, set her chin like she always did when she was ready for a fight. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she started, ready to call him out on his little ruse and rip him a new one for tricking her.

“You’re right,” he said and some of her fight was lost to her surprise at the way his voice softened. Who the hell was this Killian in front of her now? Where was the fight, the ego? His hand was still stroking hers, his eyes were sincere and unpretentious and even a little self-deprecating. “So, just who are you, Swan?”

She pulled back, drawing her hand from his and crossing her arms over her chest, trying to wither him with her stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Wouldn’t he indeed. She was sure he’d love to find out all about her so that he could use it as fuel for their arguments, like some game. The nerve of -

He ducked his head, catching her eyes and stepping even closer to her. Her breath caught at the openness and the sincerity she saw there. “Perhaps I would,” he said and Emma felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. He hadn’t looked at her like that since that night. Since the night she felt for the first time in years that she’d found someone who understood her, someone she connected with, another lost soul, someone she could actually care about, maybe even - She wanted to believe him. She wanted it to be real. It sounded real. It felt real. And he was so close and the way he looked at her..

Emma didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember putting her drink down, but suddenly her hands were gripping the sides of his face and pulling his lips to hers as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He froze against her for a moment, in shock probably she realised, and she grasped the reality of exactly what she’d just done and how stupid it was. But before she could step back, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, his body flush with hers as his other hand traveled up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck.

She should stop this. This was Killian for god’s sake. Killian, who she hated. Killian, who she swore she’d never let get under her skin again. Killian, who was currently backing them against the wall behind her. She gasped as her back collided with the hard surface and he used the opportunity to slant his mouth over hers, letting his tongue slide into her mouth, making her let out a sound she should have been embarrassed about as heat rushed into her belly. He growled as his hand found her hip, tugging roughly and pressing them even closer together.

She knew she should stop it. This was Killian. Killian, who knew how to push every single one of her buttons, who’d pushed her and challenged her from that first night. Killian, who she looked forward to seeing at every get together if only so they could spend ten minutes insulting each other and she could see his mouth twist into that playful smirk. Killian of the Swans and loves . Of the soft smiles that crinkled his eyes. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d misjudged him? All these years.

Emma slowed, her hands which had at some point ended up in his hair released their grip and she let one settle around his shoulders, the other sliding down over his chest to rest in the v of his shirt. She could feel his heart racing under her palm, matching her own’s frantic beating. Killian froze again, and then something changed. His hand released it’s nearly painful grip on her hip and slid up her back to rest between her shoulder blades. The hand that was fisted in her hair came around to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his lips slowed over hers, his movements no longer desperate and needy but gentle and exploratory.

She let him kiss her, let him open her mouth wider under his own, let him pull at her lips and slide his tongue against hers with a give and take that felt so familiar it sent her heart racing again as a warmth built in her chest and in her stomach and bloomed out through her limbs. She felt his shoulders relax under her own as he melted against her, pressing her against the wall like he wanted to feel every inch of her skin against his through their clothes, feel her heart beating against his and drown her in the warmth that was radiating off of him. She was burning up from the inside out.

He pulled back after a long moment, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes still closed and lips still close enough to touch if she just tilted her head every so slightly. The hand that had been at her cheek slid along her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as his breath puffed hot against her face. His fingers trailed slowly and featherlight along her spine.

“Emma,” he breathed as her hand came to his cheek, tracing the stubble under her fingers. She was only just pulling him back in when the music stopped.

The lights coming on were like a bucket of ice water being thrown over her. Somewhere, someone was announcing that it was midnight, that it was time for everyone to remove their masks and reveal who they really were.

She saw it in his eyes, the regret as he reached for his mask and it hit her like a blow to the chest. She caught his hand, stopping him from ruining the only excuse she had. If he didn’t, then she could claim she didn’t know it was him. She could convince herself it was all just a mistake. “Swan,” he spoke again, searching her eyes for something she couldn’t give him. This wasn’t who they were.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” she warned. She watched as his lips pressed together and his head fell before he nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back just enough that she could squeeze by.

She did. And then she ran.

***

tagging @kmomof4 and @xsajx because you asked :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in part two!

#captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs au #captain swan au #much ado about nothing #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #shakespeare au

78 notes · View notes

mylittleredgirl · 3 years

Text

trekathon: enterprise “in a mirror, darkly”

season 4 episodes 18 & 19:

oh my god, the first contact music 💗😭

the opening sequence to the enterprise mirror universe eps really is inspired. i also like to imagine the composer metaphorically tossing it down on a table in front of all the fans who’ve been complaining for four years like “HERE’S YOUR FUCKING INSTRUMENTAL OPENING THEME” and storming out

i’ve been breaking up the discovery recaps because there are 19 concurrent plots and i’m trying to keep them straight, but i feel like a stream-of-consciousness bullet point experience is appropriate here:

those of you watching today will never know the special delight that mirror captain forrest brought to internet nerd fans back in the day. the site television without pity used to write snarky tv show recaps, and keckler, who wrote the enterprise recaps week to week, decided early on that admiral forrest was such a boring character that he must be evil -- and so after 3-some years of calling him “evil admiral forrest,” him showing up in the mirror universe was like prophecy coming to pass

mirror phlox and reed developed the agonizer booth!

apparently non-terran rebellions against the empire are a recurring concern

mirror!travis is REAL hot

they’re all hot but travis? with that earring? and that hair? dang.

i think we can all agree that phlox is the creepiest mirror version, just casually performing live vivisections of random animals with a smile 😬

i’m glad discovery went the full-on sexy leather uniform route instead of just slapping some pins and patches on the existing uniform style and putting the ladies in crop tops

mirror!t’pol going through pon farr (and ~ahem~ asking trip to help her out) raises my continuing question about how and when pon farr affects female vulcans

does it just kick in at some point, like with vulcan men? is it connected to their bond-mate? should i be worried about tuvok’s wife is what’s behind my question

mirror archer is such a hopeless disaster and hoshi very obviously like “wow... those orgasms... so great... 🙄” really gives me life

vulcan bowl-cut rebellion!!

the vulcan science directorate has found no evidence of alternate realities

given it is ALSO going to be time travel, the vulcan science directorate’s about to take a double hit

okay okay space science time! tricobalt device + gravity well of dead star -> interphasic rift to other universe

i don’t know why trip saying “so what?” is so funny

i totally forgot the suliban had cloaking technology by the way

i also forgot how great the enterprise transporter effect is!!

okay now i want to watch “the tholian web.” star trek marathons are not linear

mirrror!malcolm getting horny for future phasers is very on brand

tos sound effects 🥰

honestly impressed they even have escape pods in the mirror universe

i assume they’re all on the evil line of the alignment chart, but i guess that makes captain forrest lawful evil, hoshi neutral evil, and archer chaotically unhinged evil

part ii!!!

“release the ducking clamps!” bakula why

t’pol’s orange eyeshadow is quite a look

on-screen text falls into the “canon if i feel like it” zone as far as i’m concerned, but i love that archer’s profile starts with: “charming, bold,”

apparently he was the starfleet chief of staff, the ambassador to andoria, and the president!! of the federation!!!!

the best part is that when i paused it to read, the closed caption says [LAUGHING]

our babes look so good in velour

GORN!

disaster mirror archer hallucinating prime!archer is an entire thing i’m not even sure how to deal with

a cgi gorn was a bad call from start to finish. this isn’t a 16 years on thing. they did their best, but it was ridiculous then too.

shakespeare’s plays are “equally grim in both universes”

omg travis high-kicking the admiral

archer parading around the shuttlebay of the admiral’s nx-01 ship, making a dramatic speech to about 18 people all looking either bored or concerned. i love that they chose to make this entire episode about what a clown mirror archer is

those 18 people include two vulcans, an andorian, a denobulan, and an orion, and we saw a tellarite officer earlier. during this period in history there are a significant number of aliens serving on starfleet ships -- as opposed to Just T’Pol in the prime universe. they’re all second-class citizens, but they hold officer ranks. in the discovery era, i don’t think we see any non-terrans holding military positions.

okay actually given that they successfully take over a ship i can see why that policy doesn’t last

i have a specific desire to see t’pol with hyper realistic disco spock style ears

i love that even mirror hoshi protects phlox 🥺

i would like to thank the director of this episode for the artistic decision to only show archer and hoshi hooking up in silhouette form

“it may take centuries, but humanity will pay for its arrogance” YES i love that connection to the ds9 mirror universe eps

they really can design the heck out of a negligee in the mirror universe can’t they

hoshi and travis making out!!!!

honestly i don’t think hoshi had a long game here? i buy her being content as forrest’s captain’s woman, but then archer betrayed forrest and she wanted revenge, and then forrest died so she had nothing to go back to, and then it’s like “well i was going to go for tenure but now that i’m here i might as well rule the empire”

#trekathon #enterprise #i need a mirror t'pol icon

14 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

One Foot In (7/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 10.2K, because, listen, it takes some adjectives to get to happily ever after AN: Hey, this is a finished fic! If you have been hanging around for the last few weeks and clicking on things and reading things and saying nice things, I think you’re swell. I also think you’re swell if you haven’t done any of those things. This was a much longer fic than I remembered, and it’s real nice that you guys waited for me to post it. I will probably continue to hoard fics. (But, seriously, if you’re ever like “I’d like to read that!” Send me a message and I’ll totally send you the Google doc.)

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam, or you can start from the start ||

@shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda @thejollyroger-writer

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-four days and, approximately...it absolutely does not matter. It feels as if her heart has shattered, a line running directly through everything, shaking and flipping it and her own breathing is ragged in her ears.

She can’t move. She can’t stop moving.

Her fingers trace over Killian, everything impossibly still and several other words Emma refuses to give credence to. The stubble on his jaw scrapes at the pads of fingers, the skin above it smoother than she expected it to be.

The tiny crinkles around his eyes are still there, like he was halfway to smiling before being the world’s biggest goddamn idiot and Emma is a little disappointed in herself that she’s kind of mad. She’s kind of furious.

“No,” Emma whispers. The word wobbles its way out of her, desperate and weak and neither one of those are particularly good words to be considering with the visual and powerful embodiment of, possibly, all the evil in the world standing a few feet away from her.

Her fingers are still moving.

And it’s honestly not fair that this is the moment – the chance to see and feel and commit every single touch to memory. There’s no reaction, and part of Emma’s brain, the part that’s a giant dick apparently, is quick to point out it’s because Killian is dead and died trying to save her and—

“No, no, no, no, no.”

That time the word comes out more determined, as if she’ll be able to change what she can see and feel in front of her simply by willing it so. She’s got magic. She should be able to fix this.

She can’t understand a world where Killian Jones is dead.

And yet.

The world does not seem to give a single fuck about what Emma Swan wants. Ever.

She hadn’t been holding her breath, was desperate for a few extra molecules of oxygen, but the air rushes out of her in a huff, a noise she’s never made and would never like to hear again flying out of the very center of her.

Ruby jerks her head up at the sound, eyes wide and tears obvious on her cheeks. She shakes her head slightly, an unspoken command or promise that Emma can’t possibly be expected to understand in the moment.

And it only takes a second, but Emma suddenly realizes she isn’t actually crying. Her cheeks are painfully dry. Everything feels that way, in fact, as if she’s been standing in the middle of the desert for weeks on end and her whole being has been drained. There’s nothing, no push or pull, just an endless sense of desperation and...nothing.

As if nothing were a feeling.

It might be.

“No,” Emma whispers, and she briefly wonders if she’ll ever say anything else. She wonders if she’ll ever find something worth believing in again or if everything will be one endless contradiction – dead and alive, powerful and weak, nothing and everything, all at once.

It’s the single most depressing thing she’s ever thought.

She swallows, licking suddenly dry lips and she knows there has to be more. The Darkness has been silent the entire time. That can’t possibly be right.

There has to be something else. Emma has to do something else. She assumes. She can’t imagine the world will let her go this easily – let her fall off the edge and into the nothing she can see stretching out in front of her, a quiet and acquiesce that would make Killian’s eyes narrow and his lips twist and—

“Killian,” Emma breathes, head falling forward until the tips of her hair drag across his chest.

He doesn't move. He’s dead.

He’s dead.

And Emma’s knees ache, pressed into the floor because of course they’d moved off the carpet and that seems kind of unfair, but that’s the trend they’re going with and the creak of the Darkness moving towards her may be the loudest thing she’s ever heard.

She ignores it. It’s ridiculous – or at least it must be if Ruby’s exclamation is anything to go by and someone else is crying, or, possibly, two someones and if they ever get out this Emma is going to bake Nemo and Shakespeare sixteen pies every single day for the rest of her goddamn life. That only seems reasonable.

“It’s time to stand back up, Savior,” the Darkness says.

Emma doesn’t move. Her knees are never going to forgive her. She cups Killian’s cheek instead, thumb brushing over as much skin as she can reach and the heart she’s certain will never beat again sputters in her chest.

Like it’s trying to prove a point.

He’s honestly ridiculously good looking – all long eyelashes and lips that probably would have felt incredible pressed against Emma’s and the strand of hair that drapes across his forehead is going to brand itself on her memory, she’s sure. She keeps ignoring the Darkness, ignores the fluttering at the back of her skull and the hint of something that may actually be her destiny because that also seems a little absurd, bending her head instead and letting her lips ghost over Killian’s.

It’s not enough, but nothing could ever be enough. Not really. Not when she’d waited and hoped and believed with every single inch of her for so long. So Emma lets herself have the almost, the barely there and could have been and—

“I love you,” she whispers, closing her eyes like that will make the words truer or bring him back. They don’t. She only sort of expected them to.

The Darkness taps his foot behind her. It grates on her nerves. Emma’s nerves will never recover from the last twenty-four hours,

She supposes she deserves that too.

“I’m waiting, Savior,” the Darkness drawls, an impatience that lingers in the air and tastes bitter in the back of Emma’s throat.

Standing up slowly, she refuses to acknowledge the crack of her knees and the snap of her spine. Heroes can’t possibly have joints as weak as hers. Emma licks her lips again – can’t seem to stop, and it’s a nervous, anxious habit that does not bode well for whatever she’s about to do, but she’s also got no idea what she’s about to do so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

She turns, palms flat against the side of her jeans, to find the Darkness gazing at her with passing interest. He tilts his head slightly, hair suddenly looking greasier than it had, as if the magic had settled in every strand and Emma can’t help but recoil at the sight. He looks close to his own edge – drifting dangerously close to manic and the yellow in his eyes has gotten sharper.

Emma digs her nails into her palms and tries to remember.

“Something good,” she mumbles, half to herself and half to the three people behind her. “There’s got to be something good.”

“There is, Emma,” Nemo promises, and she needs to stop turning away from the Darkness. Eventually that will catch up with her. Probably. God, she hopes not.

Nemo’s smile is tremulous at best. It doesn’t match with his watery gaze at all or the shake of his shoulders that he can’t seem to stop, fingers reaching for both Shakespeare and Ruby. But he doesn’t blink and the smile gets a hint stronger the longer he stares at Emma.

She licks her lips again.

And the first tear that falls on her cheek is warm, another brand and feeling and Emma is pleasantly surprised that her legs don’t buckle under her. She makes that noise again, although this one may be slightly different and no less than ten-thousand times worse. Because she knows it was good and can, maybe, be good again, but not quite the same and the barely there of it all feels as if it rips her in half.

It tears at the edges of her, shadows creeping up the walls and lingering around the curve of her right sneaker. It ripples through her, settles in between every one of her ribs and wraps its way around her heart, a slight pressure that isn’t altogether unpleasant, but isn’t entirely enjoyable either. It’s not grief. It’s something deeper, something far more fundamental and, God help her, maybe a little magical.

“It was good, Emma,” Ruby says. Her voice shakes, but her own smile is confident. Nemo tugs her hand up to brush a kiss over knuckles, a familiarity that should be impossible.

Although, all things considered, Emma is, at least, seventy-six percent positive she’s vibrating with the power of her own magic, so, really she can’t bring herself to find anything impossible at this point.

And she can feel the Darkness growing more and more impatient with her.

She turns back around.

“What was that?” Emma demands, nodding towards the barely there puddle on the ground. “What were you trying to do?” The Darkness narrows his eyes. “Have you not figured that out yet? I thought I’d made my plans rather clear.” “Humor me.” There is absolutely no humor in his answering laugh, a twist of his wrist and flick of his fingers and Emma gasps when another goddamn dead body appears at her feet. She wishes that would stop happening.

She wishes death would leave her alone.

“You’re going to bring my boy back,” the Darkness says evenly. “And then I’m going to take control of what should have been mine from the very beginning.” “You said you didn’t have that kind of magic, though.” “And yet I’ve got you, don’t I?” Emma shakes her head. “No, you don’t.” “I’ve won, Savior! The dead man is dead. You’re alone. Again. As you were always meant to be and I’m in complete control of everything. What do you have left to fight for?” He takes a step towards her, and Emma does her best to stand up to her full height. It’d probably be more impressive if she were wearing Ruby’s heels. “There’s no point, Emma Swan. Not anymore. Not for you. So, give me what I want and, maybe, maybe, you’ll be able to find some kind of purpose. There’ll be a reason the Universe gifted you this.”

He’s so close Emma is certain she can feel him – the touch of him on her skin cold enough that goosebumps explode across her arms.

She doesn’t shiver, though, a victory that Emma is going to horde and covet and the other dead body at her feet looks far more dead than she’s entirely used to.

“How long?” she asks, and the Darkness hums in something that may actually be confusion. Her smile makes the muscles in her cheeks ache. “How long have you been trying to bring your son back? Is that—did he die before or after you twisted your own magic?” Ruby curses.

The Darkness doesn’t react immediately. At least not verbally. But Emma can see the tension twist between his shoulders as easily as if she put it there herself, the knuckles of his fingers turning white as he clenches his fists at his side. His eyes get even thinner, barely more than slits on his face and that only serves to make him look even more reptilian.

Like a crocodile. With particularly powerful jaws. And even more powerful magic.

“It should have been mine,” he says, barely loud enough to hear over the ringing in Emma’s ears. “From the very beginning. The world should have—” “—What? Given you power? It did. You’ve got magic.” “Not enough!” Emma doesn’t back up – and, really, she’s got to keep better track of these small victories because she’s barely treading water in a whole sea of emotions and the body in front of her twitches slightly.

“Oh shit,” Ruby hisses.

Emma moves towards her on instinct, taking the hand that isn’t twisted up in Nemo’s. Her fingers aren’t warm, per se, but they’re also not dead. She’ll take it.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Shakespeare demands, inching his chair closer to Nemo’s until the wood scrapes loudly

Baelfire stops moving. His skin looks almost transparent now, a grey pallor to it that makes him seem less human. The clothes he’s wearing aren’t quite as ragged as the Darkness, as if they’ve been cared for – for a very long time.

She has no idea why the realization makes her stomach clench.

“Why did you change your magic?” Emma presses, and she’s not sure who’s squeezing whose hand tighter, her or Ruby. “If you wanted to bring your son back—” “I didn’t change my magic to bring my son back,” the Darkness screams. The words sail across the room, sharp and angry and Emma hopes there aren’t spells involved. If there are spells involved, she’s certain they’ve all just been cursed.

It feels absurd to check that they haven’t been turned into frogs, but her eyes glance down anyway. Still human.

Still fighting the embodiment of all evil.

Still not entirely coping with Killian being dead.

“Oh,” Emma says, understanding slamming into her hard enough that she has to bite back a groan. “It was before then wasn’t it? You wanted...did you want power?”

The Darkness doesn’t respond.

“I’m going to take that as a yes, then. Alright, alright. So you were what? Born with magic? But light magic, right?”

Still no answer.

“Seems like another yes,” Ruby mumbles, thumb tapping absentmindedly against Emma’s wrist.

Shakespeare hums in agreement. “Keep going, sweetheart. Look at him.” Emma’s head snaps around, and she’s got to stop gasping. It can’t be good for the overall dryness level of her lips. She doesn’t think there’s any ChapStick in her car. But Shakespeare is right – the Darkness isn’t moving, stuck in the same spot by the few pinpricks of light around him. They’re not quite bright, flickering slightly as if they’re only barely holding on to whatever is fueling them – it’s magic, it’s obvious – but they’re still there and fighting and Ruby is definitely the one who squeezes Emma’s hand that time.

“Ok, ok,” Emma chants. “So, um...you were born with magic, but it wasn’t much, right? Or at least wasn’t enough for you. And then you...you grow up?” “Happens to the best of us,” Nemo cuts in. He winks at Emma when she glances in his direction.

“So you grow up,” she continues, only staying in one spot because of the grip Ruby’s got on her fingers. “And you met someone and had the kid and something’s got to change. Shit, what could have changed?” Emma glances around - as if the answer will present itself suddenly and, well, it kind of does. In the form of Ruby’s fingers.

“Oh my God,” Emma growls. “Were you some kind of wrestler in another life? What the hell was—” “Where’s the mother?” Ruby asks.

Emma is going to have to buy stock in ChapStick to deal with her lips.

The Darkness blinks, shoulders shifting with the force of his deep breath and the body on the ground twitches again. Emma can feel the rush of magic, but it’s not right. There’s too much and not enough, another strange line to walk, but she knows it won’t work.

The magic is wrong.

It’s not going to do anything.

“Magic always comes with a price,” the Darkness says softly. “Always. No matter what we try and do to prevent it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It means that there wasn’t enough. I couldn’t control what I wanted to control and I couldn’t control her.” “Do you hear yourself? That seems like a dick move.” “Oh my God, Ruby,” Emma mumbles, but she can’t actually disagree and she’s got a horrible idea of where this is going. “So, let me take a guess. You’ve got magic. It’s not much because, like you said, the world had started to try and balance itself out. So you’ve only got a tiny amount, not nearly enough to inspire much confidence or lord your power over other people and what--did she leave? Is that what happened.” Silence.

Emma smiles.

She hates that.

“That’s what happened, isn’t it?” she asks. “You tried to control things, tried to control your wife, so it blew up in your face and you were alone. Except you weren’t because there was—” Emma nods in the direction of the body, the other body, and maybe they should just burn this entire goddamn house. That thought makes her stomach twist uncomfortably too. “You weren’t alone, but you didn’t care did you?” The Darkness shakes his head. It’s not a disagreement. It’s anger and fury and a wave of something that slams against Emma’s legs, knees buckling against the force of it.

“Shut up,” he growls. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “What did you give up? If all magic has a price, what was the price you were willing to pay to twist your magic? Must have been something horrible.” The whole word shakes.

That’s the only reasonable explanation. Emma isn’t sure reason exists anymore.

There aren’t any frames left to fall, but the glass on the ground shifts and the couch the Darkness had been perched on tips, a small crash that’s barely noticeable over the echo of something that sounds like everything and feels like a very large void.

Emma assumes this is what a black hole sounds like – yanking and tugging, trying to swallow up everything in its path and hold onto it until they’re all twisted and flattened. It’s the worst, really. She should have paid more attention in science.

“Enough,” the Darkness says. He doesn’t shout that time. The words are almost calm, except for the acid practically dripping off them. “Enough.” Emma shakes her head. “No, no, that’s—oh my God.” The shaking stops suddenly, quick enough that it’s almost jarring and the whiplash of everything is absolutely exhausting. Emma’s smile feels more unnatural than ever.

“What are we missing?” Ruby asks. “I feel like we’re missing something big. And bad. Like decidedly bad.” “The worst, if I’m right.” “Well go ahead and share with the class, that’s PI’ing one-oh-one.”

Emma’s laugh feels more unnatural than her laugh. She waves her hand, a flush of power that doesn’t quite tickle but feels warm and confident and the lights that are hanging around the Darkness flare to life. There are several curses from several different people mumbled behind her, maybe even a few of the goons.

She’d kind of forgotten about the goons.

Emma has to wiggle her fingers – the ones not still tied up with Ruby’s – trying to focus the power she can feel simmering in the pit of her stomach She bobs on the balls of her feet, hoping the sound crackling at the ends of her hair isn’t actually electricity.

That would be almost too normal, though. It’s not electricity, it’s magic and strength and light, a positivity that may be misplaced, but is also necessary and Emma’s neck aches when she twists around and the scene behind her hasn’t changed. There’s still a dead body she wishes weren’t dead behind her, but that same body promised more than she’d ever expected to hear and she meant every single she’d told him in the last few days.

And then some.

Because he’d come back too.

She knows exactly what the Darkness did to his magic.

“How did you kill him?” Emma asks, letting her fingers press into the back of Ruby’s palm. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Killed your son thinking it would help your magic grow?”

Ruby sounds as if she’s choking. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the absolute worst thing, were you?” Emma shrugs. And the Darkness looks like he’s turned into a statue. He doesn’t move any of his limbs, still as marble and rough as something more abrasive than marble and Emma really needs to remember something about rudimentary science.

He makes plenty of noise though – a low grumble in the back of his throat that is probably meant to be menacing, but Emma’s run the gamut of feelings and she’s tired of being scared. She’s positive she’s right.

“How did you imagine that would work?” Emma presses. “Did you just—I mean, did you just kill him? Like, I don’t know, what happens in mythical times? Was there a sword involved?” Ruby scoffs. “Maybe a lance? That’s properly ancient, right? Oh shit, Dark One, were you a knight at some point?” “No, no,” Shakespeare argues. “That can’t possibly be right. Knights are always pure of heart.” “Or so the stories would have us believe,” Nemo adds, and the whole thing is equal parts absurd and nice and Emma’s fingers are still almost vibrating with the force of her magic.

The Darkness doesn’t move.

“How did you kill him?” Emma asks. “It must have been something bad if it helped you twist your magic like that.”

She does her best to stay patient, waiting for a response or an explanation that won’t make her skin crawl. That feels a bit like wishful thinking though and the Darkness’ laugh starts out quiet.

That doesn’t last long.

It grows louder – manic and grating as he steps back into Emma’s space. She blinks, trying to block out the shadows at the edge of her vision and Ruby mumbles something that tries to be encouraging. Or a few more pirate-themed curses.

“You said true love liked to linger in certain places didn’t you?” Emma presses. “That it takes root and grows and—oh my God, his heart. Your son's heart!” No answer. Again.

Emma’s pulse thunders in her veins, certainty she doesn’t want and confidence she desperately needs. “I don’t--I don't think I understand how that works. Ok, so…” She glances back at Ruby, a distinct lack of color in her partner’s face. “Do you think he ate it? Like..a vampire? Blood power or—” “—Blood magic is a thing,” Shakespeare says, like it’s fact and Emma’s teetering on the edge of insanity again.

Ruby shakes her head. “No, no, it’s got to be something other than. And you’ve got to keep thinking positive thoughts, Em. I think your magic’s keeping him contained for now.” Emma hums in confusion and her neck is not going to be able to stand up to much more of this. She snaps back around – the Darkness twisted slightly, arm lifted like he was getting ready to do something particularly nefarious, but the pinpricks of light around him have multiplied and they’re brighter or stronger and Emma squeezes her hand again.

For reassurance. Or magic. Or whatever.

“Ok, ok, so let’s rule out blood magic,” Emma continues. “Did you think you had True Love? Is that what it was? You were looking for True Love, trying to grow your magic, get stronger and—oh, so you thought you could take his heart! Your son’s heart? How does that—shit, how does that even work?” “You could do it too, Savior,” the Darkness says. His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper or a whimper. His eyes, however, are strong as ever, dark and menacing despite the light lingering just over the edge of his shoulder. “It’s basic magic. I explained to Bae. Told him I’d be able to right it once I was strong enough, but I needed that emotion. I needed his belief. That I could do something. That I could be more.”

Emma does her best to process that, but she’s a normal human and this still makes less than any sense. Until. “Oh shit,” she chokes out. “You tried to pull his love for you...out of him? Oh my God, oh my God. That’s...that’s barbaric.” “It was a price, Savior. And one I was willing to pay.” “But it didn’t work!” “Yet. It didn’t work yet. That’s where you come in.” “It’s because it wasn’t True Love,” Nemo says suddenly. Emma will have to employ a personal chiropractor by the end of all this. “Was it? You thought, well, you explained it. You’d been looking for True Love for a very long time. Because you gave up your son to be stronger. You thought you’d be able to cheat the system. That’s not how it works. The world fought back against you.”

The scream the Darkness lets out is not human. And, really, that makes sense because Emma is beginning to think the Darkness isn’t very human anymore.

He’s the lack of all of that – empathy and understanding and love. Above everything else, he’s distinctly lacking in love. And the thought makes Emma shake slightly, the pity she feels rippling through every inch of her decidedly misplaced, all things considered.

She can’t help it. She pities the thing in front of her, can’t understand the thought process that led him to this moment. And she knows what she’s got to do.

He can’t be there anymore.

Because he won’t stop. He’ll wait and he’ll find someone else and—

“You overestimated your own power didn’t you?” Emma asks conversationally, flashing a smile Ruby’s direction when she tugs her hand back to her side. “You take your son’s heart. You grow your magic and twist and it and become something...else, something you’re certain will make you more powerful. But it didn’t, did it? It just made you,” she shrugs, impossibly casual with far too many dead bodies nearby, “lonely. That’s what you are. You’re lonely and you’re desperate. And I’m not anymore.” Someone whoops.

It’s definitely Ruby. Emma grins.

“Did you think you’d be able to use your own True Love to bring him back?” Emma mutters, and she’s pacing now, drifting back towards Killian like there are those same magnets involved. God, she hopes so.

She doesn’t want that to disappear.

The magic in her veins practically sings, roaring to life and making Emma’s hair shift slightly on her shoulders – life in every inch of her. The irony of it all is almost palpable.

“It should have,” the Darkness whispers. “I paid the price. I gave up my son for my power and he—he understood.” “You’ll need to practice that again if you want to make it sound believable.” “He did!” “Was he scared?” Emma asks, the tears on her cheeks not for her or what she’s lost. They’re for what everyone else has lost, the reach of the Darkness and the tendency of evil to, well, be evil. They’re regret and mistakes and every single secret any of them have ever kept. “When you tried to tell him it’d be worth it. That his sacrifice would mean something and he’d come back? Do you think he believed you?” The Darkness exhales, head falling forward. “He knew. He knew what it would take.” “Did you?” Her question hangs there – the crux of it all and the turning point and Emma wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. The magic there is warm against her cheek.

“You couldn’t have, could you? To know what the price really would be. To understand what you’d be giving into. I do, though, and I’m not giving into it. I’m not—I won’t go with you and I won’t help you. This is...you’ve twisted and turned things and ruined lives, but nothing has been as bad as what you’ve done to yourself.”

She takes a deep breath, shaking her arms at her side. The magic has its own pulse now, twisting in between her fingers and lingering at the back of her heels. It’s almost excited, ready to do what it was meant to from the very beginning and Emma doesn’t turn when she hears the grunts behind her.

She doesn’t take her eyes away from the Darkness.

Emma steps forward, the man in front of her shaking under the weight of her gaze and the light around him. She smiles.

“You have to realize that,” she says. “You’ve stumbled into your own hole. Dug your own grave. All of that. Every cliché either one of us could possibly come up with. How long has it been since you’ve believed in something? It must be a lifetime. Sounds depressing.” “You would know, Savior. All those could have beens. You’ve pushed people away with both hands, so certain you’re wrong. That you don’t deserve it.” "That’s true. I...I did. I ran and ran and was positive I shouldn’t have been the way that I am. But that doesn’t change anything. Because I never really forgot and I’ve never—listen, it’s one of those clichés isn’t it? I don’t want the world, but I’ll be damned if you get it.”

The Darkness sneers, teeth bare and the growl in the back of his throat is probably supposed to sound menacing. That kind of misses the mark when it only makes Emma laugh.

She shakes her head, another step forward and the light sitting in the palm of her hand when she snaps her wrist is a pleasant surprise.

“Huh,” she says, glancing back at Ruby. “That’s a surprise.” “It’s impressive,” Ruby nods. “What are you going to do with it? Oh, oh, can we throw it at the bad guy’s face?” “Seems to make us kind of like the bad guy, doesn’t it?” “Eh, he did threaten to control you and your magic and try to take over the entire universe so he could get his dead kid back, so you know—” “—And he killed our kid,” Shakespeare adds. “More than once. Seems like plenty of reason to destroy him.” Emma shakes her head again – although something very particular happens to a variety of her internal organs at our kid. The light in her hand grows brighter, a groan from the Darkness that is, quite obviously, because of it.

“That’s kind of interesting, isn’t it?" Emma muses. "You don’t…” She brandishes her hand, the Darkness stumbling backwards to try and avoid it. “Well, that answers that question. I’d rather not destroy you. I don’t—I’ve had this power my whole life. The life and the death and the magic, but I’ve never wanted it. And I’ve never wanted to alter the universe, but it’s got to be more than that, isn’t it? Because you do.

“You want to change things and ignore the balance of it all and the Universe kind of hates that. I can feel it. How much it rejects you and detests you. And you know it. That’s why it’s twisted you around like this. And that’s why I’m here. To stop you. I can. I can keep it all balanced.”

Emma flips her wrists again, working on instinct and whatever magic operates on. The light around her surges – as if several electric fields have exploded and the noise is almost overwhelming.

It takes everything in her to stay upright, gulping in breaths of air. Everything feels warm and bright and, at first, Emma can’t figure out what that sound is. She wishes she didn’t as soon as she realizes what it is.

The Darkness has fallen to his knees, prostrated on the floor with his hands wrapped over his head. He’s shaking like several metaphorical leaves, nails digging into the hair that suddenly looks like it’s producing its own grease.

Or letting go of its magic.

That makes a little bit more sense.

In a moment that makes absolutely no sense.

“What the—” Emma starts, wavering between moving towards him and sprinting away. The chair behind her scrapes when Ruby moves it, pushing off several goons to tug Emma back to her side. “That’s gross. Did I—” “I don’t think so, Em,” Ruby mutters. She can’t quite mask the fear in her voice though. “You’ve got to keep going. It’s...the light and the, oh shit—” “—Oh God, I’ve got to touch him, don’t I?” “You’re a really good PI now.” Emma lets out a watery laugh and she doesn’t know if the tears on her cheek are new or have, simply, just lingered there. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes.” “Hey, if you got away with flirting at crime scenes, then I can certainly make some jokes. Give and take or whatever.” “Yeah, whatever,” Emma mumbles. The Darkness is still groaning, wincing every time a ray of light graces over him.

“It was stupid how obviously in love with you he was.” Emma’s eyes fly into her hairline. “Is that emotion, I hear?” “And, probably, what you need to save the world. He knew what he was doing, Em. And he did it anyway. So did you. Honestly. I was super pissed about it—” “—Are we seriously doing this now?” “I mean we wouldn’t be if you stopped interrupting me,” Ruby reasons. “I think we’ve got time. Your light or inherent goodness or whatever is taking care of things for a second. What I’m getting at is you both knew what you were doing when you made your choices. Not like our resident villain here.” Emma doesn’t want to argue. She isn’t sure if she’s even got time to argue, but—”That’s not entirely true,” she says. “I...the whole thing was so unbelievably selfish. I knew what would happen if I kept Killian alive and I couldn’t—” She has to swallow, blinking back tears and greed in equal measure. “It didn’t make sense for him to be dead.” “Has it occurred to you that he wasn’t supposed to be at that point?” “What?”

Ruby clicks her tongue, kicking back when a goon tries to lunge towards them. “We had to figure out what was going on with him. Who hired him and why they’d killed him and what they were trying to do. You keeping Jones alive led you right here. To this moment. Defeating ultimate evil and saving the world.” Emma’s jaw drops. It’s kind of lame, honestly. And Ruby’s grin has a distinctly wolfish tinge to it.

“I’m very good at what I do,” she shrugs. “You weren’t trying to take over the world, Em. You could have. This entire time. You could have played God and—shit, what did the Dark One say?” “Changed the fates of the world,” Nemo supplies, standing as well and shoving a goon back into the corner of the room. “You never did, Emma. You only ever loved. He knew you loved him. Even when he didn’t want to remember it.” “And he never really wanted to forget it,” Shakespeare smiles. “I’d imagine that’s how True Love is supposed to work.”

Emma hums – not sure what’s happening to, possibly, her entire soul, but it kind of feels like flying or what she’d always imagined flying would be. Or, more specifically, it feels like racing down the hill, wind in her hair and a smile on her face and she doesn’t lick her lips before turning back towards the Darkness.

He looks lesser, somehow, like he’s falling into himself or that black hole she’d been considering before. There’s still a slight tremor to him, sobs shaking their way out of him and one of his hands has started fisting the carpet underneath him.

The sweat at his temple isn’t that. Emma knows it. It’s power, falling off him in waves and several other water-based metaphors.

Crouching down, Emma’s hand lingers in the air in front of her. There’s still a light hanging around her, as if she really is phosphorescent, but the magic in her feels as if it’s settled slightly, accepted its job and its purpose and the Darkness audibly winces when she shifts on her heels.

“You can’t do this anymore,” Emma says, a note of sadness in her voice. “You can’t be this anymore. It’s not...it’s not right. And it never was. It was never going to work.” He groans when he tries to lift his head, like the weight of it is suddenly more than he can bear. Emma can barely make out his eyes, but there’s a hint of something in his gaze that is clinging on – a tinge of yellow and a dash of hatred and she’s not entirely surprised when he snaps his jaws at her.

Like the goddamn crocodile.

“No,” Emma says. “It’s not going to work. I was never going to go with you. No matter what you’d done or who you took. Because they’ve never really been gone. They never forgot. And neither had I. Even when I wanted to. Even when I thought I had to. So you can’t stay here. The world won’t accept it.”

She exhales slowly, fighting the urge to close her eyes as she reaches her hand forward. The Darkness’ skin is clammy under her touch, magic pooling under his clothes and at the curve of his chin. Emma holds her breath, doing her best to push her own magic out the tips of her fingers and the light that surges out of her is almost blinding.

It takes forever and happens far too quickly, another contradiction that makes perfect sense. And the Darkness doesn’t scream. He doesn’t make any noise. But his gaze meets Emma, the yellow fading and the emotion disappearing and he seems to deflate in front of her – as if he’s a balloon that’s been popped or a line of milk bottles that have been knocked over.

His eyes close.

Emma counts to ten in her head, only a little worried that something is going to sneak up on her or inform her that she’s got to do something else. She counts to twenty. And thirty-five. There’s nothing. There’s only light and, now, three dead bodies and the magic thrumming in her veins.

The floor creaks when Ruby moves, the hand that lands on Emma’s shoulder nearly on the wrong side of too tight.

“So, uh,” she starts. “What happens now?” “I have absolutely no idea,” Emma answers honestly, and the laugh she’s met with sounds decidedly out of place.

Particularly when the house starts to shake again.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Shakespeare groans, Emma scrambling back to her feet and thrusting her hands out in front of her.

There’s no darkness though, no trace of shadows, just more light and something that smells like triple berry pie. Something that smells like home. And love.

And the faces that appear in front of Emma’s eye line are familiar and not, corporal and not and, eventually, she’d love if something were just simple. She assumes dealing with ghosts can’t ever be simple. She hopes ghosts isn’t an offensive term.

“Whoa,” Ruby mutters.

Emma rolls her shoulder, trying to get Ruby’s hand off and it absolutely does not work. If anything she holds on tighter. Maybe ghosts is the right term. “Are you seeing this?” Emma asks brusquely. “I’m not actually going crazy?” “If you’re asking me if I’m seeing the three people who just teleported into this living room, then, uh...yeah, we may both be crazy.”

“Oh ok, good good. It’d be weird if we saved the world and then I was the only one who immediately went crazy.” “Seems like it’d be a jerk move by the world.” The woman with the pixie cut and a cardigan that looks incredibly soft shakes her head. The man is smiling. And the other women – Emma can’t quite bring herself to look at the other woman, not sure what she’ll do if she does. Probably collapse on the floor. And sob.

For days. On end.

And she isn’t entirely surprised when the other woman speaks first.

“You’re not crazy, Emma,” Ingrid says. “The opposite, in fact.” “What’s the opposite of crazy?” “This isn’t all in your head, sweetheart. It’s not a dream. It’s very much real life and you very much just saved the world.” “Although some of it was a dream,” the man adds softly, moving closer to her and the air doesn’t turn cold the way Emma expects it to. If anything, it warms slightly, like she’s been wrapped in a blanket and tucked into bed after eating her weight in pie and a variety of other baked goods. “It was the only way we could figure out to help. Not always easy to cross the planes like that, but you helped.” Emma blinks. “What?” “Helped,” the dark-haired woman says. “Always. That’s—that’s what your magic is, Emma. It existed across the planes of reality, could criss-cross and move with ease. It drew us to you when you needed us.”

“And who...who exactly are you?” “I think you’ve figured that already.” “Yeah, that’s kind of why I think I’m crazy.” Ingrid laughs, the smile on her face making her eyes crinkle slightly and she doesn’t look any different than she did the last time Emma saw her. “I wouldn’t, would I?” she asks, a response to a question Emma hasn’t voiced. Or can’t. Probably the second one. “We’ve been waiting, Emma. Hoping and believing and trying so hard to be there when you needed it. The restaurant is gorgeous, by the way. Although you could probably use some more help on the waitstaff.” “I’ve been a little busy.” “That wasn’t a suggestion to take out a classified ad.” “Are you speaking in code?” Emma quips, entirely out of place sarcasm that Ingrid seems entirely prepared for.

The dark-haired woman shakes her head again. “You could do it, Emma. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It got all twisted and turned and you’ve unknotted most of it. This is the last part of the puzzle.” Emma considers that for a moment – eyes flashing back to the man behind her and the pang she feels in her chest doesn’t feel entirely magical. It feels like want and need and a slew of other words she’d done her best to avoid most of her adult life.

It feels like...everything.

“It’s not greedy, sweetheart,” the man says, ducking into her eye line and ghosting his fingers over her cheek. That’s the wrong word. She can almost feel it. She wants to feel it. “You’re allowed to love. Encouraged even.” “And you always loved that boy,” Ingrid adds. Her eyes flit towards a clearly stunned Shakespeare and Nemo. “Took forever to get her come home every night.” “You get to be happy, Emma,” the dark-haired woman continues, and for half a second Emma lets herself think that other word and quasi titles and then it’s all her brain can latch onto.

Mom and Dad and Ingrid and a family she’d never forgotten about. Even when she wanted to.

Her mother smiles at her.

It may be the nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. Until. Her mother takes another step forward, something shimmering at the edge of her and Emma gasps when she feels the hand that lands on her cheek.

It’s warm.

“We’ve always loved you,” she whispered. “That’s not going to change. But you’re not alone anymore either, Emma. You don’t have to be.”

Emma’s exhale shakes its way out of her, head falling forward onto something incredibly and impossibly solid. She has no idea how she stands there, but there’s more movement and a hand on the back of her head, Ingrid’s fingers rubbing and down Emma’s spine the same way they had when she was seven and broke her wrist falling off the monkey bars at school.

“You can do it, Emma,” her father promises.

“Ghost-dad is definitely right,” Ruby adds, drawing several stunned expressions from people who are both alive and not. She rolls her eyes. “Oh, what? He says it and it’s supportive and I say it and suddenly it’s not cool? That’s lame.” Emma makes a ridiculous noise – scratchy in her throat, but the emotion lingering in the back corners of her brain is definitely hope and her parents are still smiling at her.

Her parents are still smiling at her.

“Emma,” Shakespeare whispers, eyes red with tears and some more that haven’t fallen yet. “Please. If you—please try.” She shakes her head slowly, tugging her lip behind her teeth. “I don’t...how can I do that? The rules were always second touch death. Forever. I mean—” Emma turns to Ingrid. “I wasn’t ever trying to—” “I know,” she interrupts. “I’ve always known that Emma. So answer me one question, do you?” “Do I what?” Ruby sticks her whole tongue out when she gags. “Are you kidding me? This is basic, fundamental love stuff!” “Lording facts over people when you’re trying to control the situation,” Emma mumbles. “That’s still incredibly unhelpful.” “Oh my God, kiss the dead guy!’

“Wow, that’s not exactly subtle, was it?” Emma’s father asks, drawing a laugh out of her mother and this is ridiculous. The Darkness and his son are still on the floor.

Ruby clicks her tongue. “In case you haven’t noticed, subtlety is not exactly my strong suit. Emma, we are wasting time here. That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’ve got to True Loves kiss him!” Emma is sure there is a reason that won’t work. She’s positive.

Because this is the real world and she owns a pie restaurant that she will, eventually, have to open and they are normal people with normal wants and normal desires and—

“Oh damn, that makes total sense,” Emma says, not quite grumbling her agreement because she’s not sure she wants anything more than to kiss Killian Jones. She takes another absurdly large breath, nodding once, twice, and again until her hair threatens to find its way into her own mouth. “Yeah, ok.” “You can do it, Emma,” Ingrid says. “That’s what your magic is. Light and hope. And everything good in the world.” “Sounds kind of like a Hallmark card.” “Or happily ever after.” “Is that how it’s going to work?” “Only one way to find out.”

Emma chuckles – a bit of cynicism hanging on, but she moves anyway, dropping to her knees next to Killian. The whole thing is absurdly fairy tale, even with unforgiving wood under her knees. She brushes the hair away from his forehead, a measured movement that belies how hard her heart is hammering against her rib cage.

Everything seems to still for a moment, the only sound Emma’s breathing.

She licks her lips. And not for any other reason except some possibly misplaced vanity. It seems wrong to kiss her True Love with chapped lips.

Emma leans forward slowly, careful not to rest too much of her weight on Killian, but she can’t help the hand that rests on his chest. She wants to feel all of him. She wants all of him. Full stop.

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips lightly to his.

She doesn’t push at first, just lets herself linger in his space and around him, lets everything wrap around her and work into her and the magic that’s just worked so hard to save the entire universe roars to life in between Emma’s ears.

And that’s all it takes.

It’s like hearing a light switch on. Or walking back into a familiar space. It’s like coming home.

There’s a flash and a pull in the very center of her and Emma knows. She feels it.

Emma grunts when Killian shifts, trying to sit up or stand up and none of it works because she's still got her hand digging into him. So he gets creative. And eventually she’ll have to tell him how much she appreciates that.

His left arm wraps around her middle, twisting her and tugging her flush against his chest. His other hand flies into her hair, fingers carding through strands and wrapping around her neck, making sure Emma can’t pull away from his mouth.

As if she would.

Killian’s tongue brushes over her lower lip, Emma’s mouth opening against him. He makes a noise at that, a sound she’s already filed away for moments when it feels as if everything else is impossible and dark and not getting her hands on him suddenly seems like the most ridiculous thing she could ever be doing.

Emma shifts, slinging her leg over Killian until she’s more or less straddling him and the propriety of True Love's kiss is a lesson she’s never bothered learning. She pushes her fingers into his hair, nails scraping lightly against the back of his head and rocking against him as if there’s an actual tide involved. There’s far too much skin and Emma briefly wishes she had more limbs to touch all of it, but then her only thought is about whatever Killian does against the side of her neck, mouth dropping down to press kisses there as well.

She may honestly shiver.

They don’t stop for what feels like several lifetimes – and Emma isn’t sure she’ll ever argue that because it’s everything she thought it would be and even more. He’s so goddamn warm under her, alive and meeting her kiss for kiss, move for move and—

“Is this real?” Killian asks gruffly.

Emma leans back, the hand against her skin making her wonder just how hard it is to actually teleport two human beings who are absolutely wearing too much clothing. She nods. “Yeah. Really real.” He kisses her again. And it’s not the same as it was before. It’s harder and heady and some other word that’s a synonym of those words and Emma groans against him, more movement and another rock and if they don’t leave soon—

“I heard you,” Killian says, mumbling the words against her mouth. “I was...where was I?” Emma glances around – as if the quasi ghosts behind her will explain something else, but there’s nothing there and no other bodies. Her jaw drops. “Gone as soon as you guys started—” Ruby explains, waving both her hands awkwardly in front of her. “Super psyched you’re not dead forever, Jones.” “Yeah, me too. Swan,” he continues, nosing at her cheek and she hopes he never stops touching her. “I heard you, love. I was—everything was dark, but I wasn’t...it wasn’t bad. It was..” She can see the muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, teeth digging into his lip and Emma doesn’t think much before brushing her thumb over it. “Liam was there.” She’s very glad she’s sitting down.

Killian smiles, quick enough that Emma wonders if she imagines it, but he kisses the edge of her chin and maybe that’s better. “He wouldn’t let me leave. Kept trying to talk to me and get me to remember things. Stuff we’d done when we were kids and—” He cuts himself off, presumably when Emma’s jaw cracks. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Oh—I get it. I...it was all of them. Because, oh my God.” “Share with the class,” Ruby mumbles. She’s dropped onto the floor as well, sitting cross-legged with her back pressed against Nemo’s bent legs.

“True Love is a two-way street. And that’s what, that’s what my parents—” “—Wait, what?” Killian interrupts sharply, Ruby waving a frustrated hand towards him.

“You can get caught up later. This, oh shit, Em, this makes sense.”

Emma hums, eyebrows lifted because, well, it does. “They said my magic could cross planes, draw them to me when I needed them. So it did for Killian too. It kept him from—I don’t know, moving on and helped me remember what was good and important and real and, oh do you think my magic knew it could bring him back?” “At this point, I am not surprised by anything, honestly.” “Yeah, me either,” Emma agrees. She’s balanced on Killian’s thighs now, the fingers in his hair moving without realizing as he ducks his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. “I um,” she mumbles. “I am—did Liam, say anything…” Killian shakes his head. “Not in the way that you’d think. He told me he was proud of me. That he knew what I could do and that I had to stop waiting for him to come back.” “I’m so sorry.” “I know you are, love. And so did Liam. It was never your fault.” “But—” “—No, Emma. It’s...I am here because of you, twice over. And, well, if that worked both ways then that’s enough. I heard you.” “I don’t understand what that means.” “I wanted to go. I kept telling Liam I was tired and it was over and he wouldn’t let me. Stubborn git.” Emma’s laugh gets muffled when she buries her face against Killian’s neck, but there are more kisses pressed to the top of her hair and fingers drifting under the edge of her shirt and she smiles against his skin. “Anyway,” Killian continues. “He wouldn’t let me leave. Told me there was more to it and just to stay patient and that’s when I heard you. You told me you loved me and I could—I could feel it, Emma. You’re a much better kisser now than when you were nine.”

She laughs again. And cries. And slings her arms around Killian, all but slamming her lips against his. He doesn’t argue.

She hadn’t really expected him to.

“I love you too,” Killian says, more words pressed against her cheek and the bridge of her nose and if they never get off the floor, Emma won’t argue. He kisses her like he’s following a map, doing his best to cover as much of her face as possible while his fingers dance over the curve of her waist.

“Do you want to go eat some pie or something?” Emma asks. “Maybe, you know...live happily ever after?” Killian beams. “I’d like nothing better.”

They do, eventually, get off the floor, but Emma can’t seem to bring herself to move more than a few inches away from Killian. He keeps squeezing her hand, an arm around her shoulders and kisses pressed wherever he can reach.

It makes Ruby gag, but Nemo and Shakespeare look torn somewhere between understandably overwhelmed and surprisingly approving and Killian apologizes to them, no less, than forty-six times. They hug him for, at least, forty-six seconds straight.

Ruby offers to get them a hotel.

“We’ll use some of Cora’s reward money,” she shrugs, a flash of a smile and more hugs and a copious amount of pie. “And, uh, I don’t want yours, either.”

They hug her in response.

And do leave eventually – laden down with pies because Emma’s rid the world of inherent darkness, but she also feels kind of guilty about turning their house into some kind of murder hot bed – leaving Emma and Killian sitting in the middle of her restaurant with the chance at everything hanging in between them.

“I feel like my eyes are kind of rolling back into my head,” Emma says, always a picture of charm. “So, uh—” “—Let’s go to sleep, Swan.” She nods, not trusting herself to say anything else. They move slowly, lingering on steps with kisses that last lifetimes and it’s still not enough, but Emma is more than a little greedy, tugging on shirts and brushing over stubble and Killian’s tongue should win awards.

Emma doesn’t say that out loud. That would probably ruin the moment.

And she wants the moment – wants to linger in it and put down roots and several thousand vaguely romantic clichés. So she doesn’t say anything, just kicks her door closed behind her and tries not to actually gasp too loudly when Killian tugs his shirt off.

“You’re staring, love,” Killian mutters, a note of nerves that make no sense. And Emma saw ghosts a few hours before.

“What’s the matter?” “Nothing.” “Nuh uh, try again.” “I was dead earlier today, you know.” “Yeah, I was there,” Emma mutters, doing her best to keep her voice even. It doesn’t work, obvious as soon as Killian’s thumb tucks under her chin. “I’ve missed you so much. This whole time...I wondered and I—” “—I know, Swan.” “Then what…” And she’s a little annoyed she didn’t realize before, disappointed in herself and her own wants. “Oh, Killian,” she mumbles, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “I don’t...come here.” He doesn’t, in fact, come here. If anything, he tenses – eyes wide and a little guarded, but still ridiculously blue and Emma is certain she could willingly lose herself in them. She’s apparently a sentimental sap now.

Her fingers don’t shake when they wrap around the end of his left arm, although he may just a bit, his quiet contradiction barely audible. That lasts as long as it takes for her to lift him to her mouth, pressing soft kisses to the blunted edge and the distinct lack of scars.

There’s an apology in every movement and a promise in every shift, guarantees that it’s fine and what she wants and who she wants. Indefinitely. Since the very start.

“Your skin is so soft,” Killian whispers.

“Were you thinking about the texture of my skin?” “Well...no, ah, maybe. Mostly in the way that I wondered what it would feel like to touch you. Or hold onto you. In another way that sounds less possessive than that.”

Emma scoffs, biting back a smile. “I don’t think that sounds possessive.” “Good since I was definitely aiming for more romantic. It would probably be a pretty bad set up to asking you out if you thought it wasn’t.”

“I am ridiculously in love with you,” she says, drawing a laugh out of Killian. The tears on his cheeks are out of place in a day like this, but Emma’s on some kind of roll and she relishes the salt on her tongue when she kisses them away.

“Ridiculously, huh?” “At least. And I could be very interested in dating you. Or just...staying in bed forever.”

“At least a few days.” “Something about science experiments with my skin.”

He laughs – loud and easy and it presses against Emma like it’s marking her from the inside out. There are more kisses, ones that stretch out forever and others that are nothing more than quick presses of lips to any bit of skin available and she does her best not to melt in her own foyer when Killian’s teeth graze behind her ear. “I’d do it again,” he says, a quiet admission that makes Emma’s breath catch. “Let’s not, huh?” “We might be kind of busy for that anyway.” “That so?” “Do you not think we are?”

They’re moving, drifting back towards the bedroom at the end of the hall and Emma is dimly aware of the button on her jeans popping. “I’d be willing to be almost confident about it.” “Ah, sounds like a challenge.” “Yeah, well that’s because you’re a competitive weirdo.” Killian hums, more walking and stumbling and kissing. The last one is the most important. “One who loves you a ridiculous amount too,” he says. “And has very lofty goals of kissing every single inch of you.” “I’d like to see you try.” He grins – hers, exactly the way she’d always pictured it. “I can guarantee it.”

They bake pies every day. And fill napkin containers. And balance books.

It’s domestic and wonderful and Emma kisses Killian in several different kitchens with a regularity that never fails to make her pulse sputter just a bit. It goes that way for weeks that turn to months that turn to years and Emma Swan is thirty-one years, two months, fifty-seven days and, approximately, nine and a half hours old when he kisses her back – while the front door to their restaurant swings open.

“I’ve got news,” Ruby shouts, heels echoing on the tiled floor under her. “So if you guys are done being adorable, it might be time to make some money.” Killian shifts, tugging Emma against his chest. “What do you think, love? Do we want to make some money?” “Ah, I don’t know,” Emma says, if only to get that very particular groan out of Ruby. “Depends on the facts, I guess.”

Ruby does, in fact, make that very particular groan, grabbing a slice of pie without asking for it. “The usual. Dead body, suspicious circumstances, in need of your particular skills with the chance to let justice be served. Also we got to do this quick because I’ve got a date.” “What?” “This is not a big deal. Do not make this a big deal.” “You brought it up, Lucas,” Killian points out.

“Her name is Dorothy. She’s a dog trainer. It is not a big deal. I just, you know…” “You wanted to tell us.” “Shut up, Jones.” “Oh, that’s nice,” Emma says, handing Ruby the fork she can’t quite reach with the counter in the way. “Alright, we’re in. Let’s go serve some justice.” Ruby rolls her eyes. “You’re hysterical.” “You say that like you don’t think I am.”

“Yuh huh, yuh huh. Time keeps on slipping or whatever.” Emma laughs, grabbing a handful of berries from the nearest bowl and they don’t use rotten fruit anymore. It’s some kind of step in the right direction thing. They definitely helped set Graham up with that one customer a few months before.

And no one argues when they get into Emma’s car – Ruby in the backseat and already on her phone with Victor, Killian’s eyes flitting Emma’s direction as soon as she turns the key in the ignition. “You ready, love?” he asks, lacing his fingers through hers.

Emma nods. “Always.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #one foot in #it's been a d a y #in an underlined sort of way #like professionally speaking #so i totally forgot it was wednesday until just now #if you've read this it means the world #thanks for being legit internet

49 notes · View notes

dr-gloom · 4 years

Text

Some thoughts/analysis on the new episode, because the video itself and people's reactions were bugging me

Disclaimers: I don't hate Patton or Roman, I'm not calling Patton abusive or manipulative, as those terms insinuate knowing what you're doing and I don't think Patton does know how he's coming across

- First I wanna just point out, as a few others have, that Thomas is once again wearing black and white while discussing a grey-area issue. I love the attention to detail

- The recap only really highlights that Thomas admitted to wanting something that contradicted Patton's statement of why he's a good person (or more specifically "perfect", which, as nice and friendly and lovely as that sounds, is a toxic mindset and I like that Thomas touched on that at the end), which is an interesting point to cover honestly, especially since later Thomas challenges Patton to call him a good person

- "Now kiddo, if you're gonna dish out Fs, why don't we make them friendly hugs?" I understand Patton was trying to lighten the mood and joke a little and all that, but he's not letting Thomas just... Be angry/upset. He's trying to control how he feels and steer away from negative emotions, which I thought he learned not to do??

- I love that Patton heard what he was saying and stopped. Good on him. But what he replaced it with is called guilt tripping and that's not much better. "I'm surprised you would say something like that about your friends. I always thought that when it came to your pals, that sort of language would be... Ineffable?" It may sound gentle and sweet, but he's still saying "you can't talk about your friends like that" (and I get it, we all know that's not how Thomas really feels, but again he needs to be allowed to express himself). You can tell from Thomas's face while Patton's talking that the guilt tripping worked, at least for a moment.

- Anyone else notice a little Logan shining through in Thomas's words/actions the first portion of the video?

- "If our goals aligned with his what would that say?" Uhmmm gee lemme think Roman... Maybe that you care about Thomas's mental health and desires???

- I think it's very telling that during the rap Thomas cuts Patton off right before he's about to say something that, judging from the graphics, was going to make him sound heroic and said "I made this choice", while looking very... Upset.

- Okay so when Thomas was all "why didn't I just talk to them???" I felt hella vindicated but the second time I watched I finally heard Roman say "I mean I kinda brought that up before but it got shut down faster than an Antarctic icepop shop". Like... Fuck, they seriously do not appreciate or listen to Roman at all

- Patton brushing them off with "Eh well hindsight is 20/20" pissed me off so much. No empathy whatsoever. Jesus Christ.

- Roman's reaction when Thomas said no to the whole future vision thing made me laugh and no one is talking about it

- But yeah Thomas talking about using foresight has a total Logan Vibe

- Patton's reaction when Thomas says "I made a decision with a blindfold on" is... Interesting...

- Seriously that cat analogy was so specific.....

- One should never base their decisions on "well they've helped me before so I owe them" like. No. Patton, Roman, stop. He should have decided to go because he wanted to, not because he owed it to them or you made him feel like shit

- "Those baby-making Catholics" lmfaooooo

- "You, thinking about giving their wedding a pass all because of a callback that, really, might not work out". That bugged me too, because it can just as easily be argued he gave up his big break for a wedding he barely participated during. If we're being completely logical here (and borrowing from a later concept of how our time is better used), his time would have been better-spent at the callback since he wasn't even mentally present at the wedding

- "Maybe they understand, and maybe they still want you to go to the wedding but feel too guilty to say so. Or, maybe you end up going to the wedding, and they feel guilty seeing you there because they feel like they took a big opportunity away from you". First off, they did (or would have, had the conversation taken place and they insisted he come). Secondly I personally feel like he owed it to them (and yes, I'm aware how that sounds but I can't think of better phrasing) to talk about it with 100% honesty on both sides, because now he's angry that he went to their wedding and they have no idea. Sure, the vid ends with them coming over to catch up, but if it hadn't? That's the kind of shit that festers very easily. I feel like he'd have been more satisfied if he had still decided to go after talking with them. I think Thomas realizes this too when he responds to Roman's question with a very sure, very adamant "No."

- "This was our chance to be there for them when it counted". I know this is me reading into things but it felt like he was saying anything else he may have done for them doesn't matter or isn't good enough

- "Why does their complexion matter" LMFAOOOOOO omg roman

- "... We can all agree that you're a good fellow-" "Can we? All agree on that?" Like fuck, Thomas still isn't sure what Patton thinks of him? That cuts deep. And... Patton still hasn't apologized. He conceeded that he's "been a bit much", which is far from the same thing

- pfffft what the fuck was Roman trying to do???

- "Well that's a relief... I think". Meaning Thomas still isn't fucking sure where Patton stands. I have to admit his dialogue did sound a bit circuitous

- he almost said GameStop lmfao

- why is he fixating so much on frogger

- "At least 16 graphics!" I died laughing

- "By the liquid lipstick of William Shakespeare" wut the fue? Lmao

- "just like you don't have to get him a hotdog" "I feel like you kinda do... Maybe". I know Janus says it later on but he was right when he said peppering in a few "I don't know"s and "maybe"s does not a conversationally-conscious person make. Like, he didn't even add the maybe until Roman reacted negatively to what he was saying

- I'm surprised Logan said it'd be wrong for Thomas to keep his money to himself tbh

- Roman mouthing "behoove". Like, c'mon dude, stop being such a dick to Logan when he's just trying to help

- Logan's so done he's not even trying to hide it. Like you can see the annoyance clear on his little pixelated face

- Also did anyone notice that Logan kept getting cut off so the next time he "spoke" he made them read it aloud so they'd actually fucking listen

- "Yeah! As long as that's not the main reason you're doing it!" Honestly though, most people do good things for their own benefit; tax benefits, That Good Feeling, compliments from others etc. It doesn't diminish the effect of the good act, so who cares?????

- "You shouldn't do a good thing just because it makes you feel good... I-I think." He's trying so hard but he's just not understanding how this works is he. Also it's interesting that he preaches holding to your values and not nitpicking situations yet he's literally doing it right now because last time he just... Needed to counter Janus and couldn't admit he'd had a fair point

- "Deceit said you'd be doing the right thing for a selfish reason if you did it for your own emotional gain". You can tell by his tone he's trying to make Thomas see Deceit as wrong and bad but like literally two seconds later he audibly confirms he feels the same way

"Definitely! Maybe... I think so... What do you think?" Tbh I'm proud of him for asking someone else's opinion, esp cause he's screwing this up so horrendously

- man if Roman being scared to share his opinion after Patton visibly disagrees isn't a huge red flag idk what is

- the world of the video game is called AU I'm screaming

- I'll always be salty that Roman once again shoved a "dark side" into the villain roll without asking

- I don't agree with Patton automatically assuming that just because the hero wants a reward, it means he doesn't care about the people he saves getting it. People can have multiple motives and wanting recognition isn't bad or evil or selfish

- I'm so fucking glad Thomas snapped and asked "am I not allowed to feel good if I do something good" because that's basically what Patton's saying and no one was addressing it. And Patton saying that can't be a valid motive is honestly fucked up

- during the trolley problem the options toggle the most between morality, anxiety, and denial. Idk, it's just interesting

- it's also interesting that Patton views moving the trolley as worse than letting it stay, meaning he thinks small active murder is worse than larger, passive murder. Not bad or good or anything, just interesting

- I hate hate hate that Patton silences Logan when he's the one who asked him to say something, especially since he follows that with "oh you can't really learn good morality from a book hahahaha". Like dude just acknowledge that you don't agree but there are other valid points of view, my god

- also you can tell from the color that Janus totally put that skip button in, meaning Logan really, really wanted to continue but Janus could see it wasn't going to get them where they needed to go

- "stu-ooper dooper unique mustache" lmfaooooo

- Thomas keeps coming back with something along the lines of "I need the answer to X so I can meet your expectations". He even says "I don't understand what I need to change so I can meet your standard". Last time I did a post like this, back when SvS came out, I said Patton has too much sway/control over Thomas, and he still does. Thomas doesn't try nearly as hard to "meet the standards" of his other sides, but in this instance he's desperate to know how he can appease Patton. I don't think that's necessarily a good thing, given that it's likely because he wants Patton to say without hesitation that he's a good person

- Roman thinks he's the problem I wanna cry

- "And I'm an awful driver" I laughed so hard

- "I only mean well when I say that that is the stupidest thing you have ever said" I can't stop laughing XD

- "You're just blowing smoke" seriously someone help me

- Roman's reaction when Thomas says he feels guilty just killed me. They all just acknowledged that Roman is his motivator and Thomas comes out and says his motives make him feel guilty? Ouch

- "Doing nothing is even worse!" Patton honey I'm begging you to please stop talking omg this is going so poorly

- "doing nothing is worse than doing a good thing for the wrong reasons" first off, who's to say what a wrong reason is, and secondly, that's an interesting take from the man who refused to move the trolley 👀

- oooof Thomas's relief when Logan cuts in though

- "Huuuuuhhhh I do need help" fuck, I wanna cry, poor Thomas

- "Logan, like you said this isn't your area of expertise" ITS NOT YOURS EITHER ROMAN OMG

- "Every point you've made in today's discussion has contradicted that sentiment" YES LOGAN JANUS SLAY. Also anyone else notice Patton looking to the others for validation because I Sure Did

- oh man though I thought Logan was finally getting the chance to lay into Patton and take him down a peg and it turned out to be Janus

- "Oh, is it not? Please, correct me if I'm wrong." yeah paTTON CORRECT HIM IF HES WRONG (notice how he doesn't even have an argument to that, all he can say is "you're wrong!")

- honestly the way he goes from 0 to 60 should've tipped us off that that was Janus

- I wanna know if Patton turned into a muscular frog irl

- idk Patton feels like a villain when he's all "Thomas you choose!"

- "What have you done with Logan?!" "Nothing at all and I resent the question" weeeeeelp there goes loceit

- even Janus admits Patton is misleading unintentionally can we all calm down now

- I find it interesting that Thomas willingly stays behind Janus

- "Sure if he's in that kind of situation then of course he should focus on himself. But does he deserve it? I don't know." *Record scratch* excuse me wHAT?????? And like, you can't ignore the obvious symbolism behind that attack missing Janus and hitting Thomas. Thomas is knocked out and Patton just ... Keeps talking? Jesus fucking christ

- and Roman so adamantly attacking Janus has a very pre-AA vibe to it

- "Not that any of you care, but I am unharmed, and I don't want to talk about it." Thomas looks like the only one genuinely concerned when he says this and that hurts

- Janus looks so happy that Logan's backing him I wanna cry my baby aaaaaaa

- SOMEONE FINALLY ACKNOWLEDGED THE CHOICE ROMAN MADE AAAAAAA THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU can we stop acting like Janus is evil now please

- "Well when is it enough?!" ".... Trees?" I'm STILL LAUGHING SOMEONE HELP ME

- I'm so fucking happy Thomas doesn't agree with Roman about trusting Janus

- Roman laughing and saying Janus's name is stupid and Janus's jab about him and Remus just... Gutted me y'all. Thems some hurt boys. And he looks to Thomas and Patton and they just... Can't side with him, cause they know that was hella fucking rude of Roman.

- I genuinely believe that Janus's nod meant Thomas was telling the truth. Based on his facial expression (which was slight but idk I notice more stuff than most people apparently???) He was trying to reassure Roman. And Roman just... Took it the completely wrong way, because he still thinks all Janus does is lie. When Roman says "wow, I can't believe this" you can actually see Janus's smile disappearing, because he realizes Roman took the nod the wrong way

- aaaaand then he immediately goes into attacking Janus. *Sigh*

- "Everything's gonna be okay, kiddo. We love you." "*Scoff* Right." I truly believe the next video is gonna be about Roman, because there's no way in hell they could ignore the obvious hurt and self-deprecation coming off of Roman

- "Janus? Is there a limit to how many times a person can say sorry before you have to admit that they're just bad for you?" Patton was talking about himself. Whether Janus was trying too hard to be witty and missed that or what, his reply hurt Patton, and you can see that Janus realizes his mistake with Patton's reaction. We have to remember that this isn't a side who's used to how the others communicate, though. He doesn't spend time with them outside of the few videos he's shown up in because of how they treat him. It's gonna take him time to get the little things like this and until then there's gonna be a lot of hurt feelings and (hopefully) apologies

- Janus immediately backtracks once he realizes what the real question was and says "... it depends... How many things have they had to apologize for? How frequently do they have to apologize for things? How terrible were the things that they did? One of the biggest factors in my very humble opinion is whether or not they seem to be making an honest effort to do better" this is Janus trying to tell Patton "you aren't bad for Thomas. I see how hard you're trying. It's okay"

- you can totally see Janus realizing why Patton fights him so hard while Patton is explaining how hard shit's gotten as Thomas grows up

- "Janus?" "I'll take care of him" y'all I need the tissues

- Janus trying to lighten the mood with the whole push-someone-down-the-stairs thing just... Made me die laughing. Y'all know he's hella good at April fool's pranks okay? Okay

- "You're not stuck with an evil snake boy, you're just stuck with a snake boy" HES SUCH A DORK I LOVE HIM

- I reacted the exact same way to Thomas saying Janus was right omg

Again, I'm not saying I hate any of the characters, this is just a stream-of-consciousness analysis-and-commentary-type post on the new episode

#sanders sides #ts spoilers

68 notes · View notes

yenslilac · 4 years

Text

Daenerys Targaryen and Ophelia: An Essay

I wrote this a while back, just after Season 8 ended. After a few edits, I decided to share it with you! Disclaimer: I wrote this fueled with rage at 11 at night for two weeks straight. Don’t judge.

Part 1: The Heroine Goes Absolutely Bats**t Crazy

Ophelia. Known throughout time as That Crazy Chick Who Drowned Herself. What a legacy. And Daenerys: She Who Toasted A City Like Marshmallows And Then Was Offed By Her Nephew/Lover. The sad thing is, these are my heroes. What a life. But the ‘Insane Heroine’ trope is prevalent in many forms of media – Dark Phoenix is another example. At first glance, Daenerys and Ophelia have very little in common; Daenerys is a powerful and assertive leader, and Ophelia is a background love interest. The one thing that unites them – they go crazy because of rejected love. While their descent into madness is slightly different; Ophelia is pitiful, Daenerys aggressive, both end up dying indirectly or directly as a result of their lover. Lovely. Let’s talk first about Ophelia – She is rebuffed Hamlet, the original pathetic sad boy, and at the death of her father, goes insane. After several performances of her insanity, she makes her way to a river where she falls (or throws?) herself into the water and drowns. This is witnessed by Gertrude, who then goes on to tell her brother Laertes of her death. It’s a pretty monologue, describing the flowers and plants growing along the riverbank, and how pretty and peaceful she looked as she sank under water and DIED. Remember this. Then my girl Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men etc. etc. Oh boy. Ohhhhhh boy. What can I say except **************** ***** ** **********. Thank you for your time. But she like Ophelia, was scorned by her Boyfriend Who Felt It Was Just A Little Weird That She Was His Aunt. But like, your paternal grandparents and the rest of your great-whatever grandparents were siblings, and your maternal grandparents were cousins so… But I digress. Wait no, this is what it’s all about. I’m back! I un-digress! So, she goes ‘insane’ cause she can’t get laid (don’t we all?) and roasts a whole lot of people and becomes… Hitler for some reason… So, Boyfriend Who Felt It Was Just A Little Weird That She Was His Aunt And Really Wishes He Can Just Catch A Break For Once Is It Really Too Much Too Ask is egged on by Murder Sister™ and Smarty Pants McGee to kill her. Just like my friends! He makes out with her and stabs her (best of both worlds!) and she dies. Very prettily. Remember this. You know. YOU KNOW I’m going to rant about this.

Part 2: Heroic Man Kills The Crazy Lady Like The Feral Dog She Is (But Feels Sad About It)

Trope as old as time… why is this still fine… surely there’s a better plot deviiiiiice. “Duty is the death of love…” Shut up. Shut up. No, it isn’t. There is a thing called multitasking. You should try it. But let’s recap. Woman goes crazy because of lover/hero of the story rebuffing her because he’s got issues of his own that he doesn’t care to share with her, and close friend/family member is killed. This is when the paths of the Hero diverge. Hamlet does not actually kill Ophelia himself, but his careless actions towards her eventually drive her to suicide. Jon, on the other hand, does kill Daenerys, (no, I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed) by a knife to the heart while snogging her. (I’d like to take the opportunity to say that this was ridiculous and yes, I will die mad about it.) What else is similar? Hamlet holds Ophelia’s (or in some adaptations tries to) dead body in his arms as she is about to be buried and Jon holds Daenerys as she dies. They cry and wish it didn’t have to be this way, but really guys, this is Your Fault.

The problem with this trope in particular (and I’m talking about a lot of other examples here, like Dark Phoenix and Wolverine) is that it renders the killer sympathetic. They didn’t want to do this, but it was for the good of humanity, it was a mercy, blah blah blah. Really? Did someone make you kill her? No, a sense of moral justice does not count. Hamlet abuses and humiliates Ophelia then claims he loved her so much that ‘forty thousand brothers could not…” Creepy. I have to say, creepy. And Jon Snow. “Was it right? It doesn’t feel right…” I’m glad you came to that conclusion. I really am. But I knew this from the moment you stuffed that butter knife into her spleen, so honestly you don’t have any business feeling sorry for yourself. If there’s one lesson that Game of Thrones and Shakespeare has taught me, it is:

(not an artist, don’t judge)

Part 3: Someone Died And The Director Said, “Cool But Like… Make It Fashion.”

Do you remember what I told you to remember? Did you? Cause I’m about to RANT.

Throughout time (like 500 years) men have been painting Ophelia’s drowning – the probable suicide of a tormented young woman – and made sure she looked hot while doing it. True, the description of her death is pretty and all, but depictions of her floating just below the surface, a dramatic and lovely pose and flowers strewn around her glamorise her death – something many other people have taken note on – and give her death something of a peaceful, serene departing note, rather than the death of a woman so deranged she did not appear to understand the gravity of her situation as she sank under water. Daenerys suffers a similar case of SDPS (Sexy Dead Person Syndrome). Let’s go through it step by step, shall we? While in an embrace with someone she loves and trusts, she is stabbed in the heart area (I guess?), and she dies. The End. My respect for white men flew off with Drogon. But I haven’t complained properly yet! Compared to other characters, like Myrcella, Joffrey and Catelyn Stark to name a few, her death was very clean. In these other examples, blood runs down their faces or spurts out of their neck in suitably graphic fashion but Daenerys’ case, two thin lines of blood trickle from her nose and mouth. Pretty, pretty. We get a brief shot of a pool of blood on the snow as Drogon picks her up, but blink and you’ll miss it. She looks shocked and confused as she dies, yet the next shot of her face shows her eyes are closed and an almost peaceful expression on her face. Not only this but we don’t actually get any proper Last Words, when she knows she is about to die. She makes no sound at all. She dies prettily and quietly. We also don’t see the knife at all until she is dead, removing any very graphic nature from the scene. A lot of the camera shots are of Jon’s face. This scene is not about Daenerys Targaryen’s death; This is about Jon Snow’s inner turmoil as he selflessly sacrifices the woman he loves to save the rest of the world. Hold up one second I gotta……

I mean, come on. Daenerys is barely mentioned after her death. She, a woman who freed hundreds, no, thousands of slaves and worked hard to reach her goals (albeit a little dragonfire-y) yet she dies without a whisper and is forgotten almost immediately. She becomes less of a central character and more of a catalyst for other men’s rise to power (see Bran the Broken). Wait, what about Sansa, you cry? Well, at this point, she was so out of character I’m striking her from the narrative. Bye bitch 😊 The same goes for most of the other women in the last season. They become plot devices with a little agency and that’s about it. Missandei? Unnecessarily killed to create the “Mad Queen”. Cersei? A compelling villain reduced to a ‘crying girl who wants to be comforted’. Arya? Kills the Night King and then, I dunno. Sansa? Suspicious of Daenerys because of reasons, betrays her brother/cousin because she doesn’t want Daenerys on the throne, then just ‘forgets’ about this whole thing to become Queen in the North. Brienne? Honourable knight left sobbing after her one (k)night stand left her. Another thing that many of these women have in common (the ones who survived to the final episode anyway) is that none of them have romantic endgames despite this being set up. Arya and Gendry have been close friends in Season 2 and 3, then <3 and everyone (i.e. me) thought that you know, they get together and stuff, because that’s what the writers seemed to be setting up. But nope. Arya’s all like ‘I wanna kill the queen’ (which she never does) and throws all that out the window. (But Gendry was totally on that ship at the end). Brienne and Jaime seemed to finally stop eye fricking and then got straight to the actual fricking but nooooo. “I lOvE CeRseI! WE’re bOTh tERrIble PeOple!” And of course, the crowning glory:

And the woman who actually does come out on top is Sansa, a largely unemotional, suspicious woman whose brother is now the king and made her a queen because she’s his sister. Riiiight. That’s totally not nepotism or anything.

The End: But Boy, Am I Just Beginning

To conclude, the ending of Daenerys Targaryen was largely misogynistic as it painted a brutal and dishonourable murder as an act of mercy and gave the killer (sorry man, I feel like I’m throwing you under the bus here, but it must be said) a sympathetic angle as a heartbroken martyr sacrificing for the greater good. I had high expectations, I really did, but you just took it anD THREW IT IN THE DIRT. Good god. But it’s fine, I have fanfiction anyway.

Thank you for reading this, if you stuck around this far!

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys defense squad #daenerys death tw #ophelia #shakespeare #anti d and d #anti got

112 notes · View notes

mirrorfalls · 3 years

Text

Lego Liveblogs ST: TOS, part 9 (of who-the-hell-knows-how-many?)

What Are Little Girls Made Of? Let’s just hope it’s more moral stuff than the last boy the Enterprise took onboard...

* I see we’re wasting no time getting the nurse to take over Yeoman Rand’s eyecandy duties. Shame that Barrett’s Number One characterization is a no-go now. * Huh, plot’s shaping up to be a redux on The Man Trap. Not a high bar to clear. * “Beam down alone, just yourself.” Yeah, that’s your cue to pack an extra-sized Phaser, Kirk. * Nice try, girls, but Spock still ain’t turning his head for either of you. * “Whoopsy daisies, almost forgot our sacrificial meat!” ** Wow, even I wasn’t expecting the sacrifice that quick! * That is one Scooby Doo-ass lookin’ villain ** Who’s on a whole shelf away from this assistant guy, which obviously means he’s totally fine and trustworthy! * Aaaaand you two goldbricks are officially on your own. * Does... it really make sense for a species to go underground when their sun’s too cold? I guess they’re supposed to be warmed by the geothermal stuff down there? * Alright, Gene I’m impressed. How’d you get an outfit like this past 1960s censors?! * Well, that escalated quickly. ** I’d wisecrack about Kirk’s choice of “tactic”, but I think I’m more disturbed by the fact he dialed his Phaser straight to “melt stomach” intensity before he knew he was shooting a robot. What happened to Stun Mode? * He breaks necks and does voices! Wotta guy. * Kirk, you gotta start thinking like a sci-fi protag. Who says that’s the real professor? ** Oh, okay, I guess he is the real professor, he’s just completely lost his marbles. * Hum - this seems to be sowing the seeds for Nurse Christine to save the day, and if any actress has that level of pull it’s Barrett, but once can never underestimate the sexism of ‘60s TV... ** Case in point: Andrea, who proves this isn’t just The Man Trap. It’s The Man Trap with Mudd’s Women thrown in for good measure. * Make up your mind, Prof, are you trying to keep this a secret or not? * Don’t be racist, Nurse. * Nah, Prof, if she were logical you would’ve been choking on your own spinal cord ages ago. * Funniest. Cliffhanger. Ever. ** Seriously, Kirk asks one stupid question and smash-cut to him in a Batman ‘66 deathtrap. ** Wait, is that the Piltdown Man? * “Choose, Christine. Which is your captain?” “Do I get a Phaser?” * Oh jeez, I’d heard there was an episode where the crew snagged a fake Kirk because he was being racist toward Spock, but I didn’t know it was because the real Kirk fed that racism into the fake one. * “What he's done may seem wrong...” Nurse, he killed two guys without blinking. It’s a good thing you’re feeding all this to robo-Kirk, because I’m not sure the real one would forgive you. * Okay, even money says robo-Kirk dies by getting force-fed something that makes him short-circuit. Irony at its most delicious. ** Alternatively: why not just ask it to calculate pi? ** And they say Starfleet siblings always come outta nowhere! * Okay, I’ve kicked this episode pretty hard so far, but the central point here is pretty solid sci-fi: can a machine ever be a proper receptacle for a human consciousness, however advanced its programming? On the other hand, should we get so high-and-mighty just because the electric impulses driving us come from meat instead of silicon? ** I also like how the professor isn’t a full-on “ALL emotion is Bad!” type. He’s not even opposed to sentimentality, necessarily - he just thinks you can program away all the negative bits. * Ooh, Godwin’s Royal Flush! That’s pretty rare. * Whoof. Okay, I know people usually like to paint Kirk and Bond as opposites, but this is a move worthy of any 00-agent. Doesn’t just give you a momentary hostage, but makes sure he’s in no position to give complicated orders even after you’ve tossed him. * Give the big guy some credit too - he knows he’s programmatically bound to obey Nurse Christine, so his solution to that is just running the fuck outta earshot. * Ah, the legendary Dong Rock. 50% more dong-y in context! * Heavens to Betsy! How will Kirk save himsel... ** By not saving himself, apparently. Seems the big guy heard Christine after all. * Love Spock’s “Has the Transporter been spewing evil clones again?” face. * So Kirk... logics(?) both the big bruiser and the sultry henchgirl into defying their master. Adherents of the Three Laws are no doubt crying, but personally I think it’s more hit than miss; no matter how airtight the programming, once an AI reaches a certain level of complexity it has to develop some kind of survival instinct. * Holy last-act plot twist! * Prof, maybe you shouldn’t have programmed her with Yandere chips. Just a thought. * But back to the he-was-a-robot-all-along! bit... it’s got a strong base, but I feel it refuses to quit while it’s ahead. The longer Kirk talks, the more his argument starts sounding like “If you’re really human then why don’t we like you? :|” * Aww, a murder-suicide to cap things off. Isn’t it romantic? * “Think up a better excuse than that, Captain, or my next message will be to Starfleet HR.” * Written by... the Psycho guy? That explains a lot.

I’m probably not even the hundredth guy to note this, but this is easily the pulpiest Trek script to come down the pike - the square-jawed hero who ain’t scared to get his hands dirty but really survives by his wits, the swooning damsel who gets to be useful exactly once, the mad doctor wielding Scary Foreign Knowledge that not only perverts every law of God and man but threatens to infiltrate our fair society, his Big Scary Humorless Thug and sultry (but dangerously jealous) henchgirl...

There are parts where the sci-fi port improves things and even broaches legitimately interesting topics, and it’s a damn sight better than either The Man Trap or Mudd’s Women, but on the whole I don’t think I’ll be in a rush to rewatch this one. Without too many standout “What the fuck is this?!” moments, there’s nevertheless a kind of sleaziness to the whole thing...

(Those were some neat overalls, though.)

Next: The first of many Shakespeare-derived shows! Will the Bard be done proud?

#Lego Liveblogs Star Trek #Star Trek: The Original Series

1 note · View note

reimahowaido · 3 years

Text

Spyro: Reignited review 2.5

The Dragons of Artisans World! Let's have some words on all of the dragons while I'm at it~ Why not :2 Nestor - God I love his design. It's so good. It really does fit him and the idea of him that I had as a kid. Truly the image of 'he leads these dragons' with the very first glance. And I love the voice too, is the good stuff~ Kind and very welcoming sound coming from this dude. His colors are great too. Is it biased or boring to just, like the first fella you see a lot? Because I do like him a lot. I imagine many people like Nestor though. Shoot, I like his name too. This dude, perfect. Super good. Great job everyone Delbin - Artist boi~ As a kid I saw him as an angry aggressive kind of dude. Somehow he just, came off as being very angry when I was a kid. Maybe his voice actor had that kind of vocals or something? Anyway, he seems like a kind fella to me now. Yes he might have a deeper raspier voice, but those thick eyebrows and the effect they have, making him look like he's going ÓuÒ I kinda like him a lot more now. He's great, I'd love to just sit down and paint with this dude. I dunno what if anything we'd talk about, but just doing some painting with a chill buddy would be nice Tomas - I've shared my thoughts on him already earlier like a year or 2 ago. He was my fave as a kid, but now he's not at the top anymore. I still loooove his energy and attitude, the jokester feel I get from him & the emoting he does with his hands and body. Tomas is still great, don't get me wrong! My expectations were just suuuuper high and I didn't expect the beard etc. Nothing bad with beards, sometimes they're really cool and nice~ It just wasn't part of my own vision and nostalgia, so that's why it takes points away from my own personal ranking. He's still great with his smile and grin! But ye, I like the little musical note sound as he jumps up Argus - I love his watermelon. I love he. Also the first moment where I immediately went 'oh god he sounds so nice, I could listen to him speak for hoooours' the voice is that good. Soothing and soft, tell me a story I'll listen. Also he just looks really friendly with his glasses and all. Not to say that glasses make you automatically friendly or anything, but just, story teller, let me grab a pillow and a snack and let's craft up some silly stories

Lindar - A favourite design boi here we go~ Not my absolute fave, but certainly up there~ I feel like many people like him, and for a reason xD I love his colors, the blue and yellow here are really great~ And clocks are cool, lots of work goes into them. Also love his goggles and goggle horns. That stuff is cool and nice and yeeees. "Not that you ever run into trouble, Spyro" yeah maybe not Spyro, but yes, yes I do, me, the fella who died in Artisans homeworld. Me. Lindar, I am baby, I fail, a lot. Don't have high expectations on me Astor - Magical portal fancy vortex thingamajiggyr, love the enthusiasm in his voice. He's pretty great too overall, a nice fella. I do like him Gavin - This boi got tattoooooooos and he a barista, he's Really cool~ Also I think he had all those elements from one of the artists who worked on the designs, yes? I also love the work of said artist, I'm bad with names, I feel the name started with Co- or Col- but it's not quite at my grasp. Either way, we love Gavin in this household, he's great and his design is great and now I want hot chocolate but it's 3am and others are sleeping so I can't (QuQ) Gildas - Gildas my man! Honestly at this point, if it weren't for him I'd not have gotten all that far at all in the game. That hint on gliding, as simple and small as it might be, has saved lives - or at least attempted to. I'm as enthusiastic as Spyro when listening to this fella. He certainly sounds and seems like the kind of fun art teacher who is super kind and understanding and just great to be around. Such supportive energy from this man. And I love his design too~ Paint splatters everywhere, he's definitely an artist because we messy. The big paintbrush is also very great~ And the little pose and smile at the end of his speech, also great~ Alban - I forget if I wrote about him before, I think I did (I think I wrote about a bunch of dragons years ago, but I'm not going back to that post until I'm done with the game just to see if I feel differently now). There was that whole 'this is Spyro's dad' thing when I was a kid, with him being purple and all that jazz (and the whole 'oh it's you'). But that aside, I like this dude~ Can't imagine how strong that tail of his has to be to support him and his whole weight, but that does make him kinda unique when compared to most other dragons~ Is a cool pose :2 And I like the blue... Frills or scales he has, gives off some slightly aquatic feel in a way Oswin - My first feeling on him is some sort of memory about a recolor or model. Like there's a green Oswin or such somewhere. Anyway though, I think I liked him as a kid too, just something about telling secrets and getting to feel special or something. He aight, I do like secrets, and the room he's in is cool Darius - Many comments made on some Shakespeare references I bet. I'm not one of those kids who were forced to read those books as a kid. Not English native, no such experiences. The skull and reference is cool though, even if mostly lost on me. Also the note on the big Gnork using 'Her' pronouns, big ladies, that's cool honestly and refreshing Nils - Nils Nils Nils Nils, snakey long boi, he gets me hyped. that one camera angle of him as he's bowing, polite tall man, it's kinda hilarious in a way but I love it so much! The way he poses after stepping away to look at the statue he's working on. His long thin moustache. The green and cream colors. The red scarf. God I love everything about him, voice and all. Even the fact he knocks over his sculpture at the end. Oh no baby oh nooooo it makes me laugh a little on the inside I can't help it xD It's tragic and sad, but it just adds so much personality and life to the character Devlin - Same hint as Gildas, so it doesn't hit quite as hard here and my brain didn't really grasp it, but honestly, good on them for doing it twice, it's what my brain needs because understanding that gliding thing took me a moment. But ay, that aside, he sounds so friendlyyyyyy I love that~ The Rs in his words~ Also cake, yes, I want to bake, let's bake something sweet,

like cake or pancakes. I've never actually baked a cake on my own, maybe one day. Alvar - Ok I like

him a surprising amount. The food stuck on his tail, the way in which he just throw-jabs stuff on the ground all angrily, yeet the scewer, yeet the knife, the way he runs out of breath when rambling. This dude's got an attitude and I respect him for it. The drama, the energy. Also I. I want barbecue, I want grilled food. It makes me hungry. I could say he's one of my favourites too, very memorable for sure! Thor - Older sorta fella, the name always makes me think of the God of Thunder, so it's quite the different feeling when seeing this dude. He does have some braids which does give off a small bit of Norse energy. And right, the words, on the guidebook. I've not yet mentioned it in these reviews but I'll certainly get to it. I had figured it out before talking to Thor, but it's a fine addition. I don't have a lot to say on him, but as many others, he looks friendly too Nevin - I like his voice~ Another painter fella. Smug expressions. And I'm now noticing that he has some big wings, there's size to those, like daym, I almost got used to the smaller sized wings but when he jumps and flaps his to be off, kinda nice and impressive. Spyro kinda steals the show here though, him saying 'barbecue' is just, niiiice

#Spyro #Reima gaming and makin' some reviews I guess

4 notes · View notes

invisibleicewands · 4 years

Text

Michael Sheen (old) interview

He’s played the prime minister and the messiah – now Michael Sheen is plumbing the psyche of the original man in black. Caroline McGinn asks him about the dark side.

It’s been a big year for Michael Sheen. A lifechanger, in fact. The 42-year-old actor is widely admired for his uncanny ability to play real-life characters: a Bambi-ish Tony Blair in a trilogy of films that included ‘The Queen’; David Frost for Peter Morgan’s play-turned-movie ‘Frost/Nixon’; and most recently, a demon-ridden Brian Clough in ‘The Damned United’. But no previous role has come close to the Christ-like leader Sheen played in ‘The Passion’ in his South Wales home town this Easter: an epic 72-hour piece of community theatre which ended in Sheen being crucified on a local roundabout.

‘The Passion’, a local take on the Gospel commissioned by the storming new National Theatre of Wales, was more than just a play. It was a collective story that Sheen probably couldn’t have told anywhere but in Port Talbot, a town divided by the roaring M4 and dominated by a giant steelworks that was once the largest employer in Wales; a place where churchgoing and storytelling are still alive. It’s also his parents’ home. Sheen was so moved that talking about it makes him choke up. ‘I did this seven-mile procession with the cross,’ he recalls, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘It was boiling hot. There were 12,000-15,000 people. And I was seeing these bare-chested tattooed blokes standing outside pubs with pints, with kids, with tears in their eyes going, “Go on, Michael, you can do it!” It’s quite rare to be in the middle of an experience knowing it is probably the most meaningful one I will ever have in my life. Something in me relaxed after that, I think. I could say, “If I died tomorrow, I did that.”’

Over a glass of red wine in the bar at the Young Vic, where he is about to play Hamlet, Sheen does seem completely relaxed: eager, open and very Welsh, with his squiggle of dark brown hair and his neat, expressive hands. He has a shapeshifter’s face: mobile, not memorable, too blurry and mercurial for a romantic lead. And it is a pleasure to hear his real voice: un-damned by Clough’s nasal, northern scorn or Blair’s prim inflections, it is a gloriously unstoppable lilting flow which seems, to my English ears, to come straight from the Valleys.

Sheen currently lives in LA to be close to his 12-year-old daughter with ex-partner Kate Beckinsale. He is an unlikely denizen of La La Land, with his bike helmet, his puppyish friendliness and his lack of pretensions. His spectacular return to his roots at Easter has, he says, redefined who he thinks he is, and what he wants to do with his work: something which he expresses in probably the longest sentence I’ve ever heard anyone deliver. ‘“The Passion” did for me what I hoped it could do for everyone in the town, potentially, which is to experience your life and your home in a different way, because I think there is a tendency – and I have it, and I notice other people have it too, probably everyone has it but certainly people who come from quite challenged areas – there’s a sense that your life is of no interest, that your story is mundane and there is no, for want of a better word, numinosity, no transcendence, and so to be able to tell a story about the biggest things there can probably be, a version of the “greatest story ever told” in the town that is seen to be the least likely town for that to happen in, then the people in that town, every time they go around that roundabout, which is many times, can go, “Not only is that where I get fish and chips, it’s also where the crucifixion happened,” and the everyday becomes transcendent – to something that is miraculous.’

Thanks to Sheen’s great-grandfather, street preaching runs in the family. But the starry-eyed idealism behind doing a passion play in Port Talbot, to reach thousands of people who would never set foot in a theatre, might easily have backfired. It was an unglamorous risk for a local bloke-turned-Hollywood big shot to take. You can’t imagine the area’s other famous filmmaking sons, ultra-cool customer Antony Hopkins or hard-living Richard Burton, pulling it off – though Burton did enjoy making a splash on the local beach with Liz Taylor and his private helicopter. ‘The Passion’ was supposed to shine a light on the miracle workers who do what Sheen calls the ‘unseemly’ work of care: for the old, the sick, the battered wives and the young offenders. For it to work, its makers had to gain the trust of the town.

‘After the Last Supper, when the Manics played, I was put on trial on the back of a truck and the crowd took over,’ he says. ‘It was at that moment I realised they understood it was their story. It was frightening and exhilarating. We didn’t know what was going to happen. Along the procession route people put photos of things they’d lost. Then, on the cross, I did a litany. Of things I remembered, or that I’d gathered from people, of people and places that don’t exist any more.’ It was Sheen’s epic personal connection to South Wales, where his dad once worked as a Jack Nicholson impersonator, and where his great-grandfather got rich when God told him to buy a tin mine. Sheen’s codirector Bill Mitchell and writer Owen Sheers spent a year getting stories from locals, and fed them into the piece. ‘I was just a participant: we all were,’ he says. ‘My mum and dad said a woman came to their house and told them I’d called her mother’s name when I was on the cross, and it had changed something for her. The need that drama first came from was community, witness, celebration and catharsis. We were trying to find a way for that to happen on a large scale.’

The Port Talbot ‘Passion’ has already gone down in theatre history. So where do you go after scaling the twin messianic peaks of Blair and Christ? Down into the doubt-ridden depths of Hamlet, naturally, the biggest role that a young (or young-ish in this case) actor can play. Judging by Sheen’s wordflow, those famous soliloquies won’t be a problem. After all, the actor made his name on stage: he won his first professional role at the Globe opposite Vanessa Redgrave in 1991 before he had graduated from Rada.

His CV is full of monster roles: Caligula, Peer Gynt, Amadeus (playing Mozart was his break into Broadway in 1999). Clough, and even Blair and Frost, creep into that list – though he’s obviously bored of talking about the factional film roles that made him famous: ‘I’ve done relatively few characters based on real people,’ he protests, just a little bit too much. ‘I’ve been working on stage now for more years than I care to mention.’

‘Project Hamlet’ has been on the cards for a while, but Sheen was waiting ‘for the right director and the right theatre’. Unlike recent celebrity Hamlets David Tennant and Jude Law, he didn’t want to do conventional West End Shakespeare, hence the Young Vic, with its younger, mixed audience and its imaginative approach, which includes – mysteriously – reconfiguring the playing space so that ‘Hamlet’ audiences must arrive 30 minutes early to take a ‘different route’ in. Sheen’s director of choice is Ian Rickson, the ex-Royal Court boss who has helped actors achieve career-defining roles (Kristin Scott-Thomas in ‘The Seagull’; Mark Rylance in ‘Jerusalem’). Hamlet tends to demand something very personal from actors: one reason why so many of them crack up over it, though Sheen seems remarkably unfurrowed by the prospect. ‘It is,’ he says, ‘good not to have to worry about people saying, “He doesn’t sound like Hamlet.” It’s me: I’m not doing a voice or playing a character, so to speak. It’ll sound like me and look like me, a bit of Welsh mixed with a bit of posh.’

Sheen sees ‘Hamlet’ as ‘like a portal. Or a living organism in some way. Other Shakespeare plays don’t have that quality of seeming to change. “Hamlet” works on you and sucks up everything you have. It’s a bit like looking into the abyss. What “Hamlet” makes everyone confront are all the things that are most frightening: irrationality, betrayal, madness and abandonment. It is very, very dark, and it dances along through that darkness.’

Sheen’s prince promises to be darker than most. Not just a mad Hamlet, but maybe even a bad Hamlet. ‘Me and Ian have taken a completely different approach,’ he explains. ‘The most interesting way to approach it is not to trust anything that Hamlet says, to assume that he’s an unreliable narrator. And once you do that, you realise how many assumptions there are about the play.’ Sheen cites Philip K Dick, David Lynch and Edgar Allan Poe as influences. The production will be set in a world ‘that feels as if we’re in some sort of institution’. Madness will be the keynote: ‘I discovered when working on it,’ says Sheen, ‘that it’s the first time anyone used the phrase “the mind’s eye”.’ Horatio says, “A mote it is, to trouble the mind’s eye.” Meaning a piece of grit. It sums up what I think the play is. It’s a bit of grit in the mind’s eye of the Western world. We’ve tried to expel it, by smoothing out its inconsistencies and by stopping it from being irritating. That’s a way to neutralise it and make it safer. But actually it’s the most dangerous of plays.’

Rickson and Sheen have found unorthodox inspiration in anti-psychiatrist RD Laing and G Wilson Knight, the twentieth century scholar who wrote an off-beam but brilliant essay on Hamlet, the ‘ambassador of death’ in the land of the living. ‘Laing said that if you take mad people on their own terms then maybe they’re just talking in a sort of heightened language about their lived experience,’ says Sheen. ‘And our take on “Hamlet” definitely questions the boundaries of what you would consider madness to be.’

So where do you go as an actor, after the heights of being crucified, and the depths of Hamlet’s psyche? ‘The answer to that is that I just don’t know,’ says Sheen. There are a couple of projects: Sheen says he was ‘roped in’ on a set visit to a new untitled film by cinema’s man of mystery, Terrence Malick, starring Sheen’s girlfriend and ‘Midnight in Paris’ co-star Rachel McAdams. And there’s also Wales-set thriller ‘Resistance’, out this month. But he has his heart set on directing a film about Edgar Allan Poe. ‘He was an extraordinary character. Very dark.’ The legacy of this life-changing year is a sharper, stronger passion for a live Welsh tradition: storytelling. ‘I just don’t know where you go after “The Passion” and “Hamlet”,’ says Sheen ‘But I do know that I want to tell stories that are powerful, that can reach people and equate to Greek theatre now. People still do need that. They respond to it. But you have to take risks to find them.’

(x)

#Michael Sheen #Interview #Hamlet #The Passion #old interview

17 notes · View notes

dumbbitchenergy17 · 5 years

Text

I’m Sorry (Part 2)

Summary- You are Michael’s vessel as you are dean’s kid and letting him use you instead of your dad

Dean x daughter!reader

Word count- 3,630

No One’s POV

“Is this...Are you real?” Jack questioned

Holding out his arms as if to gesture to himself “Always.”

“Sam said you're dead. He said Michael killed you.”

Lucifer shrugged “Yeah, I don't like to speak ill of people, but Sam is a big fat liar and he's a bad person and... like, freakishly tall, so,

“I-I don't understand?” Jack questioned

“No, Michael didn't...Sam was the one who left me behind.” Lucifer said acting innocent “What?” Jack said

“Yep.” Lucifer walks closer to Jack to face him “I mean, I think he thought I'd be trapped over there in "Giant Litter Box World" forever, 'cause that worked so well the first time. I don't blame him, though, okay? I mean...for everything that I've done to him, I think, uh, I had it coming, you know? But you know what? I'm moving on.” He explained

Jack responded, “But if the rift is closed, then how are you here?”

“Oh, no. Not ‘how.’ ‘Why.’ I'm here for you, Jack. Because, you know, even though the Three Amigos -- Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Dean’s little spawn -- won't admit it, you need me. You do, 'cause we're blood. And we're not human, no matter how much we pretend to be. See, humans are...limited and fragile. And I'll admit, they bring out the worst in me, I gotta say. It seems like, you know, no matter how much you try to do right around them, something always goes wrong. Follow?” Lucifer sighed

“I ...I know.” Jack frowned Y/n was his friend and she was gone.

Lucifer smiled “Right? And that's not their fault, or ours. It's just, us and humans, we're like oil and water. You know, sardines and strawberries. It's just a bad combination.”

“What do we do?” He pondered

“Leave,” He smiled Lucifer turns from Jack and looks towards the sky, “I mean...there's a whole universe out there, buddy. Planets. Stars. Galaxies. Why should we stay here on Earth when we can go anywhere else? Heck, everywhere else.”

Jack smiled “Like, um, like Star Wars?”

Lucifer turns to Jack excitedly “Exactly like Star Wars. You want a lightsaber? I can make you a lightsaber. Heck, I can make you a Wookiee.”

“But...no. Sam, Dean, and Castiel, they'll miss me.” he frowns

Lucifer placing his hand on Jack's shoulder “Yes, they will. They will. It'll be hard. But you have to live your life for you. Right? This is our second chance, kiddo. This is our opportunity to escape our past and our sins and start over. What do you say? Father, son. You up for an adventure, buddy?”

Jack nodded “I...I'd like that. But there's something you need to do first.”

Back at the Bunker

“Talked to the other refugees. No one's got any idea who'd wanna hurt Y/n.” Bobby said scratching his beard

“Maybe it wasn't one of them. Maybe...there are monsters in this world that aren't monsters.” Mary said

Jack and Lucifer came down the stair “Jack! Hey --” she began

lucifer sent a small wave “Hey.”

“Kid, what the Sam Hell?” Bobby jaw dropped seeing Satan back

Jack held his hands up “It's all right, okay? He's here to help.”

“He is.” bobby said skeptically Lucifer walking with Jack past Bobby “You know it, Longmire.”

“Call Sam. Now.” Mary said to Bobby

Lucifer and Jack walk into the main room in the bunker. Y/n is lying on the map table. She has been cleaned up and is covered with a sheet up to her neck. Mary follows them into the room. “Hmm. So you're leaving dead bodies on tables now. Nice.” Lucifer smirked

“We were waiting, to give her a Hunter's funeral,” Mary said

“You won't have to. My father, he's gonna bring Y/n back to life.”

“I am?” he said shocked

Mary grabbed Jack’s arm “Jack, what are you doing?”

“What I have to. This...it's my second chance to prove to Dean I’m good.”

Lucifer clapped his hands ‘Yeah, uh, Jack, about this, uh, resurrection stuff -- It's not always a great idea because, uh... you know, people come back...different.”

“Well, Sam didn't,” Jack replied

“Right. Well, Sam's always been...sort of different. You know what I mean? Some would say ‘special.’, lucifer looked over at Mary “No offense.”

“You said you'd do anything.” Jack presses

Lucifer grudgingly walked over to Y/n “Fine. Fine.” He places a hand on Y/n's forehead

Mary leans over to Jack “Has he done something to you?”

“I heard that. Heard it.” Lucifer said annoyed

“Mary, everything's gonna be fine.” Jack placed a hand on her shoulder

“Okay,” Lucifer says Lucifer's eyes glow red. He pulls his hand away quickly and Y/n sits up, gasping. Sam, Dean, and Castiel come rushing through the door on the upper level.

“Jack? Jack!” Sam yells

Dean not caring for Jack staring at his daughter looking at him “y/n.” his voice cracking tears filling his eyes.

“Dad?” She said

----------------

Y/n’s POV

Uncle Sam, Dad, Castiel, Mary, and Bobby sat are around the map table in the bunker “How did Michael and Lucifer both get here? How did they open a rift?” Sam runs his hand through his hair

“You know what? It doesn't -- We -- we've gotta find Jack before Michael does whatever the hell he's gonna do, okay? I-I'll call Jody and everybody else.” Dean says grabbing his phone

Bobby grabbed his arm “You're gonna put out an APB on the Devil?”

“Yeah, I am.” Dean snaps back passing by you not giving you a single look

“I'll check angel radio,” Cas states to no one

“Sam, even if we find Lucifer, how we gonna stop him?” Mary asks

Hearing footsteps heading to you as you just stare at the wall “Y/n? Hey, sorry. You okay?” Sam asks grabbing your hand

“I'm alive, so... yes? One second I'm with my family and then everything dark and I’m in heaven.” You sighed

“Listen, I-I know this is weird -- so...weird -- but, um, before you...died, do you remember anything about the person that killed you?”

“Does it matter? Kinda seems like you have bigger, you know, Satan-y problems. and Michael here”

“Yeah, but -- but we're -- we're dealing with those. Mostly. Um...But yes, it does matter. It matters to me. and your dad.” Sam says rubbing his hand up and down your back

“I... I never saw his face, but, uh... I saw his eyes.” you said Sam nodded about to continue when your dad walks in “All right, Jody's lookin'. So far, Nada.” he frowns

Cas sits down as well “Yeah, angel radio is nothing but static, which is disturbing.” Dean sighs “Great. Well, we'll just add that to the list.”

“So what do we do now?” Mary asks A loud banging sound and the lights begin to flicker “What’s happening.” You ask your dad coming to your side.

Sam looks at the door to the outside world beginning to shake.

“oh god.”

“What the hell is that,” Bobby yells as the alarms blare

“Mom, Bobby take Y/n and get her out her go through the garage,” Sam says as the banging gets louder and the door shakes

Mary grabs your arm “We’ll buy you time.” Dean says

“Dad no I won’t leave you!” You yell as mary begins to pull you with Bobby “Go Y/n.” Dean tells you “Dad no. no.” you yell out as you’re pulled out the room.

“Come Y/n we have to go.” mary tells you as tears stream down your face as you yell for your dad.

Pulling your arm free from her you start sprinting towards your dad as Mary yells your name. Entering the room you see Cas thrown across the room and sam on the ground your dad in a chokehold in Michael's grip.

“Dad!” you yell getting everyone attention

“Ah the youngest Winchester Y/n pleasure seeing you again.” Michael smirks tighten his grip on Dean

“let him go.” you yell at him

“Y/n get out of here.” Your dad gasps for air struggling to free himself.

“Dean Winchester will be the first life that I take in this world, the first soul I save. Some would consider that an honor.” He smirks at you flicking his wrist sending you to hit the pole falling on the ground groaning in pain. “y/N! Y/N” Dean yells struggling in his grip

“Well, as Shakespeare once said, eat me, dickbag.” He growls out

Michael smiles and tightens his grip even more. Dean is struggling to breathe. Behind them, Sam is on his hands and knees “Jack, Jack. Jack, I don't know where you are, and I don't even know if you can hear this prayer, but we need you. We need you.”

----------------

“Could've done this quick, but I wanted to enjoy it, that moment when the soul leaves the body... ‭‬it's beautiful.‬” Michael grins seeing Dean slowly turn blue RIght before he passes out, he and Michael are hit with a shock wave and they fall to the floor. As they fall, Jack appears behind them. Behind Jack, Sam uses the wall behind him to push himself to a standing position. While you push yourself up by the table.

“Jack.” Sam breathes a sigh of relief

I heard your prayer.” Jack answered staring at Michael

“Yeah, it's me. Yay,” lucifer yelped, “Uh, we done, buddy? Buddy?”

As Michael starts to stand up. As he does, Jack's eyes glow and he raises his hand “You hurt my friends.” he growls Michael starts to yell in pain. Black liquid runs out of his eyes and ears. “You hurt my family!” Jack yells squeezing his fist and Michael goes to his knees, screaming in pain

“Whoa.” Lucifer gulped

“Lucifer, we -- we had a deal!” Michael screamed out ‘Deal’ you look over at Sam who was also confused

“Okay, game over,” Lucifer laughed, “Hey, buddy, let's, uh, let's, uh... split, okay?”

“What does he mean?” Jack questioned “I-I-I don't know. I didn't -- I didn't hear.” Lucifer stammered

“They had a deal. Lucifer gets you, and Michael gets everything else. He's gonna nuke our world, Jack, just like he did his.” Dean said walking over to us wrapping his arm around me pulling me closer to him.

Jack looked over at his father “Is that true?” he asked

“‭No! It's not.‬” he lied

“Is that why you wanted us to leave?” jack questioned, “Leave?” You called out looking at Jack with a frown.

“He said -- he said we'd go to the stars.” jack defended his dad

“What, and you're just gonna leave the rest of us here to burn?” Castiel accused Lucifer “Okay. Hold on a second. Let's slow down, 'cause I...I'm not currently the bad guy here.” he exclaimed

“Yeah, tell that to Y/n,” Sam said pointed towards you

“What about y/n?” jack asked about one his closest friends

“She saw the eyes of the person who killed her -- the glowing, red eyes,” Sam said

“You're gonna -- you're gonna believe this guy? Come on, man! Sam's a hater!” Lucifer sputtered

“Tell me,” Jack stated “He would say anything to get you on his side.” lucifer tried getting on jack’s side

Jack moved towards Lucifer, eyes glowing and hand outstretched “Tell me the truth!” He yelled

Lucifer’s eyes start to glow, his head tilts to the side and he starts speaking “She saw me when I was scouting out the bunker. She saw me and she screamed, and then...so I crushed her skull with my bare hands. And it was warm and wet, and I liked it.” Dean pulled you closer keeping far away from Lucifer

Lucifer's eyes return to normal and he looks confused “You're not my father. You're a monster.” Jack cries

Lucifer yells “Come on, man!” He bellows so forcibly that you, Sam and Dean cover their ears, his eyes glowing red “Okay. I tried with you. I really tried with you.”

“Everything you told me was a lie,” Jack replied

Lucifer threw his hands up “Because I told you what you wanted to hear, man. So what?! I killed the runt! Big deal! She's a -- she's a human!,” He points at you, “We need fewer Winchesters anyway She doesn't matter!”

“So am I!” Jack yells back

“Yeah? And that's your problem,” he points at Jack, “You're too much like your mother.” Lucifer steps closer

“Jack...” You say

“Stay back. I'll handle him.” Jack holds his hand up

Lucifer laughs “Will you? Oh, buddy. We could've been something, you and me. We could've remade the universe. It would've been great. We could've been better gods than Dad. And I really wanted that, pal. I wanted that. But now if I can't have it with you, I...I don't need ya. I just need your power.”

‭Lucifer produces an angel blade from his sleeve and cuts Jack on his neck

“Jack!” You cry trying to go to him your dad holding you back.

“No!” Castiel yells‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

Lucifer grabs Jack's jacket in his fist and sucks Jack's grace into his mouth. His eyes glow yellow as he touches Jack's neck, healing him. Jack looks as if he's going to collapse.

“Jack,” Dean calls to him

Cas yells “Jack!” Dean and Castiel rush forward to grab Jack. As Dean touches Jack, there is an explosion of light. Castiel is thrown down to the ground by the force of the explosion, while Dean is absorbed into it.

“Dean!” Sam yells

“Dad!” You cry out.

----------------

“What just happened?” Sam asked

“I don't know,” Cas answered equally confused

“The Devil won. That's what happened.” Michael says Your heart drops your dad was with a juiced-up Devil.

Dean’s POV

He lands on the floor in a church. He struggles to his knees. Lucifer is standing in front of him, holding Jack up by his coat collar

“Really, Dean? Hitching a ride? I mean, do you ever quit?” lucifer hisses

“Go to hell.” He spits back

“Hell, yeah.‬ Been there. Done that.‬” He smirks Lucifer drops Jack and turns to kick Dean, knocking him to the ground)

Y/n”s POV

“How do we stop him?” Sam asks

“You don't. After consuming the Nephilim's grace, Lucifer's juiced up. He's super-charged. He'll kill the boy, your brother. Hell, he could end the whole universe if he put his mind to it. And you thought I was bad.” Michael says shrugging his shoulders

“No. No, you beat him. I saw you.” You said pointing at him.

“When he was weaker, and I was stronger. Believe me, I'd love to rip my brother apart. But now in this banged up meat suit... not happening. This is the end, of everything.” Michael holding his arms up showing off his body

“No. What if...what if you had your sword?” You said looking at him Sam and Cas both looking at you shocked “I'm Dean Winchester’s daughter I the next best thing.” you said staring at him a grin forming his face

Dean’s POV

“You know... it's been really fun. I really had a great time with you, but I think we should see other people. What do you say?” Lucifer drops him, his eyes glow orange as he places a hand on his's chest. ‭‬‬‬‬He grimaces and grunts in pain. Behind him, Jack is getting to his feet, his face bloody.

“Stop!” Lucifer turns, dropping him

“Now, why should I listen to you?” He laughs at the now human

“Because...I'm your son,” Jack replies

“Oh, yeah.‬ ‬‬‬Well, you had a chance with that, but,” Lucifer punches Jack in the face, twice. Jack falls to his knees, “Now?‬‬‬” Lucifer punches Jack a third time and he falls to the ground completely. He is standing up behind him.

“As for kids...Ah, I can make more of those.”

He grabs Lucifer by the shoulder, turning him around. Lucifer punches him in the face and he falls to the floor

“Wow, Daddy Dean coming to the rescue. But your little Jackie, the nougat-loving boy that you had before, he's killed, people. He's got lots of blood on his hands.”

He stands up “I don't care. He's family.”

“Ha! What's family done for anybody? My dad left me. My brothers tried to kill me. A lot. Family blows. And I'm gonna prove it to you.” lucifer yells

“What, by killing me? Go ahead.” He sighs holding his hands out

“No, I'm not gonna kill you,” Lucifer points at Jack, “He is.” As Jack and he looked at each other, Lucifer pulls an angel blade from his sleeve and drops it to the floor between them

Y/n’s POV

“Y/n, no,” Cas says looking at you

“I am your sword.” You say

Flashback

“It's you. You're the Michael sword.‬” Zachariah says

“Your perfect vessel.” You looking at him

“Why do you think you are his vessel? Michael You were born to become his other vessel. Gabriel explained when you first meet

“With me, you'd be stronger than you've ever been.“ you state

“Oh, I know what you are,” Michael smirks

“If we work together, can we beat Lucifer?” You ask

“Y/n!” Sam tries to get your attention. ‭‬‬‬

“Can we?!” You yell.‬ “We'd have a chance.” He replies

“Y/n, you can't.” Cas grabs your arm

“Lucifer has Dad. He has Jack. Cas, I don't have a choice!” You decided “If we do this, it's a one-time deal. I'm in charge. You're the engine, but I'm behind the wheel. Understand?” You look at Michael both your uncle and Cas look at the interaction in fear.

Dean’s POV

“Now I could -- I probably should -- execute you. I mean, really, really use my imagination. But I'm feeling generous today. So one of you is gonna walk out that door, and the other one will be laying dead on the ground. You choose.” Lucifer smirks glancing at them both.

“No.” He says

“Or you could do that, and I can murder you both and end all life in the universe. Remake it in my image, better than Dad ever could. I'm thinkin'... mm... fire-breathing dragons, sassy talking robots. I might give humans another chance if they know their place and worship me, 'cause I've earned it. But hey, it'll probably take a few days to unravel the universe, Maybe, uh, 7, 10 days tops. So maybe, just maybe, one of you could stop me. Maybe. Well, let's see. Clock's ticking, guys.” Lucifer lists off

Dean picks up the blade. Jack looks at him questioningly. Dean hesitates for several seconds and turns the handle of the blade towards Jack

“Kill me,” he says

“What?” Jack chokes out “Kill me.‬‬‬‬ You can stop him, Jack.” Dean begs. Placing the blade in Jack's hands “You can get your power back.”

“No, I-I c-can't. I can't beat him. But you can.” Jack answers

“What?” DEan says confused‬

“I know you can.” Jack turns the blade to point at his stomach

“No, no, no, no, no. Jack. Don't! Jack!” Dean yells

“I love you. I love all of you.” Jack cries

“Jack, don't! Don't!” Dean yells Jack pushes the tip of the blade into his stomach and blood stains his shirt. A bright light glows from behind him and he turns to see Y/n, bathed in light, angel wings unfurling behind him. The light goes out and they all turn to face Y/n.

“Y/n” Dean whispers

“Hiya, Dad.

“You let my brother in,” Lucifer growls

“Well, it turns out, he and I have something in common. We both wanna gut your ass.” You snap back Lucifer runs towards Y/n. As he gets near Y/n kicks him in the chest, sending him flying across the church

Y/n goes after Lucifer with an angel blade and the fight, Lucifer eventually knocking the angel blade out of Y/ns hands. They separate, and then run towards each other, rising into the air as they grab each other's shoulders. They continue to fight several feet above the ground. Lucifer gains the upper hand and proceeds to punch Y/n in the face several times, to the point that Y/n can no longer fight back.

“Well...” ‭‬‬‬Lucifer continues to punch Y/n “Good try, Y/n I'll give you that, buddy.‬ I'm not just powerful now. I am in power.”

Dean rushes over to picks up the angel blade

“And I don't need a blade to end you, pal.” He smiles

“Y/n” Dean throws the angel blade into the air and Y/n catches it

“Bye-bye, runt.” Lucifer's eyes glow as he places his hand on Y/n's head. As white light emanates from Y/n's eyes and mouth, she stabs Lucifer with the angel blade. Lucifer lets go of Y/n and she falls to the ground. Lucifer screams as fire burns from his eyes. There's a flash of light and Lucifer falls to the ground.

----------------

Y/n’s POV

Lucifer lies on the church floor. His outstretched wings are charred and burning. Y/n, Dean and Jack approach him

“Is he...” Jack starts

“He... he's dead.” Dean states

“Holy crap.” You mumbled

Dean looks over at you “You did it.”

“No. No, we did it. We did it.” You correct him

You, Dean, and Jack are smiling as they realize what they've done when you double over, grunting in pain “Y/n,” Dean asks grabbing your shoulders

“We had a deal!” You yell when you stop grunting and stands up, incredibly calm “Michael” Dean whispers

“Thanks for the suit,” Michael said before he disappears leaving Dean and jack alone. Dean lost his daughter again. In the bunker, Castiel is sitting on the stairs Sam pacing tears in his eyes. Mary and Bobby run up to him. As they look down, Castiel slowly shakes his head.

No One’s POV

As the rain pelted down on the street as people headed to there destination a woman dressed in a suit a large coat on and a newspaper boy hat rest on her hair. As she looks up grinning her eyes flashing a blue glow.

#dean winchester #dean x daughter!reader #sam x niece!reader #jack x reader #michael!reader #dean!michael #castiel #dean #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #daughter!reader masterlist spn #SPN

83 notes · View notes