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ouatafoolsdeceit · 2 years

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The Fool’s Deceit-Chapter 2

A/N: The chapters are going to get longer now that we are past the introductory. Let me know if it’s too long. I’ll see what I can do. (Not you Jessie! You just take your sweet time LOL)

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

‘But the universe never promised you this would be easy, after all, you are the hero here. And heroes are meant to be forged golden from the blaze.’ -Once Upon a Time 11, Nikita Gill

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emma let out a grunt, slamming her laptop shut in hopes of relieving some frustration, not minding the looks of the other diners she received. For the last two hours, she had scouted every available site on the internet that might give her any insight to the small town in Maine, and so far she came up with…absolutely nothing. There was no town website promoting events, no establishment date, and every time she tried typing the name into Google, it always corrected itself to storybook. Whatever it was, there was no evidence to suggest that Henry’s hometown actually existed.

Except for the fact that you’re standing in the middle of it.

Regardless of the fact, it appeared Storybrooke was as fictional as it could get.

Emma knew it was crazy to dwell on the matter. Henry was back home now and whatever his feelings were about his mother, he was safe. It was all that mattered. So she couldn’t help but wonder why she was even still there, sitting at Granny’s diner, watching the people that came in and out (and maybe wondering who they might be in some fairytale story), and keeping an eye out for Henry in case he came by. It wasn’t like she wanted to see him, she just….needed to make sure that he was going to be okay.

Sure, the whole ‘everyone in my town is a storybook character and cursed by an evil magic witch’ was absolutely crazy, but he was ten. Surely it was something most normal ten year olds thought of. Not her, of course. She was too busy moving from home to home, hoping each one would want to keep her until they kicked her out or she got in trouble (again) and had to leave, again. She never had that opportunity to get to know the people in town and make up crazy story about them. In a way, despite how crazy it all sounded, she envied Henry. So maybe, just a small part of her, wanted to join in.

If anything, maybe she could get Henry to realize the truth and that every person in town was just that. A person. Maybe she could let go of the bubbling guilt for ever giving him away in the first place if she knew he was going to be okay. Regina had mentioned he was in therapy and that Henry was struggling. Emma wondered if it was her fault. Besides, what ‘normal’ kid ran all the way to Boston to bring home a Savior and break a curse? She understood wanting to find his birth mother, she thought about it herself every day, but the whole fairy tale thing was just too much.

“More coffee?” The red-clad waitress asked.

“Um, yeah.” Emma responded, snapping herself out of her thoughts. Normally, she went for cocoa with cinnamon in the morning, but after the world wind she got last night, she definitely needed something stronger.

“I see you stayed.”

Emma looked up, excepting it to be the waitress and wondering how she knew anything, but instead found herself face to face with the only other person in town she knew. At least, one who wasn’t the son she gave up and his mother who didn’t seem too keen of her presence.

“Um…Mary…” Emma struggled.

“Margaret.” The woman smiled. “Mary Margaret.”

“Right, sorry.”

“No worries. I’m surprised to see you here.” She offered, taking her own seat in front of Emma.

“Why’s that?”

“I expected you to be back home by now. You didn’t seem to thrilled to be here last night.”

Emma scoffed. “Yeah, well, it was… a lot. I never did thank you for, um, helping me.”

The young school smiled, and there was something about it that made Emma feel…safe. She shook her head, breaking her trance.

“You know, I have some time before school starts. If you wanted to talk.”

Emma smiled. A part of her wanted to decline, knowing she had to get back home (not that there was much waiting for her), but the other part just couldn’t let the whole damn thing go. Even if she tried to persuade herself logically that Henry was going to be just fine,something about her just needed to know. So what the hell?

“Sure, why not.”

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“How could he be so useless!” The mayor cursed.

Regina’s phone was violently abused with multiple slams of the receiver until finally finding its placement. Six months. Six months they had to fix her son and his delusion of fairy tales and curses and this was what it all came down to. A late night sherry drink with a complete stranger whom she and Henry both claim to be his birth mother. Regardless of the actual facts, Fogg proved incompetent. At this point he was no better than Hopper.

Henry was slipping further away from her and now with this spontaneous endeavor, she feared he was gone. Fortunately, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. What dangers could this Emma Swan possibly bring? The case was closed. The adoption was closed. She had no right to swoop in and-

“Am I interrupting?”

She groaned. As if this day couldn’t possibly get worse.

“Gold, what brings you to my office today?” She watched the pawnbroker carefully. He was always harder to pinpoint than Fogg and worse, she had no control over either of them. He tapped his way to her desk and settled himself in the chair across. It was always said Gold held the town’s fear while he feared nothing. One of the very few qualities she actually admired about him. The rest was met with begrudging respect.

“Just thought I’d drop in for a visit.” He smiled. “Speaking of which, I saw we had a new visitor in town.”

“You’ve met her?” Though it came as more of a bitter respond than an actual question. Whatever annoyance Regina felt with the two men who failed immediately replaced itself with deep concerning fear for the one sitting in front of her. It was one of those few begrudging qualities.

“I may have met her on one of my casual due-ins at the inn. Emma Swan.”

The grimace on the mayor’s face told him what he already knew. “And you’ve met her too.” He smiled. “Am I to assume, due to your previous phone violations, that Fogg failed to live up to your expectations?”

“He’s as useless as Hopper. But it’s no matter. I don’t think she will be staying.”

“And what makes you so certain?”

She bit back a laugh. “I may have a way or two.”

Gold leaned forward, placing the weight of words on his cane. “You know, Madam Mayor, if both Hopper and Fogg proved…invaluable, perhaps you require more promising help.”

She passed in her shuffling of office documents that she gave no real notice of. She knew this was a bad idea but it was a matter of which outcome was worse. Allowing Miss Swan to take Henry away… or whatever Gold had up his well-tailored sleeves. “What are you suggesting?”

“I understand that Henry is an important matter in your life,” He stated, ignoring the mayor’s deadpanned retort. “And the arrival of his biological mother may hinder your already strained relationship. Let me do what I do best and perhaps, along the way, I can resolve your little dilemma.”

Then Regina laughed, much to Gold’s own unfazed reaction. “What are you going do? Sell her your trinkets?”

He smiled. “Maybe I’ll just work a little magic.”

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“How could you?!” Regina shouted. “You let them escape?!”

“Your Majesty-”

“Don’t!” She stopped him. Her Father was many things. Tricky, a fanatic, and a tad unsettling; but he was not inadequate. When he wanted something, or someone, he did not fail. And everyone across the land knew not to mess with him. He had placed his name at the table of every family in the Enchanted Forest but it was not out love. People feared him, as they should, because he always got what he wanted. “How difficult is it to grab one baby and a woman who just gave birth?”

Judge Claude Frollo held back a laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

Regina ignored him and set her focus on her mirror, demanding the genie trapped within to find Snow White. But nothing showed up.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” the genie spoke. There was no sincerity in his voice, but perhaps he was a bit cocky, arrogant to think he was safe behind the glass despite her being the one who put him there. “But I can’t seem to find her. It seems as though she just…disappeared.”

“People don’t just disappear.” Frollo answered for Regina. “Someone, or something, is hiding her.”

“Well it can’t be Rumplestiltskin.” The Evil Queen suggested. He was undeniably tricking when trying to figure out what he really wanted but he wanted the curse cast. That much was true. He’s the one who gave her the damned thing!

“We can’t be sure of that, Regina.”

Regina rolled her eyes. Frollo really was pathetic. One second he tries to deny any fault and then he tries to be sympathetic. Although it had taken years, she eventually learned his game and knew never to trust him again. He was clever. Just like Rumple. But he was also wrong; or at least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

He was right. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Rumple who saved Snow and helped steal the baby. Sure, it was a infamous moniker but he never actually did it. Or at least, she didn’t think he did. It burned her to accept the idea that she didn’t know him like she wanted to. Not like she needed to. Rumple gave her the curse, wanted it cast, so why would he want to save the one person who he told could break it?

Unless….

She let out a curse and marched off. How could she have been so foolish?!

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emma was beginning to question if this woman herself was Henry’s real mother and resisted the urge to bang her head on the table. Mary Margaret turned out to be a very nice lady, very sweet, Henry’s homeroom teacher…and just as talkative. And speaking to her brought her no closer to answers about the so-called ‘curse’ and closer to regretting coming to Storybrooke in the first place. Emma couldn’t really blame her though. Apparently, she was the only visitor they’ve had in town in a very long time.

“I guess we’re just not on the map.” Mary Margaret added, finishing her monologue of the town’s mining heritage.

“You’re not.” Emma replied. “I’ve checked.”

And she did. Google and online maps never once listed Storybrooke as an actual town. She even recalled last night when she took a peek at Henry’s map that it had a spot circled in red marker. She assumed it was the town.

“Perhaps we just need to add more tourism attractions. Maybe we could do something with the mining history. Grant it, most of the town doesn’t care for it either.”

“We?” Emma exclaimed, fearing she was about to be roped into whatever crazy scheme Mary Margaret was beginning to form in her head.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I guess I just…I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t assume you were staying. I’m sure you have your own life back in Boston.” Her words trailed off, almost as if to remind Emma that she didn’t. No husband, no other kids, no real reason not to stay.

Emma tried to grin. “No, not really. But I couldn’t just send him off I guess. How did the kid even make his way to Boston?”

She peered at the teacher. She had already mentioned last night when she helped show her the way to the mayor’s house that she knew Henry was coming to find her. Mary Margaret’s own casual avoidance of the subject confirmed it.

“You helped him.” Emma smiled.

Mary Margaret sighed, partly in regret. “I’m so sorry. I gave him my credit card for this website to help people find their birth parents. It actually wasn’t that difficult and he managed it quite well.”

Emma laughed. Honestly, she was impressed. Mostly that someone like Mary Margaret would even think about helping a kid road trip his way to another state, let alone actually doing it.

“I’m so sorry. A part of me figured he would just turn around and come back. I honestly didn’t think he would bring you with him. How did he manage by the way?”

“Unfortunately, it wasn’t that hard. Believing in his curse may take a little more faith.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Ah yes, the infamous curse.”

“Infamous? Who all knows about it?”

For the first time since they met and during the duration of their conversation, Mary Margaret had grown quiet. “Not a lot of people and I’m sure Madam Mayor would like to keep it like that. She had Henry see someone to, you know, help him not believe. I know because he trusted me to tell me.” She took sip of her own coffee, carefully avoiding telling Emma exactly how she found out. “In fact, his exact words were ‘I needed to know’. I’m still not sure what that really means.”

“Do you think he really believes it? The storybook, the characters, his own mother being an evil witch?”

“Honestly, I can’t say. Every kid has imagination. Some just take it to higher levels.”

“But they don’t all run away to Boston.” Emma stated flatly.

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“She can’t do this. She has no legal right. She signed the papers!”

O’Connell groaned. He could understand Regina’s concern. After he had left the mayor’s house last night, he had done a search for Emma Swan and sure enough, she was Henry’s biological mother. The papers all confirmed it. So with her arrival via Henry, Regina was afraid Miss Swan would use the opportunity to take her son back. It wasn’t an implausible idea. There were plenty of state cases where mothers stole back the children they had given up, regretting their decision. But despite his assurance to the Mayor that it was Henry who brought Emma to town and she was probably just as bewildered as the her, it did nothing to calm her fury.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t arresting her.”

Erin laughed. “I can’t arrest her, Regina. She hasn’t done anything wrong. It was Henry who brought her here and she even brought him back home. So it isn’t like she kept him and kidnapped him. The papers only state that she has no legal right to claim him as her son. But…”

“But what?” Regina glared.

“If Henry wants to talk to her, I don’t see the harm in it.”

She cackled. “Of course you don’t! You don’t have a child.”

Erin returned the glare but it went unnoticed. He knew she didn’t care, despite knowing exactly what she said, so he decided he was done trying to appease her. He got up and grabbed his keys, noting the small bluebird key chain.

“I can’t tell you what to do, clearly, but I can’t do anything without cause. I know this is hard for you and I’m sorry, but just remember. Think about what’s best for Henry.”

Regina threw daggers. “Your job is to arrest and detain. Not counsel.”

The irritation she felt when he simply smirked almost matched her fury to Miss Swan. “You’re right. But I thought you fired Archie?”

She watched the sheriff leave, wondering why she even hired him in the first place, and resisted the urge to grab the glass paperweight on her desk and throw it against the wall. Not that it would do any good even if it was thrown at Emma herself.

Emma Swan.

Why did that name feel familiar? Regina couldn’t understand it. Why would Henry bring her here? Perhaps a small part of her, a very small part of her, could understand how Henry was feeling. He had been going through a lot lately and despite everything she could do to help him (not that the two baboons did much in return), he just kept asking questions. Wondering where he come from and why his birth mother didn’t want him. Regina did everything to try and soothe him, to help him understand that it didn’t matter. She was right there and she would never let anyone hurt him again and that he would always be wanted.

But he just kept asking. Over and over.

It only got worst. Soon the questions went from his birth mother to her. Where did you come from? Who are you? That’s when the questions about the curse started. One day, Henry had come home from school with a new book in hand. She tried asking what it was and where he got it but he wouldn’t say. Of course it wasn’t of any consequence back then. It was just a book.

Just a book. Just one book is all it takes to ruin everything?

Regina went over and over it in her head. How did that book have…everything? After Miss Swan had left last night, Regina decided it was time to take a look at it. After all, Henry didn’t get the idea that she was evil until he started reading the damn thing, right? Sure, she could be strict at times and probably gave a few more rules than most mothers, but all she wanted was to make him happy. And being happy meant being safe, where no one could hurt you and take everything from you. That was all she wanted for him and he was throwing it in her face.

But when Regina finally took a look and saw all the pictures, it felt like her world had just stopped (even more literally than before). The curse, the Dark One, and even damn Snow White and Charming! It had everything!

Suddenly she had her own questions. Where did Henry get it? Who told him? And why would he think any of it was real?

Emma.

Regina decided throwing the paperweight was a good idea after all and watched it shatter against the wall. She had to be the reason! The reason Henry ran off to Boston and find her. To break the curse.

Emma Swan.

Rumplestiltskin was right. Careful dearie, if you cast this curse, it just come back and bite you. And it was. She finally had everything but Henry had gone and brought the one person who could ruin it. Regina decided she wasn’t going to let that happen. Snow White once took everything from her. She was going to repay the favor.

Regina grabbed her phone, absently dialing a number and waited for the other person to answer. When they did, she felt hope rising up in her again. “I need you to do something for me.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Doctor Hopper’s head was heavy. His desk was a mess of scattered notes, one glass of scotch, and a notice of his medical practice termination in a month. He didn’t understand where it all went wrong. He didn’t do anything that any other therapist wouldn’t. He encouraged Henry to hold onto his dreams but not to let it root themselves into his life. He tried to help Henry see that they were just stories but he wouldn’t break the boy either. Unlike Fogg. Whatever the Madam Mayor chose to throw at him, Archie could handle it. All he was worried about now was Henry’s mindset and safety. Fogg was not the most practical man when it came to psychology. Something Archie had tried to persuade the mayor’s opinion from for Henry’s own good, but she wouldn’t see it. He even tried explaining to her that for beliefs as strong as Henry had concerning that book and the stories, it took longer than a few months to let go of.

Nothing worked. Now he had one month to see other medical practices outside of Storybrooke or terminate his license altogether. He groaned, causing Pongo to raise his head from his nap. How did this happen? What could persuade the mayor to suddenly threaten to evict him? Though he knew there was no threat about it. It would be absolute if he didn’t figure something out and soon.

Someone knocked on the door, fully waking up Pongo. Archie sighed. If this was the mayor, he would be happy to go and pack. But apparently the angels looked down on him because it wasn’t Regina, but Archie now had the full assumption that this was the reason behind the mayor’s recent actions.

“You must be Miss Swan.”

“I guess news travels fast.”

Archie smirked. “Well, it is a small town.” He joked, offering her a seat on the couch. “Everybody knows everybody and when someone new comes in…”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I kind of got that from the warm welcoming.”

“I apologize for that.” He chuckled. He had heard some faint whispering and gossip on his morning walk as well. Everyone was curious to who the new visitor was. He supposed it was natural. Storybrooke didn’t get any visitors. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could you ask a few questions.” She asked.

“About Henry.” He guessed.

“I hope you don’t mind and I don’t want this to get anyone in trouble, but Mary Margaret had told me Henry was seeing you. You know, about the fairy tales?”

“Emma-”

“I know, I know,” She interjected. “Patient doctor confidentiality, but…I just wanted to know that he’s going to be okay before I…decided to leave.”

Archie sighed, “It’s complicated.”

Emma perched her lips. “It’s Regina, isn’t it? How many people know about this? About the curse and how he thinks everyone is a fairy tale character?”

“Not many. And I think Madam Mayor would like to keep it that way.”

“How long was Henry seeing you?”

“About five months. But then…she felt I wasn’t doing a good job so…she sent him to someone else.”

“Who?” Emma pushed, but the doctor remained silent. “Archie, if something is happening to Henry, I…I would like to know. Maybe I can help.”

“I can assure you, Emma,” Archie defended, knowing where she was going. “I wouldn’t let any harm come to Henry. But Fogg is…intense.”

“Intense? What does that mean? Who’s Fogg?” Emma asked.

“He’s the town Judge.”

Emma’s eyes grew big. “The judge? A judge is trying to help Henry not believe in the curse?” Surely he was joking. What did a judge know about therapy? If Regina thought a judge could help Henry better than a licensed doctor, what else did she have in mind in raising Henry?

Archie smirked. “He’s also the church pastor.”

“O…kay.” Emma lagged. “So what makes him so intense? What, does he preach about fire and brimstone and damnation? Because if so, how can Regina think that’s okay? I mean, Henry is ten.”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“Surely there is something against that. Some medical law or something? Malpractice?”

Archie walked over to his desk, taking the notice and handing it to Emma. He may not be able to fight against Regina, or have the nerve, but he had to do something. Even if it was just for Henry. “Regina is the mayor. Often what she says goes.”

Emma glanced over the notice. “So she’s firing you because you couldn’t help Henry? Has she always been like this?”

Archie bit his lip. “Not always.”

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The Dark Castle was as a formidable fortress. A place of dark dealings and darker beings, and equally depressing. Of course, Regina supposed she wasn’t one to talk. According to Rumple, her castle looked like knives sticking out from the ground. At least she had the proper decency to hire maids to dust and sweep the place. She fiendishly smirked at the thought. She supposed she should have felt a little guilty about that last part, though she did not have a big hand in the matter as some others.

Regina found the Dark One in his usual spot. She also took notice of the new location of his spinning wheel. While on most visits in the last year or so, it was placed neatly by the open draped window, closest to the fireplace, and a young woman reading a book. Now it was placed in the back corner opposite of the outside world and all the drapes were once again nailed shut. Okay, maybe she didn’t feel guilty at all, but it was nice to see the tittering imp get knocked down a few pegs. How the beauty ever handled him on a daily basis was beyond her.

“Rumplestiltskin, I have some questions for you.”

"Oh? And you’ve come to visit little old me? Didn’t you just cast your curse, dearie? Shouldn’t you be off celebrating?” The mad imp giggled, but his attention was held on the wheel.

Regina felt his laughter was misplaced, considering the circumstances, but he always was a theatrical man. He never let his real feelings show. She appreciated that about him.

“Yes, well, it appears I may have run into a light snag. Nonetheless, I can cut it off. I’d just figured I would come here, see how you were doing. What with your curse now completed and cast. By the way, that baby you told me about.”

“Hm?” Rumple arched his brows, as though it didn’t concern him.

“Where is she?”

The pleasant tone Regina had spoken with was now replaced with absolute contempt. She didn’t doubt Rumple did have something to do with Snow and the baby’s disappearance. What pissed her off was allowing herself to be fooled and by him of all people. She really should have known better.

“What baby?”

“Don’t play coy with me!” She yelled. “Snow White and Prince Charming’s baby! The one you said would break the curse. The curse we worked so hard on for the last couple of years? Now both Snow and her baby is gone. I know you had something to do with it. What I don’t understand…is why?”

Rumple was smiling. Not for any jumped conclusions the queen was having, they were all correct, but because all his work was finally coming to fruition. Soon he would find Bae, set Belle free, and they could be a family. Of course, it was all just a laughable dream still. After all, she couldn’t really love him, a beast.

“And what makes you think I have anything to do with it?” He teased, forgoing any other fantasies he was currently having.

Regina scoffed. ��Because it’s you. You always have your hand in something.”

“Unfortunately for you dearie, my hands are in clean in this.” He glanced down. “Figuratively speaking.”

“Than where is she?”

“Have you tried looking into your mirror? We both know what lack of beauty sleep does to you.” He tittered again. Regina really hated that sound.

Regina growled. “Would you just tell me, you insufferable imp!”

Rumple gave a look like he was hurt, but it wasn’t the worst thing she ever called him. “Oh very well. But…I want a deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. You never want anything else.”

“Oh, that’s not true. I want to see you win. I want to see you crush Snow White’s heart and watch as her truu wuv falls into pieces as her demise.” He giggled again. “So, how about this? I will tell you where the baby is if….in this new land, whenever I come to you and ask you a question…you have to tell me.”

The Evil Queen blinked, watching the imp carefully in case this was a joke. It wasn’t the most odd of his requests but it certainly was…concerning. “What?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Yep. In this new land, if I should ever come to you and I want to know something, anything at all, you have to tell me. And you must always tell the truth.” He recited the last part like a guard taking an oath.

“Well what if I don’t want to tell you?”

“Oh don’t worry dearie. It will only be the small things.” He grinned.

Regina just stared. This was a very stupid idea, but she was running out of time. The curse would be completed shortly and she needed to find that baby now or all they worked for, all she worked for, would be broken. She could not allow that baby to leave the Enchanted Forest.

“Deal. Just tell me already.”

“Well, I heard a little rumor. A little birdie told me that Maleficent was looking for a child. Considering, well, you know.” He giggled even louder.

Regina could feel the venom building in her mouth. “She wouldn’t.”

For the last couple of years, all three of them have been working together on the curse. Of course, some worked harder than others. Nonetheless, Maleficent had wanted the curse cast for the same reason Regina did. To see Snow White and Prince Charming suffer. And seeing as they were friends, the Evil Queen didn’t see any harm in it.

Until now.

“You never know, dearie. You can’t never trust the bad eggs.

His laughter erupted into the halls as he watched the Queen march off to the Forbidden Fortress. It grew louder and louder.

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

After speaking with both Mary Margaret and Archie, Emma only had more questions than answers. And none of them about Henry’s curse. She was starting to think that maybe going back to Boston was the right idea. What good could she possibly do here? Maybe Regina was right. Staying in town would only confuse Henry more. He needed help but it wasn’t anything she could give.

She dragged up the steps to her room at Granny’s and was surprised to see the reason for her dilemma was sitting on the floor right in front of her door

”Henry? What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I thought maybe we could talk?”

She sighed. “Listen kid-

“I know you don’t believe in the curse, but this isn’t about that.”

Emma groaned. Why did she get the feeling he was about to ask that question? The one question she wanted to avoid more than anything right now.

“Why did you decide to stay?”

Emma blinked. Okay…maybe not. “What do you mean? I haven’t decided anything yet.” That’s wasn’t entirely true. She knew she should probably go back to Boston but a part of her was still reluctant. She wanted to go back, so why did she feel like she needed to stay?

“Sure you did. Else, you would already be back in Boston.”

Henry was smiling and Emma decided she hated it. It was that knowing smile she could see someone else having, like a little secret only they knew.

“Listen, Henry, I don’t know how to help you with this…curse.” She motioned a gesture with her hand, hoping to show how crazy this all felt. But Henry only kept on smiling.

“I know you don’t believe in the curse. And you don’t have to stay for me. I know you don’t want me.”

Emma’s heart broke at his downcast glance. It wasn’t entirely true. She did want him, but so many years had passed. She couldn’t be a mother back then and she wasn’t sure she could try and be a mother now.

Why couldn’t they just be friends first?

“Henry-”

“But you have to stay for everyone else. They need you.” He pleaded. “You’re the Savior. You’re going to break the curse. You’re going to save everyone.”

Emma scoffed. Clearly, there was no convincing him otherwise. “Henry, I don’t even know how to begin doing that.”

“It’s simple.” He smiled. “You find your family.”

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emma watched Henry fly up the stairs, once again ignoring his mother. She saw the defeated look on the Mayor’s face and felt a little bad. She couldn’t imagine how Regina must be feeling, thinking her son probably ran away again in less than a day, so she was quick to explain that Henry was waiting for her at Granny’s and had wanted to talk to her. Regina only smiled.

“I thought you were headed back to Boston?” Madam Mills blurted.

“I was,” Emma stuttered. “It’s just..I didn’t think it would hurt to-”

“Miss Swan, you do understand what a closed adoption is, correct?”

“Of course.”

“It means you have no legal claim to him.”

“I wasn’t trying to-” Emma interjected, feeling irritated that Regina wouldn’t give her a word into the clearly one-sided conversation.

“Henry is confused right now. What he needs is professional help. Not to go on these wild adventures looking for Dark Ones and witches. I was hoping I was being clear last night when I told you it might be confusing for him if you stayed.”

“Madam Mills,” Emma forced, fully feeling the looming threat this woman clearly presented and was no longer bothering to hide under polite pleasantries. “If I may, seeing the troubles Henry is going through and the so-called help you are providing, I now intend to stay for as long as it takes to ensure he’s going to be okay.”

Regina blanched. “Excuse me?”

Emma continued to smile. “I know a threat when I hear it. I didn’t want to stay but Henry is troubled. I agree, but I’m starting to wonder if you even know what you’re doing.”

“Excuse me Miss Swan, but I am his mother. Not you. I know what’s best for him.”

“Like firing the one person who seems to really care about him? Whatever is going on with Henry and this book-”

“Why do I keep hearing about this book?”

“Whatever it is, Henry really believes in this. I think he just needs someone who believes in him also.”

Regina scoffed. “And you do?”

“No, I don’t believe in the curse. But I do believe that Henry thinks something is wrong in this town, and I’m going to figure out what it is.”

Regina stepped forward, cementing her authority. “Well, I wish you luck with that. But I assure you, everything is just fine.”

Emma smiled. “I don’t think it is.”

“I think…you know where the door is.”

On that final note, the mayor spun on her heels and left to check on Henry. Emma exhaled, not realizing she was holding it in. She supposed that was it. She was staying. She wasn’t sure what it was that made her officially decide. Regina’s threat or seeing that maybe the woman really didn’t care about Henry and was rather just keeping him like a trophy. Whatever it was, Emma was now determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on in Storybrooke, Maine.

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Gold put away the polish and rag in the cupboard and took one last look at the shop. Spotless. He never received a lot of customers throughout the years and people always wondered how he managed to keep the shop standing. Aside from virtually owning the whole town and the law firm that helped keep it all running. But customers never mattered to Mr. Gold. He often spent his days idling at the house or the shop, occasionally fixing a trinket or two here and there.

But now he was awake and Gold had a suspicion that his was shop was about to get a little bit busier in the next few months. So it was only fitting he took the time to clean it all up, polish the furnishings, and organize the stock. It didn’t take long but it did gave him plenty of time for some thinking.

He was finally awake and although there wasn’t much he could get started, seeing as there was no magic in this world, he could start making plans. In fact, one of those plans was to bring magic into this world because he was going to need it. And he knew just how to do it.

Back in their old world when he was still Rumplestiltskin and his skin was green and ‘sparkly’, according to some, he had snuck in a little clause into the curse while Her Majesty wasn’t looking.

“What will I be looking for, sir?” Dove replied.

Gold had called his bodyguard late into the night which wasn’t surprising for the bald manservant. His boss often instructed him on many duties, regardless of the time of day. Most often it had to do with late rents and payments and other times it was gathering information. Working for Mr. Gold had provided the big man with security and financial stability. People never hassled him because doing so meant hassling Gold in turn and nobody wanted trouble from the old pawnbroker. Fogg would be more preferable, which was saying something. Dove never minded since as it kept his family safe and well cared for. He was perhaps the only person in town who knew a soft spot existed in Gold, especially when it came to children. In fact, Gold never failed to give a gift or pay for a lavish dinner when it came to his family’s birthdays or holidays.

"I can’t say out loud.” Gold replied. Instead, he handed his servant a picture. “Find it. And bring back a report on its exact location and condition.

Dove examined the photo and simply nodded. He never questioned the request Gold made of him, no matter how odd. Gold liked that about him. He watched his old friend leave and went back to tending to the sweeping. It was the only thing left on the list.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The farmer threw the last bale alongside the wall with the others. The price had started going up again. It always went up this time of the year, which he personally found ridiculous. He needed hay all year long and could care less of the fall festivities coming up. It wasn’t like the town celebrated much either, so he didn’t understand the big demand.

He began unbinding the bales and throwing the straw to the goats, grunting at their bleating for supper.

“Stupid goats. You’re always hungry.” He grumbled to himself.

He started the nightly duties when he heard a rustling just outside the barn. He peered out but didn’t see anyone.

“Hello?” He called out.

When no reply came, he continued on. It was probably Peter stumbling home from The Hole again. The pumpkin farmer liked his parties and loved drinking even more. No doubt he-

The goat farmer fell down into the dirt. If he ever regained consciousness, he would have a serious bump on his head that would require medical attention. Unfortunately, the crowbar bearing into the back of his skull gave up any chance of ever waking up again.

The taller man looked down on the farmer. “Hm, that wasn’t too bad.”

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Up Next: Emma makes a fateful decision and learns a crucial part about the curse. In the Enchanted Forest, David meets his future wife.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A/N: Just wanted to throw this out. If anyone is having trouble telling the difference between Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest, please let me know and I will do better about breaking the two off. It will probably just be labeling The Enchanted Forest parts but I would hate for anyone to get confuse. I am working on the idea that if you have seen the show, you kind of know how the sequence of flashbacks ‘operate’, but I understand it can be confusing at times when you’re reading. Both visual but both very different. Also, each chapter will have a different about of flashbacks. In the show, it was about even with the present moments, about 4 or 5 each. In some cases, like this chapter, there may be only 2. It really depends on just what needs to be told at the time and what backstory I am trying to tell at the time.

And if you follow my stories, you probably know I hate writing Emma, Henry, Snow, and David. I know you can’t really have a big story like this without them but they are just sooo boring and dull. I have no problem writing (and love doing so) Regina and Rumple’s sassy and snarky comebacks. Those are easy. But trying to get into the mindset of the others is very difficult for me to do. And no amount of reading of others stories to help is doing the trick. But I’m really trying and I really hope this story helps me do better with that. If you have any suggestions for me, feel free. (and please bear with me). Thankfully, we got a long way to go so I’ve got plenty of learning curve ahead of me.

One thing I wanted different about this story (among everything lol) was Emma’s mindset. Personally, I felt it was too easy for Emma to agree to stay in town and ‘help’ Henry with the curse and take on the deputy and sheriff job and everything. After all, she did have a life back in Boston. How could it have been so easy to just pick up and go, even if she was just a bailsbond person. So I really want to get into her struggle of having Henry back and trying to just adjust to the idea of staying. I also wanted to see more of the realistic idea of taking in the whole curse idea. I don’t know, everything just seemed too easy in the show.

And lastly, I’ll post the links in the first several chapters to the AO3 and Tumblr page if you want to take a look at them and post extra reviews as well. There is never too many reviews.

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14061561/1/A-Fool-s-Deceit

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38105371/chapters/95187148

#once upon a time #Fools' Deiciet #Rumplestilskin #Regina #Emma Swan #Belle #gypsies #magic #Storybrooke

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lettheladylead · 3 years

Photo

The Golden Heir Chapter 6 - Blood [Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4] [Ch5] [Ch7] [Ch8]

Dickie opened her eyes to find herself tied up and in a room with a lot of unfamiliar faces. There were a bunch of tied up kids, and two little girls talking to them, and then a surprisingly familiar person was tied to two other people in the corner of the room.

As the boys (triplets? They looked familiar, like she’d seen them on the news) turned to talk to the one little girl that was tied up, Dickie looked over at the adults and sat up straight to make sure she was seeing things right.

“...Gyro?”

Everyone in the room turned to look at her, and everyone looked massively confused except for the two girls that weren’t tied up.

Gyro in particular looked like he was understanding the situation less and less. “...Dickie? Wha...what are you doing here?!”

She looked around the room and noticed that one of the triplets was staring at her like he knew her from somewhere. The other two were animatedly discussing how their Uncle Scrooge was faring in a fight and Dickie finally realized who they all were - Huey, Dewey, and Louie, Scrooge McDuck’s nephews! She wasn’t an expert, but she’d read articles about their family before.

“I’m, uh...not really sure,” she said quietly. “My grandma told me to just do whatever these weird bad guys said or else they’d hurt me, so…”

“Your grandmother…?” Gyro mumbled, looking around the room. “I don’t understand, I thought they were just taking people with a connection to Scrooge.”

The little girls looked at each other and started giggling as the triplets and the other little girl leaned towards each other. Dickie wondered if they were trying to break the ropes holding them up, but that definitely wasn’t going to work. She opened her mouth to say something again when the screen on the wall blipped and suddenly they were all able to see something very frightening.

The two people she’d interacted with earlier - Heron and Bradford, apparently - were standing atop some sort of structure looking even more evil than before.

“Hi Mommy!” June said with a little wave.

“Each of them will soon be erased from existence as well,” Bradford said, and Dickie propped herself into a fully seated position and then tried to scoot closer to Gyro and the other adults.

She didn’t understand what was happening at all but she could see behind Heron was a small group of people chained up and hanging near the edge of the tower, overtop of what seemed like a swirling vortex of doom. Though she could only see a few strands of blonde in the far corner, Dickie knew exactly who was out there.

“Granny…” she said softly, almost too soft for anyone to hear.

Louie, though, glanced back at her with a confused look on his face.

Everyone was silently watching the scene folding outside until Bradford suddenly shoved Heron into the vortex. Dickie wasn’t able to hear everything they said, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t a part of the plan based on how upset the two girls got.

“MOM!”

“NO!!!”

They yelled out and cradled the screen which had turned to just noise.

The girl that was tied to Gyro spoke up. “Wait, he’s gonna get rid of his own team, too?!”

“Do you know how replaceable clones are?” Gyro responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The two little girls turned towards them looking somber and Dickie finally started to realize what was happening. Those little girls must’ve been misguided clones of the other little girl that looked just like them. The one the triplets called Webby.

She still didn’t know what this all had to do with her grandma or with her. Why had Bradford needed her to get that weird piece of paper? Was that the Papyrus that he yelled about before killing Heron?

“Bradford’s lying! Mom told us the story of the Papyrus of Binding. It can only be found by a direct descendant of Scrooge!” the red triplet explained. “I didn’t find it!”

“Me neither!”

“Nah-uh!”

Webby looked confused. “But then...why did Bradford try to have me find it?” She swung around for a moment. “I’m not...I mean...what Granny told me earlier…”

The boys looked at each other. “What did she tell you?”

“That I’m not really her granddaughter…” Webby said sadly, staring down at the floor. “That she found me as a baby in F.O.W.L. headquarters. And Bradford said I was made by F.O.W.L. But...why?”

A heavily-accented voice filled the room with a sing-song response. “Well, obviously they were trying to create a descendant of Scrooge McDuck!”

Everyone stared at the man holding the harmonica and he looked back as if he hadn’t said something strange. “What?”

“So you’re saying…” Huey’s face contorted through a hundred expressions as he put his thoughts together. “May and June are made from Webby and...Webby is made from...Uncle Scrooge?”

Webby’s mouth was hanging open. “Bless me bagpipes…”

“Wait, so, like, does that make Webby Scrooge’s daughter?” Dewey mumbled. “Then why didn’t the Papyrus appear for her?”

“I guess the Papyrus didn’t count it,” Huey said. “If Webby is a genetically modified clone, then I suppose she isn’t technically a descendant.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that they have the Papyrus!” Webby yelped. “So then...how did…?”

Louie’s eyes widened and he turned the group of boys around to look back at Dickie. She knew she needed to say something but felt awkward interrupting during this moment of revelations for their family, but she was starting to come to a conclusion of her own and that needed her full attention.

“Your name is...Dickie, right?”

Gyro looked between Louie and Dickie and almost jumped when he realized what was happening.

“Yeah...um…” Dickie mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“You look a lot like our Aunt Goldie,” Louie continued. The other kidnapees in the room gasped, Gyro and Von Drake excluded, and Louie nodded feeling very confident in his conclusion.

“...Aunt Goldie, huh?” She looked up at Louie and grinned sheepishly. “To me, she’s just...Grandma Goldie.”

“WHAT?!” Huey shouted, shaking the boys around. “Grandma like...like grandma grandma? Goldie O’Gilt?!”

“...yeah.”

Webby was staring at her so intensely and Dickie couldn’t look back. “So...did the Papyrus appear to you?”

Dickie nodded after a moment of hesitation. “He didn’t tell me what it was! I was just following orders so he wouldn’t kill anybody!”

Gyro let out a loud, inhuman noise. “You’ve been related to Scrooge this entire time and never thought to mention it?”

“Well I-I didn’t know!” Dickie yelled, struggling against the rope around her. “She always told me she didn’t know who my grandpa was!”

The kids all looked at Louie, knowing he had a special relationship with Goldie and might have more insight on this situation than the rest of them. He just shook his head. “I’m sure Aunt Goldie had her reasons for keeping this from Uncle Scrooge.”

“Or maybe she...she really didn’t know!” Dickie chimed in. “Just ‘cause this Bradford guy figured it out doesn’t mean Granny knew, right?”

“Oh, she definitely knew,” Von Drake said suddenly, making everyone look at him again. He seemed to have all the answers that no one else did. “Sure, Goldie likes to have fun, but she’d never carry a baby to term unless it was ol’ Scrooge McDuck’s, no doubt about that.”

“...how can you possibly be so sure about that?” Gyro said with a judgemental glare. The girl between them grimaced.

Von Drake opened his mouth to answer, but then stared at the gaggle of children in front of him and quickly shut his beak. “Ah...well. Just, ah, take my word for it.”

Dickie frowned and stared down at the floor. “So...what? I’m...Scrooge McDuck’s granddaughter? And that’s why they brought me here and tied me up? This is kind of insane, you guys know that, right?”

“Considering I just found out I’m a genetically modified clone of your grandpa…” Webby started, pouting her beak. “I think it’s not the craziest thing we learned today.”

“...that’s a good point.”

“Hey!” Dewey spoke up, spinning the boys around. “Does this make you Webby’s niece?”

Dickie and Webby looked at each other curiously. “I never imagined myself with an aunt that’s, like, half my age.”

Webby smiled awkwardly at the older girl and started to respond when her clones finally spoke up after staying silent for so long.

“So that’s it? That’s why we were made? So Bradford could find some dumb piece of paper and get rid of us?!” May shouted, staring down at her hands.

“...we weren’t even good enough to do that. We never have been.”

Dickie watched the girls talking to each other as Webby went into a little rant about family, and leaned back against the wall behind her. Sure, alright, she was technically Scrooge McDuck’s family. But that was just through blood. She definitely didn’t feel like his family. She didn’t even know him.

Knowing that her grandma kept this from her made Dickie feel like she wasn’t even a part of the family she knew. Of course families kept secrets from each other. Even the family in front of her - as much as they loved each other and kept each other strong, they clearly had a lot of secrets that’d just come out in the last day. Maybe she shouldn’t be so picky. At least she didn’t just learn she’s a clone of the richest guy on earth.

“Please...help us save our family,” Webby finished, and the two other girls looked at each other for a moment before smiling and reaching out to undo their knots.

#ducktales #dickie duck #webby vanderquack #gyro gearloose #ludwig von drake #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #may duck #june duck #gandra dee #carrofics #art #the golden heir #yes this is unconnected to my other dickie duck verses yes she and gyro are still friends #here i imagine he taught a class at duckburg u when he was struggling to get funding #scroldie

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waveypedia · 3 years

Text

Leaving the Nest

Companion piece to The Family We Make (can be read in any order)

Ao3

Granny’s posture is as immaculate as always, but her knuckles grip the pan just a little too tight. To an outsider, she would seem the perfect picture of serenity, but Webby knows the tells that give her away too well.

Of course she does. Granny is Webby’s favorite person in the entire world.

Webby’s family has grown and grown over the last few years, and she wouldn’t trade that for the world. But if it came down to it, Granny is more her family than anyone else. Even the boys. Even Dad.

“Dear, I think we should talk about… the other day,” Granny trails off, awkward and lame. It would be disorienting to see Granny, normally so put-together and articulate, struggling with words. But a couple days ago, Webby saw her chained and captured, crying and beaten, forced to spill her darkest secrets and then knocked out. Manipulated. Nothing Granny does can faze her in quite the same way.

Webby takes a deep breath. “I… I think so too,” she says. “But, honestly, I don’t have anything to say. You’re my Granny.”

Granny’s shoulders slump in relief before she catches herself, her decades of SHUSH training snapping in, and she reorients herself to her ever-present poker face.

“I’m not, you know,” Granny says quietly, her voice full of shame. Webby stiffens, and glances away before Granny can see the tears pooling in her eyes. “I- I stole you from a SHUSH compound. The photos you have of your parents were a lie. Just another lie among many.”

“I don’t care,” Webby snaps, with more anger in her voice than she intended. But as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realizes that she truly does feel that anger. Not towards Granny herself, but towards the notion that Granny isn’t her grandmother.

“You’re my grandmother,” Webby declares passionately. “I don’t care if you’re not related to me. I don’t care if I’m a clone of Dad. You stole me from a FOWL compound because you cared about me from the moment we met. You gave up your entire life and a career you’d been working towards for decades for me. You raised me. You locked yourself in the mansion to keep me safe. You’re my grandmother.”

“I’m happy to hear that, dear,” Granny says in the softest of whispers. “More than you could ever know.” Webby thinks she hears Granny’s voice catch, but she can’t be certain.

“But I lied to you, even after I promised I wouldn’t,” Granny continues, her tone more subdued. She crosses her hands in her lap, making a controlled effort to smooth them out. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

Webby reaches forward and takes her grandmother’s hand in both of hers. “I do,” she agrees. Granny’s head snaps up and she stares at Webby, eyes wide. Webby shrugs nonchalantly, shoulders loose, emulating Louie’s calculated facade of easy calm without realizing it. “But that’s not the kind of person I am, Granny.”

Webby glances away, pursuing her lips. She can’t bear to watch Granny’s face twist in pain. “I… I am frustrated that you lied to me and broke your promise,” she says slowly, haltingly, choosing her words carefully. She’s walking a thin line, basically a tightrope with no net, of expressing her feelings and not upsetting her Granny. “Just don’t do it again, please.”

Granny’s face softens. “Of course, Webby dear. No more secrets.”

She reaches out to hug Webby, and Webby obliges, but she says stiff. “That’s what you said last time,” Webby mutters into Granny’s shoulder. Her words are almost too soft to be heard, but judging by the way Granny stiffens, she does.

Granny pulls back, her hands still on Webby’s shoulders. She opens her mouth a few times, frantically searching for words, some kind of placating promise that she didn’t already break.

“You’re right. Of course,” Granny acquiesces at last, hanging her head. Strands of grey hair drip out of her bun by the pull of gravity. Webby swallows thickly, bile pooling in her throat. Granny is reacting perfectly, yet all she does is remind Webby of when they were stuck together in a dark FOWL interrogation room, a wall of pain and deception painfully thick between them.

Webby reaches out a small hand to touch Granny’s shoulder. “Granny, please,” she whispers. She’s not sure if Granny understands the true meaning behind her plea in its entirety, but she pulls herself back together nonetheless. For a few minutes, silence hangs between them. It’s not a comfortable silence, but it’s not stifling, either. It’s just… anticipatory.

“I can’t simply promise that I won’t lie to you anymore,” Granny says at last. Her voice is quiet and subdued, but honest and vulnerable. It’s open in a way Granny rarely is. “But I will do better from now on. I’ll prove my sentiments through actions, not empty promises.”

Webby smiles gratefully. It’s not her usual wide, face-splitting grin, but it’s soft and vulnerable, with layers and meaning behind it. “Thanks. I… I want to know things. About SHUSH. Classified things. The parts of my past you could never tell me, and new information, too.”

Granny’s gaze shoots away. “I-I can’t,” she replies immediately, and Webby’s heart drops. It must show in her face, because Granny’s own twists with guilt.

“I- Well- I suppose I did just promise to, didn’t I,” Granny says, half to herself, with a small chuckle. There’s little humor behind it, but it’s fond. “I will do my best, Webbigail. But please understand that there is some SHUSH information that is simply beyond my classification to give you.”

“I understand,” Webby says simply. “But the information you can give me… I want to know, Granny.”

Granny’s fists clench and unclench in her lap. Webby knows how uncomfortable and out of her depth she must feel. She protected Webby with her life for years by hiding these secrets, and it takes time to undo such habits. But she’s trying, and that’s all that Webby cares about.

“Do you remember the day I met the boys?” Webby asks, her voice lighter and more casual than she feels. There’s a pit of fear steadily growing in her stomach, but her voice is blessedly steady.

Granny’s smile is small but fond. “You snuck out,” she replies, a hint of reproach in her voice, but no malice. It’s a wound long since healed, leaving only a soft scar as a reminder that it existed at all. “You ignored my number one rule and left the mansion for the very first time.”

“Yeah, and it was new and scary,” Webby replies lightly, ignoring the jab. “But you let me go, because you knew it was for the best. Because I was growing up.”

“Because Mr. McDuck could keep you safe,” Granny adds pointedly, but she’s smiling, if a bit pained.

“Yeah, and he did! I’m fine, Granny. Besides, I can keep myself safe.”

“Tell that to the you that landed yourself in FOWL headquarters with all your allies captured and no real clue what was in store for you,” Granny quips. “My worst nightmare, come alive right in front of my eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Webby mutters, dropping her gaze to her feet. “But hey, if you’d told me the truth, maybe I wouldn’t have been so misinformed.”

Granny dips her head. “You make a good point. I concede that one.”

“Anyway, that’s just what this is like,” Webby continues. “It’s a big change. But it’s a necessary one. I’m ready for this, Granny. You are too. And in time, this’ll feel completely normal, and we’ll have forgotten what it was like to live like we are.”

Granny is silent for a few moments. Webby glances up, nervous, only to find Granny smiling proudly, and wiping a small tear away under her glasses.

“Webby, dear, you are so wise,” she says, her voice thick. Webby’s heart clenches. “Aren’t I the one supposed to give you the deep, heartfelt talks and inspire you, and not the other way around?”

Webby gives her a small smile. “You’ve done it before, Granny. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Granny sniffles rather uncharacteristically. Without warning, she lunges forward and scoops Webby up in a tight hug. “Oh, my dear,” Granny says, her voice choked with tears. “You are just lovely, you know that? How did I ever get so lucky to have you for a granddaughter?”

“Well, it’s partly because of you,” Webby says, smiling into her grandmother’s back. “You raised me.”

Granny nods into Webby’s shoulder. “And it was lovely.”

When Granny finally pulls back, she tugs Webby back to face her, her hands on Webby’s shoulders. “You’re growing up,” she says thickly. “Oh, Webbigail, I am so proud of you.”

Webby beams at her grandmother. “I’m proud of you, too.”

“Oh,” Granny says thickly, and hugs her again.

HEY REMEMBER WHEN I SAID I WOULD WRITE THE CONVERSATION WITH WEBBY AND BEAKLEY WELL HERE IT IS :D (rip my poor math homework i’ll be up all night finishing that ugh)

i wrote this in like,, 45 minutes because i had to get the few sentences i was thinking about down before i forgot them and just,, kept going lmao. rip the webby & lena convo story i’ve been chipping away at that is going absolutely nowhere rn. i’ll get to it

webby and beakley’s relationship is SO important to me. beakley literally gave up everything for webby. it’s so obvious how much beakley cares about her, but also,,, they had this entire episode about trusting each other and then beakley promises not to keep any more secrets from webby and she has absolutely zero intention of keeping it. that always gets me. especially since webby is one of the most trusting characters of all time and would never doubt her grandmother of all people after they made up. i’m not salting on beakley or anything, but it’s very interesting to think about going forward since beakley will obviously try to do better, especially once the major factor keeping her quiet is gone, but she really doesn’t have a leg to stand on since she broke her promise. definitely an interesting concept we should talk about more

we talk a lot about how scrooge never apologized to webby after telling her she wasn’t family in last crash of the sunchaser and she immediately forgave him. scrooge def should’ve apologized but it’s interesting to note that webby basically can’t and won’t hold a grudge for the life of her, at least when it comes to the people she cares about (she definitely can with goldie DJDFKLSLDF). it’s sweet. i imagine beakley feels incredibly guilty after the finale but webby’s just ready to move on and to enter a new chapter of their lives where they’re completely honest and open with each other. i don’t imagine she’s not upset at the deception, but she’s not mad.

also man that interrogation scene? that probably traumatized webby. man. what a shitty situation to be in i can’t even imagine.

beakley and webby’s relationship will always mean the world to me, especially with the added context of their backstory. beakley literally saw one (1) baby and was like i’m about to end this man’s (me) whole career LMAO. it’s incredible.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #webby vanderquack #bentina beakley #mrs beakley #dt spoilers #ducktales spoilers #the last adventure

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swanpyart · 3 years

Text

The Short Lived Adventures of RAPH and Casey Jones

This is an old pic that was made for a zine that was never published. So I’ll leave it here. It might not ever be finished, but I think the story is decent enough on its own.

Part 1:

Casey was completely fine by herself.

Sure, her parents never really paid her any mind, but she never needed them to; Casey was a fast learner, and was able to cook, clean, and do pretty much anything the adults could do.

“Look!” Ten-year-old Casey held up an English vocabulary test, with an “100%” written in the corner in cursive. “I passed!”

“Honey,” her mother barely looked at her from her seat at her desk, “One hundred percent is the bare minimum. Anything less means you practically failed.”

There was always an empty space in the bleachers whenever Casey had a hockey game. She would cross her arms as she waited for her parents to pick her up and watched as the people in the audience rushed down and hugged their own children after a game, regardless of whether they won or lost. When her parents finally showed up, she sat in the car quietly as they drove.

Casey spent almost everyday after school at her Granny’s while her parents were at work. The old woman’s house was always warm, mostly because she was always baking; cakes, cookies, and especially her famous brownies - made with a special ingredient.

At twelve years old, Casey had failed a math test for the first time, and burst into tears as she walked through her Granny’s front door. “I’m a failure!”

“Sweetie, everyone fails every now and then,” her Granny wiped a tear from Casey’s cheek and got out an antique mixing bowl, “but I can tell you tried really hard. That’s what matters; that you don’t stop trying your best.”

Afterwards, Casey and her Granny spent the afternoon baking brownies, and that was when she was granted the knowledge of the secret ingredient. She swore her secrecy and never told anyone.

Of course, that was a while ago; her grandmother had passed away sometime afterwards. Her parents reacted with more emotion when Casey had shaved her head than when they attended the funeral.

They also seemed only mildly surprised when, at thirteen years old, Casey was accepted into the Foot Clan and never came back home.

There, Casey promised to herself to show the world just how much of a not-failure she really is! Even if she had to work with the most vile Clan in all the world to achieve it and release the Shredder, the ultimate evil, unto the world. She had worked above and beyond to get where she is, and no one could stop her!

At least, that’s what she thought before the Shredder disappeared, and with him, the Clan’s purpose. And way before those strange, overgrown turtles with no sense of honor or discipline showed up and destroyed their chances, time and time again.

Suddenly, the group she had worked with since she was a preteen, and the closest thing she had to any family, were dragged away by outside obligations she never understood.

Foot Brute and Lieutenant were better parents than her own, but, in the end, they were her bosses and coworkers, and no replacement for a family.

Sure, everyone else may have given up, but she would stay committed to the Clan’s ultimate vision, even if she had to use her dear Granny’s recipe for evil. Grandma CJ’s Brownies were an absolute bust, but she had to try something.

Then, she met this weird, giant, smelly rat with a Japanese accent dressed like a teenager who somehow turned out to be the father of those overgrown turtles.

And, as weird as it was, despite not even being human, he sat next to her and heard what she had to say; and, for those few minutes, it was almost like being next to her Granny again.

“Just because you failed doesn’t make you a failure.”

If she had been smarter, maybe she should have listened a bit harder to what he was saying. If she had been smarter, maybe she would have calmed down and talked to the girl that was beating up the Girl Scouts. There were so many opportunities to just talk.

But then the Shredder was restored, and she really thought it would be the return of her Clan’s glory. Even as she looked at the beaten down forms of her previous bosses. Even as she saw Splinter and his family struggling for their lives. Even as she realized winning would mean the end of everything, including her.

There was no more Clan. She was still alone. She was just alone with a giant evil suit of demon armor.

But, now, she wasn’t.

Even after everything, Splinter offered her an invitation into their...

Family.

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He had invited her to the lair a few weeks after the fight with Shredder.

“I’m working at the Foot Shack. After my former clan disbanded, they got bought out by another company, Splinter, sir.” She squeezed the mug of tea in her hands.

“Just ‘Splinter’ is fine,” Splinter had opened a bag of chips, and was reclining in his seat. The turtles were out with April at the arcade, taking a break from repairing the lair. “Where are you staying? Do you have a place to live?”

“Yes, I actually have my own apartment.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Splinter sighed. “Listen, Casey, I know that it’s probably hard having to... uh, sort things out by yourself-”

“What?! No, I’m fine!” She flapped her hand dismissively. “My life is fantastic! It’s definitely not in complete shambles after losing everything I know.” She blinked, realizing that she overshared, and collected herself. “I’m doing great.”

“I-I never said it was in shambles,” He massaged his temple with two clawed fingers, his beady eyes squinting in frustration. “Look, all I am saying is that, if you ever need help, or if you ever get lonely and just want to talk, I am here. And my sons would probably say the same thing. You’re a Hamato now, at least in spirit.”

Casey’s eyes widened, then she looked down. “Thank you, but I’m a very independent person. I’ll be sure to not bug you unless it’s an emergency.”

Splinter nodded, but he’d dealt with enough children to see that Casey was a bit lonely. Still, he said nothing.

For a good while, Casey stuck to what she said; she didn’t really come by the lair unless she really felt the need to or if they needed an extra set of hands with repairing.

But… occasionally, she found herself asking questions. She found out Michelangelo loved cooking, and somehow he got her to agree to bake her Granny’s brownies together. She realized that Leonardo wasn’t just annoying in battle, but all the time, and that she started getting more and more used to it, even occasionally laughing along. She found out while playing video games with them, that Donnatello was just as vicious as her, and that April was equally as competitive.

And Raph, well… they didn’t talk very much. But he seemed nice every time they spoke.

But she kept her distance. After all, it was better if she didn’t get too attached.

She occasionally goes down to the local hockey rink and plays a few rounds with total strangers, and usually gets kicked out due to a combo of delinquent children and complaining parents.

So, here she is, lying on her bed, staring blankly at her phone, with a half eaten sandwich laying on her chest, and old sweatpants that she’s been wearing for a week because her clothes are in the laundromat. For a ninja-slash-ex-cult-member, her life had fallen into a fairly mundane pattern.

Everything could always be worse. So why did she still feel like such a failure?

And for some reason, Casey found herself at the sewer grate. She didn’t even know why she came here, really.

She was about to turn back when a feminine voice spoke from behind her. “Hey, CJ, what’s up?”

She spun around. It was April.

“I was just coming to visit.” Casey tensed up. She hadn’t expected to run into someone else.

“Oh, me too!” She opened up the grate, and started climbing down the ladder. “You coming or what?”

Casey gulped. She couldn’t back out now.

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Raph paced the lair, quietly groaning as he tapped his chin.

It had been about six months since the fight with Shredder, but another challenge had presented itself; cleaning up the lair after it had been almost completely demolished. Thankfully, with Draxum’s help and Donnie being able to scavenge some old tech that didn’t get destroyed and whip up some devices for reconstruction, the place was finally fixed up after about a month and a half.

Now what? Well, in Leo’s words, it was the time for “rest and relaxation.”

That was pretty easy for the rest of his family to do.

Leo’s entire existence hinged on “rest and relaxation”; Mikey has an assortment of hobbies to keep him busy; Donnie had a tight schedule trying to repair all of his broken inventions; April was trying to adjust to all of the changes at school due to all of New York recovering from the recent Battle Nexus catastrophe; and Splinter, of course, was parked in front of the TV, finally at peace after the Shredder was defeated, and helping himself to milk and cake.

Raph should be relaxing, or at least recovering from all that’s happened to them. The fight with the Shredder was the most stressful and terrifying time of their lives. They lost their Gram-Gram, and even if she was now able to rest with their ancestors and her father, it still stung.

But it’s been such a long time since he’s been in a real fight, and he can tell he’s going a little bit stir-crazy.

Of course, the turtles would spend a lot of time out of the lair; but whenever Raph gets a call on the phone, he finds himself hoping it’s some kind of an emergency, only to turn out to be Todd calling them about the puppy farm, or Leo pestering Senior Hueso with an order for pick-up. It seemed like even their strongest enemies have gone on hiatus as well; there was no word of Big Mama as of late, and every other major bad guy they fought recently seemed to have been exhausted by the Shredder ordeal as well.

Raph’s usual sparring partner, Frankenfoot, is absolutely wonderful, but fighting him wasn’t exactly what Raph had in mind; it was fun, but couldn’t really be compared to the thrill of a real fight.

“Come on, guys,” Raph stood in front of the screen, blocking Leo and Mikey’s view of a Jupiter Jim rerun while Pops was passed out on the couch, snoring, a bag of chips lying open on his stomach. “We’ve been cooped up in the lair for a million years. Who wants to go wreck some bad guys?” He pounded his fist in his opposite hand for emphasis.

“Raph, I can’t see!” Mikey waved his hand in a dismissive way as he said it, and leaned to peek around his older brother and continue watching the screen.

“Ugh, we’ve been over this,” Leo exasperated from his spot on the ground, on his stomach and his head resting on his propped arms. “No crime fighting while we’re on vacation! This is the time to chillax, my guy.”

“How long are we gonna be chillaxing, exactly?” Raph put his hands on his hips, an inquisitive look on his face, even if, deep down, he knew what response he’d get.

“I don’t know, until some other crazy evil mutant guy tries to take over the city? There’s bound to be another one of those eventually.”

“What, so we just wait until some evil mastermind has some evil plan and gets all of New York in their evil clutches? It’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Raph tried to summon the energy he usually exudes when he attempts to make a rousing speech, but the rolling eyes and groans from his youngest brothers quickly made its effect futile.

“You know,” Donnie said from the back of the room, the other three having not noticed him walk in, “We did, oh, I don’t know, save all of New York City, take down Big Mama’s Battle Nexus scheme, and, most importantly, defeat our bloodline’s greatest enemy?!”

Raph furrowed his brow, his sharp fang digging into his lower lip.

“We deserve an indefinite break, and I need it, because I actually refuse to do any fighting until I have all my stuff back online. I’d love to fight with only my impeccable mind, but let’s be realistic.” The sandwich in his hand was brought to his face and he swallowed it whole. Donnie knew he had made an excellent point.

“Don’t worry,” Mikey beamed, tucking his arms and legs into his shell, “We’ll get back into the groove of things before you know it!”

“Yeah,” Leo agreed, “Think of it as, like, you know, self-care. Sometimes, you need a break from what you’re used to. Now, can you move out of the way?”

Raph sulked out of his siblings’ view of the screen and sunk into a beanbag, next to the couch their father was snoring in.

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“Hey, guys!” The turtles turn around to see April and... Foot Recruit walk in.

Raph didn’t really know what to think of Foot Recruit, or Casey, as she preferred to be called. Pops insisted that she wasn’t dangerous anymore, but it was hard for him not to be a little wary; I mean, come on, she used to work with the Shredder!

She’d been over only a handful of times over the past few months, usually to speak with Splinter and Mikey.

“Casey! April!” Mikey stuck his hands out of his shell in joy. He ran over and hugged them both. “It’s been a while.”

“Hey, Apes. And, hi to you too, Casey.” Leo kicked his legs up behind him.

“Above ground has been pretty hectic,” April leaned on Donnie’s shoulder as she spoke, “Everyone has been freaking out about disappearing from New York for a few days. Relaxing on a yacht sure beats coming back to the city in shambles. And finding another job is so hard when everyone’s paranoid we’re gonna all disappear again. Ugh, I wish we did, then I’d get another break!”

“Well, if you want a job, you can help me repair what’s left of my s- I mean, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. The Shredder tore him apart.” Donnie put his hands on his hips and relaxed his posture to cover his slip-up.

“Aw, your cute robot son isn’t repaired yet?” April teased.

As the two bickered while walking towards the lab, Raph looked back at Casey, who was standing by the entrance, visibly tense.

“Hey, Casey. Um, why are you here?” Raph asked innocently, not realizing how rude he sounded.

“Smooth,” Leo chimed in unhelpfully.

Before he could take it back, Casey spoke, with a glare on her face. “I’m here for the orange one.”

Raph blinked. “Huh?”

“We’re gonna bake brownies!” Mikey clarified, his chest puffed out with pride. “Casey decided that I’m worthy of learning an old family recipe.”

“Yes!” Casey grinned, in a way that was far too menacing for someone talking about brownies. “I decided that, as a new member of your- um…” clan? Group? Committee?

“...Family?” Raph assisted.

“Uh, yes, that,” she turned shy for a few brief seconds, only to return to her previous bravado, pumping her fist in the air, “I will honor you with the knowledge of my grandmother’s most nefarious secret!”

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Raph peeked into the kitchen as Mikey and Casey got to work. Of course, he trusted Mikey; but he had a hunch that Casey might be up to something.

Or maybe the boredom was just making him a bit more paranoid than usual.

Dirty dishes, half-full cups and brownie mix were strewn about the kitchen counter. Whatever this recipe pertained, it must be pretty intense.

“And, now, for the final ingredient. This one was given to me by my grandmother.” Casey pulled a canister of brown powder. She leaned over and whispered close to Mikey’s head. Whatever she was saying, Raph couldn’t hear.

Mikey gasped. “PUMPKIN SPICE?!”

Casey shushed him, then yelled herself. “It’s a secret, remember?!” She poured a generous amount into the mixing bowl full of batter.

The two of them looked so happy baking together, and Raph felt a pit of guilt in his stomach for assuming the worst. He really needed to chill out.

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“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Leo sunk into the bean bag chair, “You’re a fan of Lou Jitsu, right?”

“That is correct.” Casey was sitting stiffly in her seat. Her expressions were intense, like she was about to strangle someone, but Raph had realized pretty quickly that this was just her default.

“You have all of the movies memorized?”

“Of course! I used his guidelines for self improvement in my schemes to take over the world! I mean, that’s not really relevant now, but-”

“And you said you spend almost all of your available money on Lou Jitsu merch?”

“I hide them all so my guests don’t see.”

“And, yet, you’ve never watched a Jupiter Jim film? The Jupiter Jim, his longtime franchise rival and co-star in Jupiter Jim Vs Lou Jitsu?” Leo clutched at his chest, as he held up the DVD case of the movie he was talking about for emphasis.

“Leo,” Raph warned, looking up from his phone, “don’t make her feel bad-”

Leo chuckled. “Oh ho ho, trust me I won’t. I’m definitely putting on a Jupiter Jim Vs. The Galaxy Riders Part 1 and Part 2, and you are going to love it!”

Casey cackled ominously. “You really think this ‘Jupiter Jim-’” She made quotation marks with her fingers for emphasis, “-can measure up to the greatness that is Lou Jitsu? Fine, I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Raph ended up dozing off after the fifth film, and woke up to see Casey and his brother still openly debating whether Lou Jitsu would beat Jupiter Jim if they were both in a desert completely unarmed and at full strength.

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“I’m not scared of much,” Donnie mentions offhandedly one day, while Raph was doing a bicep curl, “but she -”

He points to Casey eating a sandwich like a hyena, while April sat next to her, texting.

“She terrifies me to no end.”

Donnie’s strange relationship with their new friend took Raph a while to comprehend. Then it became clear as day. If anyone could match Casey in moral ambiguity, it was his immediate younger brother.

“I made you a little gift,” the softshell grinned smugly, as he handed Casey what looked like a metal hockey stick.

“Oh, um,” Casey's eyes were wide, and a little watery, and her lips were in a warbly smile. “Thank you… no one’s ever given me something so nice.”

Donnie grinned. “Press the button on the side.”

When she did, the widest end of the hockey stick flipped open like a lighter, and a stream of fire shot out of the tip. Casey’s tears of joy gave way to maniacal laughter. “Those kids at the hockey rink won’t know what hit ‘em!”

Donnie joined her in glee, his eyes and teeth shining menacingly in the light of the flames. Raph watched in mild horror (He was plenty used to Donnie’s antics), at least until the fire alarm sounded and they were all drenched from the sprinklers.

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Another month had passed since Casey started coming around, and Raph seemed like the only one in the lair who hadn’t quite jived with her yet. Sure, his suspicion had pretty much subsided, and he liked her company plenty, but the two of them hadn’t really clicked.

However, he noticed some slight changes over time. Casey’s eyes had bags under them which were more obvious in brighter lights, and sometimes she fell asleep on April’s shoulder (and snored louder than his Pops, somehow). Sometimes, there were hints of sadness on her face, even when she was laughing along with everyone.

Raph didn’t mention it for fear of being rude, but he couldn’t help his concern. After all, if she was upset, she probably wouldn’t mention to him all of the people.

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Hockey wasn’t a sport Raph and his brothers knew much about, but he couldn’t help but get excited as Casey gushed about it, holding tightly onto the treasured tech-hockey stick Donnie had gifted her, wearing a huge grin on her face.

The two humans and four turtles (disguised as humans, of course) were just entering the hockey rink. The hall to the auditorium was cold and echoey.

“I come here every other Friday. The regulars here know my face, and they fear it. It’s ‘cause they know I’ll decimate everyone in my path!” She pumped her fist as she spoke, a sinister grin on her face, before she caught herself and straightened out. “Well, I do until the rink’s supervisors kick me out for making a scene and being mean to children.”

“Don’t sweat it, Casey,” Donnie spoke up, “You’re not the only one whose been kicked out of establishments for scaring kids.”

“Uh huh, exactly!” April agreed a bit too eagerly, and Raph looked back to see the distant, traumatized look in her eyes, and he could tell she was remembering the screams of children and the sinister laughter of animatronics at a certain pizza joint.

The six teens got to the rink’s auditorium, and put their bags down on the bleachers. There weren’t too many people around.

Mikey whistled. “This place is massive!”

As Raph put on a maroon hoodie and pulled on his skates, Casey rolled onto the rink, over to a huddle of teenagers wearing hockey gear. “Hey!”

One of the teenagers - a boy with messy brown hair covering his eyes - responded. “Oh, you again. Guys, look, it’s that crazy girl from last week.”

“The name is Cassandra Jones!” Casey pulled down the hockey mask she was wearing and held up her stick. “I’m challenging you to another round! Did you really think you’d escape my wrath?!”

The kids started laughing. “You challenge us every time we’re here, and you always lose. What makes today so different?”

Casey laughed. “Well, for one thing, I’ve got my own team now, so you better get ready to go crying to your mommy!”

The group hadn’t stopped laughing, even as Casey walked back to the bleachers. Raph raised a brow. “Uh, what was all of that?”

She looked down. “Those are my enemies,” She clenched her fists, “A group of jerks who manage to beat me every time I come here.”

Raph paused for a second. The look on her face was determined, but had a hint of sadness to it. Raph understood how she felt; wanting to fight, but getting beaten down time and time again. He’d realized a while ago that he didn’t have to do it alone; and neither did she.

Raph put an arm around Casey’s shoulders, and cupped a hand to his mouth, shouting to the teenagers from across the rink. “Hey, knuckleheads! You get ready for a match; you’re not just dealing with Cassandra Jones anymore! you’re dealing with the Mad Dogs, now!”

“Yeah, right!” One of the kids, a girl with a ponytail, shouts back.

He turned to face his brothers and April, who were sitting on the bleachers, their attention already on Raph from his shouting. “Hey, those guys over there are saying we’re gonna lose! What do we say to that?!”

“Oh ho ho, I like this energy!” Leo stood up on the bleachers, joining in the hype. April and Mikey stood up beside him.

“Yeah, you chumps aren’t even at our level!”

“Ya’ll ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Donnie stood up slowly, his arms crossed from the cold. “Yeah, we’ll definitely beat you! But-” He switched to his normal volume, “let’s not make promises we can’t keep.”

Raph dismissed him, and looked at Casey, who was smiling. Together, they were able to beat the Shredder. This would be a piece of cake.

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“Are we done? My mom is here to pick me up,” One of the kids, a girl with pigtails, mentioned as she walked towards her belongings on the bleachers.

Raph was gasping for air from his spot on the cold ground. Hockey was hard. Like, really, really hard.

In hindsight, their loss made sense; this was the turtles and April’s first time playing hockey, and even Casey, who’d been playing since she was a kid, wasn’t able to beat these kids. They really were just that good.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” Leo had fallen in front of the goal, two huge purple bruises visible on his face; one on his forehead, and the other under his eye, popping out from his green skin and red birthmarks.

Mikey was crying on his knees, while April patted his shell, cussing out one of the kids who she felt pushed him too hard. Even as the kid was walking away. “And another thing-”

Donnie lay flat nearby, looking like a purple stain on the white shiny floor. He was never good at sports, but he tried. Geez, it was almost more embarrassing, with just how hard he tried.

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They found a vending machine, and after Raph gave Leo a cold soda can to hold over his bruises, he walked past Casey, sitting with her head in her hands.

“Hey,” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and looked around to see if the others were watching. April, Mikey and Donnie were going off about losing the match, while Leo sat dejectedly in the corner, nursing his injuries. “Are you alright?”

She looked up, tears in her eyes, and her lower lip wobbling. She hastily rubbed at her face with her sleeve, her eyeliner smearing. “I’m...I’m fine.”

“Is this about us losing?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” She sighed. “It’s a lot of different things- It’s just…”

She trailed off, and Raph sat down next to her on the bleacher. He realized this had definitely been bubbling up for a while. If only he’d talked to her sooner.

“Ugh, all I’ve ever wanted was to be a success. Taking over the world was everything for me- helping the Foot, working for the Shredder, making that whole brownie pyramid-scheme. But now? I don’t have anything. I’ve hit rock bottom. Now, I’m stuck in a stupid rivalry with a bunch of kids in a hockey rink.”

She began to cry again. “What am I going to do? Am I just doomed to be a failure?”

“Just ‘cause you’re not taking over the world doesn’t make you a failure. Most people just stick to regular, everyday stuff and they turn out fine.”

“It’s not just about taking over the world,” Casey sighed. “I don’t have a purpose. No Clan, no commitments, no future. It’s like everything I do is a failure. I’m a failure.”

Raph felt himself start to tear up, too. What she was saying felt way too familiar. “You’re not the only one whose failed.”

“Huh?”

“My Pops told us we were supposed to die in order to protect the Dark Armor. We failed to do that, but we realized how messed up that was, and we decided to do our own thing. And it totally worked out for us, ‘cause we ended up destroying Shred-face once and for all.”

He stood, wiping the small tears from the corners of his eyes. “Think about it. So what that you don’t got a purpose? I get it, but your ‘purpose’ was handed to you by those Foot-faces. What do you wanna do? What do you wanna succeed at?”

Casey sat quietly for a few moments, thinking, and Raph feared that he might have said something hurtful. He was never as savvy with people as Leo or Mikey.

Then she spoke. “I spent all of my life trying to be the best, even if it meant being the biggest bad guy in the world. Now, I want to be the best good guy!”

Her expression softened. “I guess what I really want - I want to stop people who were like me once. I want to stop evil people who want to control others. But...how?”

Raph thought. Then, an idea struck him. “You and me can team up!”

“For what?”

“I was a vigilante for a little while. I mean, I used to be, but I guess since I was already part of a team, and with the whole Shredder thing, I just sort of stopped. But, since my bros are on hiatus, you and me could fight crime undercover!”

Casey was looking at her lap, her head bowed. Raph cleared his throat. “I mean, only if you wanna, it’s just a suggestion-”

“That sounds amazing.” Casey looked up at him in awe, her dark eyes glossy with unshed tears. Suddenly, she stands up, and pumps a fist into the air. “Raph and Casey, the most feared vigilante duo in all of New York!”

“Yeah, Go big or go home!” Raph pounded his fist into his other hand in excitement.

“Oh me gosh, stop yelling!” The two look behind them to Leo, still holding the can to his face. He turned in the direction of his twin. “Donnie, get me another can! This one’s warm!”

Casey was giving him a big smile, a far cry from her previous mood. Raph smiled back. Finally, he’d be able to go out and fight crime again; and this time, he wouldn’t be at it alone.

#rottmnt #rottmnt raphael #rottmnt raph #rottmnt Casey jones #rottmnt casey #rottmnt foot recruit #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles

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lovecanbesostrange · 3 years

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since ouat never really cared about their werewolves, what do you think they can/can't do? I mean, if you could give their condition rules, what it would be like?

UUuuuuuuhhhhh, what a fun and delicious ask. The writers really never thought things through or gave us easy to understand lore. So, if I could have a say and make it all consistent? Here we go.

First up, the superspeed in human form goes. That is too much. Faster than average? For sure. Stronger as seen is fine by me. Let the wolves in humanform have an easy time to break bones, push others around and lift heavy things. Stamina surpassing the average human. And of course all the heightened senses as seen! Very important, everything is louder, smellier, brighter - very sensitive. (Can be used to overwhelm Ruby if need be. harrrrrr)

Something from the comics I'd be okay with is telepathy between wolves. That in their wolf form they can communicate with each other, not just with their animal noises, but telepathy. It's an interesting form of bond. But no communication with humans that way (also not in their human form). It's something that never mattered anyway, since Ruby is alone.

Now, for the most important thing that was glossed over - The Bite (tm). You can be born a wolf or you can be made one, so how does that work? The show tells us that Granny was bitten as a young girl and then the wolf came back and turned her. What does that mean? I propose that a wolf can't just bite anyone and *poof* now they're a wolf. There has to be a deliberate want behind. And let me go further, there has to be a connection between the wolf and the human. I'm not saying it has to be love, but familiarity, a need to add this human to your pack. And some form of willingness from the person being bitten.

Hear me out, outsiders will always talk about the Curse of the Werewolf. Because a person gets bitten, turns into a killing machine with fangs and claws during wolfstime. How horrible! The human family will say that someone was taken from them. But from the perspective of the new wolf, it's finding a new family, a new home, following the call of the wild, joining a pack. It's not easy and it breaks their heart a bit leaving behind what they know, but they will never be accepted in the human world again, right? They will be hunted. But they feel this deeper belonging as a Child of the Moon, it was in them before and when they met a wolf (maybe even in their human form, being drawn to something they couldn't explain)...

From the wolf perspective this is a gift. Marking someone is not be done lightly. And it happens only rarely. But when it does, it's the humans who get to tell the story and this is why werewolves are seen as beasts only. Well that and the unfortunate people being born a wolf, not knowing, having their tragic experiences like Red with Peter. Tragedy!!!

But obviously the bite isn't a curse, because curses can be broken with True Love (tm). Yes, Granny wasn't a fan of wolves, she saw ugly things and hoped her granddaughter would be spared. This is where my need for a Granny-centric episode comes on. Imagine meeting young Granny (imagine her having a canon name). @heartsways wrote something beautiful in her fic that I will now adopt as my headcanon. The reason Granny's wolf faded, apart from a few heightened senses, is that her husband died. So imagine a wolf dying and the ones he bit will not only lose the person, but also this gift. Angst! Layers! More tragedy! It's also why it so rarely happens, because the wolves understand that it is a high price to lose this life again like that. (It's also lifted somewhat from werewolf myths where you need to find the one who bit the person to lift the curse, but again, it's not a curse from the perspective of the wolves here.)

The other obvious thing - silver. Give me wolves that feel like almost indestructable killing machines. The skin so thick a normal sword will barely leave a mark, an arrow won't even stick. (A sharp blade with enough force should do damage, I mean, put a wolf under the guillotine and off that head goes.) But silver is their weakness. And while I am all for faster healing, let silver wounds carry between their forms, always. (Show me scars carry over in transformation.)

The wolf is strong and has many advantages, and since I believe in balance, the weakness against silver is within their human form. (All the jewelry Ruby wears? Lots of material, nothing silver though.) It's how somebody could try to find a wolf, having a silver coin or whatever, letting a suspect hold it and a wolf would react. Like a chemical burn. (Imagine Tamara and Greg doing that trick, that would be an amazing scene.)

Now, in the ideal world Ruby would been around for the whole show and to give her an arc, I'd introduce the concept that there are some werewolves, who master their shapeshifting abilities. Shifting independent of the moon.

Oh right, first I'd set this definite time frame for wolfstime. I'd give it the two nights before the full moon, full moon, and two nights after. So five nights of wolf fun. There.

But anyway, in S5 it's time to get Ruby an upgrade. She's confident in her powers and at peace with her wolf side. Which is key. For most even living in a pack, there is a lifelong struggle of the two sides. But Ruby is an expert now of living different lives, of seeing herself as a whole, made up of so many different ways she ever saw herself. Let there be a cunning shapeshifter around and give her a Big Damn Hero moment. Let her turn into a wolf when our beloved idiots are in dire need of help, give me proud wolf attacking to defend in brought daylight. It's super rare, but so is Ruby. (She should start flashing golden eyes every now and then from S4 onwards to build up to this.)

Other things - wolves are at an disadvantage against magic obviously, and yet maybe some spells don't work as easily against them. The whole strength can depend on the moon phase, like even as a human, they are a bit weaker during the new moon phase, so it's an ebb and flow that helps not being too powerful all the time. Explore that Ruby's sense of loyalty is part of her instinct package. (Girl will follow Snow into hell and back without question. Oh wait...) I'm totally here to add wolfsbane to the weakness list, because that's fun.

( @konako I’m tagging you, because if I’ve forgotten something, I’m sure you will remind me.)

#OUaT #Ruby Lucas #Granny Lucas #I have a few feelings about how to improve werewolf lore on that show...#anon ask

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elizabeethan · 3 years

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The Days We Defend (Will Turn To Gold)- Chapter 7

Everything is perfect, until it isn’t. Killian and Emma have spent months building a life together after finally defeating Neal and Gold, but when the Dark One dies and his power becomes untethered, everyone in Storybrooke is at risk, and some decisions may have lasting consequences.

Sequel to Walk With Me (I Think We’ll Find A Way)

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Read on Ao3

A/N: get ready for some smut my pals. Any predictions on what’s to come???

Thank you to my good pal @the-darkdragonfly for being an amazing beta!

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

“No need to feel threatened, Savior,” the old man says. “I am a friend to you and to your family.”

She steps away, closer to Killian, Corrine, and Henry, and says, “If you're a friend, then why don’t we know you?”

“A very good question indeed. You may not know me, but I assure you, I know you. Or at least, I know of you.”

The man begins walking down the path that leads to the street, away from Granny’s and towards their family, and Killian holds Corrine tighter and reaches for Emma’s hand. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“Wait,” Henry says suddenly; apparently the pieces are falling into place in his mind. “I know who he is, mom.”

“I’m sure you do, young man. Go on and tell her what you know.”

Emma turns to her son and looks at him expectantly, obviously still confused about what the bloody hell is going on here, until Henry says, “he’s the Apprentice. We need his help to remove the Darkness.”

The bearded man chuckles as he finally reaches them, extending a hand to Henry’s and shaking it kindly. “Very good, son. You’ve a clever boy here, Emma.”

“I know…” she says suspiciously, as if still not trusting this stranger. “How are you supposed to remove the Darkness from Regina?”

“Why, with your help, of course.”

~~~~

Emma’s been through a lot in the past few hours.

Breaking a curse with True Love’s Kiss, when she struggled to say the words aloud mere weeks ago, was weighing on her.

Knowing her daughter had been cursed and living in a convent, cared for by several strangers for weeks, was weighing on her.

Seeing the lengths to which her son’s other parents would go in order to reduce the time she spends with him, simply because they were upset with her, was weighing on her.

The confirmation that her son’s father would continue to attempt to destroy her life and the lives of her loved ones, despite being stopped from doing so several months prior, was weighing on her.

And being told that her magic, which she’s barely begun to hone, was what was going to solve all of their problems and remove the Darkness for good was the icing on the metaphorical cake.

All things considered, Killian thinks she’s handling things rather well. Corrine is sitting happily in her lap, hugging her mother close as she used to do after Emma had a long day at work, and he can see the stress melting from her shoulders. He hears her say, “I’ve missed you, Coco,” to which their daughter responds with a giggle, and Killian thinks all is right in the world.

Until the old man opens his bloody mouth, of course.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, your majesties?” he says to Emma’s parents, and that makes her ears perk up.

“You know each other?” she asks, stiffening visibly in her chair.

Her parents are silent, turning to each other with looks of horror in their eyes before they look back at their daughter. Queen Snow has tears trailing down her cheeks as she bounces baby Oliver in her arms. “Mom?” Emma asks, her voice breaking and her grip on her daughter tightening before she looks up at Killian desperately. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head unhelpfully, as if he were to have any information on why her parents suddenly became so mysterious. “Grandma, Grandpa, what’s he talking about?”

Upon being called by Henry, David shakes his head and turns back from his wife, then takes a seat across the table from Emma. Snow sits beside her husband, and Emma turns towards Killian, holding her hand out to him to request that he sit as well. Once he does, Snow and David take a deep inhale and begin to speak.

They tell Emma of a time before she was born, when they found out about their unborn child’s potential for great darkness. They tell her about how the Sorcerer's Apprentice was able to cast a spell in order to remove the potential for darkness from Emma. They tell her about how they did this at the expense of another.

Through their conversation, Emma is silent, holding onto Corrine for dear life until she wiggles away and fetches some of Oliver's toys to entertain herself, calling for her brother to play with her. When Killian chances a glance at Emma, the emerald in her eyes is shimmering through the tears threatening to fall, and he has to stop himself from wiping them away. But much to his surprise, she looks away from her parents with betrayal painted across her face and takes his hand again, squeezing it tightly as she sniffles.

“You… you did this… at the expense of someone else’s soul?” she curses out as a tear falls.

“Emma, we did what we thought we had to do to give you your best shot at goodness,” Snow tries to rationalize.

She holds his hand tighter. “All my life, no one has ever believed in me. I thought you were different, but you’re not!”

“No, no honey, it isn’t like that! We just wanted to do what we thought was best for you!”

“And you,” she says, turning in her seat and nearly dragging Killian to the ground as she goes. “You expect me to trust you enough to help us after what you did to me?”

The Apprentice nods somberly and says, “I understand your anger, Savior. But you must know, everything your parents did was by design.”

She scoffs, releasing Killian’s hand and standing as she shakes her head. “You may have removed my potential for darkness,” she says bitterly, “but you certainly didn’t remove darkness from my life. I still got screwed over more times than I can count. Endless abuse, horrible foster placements, Neal...” she trails off, then shakes her head again. Their faces sour at the reminder of their daughter’s turbulent past. “At least when I found you, I thought that everything you did was to protect me and to do what was best, so I could save everyone! Not so that you could save your own selves from having to deal with a monster of a daughter.”

“Emma—”

“Maybe you guys are the monsters here.”

“Emma!” Snow tries again, but she’s met with a raised hand silencing her.

“Killian, I'd like to go home. We can figure this all out tomorrow, but for now, I need to be with my family.”

He clears his throat awkwardly at her insulting snub, scratching behind his ear as he stands and barely making eye contact with Emma’s broken-hearted parents before calling Corrine. “Time to go home, love.”

Corrine stands, bounding over towards her parents happily, reaching her arms out to her father before even getting close. Killian picks her up, grunting as he stands, before she asks him, “monsters are here, duddy?”

Emma’s face goes white and her body stiffens before she puts her head down and turns towards the door.

~~~~

It takes hours for Henry and Corrine to settle down. Killian’s almost proud of his daughter for her resilience and her resistance to her obvious exhaustion as they sit on the couch watching movies in hopes of distracting from everything going wrong in their lives. Truthfully, they should be coming up with a plan to deal with the Dark One, but he, Emma, and their children need time to reconnect and cope with all that has happened today and during the curse. But despite Corrine’s pirate-like behaviors, he must admit that he’s quite exhausted himself, and wouldn't mind some time with Emma separate from his toddler daughter and teenage stepson.

He tries not to rationalize how their house magically became livable again once the curse was broken and instead revelled in the comfort he felt at finally being reunited with his family. With both children asleep on the couch, he plants a kiss to Emma's temple and feels her melt just a bit more into his touch despite Corrine taking up extensive real estate on her lap. “I missed you,” she whispers into the soft glow from the television set.

He chuckles lightly and says, “you didn't remember me,” jokingly. She shrugs, and before she could argue he says, “I missed you too, love. More than I can even put into words.”

“You didn’t remember me,” she flirts back, causing him to tense his arm around her shoulder. He sighs and presses his nose into her hair a bit as he considers how to break the news to her, the scent of her familiar shampoo finally back in his nose and comforting him.

“I did,” he tells her. “And I missed you every moment, even though you were still here.”

She stirs, trying to keep Corrine still on her lap as she snoozes away, and turns just slightly so that she can look at him more directly as his left arm slides down her shoulder. “You did? You mean you were awake all this time?”

“Aye,” he nods as he scratches behind his ear. “I was awake.”

Emma says nothing in response, pinching her brows close together and glancing back down at their daughter before she begins running her fingers through her ever-thickening curls. “Can we,” she whispers, “can we put them to bed? I want to… talk.”

He smiles softly at her ability to even consider opening up to him despite her hesitation to do so just a few weeks ago, and ponders how much one curse can change a person. Perhaps this has more to do with the people who cast it, he thinks. “‘Course, love. Let me wake Henry and we can meet in our room in a few moments?”

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head and reaching her hand out towards his wrist. “We can do both together, it’s okay.”

He finds himself grinning at her openness and willingness to show vulnerability with him, though he curses the fact that it took a traumatic event to drive such behaviors. He knows this is probably a response to learning such horrid things about the people she loves, and while that’s concerning, he chooses to focus on the joy it brings him to feel so close to her.

Henry wakes easily, slowly tromping up the stairs behind Killian and Emma. He would have carried the lad if he was a bit smaller, but he’s growing like a weed into an all out teenager and Killian is getting old, though he’d never admit it. He brushes his teeth without being told by Emma to do so as she rocks Corrine gently in her antique wooden chair, holding her close to her heart and humming softly rather than reading a story. The lass is asleep already, comfortably snoring away in her mother’s embrace, but Killian suspects that Emma can’t put her down. He watches them from his place in the threshold, leaning against the archway of the door and smiling at the fact that his family is finally, finally back together and—

Well, they'll worry about safe tomorrow.

Henry clears his throat from behind Killian and he turns to look at the lad, noting his height and recalling just how mature he was during this curse. The time that past wasn't much, but Killian feels as though Emma’s son has aged endlessly. “Ready to turn in, lad?”

“Aye aye,” he responds with a cheeky grin that could rival his mother’s. Killian smiles at the boy and playfully elbows him, letting him know that he and Emma will be right in to say goodnight.

“And Henry,” he calls after him once he’s walking towards his door. He turns and cocks his head. “Thank you for your help, lad. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Henry rolls his eyes, though Killian catches the hint of a smirk as he turns back around. “You were right, you are more sappy in real life.”

Emma looks up at him with a confused smile, continuing her slow and gentle rocks before she finally stands and heads towards the crib. He walks towards his loves and wraps both arms around the two of them, Corrine sandwiched between her parents, and he presses a long kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. It’s hard for them to put her down, but she hardly stirs as Emma places her on the mattress and steps back.

He can tell that leaving her alone in her room is as hard for Emma as it is for him based on the way she curls into his hold once the babe is out of her arms, but they both come to a silent agreement that they must try and get their lives back on track after the horrors they've been through, and ensure that she sleeps soundly in her own bed despite how much they want to take her into their room. “Come, love,” he whispers against the top of her head, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. “I’m very much looking forward to sleeping in our bed again.”

She nods and squeezes her arms around his waist and sniffles, releasing herself from him and brushing her cheeks with her hands before she steps quickly out of Corrine’s room and down the hall towards Henry’s. By the time Killian catches up with her after ensuring that Corrine’s night light is working correctly and her door is propped open just right, he finds Emma sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed and encasing him in a tight hug. “I’ll talk to you about everything tomorrow, kid,” she promises. “Just try and get a good night's sleep, okay?”

Once they’re ready for bed, they crawl in together and Emma immediately curls up against him and presses her lips to his bare chest, just above the heart she returned to him last year.

Although, he would argue that she actually kept it.

“So,” she starts. “You were awake, huh?”

He nods and runs his hand up and down along her spine, feeling her shiver against him. “I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault, Emma. Please don’t—”

“I know,” she cuts him off, and he’s honestly surprised.

“You know?” he asks her hesitantly, stilling his hand in shock for a moment.

She nods against his skin, running her hand from his stomach, up his chest to his shoulder, then down his arm to his naked wrist, drawing a shiver from him. “I know what you're gonna say,” she tells him, picking up his arm and kissing the damaged flesh. He has to remind himself to not pull away from her; that he feels more comfortable with her than he ever has. “It isn’t my fault, I shouldn’t feel guilty for not taking that damn dagger, I can’t control what Neal and Regina do. I’m a mother above being the Savior.”

He hums. “Aye, that about sums it up,” he laughs lightly, picking up his movements along the dips between the bones of her spine.

“And I guess… I guess you're right. I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself over all of this. Things may have turned out better if I had taken the Darkness, but they may have turned out worse, too.”

He moves his head so that he can kiss the top of hers and nods again. “Too right, my love.”

“And all things considered, the curse completely sucked and was, like, pure evil, but no one was hurt.”

“Aye. Though I did swear to Henry last year that I wasn’t going to let Bae cast his curse and hurt anyone he loves.” She hums again, kissing against his chest.

“I guess now it’s my turn to tell you that this isn’t your fault. We couldn’t have predicted any of this. Who would’ve thought Regina could be capable of this?” He knows she’s saying this to try and convince herself. Of course Regina, the Evil Queen, would be capable of this, but he knows that Emma is trying to see the best in her and her attempts to change. “Anyway, it’s been hard for me to admit that and accept it, but I really am trying, I promise.”

“I know you are, darling. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

“Right,” she says, continuing on as if she feels she may stop if she doesn’t get it all out at once. “And I wanna tell you something now, while we’re not in danger, and we haven’t just broken a curse, and we didn’t just have mind numbing orgasms. When things are just… normal.”

“And what’s that, Swan?” he asks with a chuckle. She’s silent for just a moment before she props herself up onto her elbows above him, one arm on either side of his chest so she can look in his eyes. He gives her a soft nod of encouragement and she smiles softly, glancing down from his gaze.

“I love you,” she says once she meets his eyes again before her smile blooms into a wide, bright grin.

He breathes out a soft laugh before reaching his hand up to cup her cheek and pulling her close to him, touching their foreheads together then capturing her lips between his for a sultry kiss. It doesn't break as she collapses back down against him, her shirt a poor replacement for the feeling of her skin against his own. It hardly breaks at all when he mumbles, “I love you,” through their kiss.

It doesn't break when she pulls him towards her until they're rolling over, her back to the mattress and his arms enveloping her in a safe, warm hold. It only breaks for a moment when she reaches down to the hem of her— his— t-shirt and tugs it over her head, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze in a way he hasn’t realized he’d missed so much. He looks down at her chest, then back up into her eyes and kisses her once more on the mouth before trailing his lips down the column of her throat.

It’s been too long. Considering the fact that they had a toddler and often a teenager living under their roof, they had a fairly healthy sex-life before this curse, and he isn’t ashamed to admit that the past few weeks have been torture for more than one reason. He’s missed her in so many different ways, and the way that her body feels under his own is certainly high on that list.

He’s missed the way she whimpers when his mouth finds her hardened nipple and sucks on it gently, his fingers giving attention to the other. He’s missed the heaviness of her breast against his palm. He’s missed the scent of her skin as he drags his nose down her stomach. He’s missed the way she shivers when his fingers dance along the hem of her underwear, already nearly soaked through by her want for him. Her desire matches his own and he pushes his hips against the mattress.

“I love you,” he whispers hotly against the dampened fabric, and he’s missed the way she thrusts her hips enthusiastically towards his face, a heady sigh escaping her parted lips. “I’ve missed you so dearly, my love.”

She moans at the hot breath hitting her still covered flesh, and he’s missed the way she reaches down and curls her fingers into his hair when he’s in this position. “I love you,” she breathes, before commanding, “touch me.”

He presses his lips to her covered center and hums thoughtfully, causing her to throw her head back and moan in the most deliciously sinful way. “I’ll have you know,” he begins, and he wishes he had his hook in place so that he could drag the cool metal against her burning skin. He’d missed the way she mewls when he does that. “That I haven’t been with the woman I love in weeks, and I damn well intend to make this last.”

She groans when he drags a finger down her slit and smirks at her when it dampens through the cotton. “Make it last for you,” she insists. “No need to bring me into your sick torture fantasies.”

He laughs a bit too loud and notices her sitting up just slightly with a grin plastered across her face before he tugs her under garment down to expose her flesh, breaking the string of arousal with his tongue. That shuts her up quite effectively as she throws her head back and moans. “Fuck, god dammit, you are so hot,” she says.

He hums appreciatively once he gets the piece of clothing off her ankles and tosses it to the ground playfully, torturously lifting her knees up towards her chest and making as though he’s about to dive into her core as he so badly wants to. But instead of licking a thick strip through her folds like he normally would, he dips his head and slides up gracefully until he can kiss her mouth, careful not to make contact with her trembling heat.

“You're the worst,” she breathes out against his mouth, hardly even kissing him back as she pants and pushes her hips towards his for friction. “Would you please take your damn pants off? This is seriously unfair.”

He laughs lightly as he continues to peck kisses against her. “Quite demanding, aren't we?”

“I haven’t gotten any in weeks,” she rationalizes, and although he knows her tone was light, he can’t help the thoughts that suddenly spring into his mind. The memories that, during the curse, she and Bae were living together.

“Uh,” he says, suddenly overcome with a feeling he can’t quite put into words. He’s frozen, wanting desperately to continue touching her but also wondering if anyone else has. He knows it wouldn't change his feelings towards her, or his infinite desire to be with her, but it would certainly increase the likelihood that he puts Bae’s head through a wall. “I’m sorry,” he stutters out, lifting himself slightly off of her so that he can regroup.

“Woah, Killian, what just happened?” she sits up, forcing him off of her until he’s on his back to her right and she’s on her side. He notices her quickly squeezing her thighs together and the sight alone is just about enough to bring his head back where he wants it to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I just thought… for a second, I thought about—”

“Hey,” she says, taking his face in her hands once she gets herself up onto her knees. “Nothing happened, okay? I swear to you, nothing happened between me and Neal while we were cursed.”

He meets her eyes with his, surely looking pathetic as he sadly worries about her once again. He can hardly even revel at the fact that she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Aye, love,” he says. He knew of course that she wouldn't want to be with Bae, but it’s difficult to control one's actions when one is placed under a Dark Curse.

“I love you, Killian,” she insists firmly, still holding his cheeks against her palms. “Even while we were cursed, I never wanted anything to do with him. I wanted you from the moment I… met you… I guess.”

He chuckles softly, leaning his face into her hand and kissing her right wrist. “I love you too, Swan. Sorry to bring the mood down.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a smirk, “I’m sure there are ways you could bring it back up.”

She giggles lightly at her own joke as he flips them so that she’s on her back again, then he’s kissing her fiercely as she runs her hands along the scars decorating his back. She moans when he squeezes her breast in his hand, and drags her feet up his thighs until she finds purchase on his rear, as if trying to slide his pants down with her feet. He loves how easily he can laugh with her while they're in bed together, and he bites her bottom lip when she finally gives up.

Killian decides that he isn’t satisfied with how he left things earlier, not even having a taste of what he’s been missing for so long, so he slides himself lower along her body, still stubbornly refusing to remove his sleeping trousers and drawing a frustrated but clearly aroused groan from her. “Touch me, god dammit,” she breathes out desperately.

“So demanding,” he chastises playfully, kissing her hot skin softly so that she bucks against him. “And so eager.”

“Someone has been torturing me for hours,” she nearly spits out, grabbing onto his hair again and attempting to push his head down against her.

He runs the tip of his tongue along her parting flesh, not quite reaching where she needs him, although it’s more than she’s gotten so far. “We’ve only been at this for about 15 minutes, my love,” he reminds her with a chuckle.

“Please,” she breathes, moaning when he finally dips his tongue in. He seems to have effectively cut her off based on the way her mouth hangs open and no sound comes out. He hums expectantly as if to ask her to go on with her thought, and that seems to send her into a state as she tosses her head to one side and cries out softly again. “I wanted,” she starts, barely able to get the words out as he licks her up and down, “I wanted to jump you the minute the curse broke.”

He laughs against her skin and she clamps her legs against his head, somehow tugging on his hair and pushing him down towards herself at the same time. He hums and nods in agreement, dragging his lips and tongue along as he does so.

She’s a wanton thing under him, panting and moaning with nearly each movement of his tongue and the suction of his lips against her pulsing clit. He’s missed this.

He has to hold his blunt arm against her lower belly once he finally dips his fingers into her, the first followed quickly by a second, because she can't seem to stop herself from bucking her hips against him for more friction. She continues to thrust into his hand and mouth and shortened wrist, the sounds coming from her far too loud and yet not loud enough for his desperate ears. When he finally feels her clamping hard against his fingers as they curl just so, he nearly loses himself inside his sleeping outfit at the sight of her breasts heaving with her pants and moans and soft curses of his name.

He lets her ride herself through it against his fingers, continuing to lave his tongue against her until she’s jumping at the touch against her sensitive flesh, before he slides back up her body, planting wet kisses along her stomach, chest and neck until he reaches her mouth. She kisses him back enthusiastically, if not exhaustively, and he nearly loses himself again at the knowledge that she enjoys the taste of herself on him as much as he does.

They continue to kiss each other passionately until it seems like she’s recovered enough to go again, wrapping her legs around his hips and probably ruining the trousers he still wears. Not that he minds one bit. “Love you,” he mumbles against her, and she nods in response.

“I want you inside me so bad,” she says darkly, her voice rumbling in her chest against his mouth. “I wanted you from the first time I saw you, even though I was cursed. I love you so damn much.”

“I want to be inside you,” he returns, and honestly, he thinks he may be outside of himself and looking on as he tugs his pants down and lines himself up to her, because this couldn't possibly be real. After such anguish in waiting to be back here, it feels surreal. “You have no idea how badly I wanted you, Swan. I just wanted to hold you and kiss you and fuck you.”

She moans against his mouth, insisting, “do it now, please,” in a soft whimper.

He does, growling at her fervor and nudging himself against her until she spreads her legs even wider in acceptance and he slides home. They both groan at the sensation of him filling her, and it’s as he feels her clenching herself around him that he finally finds the wherewithal to start moving. He thrusts gently at first, trying to keep it slow and torturous because he doesn't want this feeling to end, but as she moans in his ear and claws at his back intoxicatingly, he’s suddenly unable to control himself as he rocks against her faster and harder. The sounds she makes are the fuel he needs to keep going, telling him that she needs it as hard and raw as he does. Telling him that they’ll get to that point of slow and steady and soothing soon enough, but for now, they need the rough-and-tumble to further confirm that this is real and that they’re back in each other’s arms.

He tilts his hips just slightly so that he thinks his pelvis is striking her clit in the way she likes it, and he kisses away the tear that escapes her left eye and whispers against her cheek, “so good for me, Swan. So tight and perfect, I love you so much.”

It’s reminiscent of the night they spent together just before the curse was cast, only this time she says, “I love you, Killian,” as she stares into his eyes.

The combination of the emotion he’s feeling and the fact that he’s been so close to her and yet unable to go near her catches up to him, and he has to put in far too much effort to ensure that she’s brought to that place of ecstasy before he spills himself into her. “Are you close?” he asks desperately, feeling like a teenager who finishes too quickly.

“So, so close, baby, please don’t stop,” she pleads. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

He uses his hand to grip her hip, tilting her up just a bit so that his angle is deeper, and at that he feels her fluttering and clenching her walls around him with a force that tells him she’s about to cascade towards the rapture that they've been chasing. The soft, high pitched cries barely escaping her throat give him the permission he needs to let go, and she’s falling with him as he wraps his arms around her and holds her as close to him as he can as they fade together into a blissful state of euphoria.

She’s wrapped her arms around him too, squeezing him as her orgasm ripples through her but letting go once her body goes limp, letting her elbows drop to the mattress and keeping her hands weakly on his sides. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “My god.”

He chuckles and kisses her cheek. “Killian will do,” he says with a smirk that he knows she can hear in his voice.

She smacks his rear playfully, eliciting a yelp from him in response to the sting, and then kisses his cheek tenderly.

“Can I get you some water, my dear?” she hums in response, nodding against his face and giving him one last squeeze before letting go.

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

When he returns, she’s cleaned herself up and curled under the blankets, but he’s pleased to see that she hasn’t bothered with getting dressed. He smirks at her as he hands over the glass after taking another swig from it, then removes his own boxers and crawls in next to her, placing a soft kiss on her temple once she lies back down. “That was pretty good,” she says playfully.

“The water or the sex?”

“Both, I guess,” she shrugs.

He hums out a laugh, equal parts entertained and exhausted, and wraps his arms around her so that her back is planted firmly against his front. “Should we talk about your parents?”

She snorts. “We’re both naked.”

“A fact that I very much appreciate,” he quips. “I just meant what happened earlier. It’s been quite a trying day for you and you learned something new about them.”

“Trying for all of us.” He hums. “I don't know, it sucked. I wish it never happened, but then I wonder what my life would be like if it hadn’t. Probably could've been a lot worse, I guess.”

“Aye, I suppose that’s possible.” She nods. “I’m sorry.”

Emma shakes her head, taking his forearms and pulling them tighter around herself. “It’s something I'll just have to deal with.”

“Right.”

“But you’ll be here, right? You’ll… I won’t bear it alone?”

In response to her repeating his own words back to him, he chuckles. Then, he nods against the back of her neck, placing a kiss there and grinning as he says, “precisely. Always.”

She pulls away a bit and he instantly misses the warmth of her skin against his and fears that she’s closing herself off, but instead she rolls over to hug him close and hitches one leg between his two, kissing his throat. “‘M tired.”

“Aye, love,” Killian agrees, running his hand along her back. “We’ll sort everything in the morning.”

She nods. “We've got to come up with a plan for dealing with Regina and Neal. They can’t get away with this.”

“We will,” he assures her in a whisper. “We won't let them.”

Just as he’s sure she’s faded under the blanket of sleep, she whispers, “love you,” into his skin, and he sleeps soundly.

#the days we defend #walk with me #sequel #days we defend ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #cs smut

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365days365movies · 3 years

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March 4, 2021: Spirited Away (2001) (Part Two)

NO INTRO MOVIE NOW

First part of the Recap is right hereMOVIENOWGOPLEASE

Recap (2/2)

That night, after Chihiro and Lin retire after a good night’s work, a frog comes back to the site of the bath, and encounters No Face. The frog tries to kick No Face out, but No Face entices him with gold. When he takes it, though...

OK, well, that’s interesting. Gets worse, too, because he’s soon giving everybody gold, and is fat as SHIT, which I can only assume means that he’s been eating a fuckton of spirits. OK, more information needed there.

Chihiro goes out onto the deck after a nightmare about her pig-parents the previous night, and wonders aloud where Haku is. Just then, he appears in dragon-form, chased by another fuckton of paper dragonflies, and quite injured. While he manages to escape them, he’s bleeding all over the place. When Chihiro tries to help him, he flees to an upper window. She chases after him.

On the way, she runs into an indoor parade for No-Face, who’s fucking HUGE now, and is giving people gold. Chihiro tries to get upstairs, but is stopped. On the way, the thanks No-Face, who now tries to offer her gold. She again refuses, disappointing him. She leaves to go upstairs, and the rest of the spirits clamor for the gold. One spirit insults Chihiro, and No-Face eats him as a result. OK, more info definitely needed.

After going through an outright obstacle course to get there, Chihiro finds herself in Yubaba’s baby’s room, with a paper dragonfly on her back. Yubaba arrives in the meantime, which Chihiro sees. While on the phone, Yubaba notes that the “customer” is, in fact, a No-Face, which is apparently quite the problem. Additionally, Haku is bleeding all over her carpet.

When Yubaba comes in to look after her baby, Chihiro dives into a pile of pillows. Unbeknownst to her, this is also where the baby is. Once Yubaba leaves, Chihiro tries to leave, only to be stopped by Boh (Tara Strong), the baby. Boh is a BIG fuckin’ baby, and wants Chihiro to play with him, or he’ll cry.

Chihiro tries to leave, and does so by showing Boh some blood, containing germs that he’s afraid of. She runs away, and sees Haku bleeding on the carpet outside, about to be dumped down some kind of garbage chute. Just then, the paper dragonfly reveals itself as Zeniba (Suzanne Pleshette), Yubaba’s twin sister.

She’s trying to kill Haku, as he’s stolen something from her: her monogrammed gold seal. She turns Boh into a mouse, and after a brief scuffle with the injured Haku, Zeniba disappears, and the rest fall down the chute. Haku wakes up soon enough to save them all, but they crash into Kamaji’s boiler room.

With MUCH struggling, Chihiro gives Haku half of a gift she received from the River Spirit, and he spits out the seal and a black slug, which Chihiro destroys. She decides to take the seal back to Zeniba herself, and Kamaji gives her a train ticket to get to her. However, there is no way back. Chihiro says she’ll manage.

But there are other problems now. No-Face is going NUTS, and he’s eating other spirits, crying that he wants Chihiro. She decides to take care of that before she leaves, and goes to tell the rampaging No-Face that he’s no longer welcome in the bathhouse. In the process, she gives him the other half of the River Spirit’s gift. He proceeds to chase her in rage, and vomits up piles of sludge and the people that he swallowed.

After a gorgeous chase, Chihiro makes her way out, and Lin gets her on a boat that goes to the tracks. She apologizes for some of her earlier treatment, and tells her to come back. No-Face follows her as Chihiro walks along the submerged tracks, and makes her way to the station.

She gets into the train as it passes, and No-Face goes along with her. Off they go to Zeniba’s lair, at Swamp Bottom! And now, as the two sit down in an iconic shot for the film, this is a great time to talk about the music. It’s stellar. A beautiful score all-around, with an amazing atmosphere. I would listen to this to go to sleep, or to study by. It’s composed by Joe Hisaishi, and it’s gorgeous. I have nothing but positive things to say about it.

Meanwhile, Haku wakes up and finds out exactly what Chihiro is doing, which Kamaji believes is out of love. Upstairs, Yubaba is raging about the damages imposed by No-Face, who Chihiro let in in the first place. Haku enters and tells her off for her chiding, also noting that she still hasn’t noticed something of her’s has been replaced. She realizes that that something is her baby, whom Zeniba replaced with three monk-head spirits who’ve been around the film this whole time. Yubaba is...not happy.

Fuckin’..,just, mmmmmmWAHCHEF’S KISS! Beautiful animation, goddamn. Haku makes her a deal: tear up Chihiro’s contract and return her and her parents to the human world, and he’ll bring back her child (who’s currently with Chihiro). She agrees, but on the condition that Chihiro must pass a final test, or she’s hers forever.

Chihiro has made her way to Zeniba’s, with Boh and No-Face. She seems far, FAR nicer than Yubaba, and is very receptive to Chihiro’s presence. She reveals that her protective spell is gone, removed by Chihiro’s love for Haku. The slug was Yubaba’s, meant to control Haku. Boh (and a pet bird that Zeniba turned into a tiny bird) have had the power to change back this whole time, but choose not to.

Zeniba tells Chihiro to call her Granny, and to be patient. She waits, and Haku shows up in dragon form soon enough to take her back to Yubaba. He flies Chihiro and the other two back to the bathhouse, and in the process, Chihiro remembers something.

When she was a child, she fell into a river to find a shoe. She was about to drown, but was pushed back to shore by an unseen force. She suddenly realizes that the river was called the Kohaku River, and that is Haku’s true name.

Chills.

Haku is actually the Kohaku River Spirit, and he did rescue Chihiro those years ago. However, the river is filled in for development, meaning that Haku cannot make his way home, hence his predicament. He takes her back to Yubaba, where the final test awaits.

Everybody now appears to be on Chihiro’s side now, though, including Boh. But a deal’s a deal, and Chihiro needs to pass the test: figure out who her mother and father are amongst the pigs. Chihiro looks at them all and realizes that NONE of the pigs in front of her are her parents. She passes the test, much to the delight of all of the spirits.

Chihiro is free! Haku takes her to the boundary of the spirit world on their side of the dry river, where he cannot pass. He tells her not to look back at the realm until she is through the tunnel that brought her and her parents here in the first place. She leaves Haku reluctantly, and finds her parents at the tunnel entrance, who don’t remember that they ate, like, fuckin’ 50 pounds of meat a little while ago.

They go through the tunnel, and Chihiro almost looks back, but stops herself just before. Both Orpheus and Lot’s wife tried that, and look how THEY tuned out. So, good job, Chihiro.

They get to the other side of the tunnel, where they discover that their car is covered in branches and dust, much to the confusion of her parents. They, uh...they’re gonna be fuckin’ SHOCKED when they get home. Can’t wait to see...oh. Movie’s over.

Huh. Man, that’s gonna be a WORLD of confusion for them, godDAMN! But OK, that’s Spirited Away, and it’s...um...well...

98%. Yup, that’s my score. See you in the Review!

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girlsgonemildblog · 3 years

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So Much is Happening All the Time - The Bachelor, Season 25, Week 5 Recap

Image from abc.com

Buckle up. This one’s a doozy. We begin the morning of the cocktail party and rose ceremony, the day after Katie snitched to Matt. Victoria says to Kit that the new girls have nothing to complain about because she “hasn’t even begun the hazing process yet,” and Kit laughs nervously because she is genuinely afraid for her life. I have no idea what Victoria is talking about because “hazing” is definitely not part of the show. This is The Bachelor, not the fifth choice sorority at a state school.

Meanwhile, fellow mean girls MJ and Anna discuss the rumor about Brittany, and MJ tells Anna that she “did the right thing”. I have no idea in what context MJ could mean that. Did Anna do the right thing when she spread a lie about someone being a sex worker behind their back? Or when she then confronted the girl about the rumor in front of the whole group, ensuring that anyone who hadn’t heard it yet, did now? Or maybe when she continued to make fun of the girl even when she knew it was a lie? Or perhaps when she still didn’t apologize for all of her shitty behavior? While Anna and Victoria are the main villains so far, MJ is right behind them. She becomes more prominent later in the episode, so here’s her picture. Please pretend you’re not super jealous of how gorgeous her hair is.

Image from abc.com

The cocktail party begins with Matt addressing the bullying and the rumor spreading, and the producers blessed us with a zoom-in on Anna’s “oh shit” face.

Photo from Twitter

Matt then asks to speak to Brittany privately, and Victoria immediately turns on the group and asks who snitched. Anna realizes that this is obviously about her and repeatedly insists that starting the rumor was “one single comment” and “out of her character,” but I find that hard to believe as we saw her make the comment multiple times over several days.

During Matt and Brittany’s conversation, he does a great job of listening and comforting her. He says he wants to make this a safe space for the girls, and I genuinely believe him; I just don’t think that’s possible. This is The Bachelor, for God’s sake.

Matt then takes Anna aside and gives her a chance to explain, but ultimately sends her home before the rose ceremony even happens. If I were him, I would’ve walked up to her on the couch, in front of everyone, and sent her home right then and there. No excuses, no apologies. Just, “Bye bitch. You’re out.” She leaves (without ever apologizing to Brittany) and says she’s going to go cry in the shower. Honestly, relatable.

In an effort to save themselves, all of the girls who bullied (MJ, Victoria, Serena C.) start denying that any bullying went on, and all the girls who silently watched the bullying start apologizing and saying they had no idea any of this was going on. Do these girls not know that there are cameras, and we watched them sit there and do nothing?

Victoria does apologize to Catalina but laughs through it and insists that it was just playful and not malicious. She actually has the gall to say, “I don’t think you were treated fairly,” as if she wasn’t the one mistreating them. We all heard your hazing comment, Vicky!

Matt wants to check on the other new girls, and while speaking to Ryan, she names names, specifically Victoria’s. She tearfully tells Matt that because she is a dancer, Victoria called her a hoe. In my opinion, “hoe” is not that bad a word. Like the slut-shaming aspect is terrible, but I just don’t feel like “hoe” carries much weight. If someone called me a hoe, I’d be mildly angry. I definitely wouldn’t cry about it.

Victoria, wearing a visible bra as well as granny panties with her slit dress

goes to defend herself to Matt. Matt, like an idiot, tells Victoria that Katie is the one who snitched. He then brings up the “hoe” comment, which she claims was taken out of context. He asks her what the context was, and she has no answer.

After their conversation, she goes outside to complain to the producers, within earshot of the other girls, about how she is “literally the only girl who can be his wife,” she’s the only intelligent one, and the rest of them (specifically Katie) are idiots, and how she’s so nice and the rest of them are fake and toxic. Trashing them all where they can hear you is a wild move when trying to prove you’re not a bully. She starts listing what she thinks are positive traits about her and includes “spoiled” in the list multiple times. She also asks, “does he want a wife who is creating drama all the time, or does he want me?”

Photo from imgur.com

The rose ceremony begins, and Matt gives the first roses to Ryan and Brittany, sending a clear message about the new girls vs. OG bullshit. The girls who get sent home are Lauren, Mari, Catalina, and (finally) Victoria. When it is her turn to say goodbye, she walks up to him and says she feels bad for him that he’s stuck with those girls instead of her for a wife. When he got home that night, Matt probably danced with joy.

The first date of the week is a one-on-one with Rachael, and he takes her shopping at a store in the resort. She gushes about him “getting” her all of these things. Before she goes all gold-digger, someone needs to tell her that he isn’t “getting” anything; the production company is definitely footing this bill. She returns to the house, arms piled over with shopping bags, and shows off everything she got, including Louboutins. Everyone is jealous. Everyone that is except socialite-Kit, who could not have looked less impressed. Girlie got her first Louboutins before she took her first step.

During their night-date, Rachael talks about having never been in love and says it’s because she struggles with confidence. Matt, who also doesn’t consider himself to have ever been in love, gives her the rose.

The next day brings a group date. After watching Rachael be gifted thousands of dollars worth of clothes, the rest of the girls get to spend their day shoveling animal shit on a farm. All of the girls complain about being not getting a one-on-one. I am so sick of people complaining about group dates every season. It’s part of the show that you signed up for. Shut the fuck up. Of course, maybe they had a point, proven by MJ trying to flirtily chase Matt with a broken egg, only to catch him full-on making out with Peiper. Yikes.

That night, Matt asks MJ what she thought about the bullying going on in the house. She tells him she was shocked even to learn that there was bullying going on. He responds by telling her that someone accused her of being a bully, and she gets real defensive real quick. She insists that she “leads by example,” which sounds like something a junior-high soccer coach said to her once. It also means absolutely nothing because you could also lead an angry mob to torch a house by being the first to light a match. When MJ rejoins the girls, she asks who said her name, and Jessenia, who looks 12 (as seen in the photo below), owns up to it. Thus begins the newest feud in the house.

Image from abc.com

Also during the group date, Abigail talks to Matt more about her hearing loss, and opens up about her father leaving after she got her hearing aid. Matt was also raised by a single mother, and relates to her in this way. Abigail gets the group date rose.

The final one-on-one date goes to Kit. When she gets a date card that implies they’ll be cooking on her date, she cries because she has spoken to Matt about how much cooking means to her. The date consists only of a night portion; Kit goes over to Matt’s house and they bake cookies together. Before she arrives, we see Matt cleaning his home so it’s nice for her, as well as checking his outfit because he knows she cares about fashion. Absolutely adorable.

When she arrives, he tells her that he believes in ordering dessert first, and I think I may be falling in love with Matt. She says how growing up with a famous and successful mom has put a lot of pressure on her, which is not something he, or most people, can relate to. They both talk about wanting to fast forward through the process and just be together outside of the show. They cuddle up on the couch and she gets the rose. Some people online think Kit seems braggy and pretentious, but I really like her. And I think you’d have to be an idiot to not realize that Matt really likes her as well.

The next morning as the women wait to get ready for the night, a date card arrives inviting MJ and Jessenia on a mini-two-on-one before the cocktail party. They ride over in complete silence, but when they arrive they break out in yelling. MJ insists she “preaches peace and harmony” or some bullshit, but the face she makes insists otherwise.

Photo from Twitter

The show leaves off on yet another cliff-hanger. My prediction is that Matt heard the yelling, sends MJ home on the spot and Jessenia home at a rose ceremony, if not that night then the next one.

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years

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CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 4/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (much later in the story)

Content Warnings: Maybe some strong language.

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: Without going into too much detail, I’m moving to a twice-a-week posting schedule. Mental health and mental illness are truly fickle things. This is the only way I can control mine right now. If I’d had my way, I would’ve posted the rest of the story in one go and taken a few months away from all social media. This was the proposed solution. Thank you for all the support and love over the last five years. It’s been my favorite adventure, so far.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 4: Middle of the Road

October 25: Friday

Friday is another night out at the Rabbit Hole, and for once Killian is there before her instead of the other way around. He’s in the middle of some animated story about lobsters, much to the amusement of those in attendance judging by their rapt expressions. There are two seats open at the table. One is the safe option, across from Killian and next to David. Or the other option is to sit at the head of this cacophony of tables and next to Killian directly.

His gaze flicks over to her, as if he senses her thoughts, and as the story wraps up to the raucous laughter of their whole group, he puts on a satisfied little smile and lifts his hand in greeting.

It looks as though he’s gotten the approval of both Snow and David, so that’s a mark in the right column.

When her drink is set down in front of her, she wanders over, making a split second decision to sit at the head of the table.

“Seems like I missed the best part of the evening,” she says as she settles in beside him.

“Long story short, the lobsters won the battle,” Killian tells her, smiling and sipping from the bottle in front of him. “How was your day at work, Swan?”

“David hit a new record in computer freeze-ups, so it was a little long.”

“It’s not my fault the computers are still running Windows 95,” David argues, his scowl not directed at Emma but at the ancient technology they’re currently running in the station.

“And it’s not my fault you just decided this year that you wanted to start digitizing the last fifty years of records we have,” Emma retorts, losing the battle with herself and sticking her tongue out at David when he does the same to her. “Also, I would definitely argue that it is your fault that our equipment is so damn old.”

“Have you spoken to Regina about upgrade budgets?” This comes from the other end of the table, where Robin is seated, and almost every head swivels to look at him. “Ah, that’s right. You’re all terrified of my fiance. How silly of me to forget.” The blase tone has no offense to it; Robin is simply used to the stunned silence he gets at the obvious suggestion of asking Mayor Mills for budget increases in certain departments. It’s no big deal to him, the guy dating her, because one day he walked into her office to talk to her about a playground rebuild and suddenly they were seen everywhere.

Of course, back then, everywhere they were seen included heavy amounts of arguing. Then, suddenly, one day they were everywhere and making out. So that was an interesting development for a sleepy little town.

“You know, I forgot that since she started dating you she’s been much easier to talk to,” Emma mentions. “Maybe I’ll schedule an appointment with her and ask about getting some upgrades in the station.”

“It’s best that you do this one on your own. She’s still mad at me for dragging a pack of dogs through those daffodils she had in front of Town Hall,” David admits.

“Only a little, mate,” Robin adds, winking when David looks at him.

“Isn’t it rather handy to have the expat club around, love?” Killian nudges her with his elbow when he says it, grinning wide when she makes eye contact.

“It’s not so bad, I guess,” she responds with her own smile back.

After a couple hours, the length of the day starts to weigh on her and she can feel her eyes drooping shut even with the group still in full swing.

“Okay, I’m calling it a night,” she announces to their side of the table.

“I’ll walk with you, Swan, if you’ll allow me. I’m at the end of my night, as well.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to dismiss him, but Snow catches her eye and gives her one of her meaningful looks. She gives one of her own back, indicating that yeah, fine, okay she gets the message.

“Okay. Let’s go,” she says lamely, instead of whatever objection had been waiting.

Outside, they both take a moment to adjust to the quiet and the wind, with Emma pulling out her beanie and pulling it on snugly.

“I need to remember my own,” Killian says, indicating the hat on her head. “You’d think I would be better suited for cold weather given the track record of my home country.”

“After I moved back it was a struggle to get used to the temperatures again,” Emma admits.

“Moved back?”

“From Florida. I spent three years down there,” she says, leaving out all the rest of the story on purpose. But the answer seems to suit Killian just fine.

“I never officially lived anywhere else until I moved here,” he tells her as they walk down the street. “Visited a lot of places in the Navy, but official, permanent addresses were all in the same town.”

“The Navy, huh?”

“Aye. One day you’ll get to hear all about my sordid but charming history,” he says, a teasing note to the words.

It’s so easy, walking the short distance with him. She almost tells him she can take the rest alone when they hit their corner but she resists, instead leading him again along the path to her building. He stops when she does, still standing a respectable distance away.

“Thanks for walking with me,” she says quietly. In truth, she wants to ask him up for a cup of coffee or something, but she can’t remember the last time she’s had a man in her home and now doesn’t feel like a good time to try when it’s getting late and she wasn’t lying about how tired she is.

“Always a pleasure. Goodnight.”

She responds in kind, itching like she did that first time he walked her home to reach out, to have some form of physical signature to end the evening.

He’s just turning away when she moves again, grabbing his arm and going for a quick kiss on his cheek but he turns and the peck ends landing right on the corner of his mouth. Rather than sink into the comforting embrace of awkwardness, she stands her ground against the urge to run.

“Thank you again,” he tells him.

“For what?”

“Everything. Walking me home. Understanding. Not pushing me. I’m trying to get on the same level, and I wanted you to know that.”

“All at your own pace, Swan. Goodnight,” he says again, his smile tinged with peace.

She makes sure to give him one last wave and smile when she gets to the door, liking the way this night ended much more than the last time he walked her home.

-x- October 30: Wednesday

While Storybrooke is a small town, it doesn’t mean Mayor Mills has an abundance of time. As such, Emma can’t get an appointment until Wednesday. It’s something to break up the monotony of the day, however, so she doesn’t mind. Right before lunch time, she heads to the stately office building and waits her turn behind various townspeople requests.

It’s such a simple meeting, with professional courtesies and barely any spare chatting or gossip. Regina’s never really been the type, even before she got together with Robin. While he’s certainly made her more approachable, the meeting is still over about ten minutes after it begins, and Emma comes away from it with more than she anticipated.

Armed with her upgrades budget and a wishlist a mile long, Emma heads outside and starts walking back to the station. Across the street is NeverEndings and she slows down a bit, weighing the decision to go in. Ultimately, the idea of surprising Killian and maybe asking him if he wants to grab lunch with her is what sends her crossing, pulling open the heavy wooden door and rushing into the reception area.

The last couple days have been really nice with him. They walk together in the mornings, and sometimes she loops her arm through his while they cross the street. She has snuck him two kisses outside of the library so that Granny doesn’t see it when he leaves her at the front of the diner.

And today, she didn’t even have to stop at the diner. Instead, Killian was waiting at their corner with a second mug of coffee. The least she can do is give him his afternoon caffeine fix.

It turns out the office building is a little more active during the day compared to when she brought him his dinner. She stands there in shock for a moment, remembering that there are people that work here that aren’t Killian, or Will, or Robin, and trying to decide if this really was a good idea.

She’s just about to turn around and head out again when the secretary, a woman named Anna, calls out to her.

“It’s nice to see you, Emma! It’s been too long! Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Um, I’m actually here to see Killian? Killian Jones?”

“He’s in his office. Do you need me to take you back?”

“No, thanks. I know the way. Thanks Anna.”

It looks like Anna is about to launch into something else to say - the woman has a penchant for talking far too much but is one of the nicest people she’s ever met - but Emma moves quickly beyond the desk and back towards the office she knows.

She weaves her way through the halls again, finding Killian’s door wide open this time. He’s not alone, however, and she startles when she sees a young teenager sitting in the chair across from Killian’s desk. Like he can sense she’s there, the man in question glances away from his computer screen and makes eye contact with her.

“Ah, Swan! Good afternoon. Henry, just give me one moment,” he tells the young man in the chair, starting to rise from his own.

“Sorry, I didn’t -”

The boy turns then, curious brown eyes landing on her, so familiar that it steals all the breath in her lungs momentarily. Even his hair looks the same color as Neal’s.

“I didn’t know you were busy. Never mind,” she says quickly, turning from the door and all but running back out through the front doors before Killian even has a chance to finish standing up.

“Emma?”

His voice follows her down the hallway, but she doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even stop to consider what this may look like to him. The only thing she’s concerned with is getting away from the memories she wishes she could forget.

Her feet take her to Granny’s - something about this place is the heart of Storybrooke and so everyone always ends up here one way or another - but it’s mostly a trip for comfort rather than necessity this time.

In that regard, the proprietress must sense her needs, because she’s handing over a bear claw fresh from the fryer while Emma waits for her usual lunch to cook. Directly after, a mug of hot cocoa is placed in front of her, cinnamon already sprinkled over the whipped cream.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Same as always,” Granny says without slowing down in her movements behind the counter. “Dessert’s on me. The hot chocolate is from that one over there.”

Emma glances to where she’s pointing, expecting to see David or Ruby or anyone besides Will settling into a booth along the windows. He raises his own mug and turns back to his conversation with Belle, but she has a feeling that’s not the end of the moment just yet.

She’s halfway through pushing her lunch around her plate when Will wanders over and props against the counter where she’s seated.

“Did she put the rum in it like I asked?” he asks, pointing to the mug in her hands. Suddenly, she wonders if there was a different tang to the usual comfort today but Will’s smile is one she recognizes. “Only joking, lass. I know you’re on the clock. But surely you could’ve used it with the way you looked when you ran from the office.”

“You saw that?” She wants to cringe, to run away and hide again, but Will isn’t judging her so it’s not the end of the world.

“Sped right past me as I was on my way back to Killian’s office. You know him and I go way back?”

“I thought you just met when he moved here.”

“Hardly. Met right before he joined the Navy through some literary club thing he was in. He was interning at the London branch when this position opened up and I told Robin to hire him and stop having all those brains wasted on fetching coffee and being a gopher.”

“Leaving England for a junior editor position had to be a big decision. Why would he come all this way for a spot he probably would’ve gotten if he stuck it out over there?”

“That’s all his story to tell you. But there is something I’ll tell you about Killian,” Will starts, and Emma won’t lie and say her heart doesn’t stutter at the words. She’s expecting the worst, as always, but she nods at him to continue.

“He hasn’t been in a relationship for a long time. Had his heart broken clean in two. If I’m not mistaken, that’s something the two of you have in common,” he says gently. There’s something about the way he says it. This is a level of friendship they’ve never crossed, preferring witty banter and faked hatred to show their friendly affection for each other instead.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re telling me this?” Emma asks.

“No. Probably tell me to mind me own bloody business. But it’s funny. About a month and a half ago he started smiling the way he did, before life got to him.” He gives her a look at that, before Belle is back by his side. Her fingers link with his like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it, and the sight makes something in Emma’s stomach clench with want.

They turn to leave her, but Emma calls back to Will before he gets too far.

“Thanks. I’ll try not to be too mean to you from now on,” she says.

“Bollocks! That’s half the fun of it!” he exclaims, grinning ear to ear and turning around as Emma laughs.

She doesn’t particularly want to return to the station but knows she should go back to work. The rest of her day is spent intently focusing on the files she’s copying. When David leaves for the day, she tells him to go on ahead. If he’s worried, he knows better than to push for information right now, which works just fine for her. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

When the last file of her stack is completed, she finally shuts everything down, looking up to find Mulan kicked back at her desk and reading a book.

“Never thought you’d give up,” the other woman mutters without looking away. “Go home. David delivered food to your apartment over an hour ago.”

“I’m going. But not because you told me to,” Emma points out. She stands, bending and twisting and stretching until all the pops and cracks from her back have helped ease some of the pain she feels.

With more amiable separating words from both of them, Emma finally leaves Mulan to take over the next shift, knowing that Phillip will probably be in after his aptly named son, Phillip, is put to bed for the evening. Her walk home is trudging, at best. Even knowing that David dropped off food for her isn’t helping pick up her feet any.

The shock of seeing a kid look that much like Neal is enough to sour a whole day, if not the whole rest of the week.

It’s not just that Neal left her, and that he left in the middle of the night while she slept, but that he did it because he thought Emma was pregnant. There was no indication that she even was. She had a stomach bug, three days of her head in the toilet which was preceded by her mentioning she had a craving for Granny’s grilled cheese sandwiches and a chocolate milkshake from back home.

Not even bothering to do the math or ask about her cycle, he just assumed that the cravings and the vomiting meant she was pregnant. They’d had sex once. For roughly thirty seconds until he complained that she was too tight and he pulled out. And he’d been wearing a condom.

The anger of it starts fueling her into moving again, and she almost rushes right past Granny’s when she hears the calling of her name.

“Evening, Swan!” Killian greets her from where he’s kicked back in one of the chairs on the patio, even though it’s far too cold to be sitting out here like that.

She waves, something jerky and unsure, and keeps moving along. She had no intentions of waltzing into his office and then fleeing like it was the scene of a crime this morning, and it’s mostly embarrassment that has her feet moving quicker.

“Come on, Swan. Don’t make a man drink alone.”

“Not in the mood for a drink. Or a man,” she says, half-zoned out and just wanting to get home to try to process the rest of her emotions.

“Emma, sweetheart?” he asks, hurt evident in his voice, and when she doesn’t slow down he gets up from the chair he was in and moves after her. “Wait a moment, Swan. What’s happened? What did I do between this morning and when you stopped by my office?”

The fact that he thinks it’s his fault is what has her slowing minimally and letting him catch her around the forearm with his prosthetic hook. He uses that momentum to coax her to turn around, and the look on his face is finally what makes her cave. He doesn’t deserve the brunt of her fuckery. He’s been so patient through everything else, and while any other man in her life would’ve probably run at her first change of heart, this one has stood nearby with no pressure, no conditions asked. She fights through that heavy feeling in her chest, past the lump in her throat, so she can maybe even try to explain what happened.

“It’s not you. I just… was reminded of my past and why I’m not good at this kind of thing.

“You’ve got to trust that I have no ill intentions here.”

“You think this is because I don’t trust you?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Of course I trust you. But it doesn’t change the fact that everyone I’ve ever been with has left me behind.” It’s probably the first time Emma has ever admitted any of this out loud, and suddenly what she thought was just a slight case of emotions feels a lot more like a boulder sitting in her stomach. For the tiniest moment, she’s afraid she’ll start crying. Her voice is almost garbled when she speaks again, fighting past the emotions welling up. “Neal, Graham… even Walsh. They left me in one way or another.” He doesn’t know them yet, doesn’t know what they did, but letting their names out into the open takes away some of their power.

Moving just a bit closer, Killian holds eye contact with her, probably just as much for him as for her. “Well, love. You don’t have to worry about me. I may leave this area on occasions, but I’ve no intention of leaving you unless you tell me to.”

It could just be an empty promise, but coming from Killian it sounds like a genuine one. She nods, just a fraction of her chin tilting down, to show him she understands. He moves forward the rest of the way, his intent clear without being overpowering. And then he’s kissing her, his arm coming snugly around her waist.

It’s different from their first kiss and the small affectionate gestures they’ve shared recently. There’s something more than intention behind it and without the spontaneous factor involved, it’s calmer if not less intense. It doesn’t occur to her to be ashamed that they are standing in the middle of the street because how can she care about anything else when Killian is doing his best to remind her what human connection feels like with each subsequent press of his lips?

This is enough for now, the start of a new routine for them. She always just assumed he was some nerdy dude with an office job, but really, Killian is like twenty things all wrapped into one and she’s discovering she’s eager to uncover each layer of him one at a time.

With that thought, her final hang-ups fall away and she surrenders instead to the warm lips attached to the man that has changed her mind about dating. She thinks to tell him that, but then he’s shifting, his hand sliding into her hair as his left arm pulls her closer and then she’s all but crawling into his jacket. He’s warm, chasing away the chill she’s felt not just because of the temperatures but because of the hole she let herself sink into earlier. Chest to chest, she can feel the sound that rumbles through him when she wraps her arms around his waist.

There’s a part of her that wants to know, desperately, why she was resisting this - resisting him, but she knows there’s still miles to go before all the dark spots fall away from her memories. This is a good start, though. It’s just them, figuring things out and also making out like they’re a couple of teenagers.

“There are better places to do that than the middle of the road.” It’s Granny’s voice that springs them apart.

“Seriously?!” Emma says, looking over Killian’s shoulder at the older woman.

Granny just gives her one of her patented looks and goes back inside, leaving them alone again.

“Would it be all right if I walked you home?”

“Sure. I’d like that,” Emma answers, taking his hand as they start heading that way. “Are you dressing up for Halloween tomorrow?”

“Aye. Quite the get-up I’ve got, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

He hums his agreement, but not saying anything more about it. “How about you, love? What have you cooked up for a costume?”

“I don’t normally dress up,” Emma admits. “But I think I can pull something together easily enough.” Even as she says it, she’s thinking of the parts of a suit she has at home. Surely she can pull that off with a couple accessories, right? It’s too good of an idea not to try, and so even though she's sad to say goodnight to Killian after the moment they’ve just had, she’s also excited to get inside and go tearing through her closet.

She makes sure to thoroughly kiss him goodnight before she does, however.

-x-

Chapter 5

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #csrt

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emospritelet · 4 years

Text

Desperation - chapter 8

45: “I won’t leave you, I promise”

Prompt list is here

[AO3]

The sound of coughing woke Belle.

At first she was disorientated, surrounded by unfamiliar shapes, the light coming from the wrong angle and the room smelling of orange oil and raw wool. She struggled with the blankets over her, fingers catching in crocheted patterns as she sat up, and then she remembered where she was. The Gold house, curled up on the couch. Where she would be for the next three weeks while the town was in lockdown.

The coughing came again, followed by a dull thump, and Belle scrabbled at her makeshift bed, untangling her legs and almost falling to the floor in her haste. She headed for the stairs, taking two at a time, and almost collided with Gold as he loomed out of the darkness. He started, stepping back on one foot, his shoulder pressed against the wall and his cane grasped tightly in the other hand. Belle took a step back too, keeping her distance.

“Are you okay?” she asked anxiously. “I thought I heard someone fall.”

“Yeah, that was me.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No no, it’s fine, it’s just - I was worried.” She stepped aside to let him past. “Please, get back into bed.”

Gold nodded wearily, shuffling along the corridor to his bedroom, and Belle chewed her lip as he started coughing again. He reached for the door with a hand that shook, pushing it open and almost falling into his bed. She edged closer, peering through the doorway, and he was lying on top of the bed with his head thrown back, his thin chest rising and falling too rapidly. She glanced at his water jug, and it was almost empty, the glass beside it lying on its side.

“I’ll get you more water,” she said, and snatched up the jug.

When she returned, he had managed to pull the blankets over himself and was shivering. Belle fetched the thermometer, sticking it in his mouth as she filled his water glass. The reading made her heart clench.

“I don’t like this,” she said. “You’re one-oh-four, you need to take something.”

“Can’t.”

“You can,” she said firmly. “I’m surprised you’re not hallucinating.”

“Oh, I’ve seen plenty of terrible things, let me tell you,” he whispered.

“That’s it.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re taking those pills. I’ll get some more if I have to personally bribe the Mayor, but you’re taking them, got it?”

“God, you’re tenacious!” he said wearily.

“You won’t be able to care for Bae if you end up in the ICU,” she warned, and he sighed.

“Fine. You’re right, of course. Give me the pills.”

He coughed again, the movement seeming to propel him upwards into a sitting position before collapsing back with a low moan, and Belle hurried to find the tablets, bringing him two and watching like a hawk as he drank them down with some water. His hair was hanging in his face, strands of it sticking to his cheeks, and she resisted the urge to brush it back.

“Try to drink some more,” she said. “You’ll dehydrate.”

Gold drank another glass of water, and she poured more for him, stepping back from the bed as he settled back in the pillows with a sigh. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and she felt a pang of fear at the thought that his condition might worsen, that it might become pneumonia. Lockdown didn’t include emergency services; if he got really bad, she could always call an ambulance.

“Do you have health insurance?” she asked.

“Yes - well, sort of.” He sounded a little breathless. “I can’t really afford to get too sick, but I’m sure this is as bad as it’ll get. I’ll be alright, I swear it.”

“What if you’re not?”

“I will be. Have to be.”

Belle sighed. Stubborn. Maybe stubborn enough to beat this thing.

“Alright,” she said. “But if you get worse and we have to get you to hospital, I'm getting you there somehow."

“Thank you, Belle,” he whispered. “I’ll be okay. I just need to rest.”

He began coughing again, sitting up and covering his face with the blankets, and Belle winced at the hollow sound he made.

“You don’t sound so good,” she said. “Is your throat sore?”

Gold nodded, wincing.

“Can I get you some honey and lemon?” she asked anxiously, and he nodded again, eyeing her over the top of the blankets as the coughing subsided.

“Please.”

She went out, pausing outside Bae’s door to listen. There was no sound of coughing from within, so she hoped that he, at least, was getting some decent sleep. The house was dark, the floor creaking beneath her feet, and she struggled to find a light switch, fingers scrabbling at the wall. It was cold, and she shivered, wishing she had thought to put something on over her PJs.

After putting the kettle on to boil, she went back into the lounge to pull on her slippers and wrap the crocheted blanket around herself like a heavy shawl, the edge dragging on the floor behind her as she made her way back to the kitchen. The sound of coughing came from above, and she looked up with a frown. I hope he’s gonna be okay. How will Bae cope with his father so sick? If he does have to go to hospital, what will happen? I know he said Granny helps, but she has the inn and the diner to run. Well, I’ll just have to help out as much as I can. The library won’t be opening any time soon, I shouldn’t think.

She decided that she would make herself a drink, too, and found some chamomile tea in the cupboard. The coughing sound started up again, and she shook her head, cutting some lemon slices and putting them in a cup with some honey. This won’t cure him, but at least it’ll give him some energy and vitamins. I need to call the Mayor’s office and ask about medicine. Is the Mayor’s office even going to be open? How is this lockdown being coordinated if no one’s supposed to leave their house? What if no one comes with groceries after all, and we’re on our own?

Belle paused, recognising a trickle of fear running through her, and told herself firmly that panic wouldn’t help anyone, least of all the sick man upstairs. She poured hot water into the cups, stirring his drink to dissolve the honey, and carried the cups up the stairs.

Gold appeared to have stopped coughing, and was sitting up against his pillows when she entered.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A little more human,” he said, flicking back his hair. “The pills must be working, so thank you for making me take them.”

“I’ll be doing that again tomorrow,” she said briskly, and there was a soft chuckle from him.

He nodded his thanks as she put the drink on his nightstand, and she sat down in the chair in the corner, curling her feet under her and wrapping the blanket around her legs. He smiled slightly.

“I see you’re making use of my blanket.”

“I am.” She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “Did - did you make this?”

Another smile.

“I did. Years ago. It’s travelled all over the north-east with us.”

“I saw your loom, and - and a spinning wheel,” said Belle. “Do you actually spin?”

“I do indeed actually spin,” he said. “And weave. Hadn’t done it in years, not since before my ex-wife and I got together, and then not until Bae and I moved to Storybrooke and we had the space. Relatively speaking.”

“I never met anyone who had a spinning wheel,” she said. “I thought it would be easier to just buy yarn.”

“Oh, it is,” he agreed. “But there’s a satisfaction that comes from making your own, and it gets me through the winter nights. Helps me relax, helps me think. Something to do other than watch the television. Bae likes to help with the dying process.”

“Where do you get the wool?” she asked, and he took a sip of his drink.

“The Nolans have a sheep farm just outside town,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “I occasionally trade pickles and jam for wool.”

Belle smiled delightedly. Small town bartering, sharing resources, people helping each other out in times of need... I love this place. I was right to come here.

“Do you sell the yarn?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Not really. I occasionally give a skein or two to Granny, but I tend to use it all for my own purposes.”

“And the loom?” she said. “I can see there’s something taking shape on there.”

Gold smiled.

“I’m making a shawl. Any money I make from work tends to go on essentials, so if I want to give gifts, I usually have to make them.”

“So who’s the lucky recipient?” she asked, and his smile grew.

“Don’t know yet, but I like to be prepared.”

He coughed, covering his mouth with his hand, and Belle shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making you talk.”

“No, it’s okay.” His voice was hoarser than before, and he took another sip of the honey and lemon. “It’s nice to talk. Bae and I don’t have a lot of company.”

“You said his mother left when he was four,” she said, remembering their earlier conversation. “Doesn’t she see him at all?”

Gold shook his head, and Belle buried her face in her cup to hide her surprise. What sort of mother doesn’t want to see her own son?

“She didn’t want children,” he added. “Talked about getting Bae adopted as soon as he was born, but there was no way I could agree to that.”

“Of course you couldn’t.”

Gold took a drink, letting his head roll back against the pillows and turning the cup between his hands, a seemingly nervous gesture.

“She tried, in her own way,” he said quietly. “Caring for a child wasn’t part of her life plan, or so she told me. Wanted to be out having fun. Drinking with her friends, staying out until three a.m. Four years is longer than I expected her to stay, but she was never happy, not even before Bae was born. Can’t blame her for leaving.”

What about you? Were you ever happy?

“You sound like very - different - people,” she said, trying for a diplomatic tone. Gold’s expression told her that he wasn’t entirely convinced by it.

“You could say that,” he said. “It was for the best that she left. For everyone.”

“Well, it looks like you and Bae make a good team,” she said, and he smiled.

“He’s a good lad.”

His throat seemed to catch, and he hastily shoved the cup onto the nightstand just before he started coughing again. Belle sat up, chewing her lip anxiously, and his shoulders shook as he buried his face in the blankets. As the cough subsided he lay back with a gasp, his breathing rapid.

“You should get some rest,” he whispered. “No point in both of us being awake all night.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” she asked, and he nodded briefly.

Belle got to her feet, tugging the blanket around herself and taking another sip of her tea. Gold was lying back with his hands folded lightly on his belly, his eyes closed and moonlight painting blue highlights on his nose and cheeks.

“Call if you need anything,” she said, and his mouth twitched.

“Thank you, Belle,” he whispered, and opened his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. I'm glad you decided to stay, I couldn't have managed alone.”

She smiled, taking a step closer.

"Well, you won't have to," she said. "I won't leave you, I promise."

#fic: desperation #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #sprite's pandemic promptathon #kelyon #my fic

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shireness-says · 5 years

Text

The Song Remains the Same

Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same - including Emma’s teenage crush on Killian Jones. Will she finally work up the nerve to act on it at their ten year high school reunion? ~5.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Here it is: my contribution to @csseptembersunshine! It’s been a lot of fun to write. Funny story: the inspiration for this comes from me watching the music episode of CNN’s 2000s documentary, and getting really annoyed that they didn’t touch on that pop-punk phase we all went through around 2008. Somehow it turned into this. I don’t know. The song title is actually taken from a Led Zeppelin song, though I didn’t know that when I originally chose it. Still trying to figure out where else I’ve heard that phrase.

Super thanks to @snidgetsafan for her last minute beta-ing, and to @awkwardnessandbaseball for her encouragement as I slogged through it.

Tagging the usual suspects and a few extras: @snowbellewells, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @captainsjedi, @let-it-raines, @optomisticgirl, @welllpthisishappening, @scientificapricot, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Gymnasium 2 of Storybrooke High - the larger of their sports facilities, as any alumnus knows - hasn’t changed a bit in ten years.

Emma remembers the way it looked at the one homecoming dance she’d attended - blue and gold streamers everywhere, with a balloon arch behind the DJ and another against a sloppily-curtained wall for formal photos. The gym today is much the same - all that’s been added are the buffet and a collection of tables where people can eat. The same people who couldn’t be trusted with food in the gym ten years ago maybe shouldn’t be trusted to have gained that maturity now, but Emma’s not one to argue against hors d'oeuvres. It’s odd, in a way, that she’d expect it to change. This is Storybrooke, after all; they thrive on that vague air of nostalgia, and most of the town hasn’t been updated since the 80s. Hell, the local diner will abandon their 50s soda shoppe aesthetic when hell itself freezes over, and maybe not even then. But in the ten years since Emma’s left town, she’s changed in such foundational ways that it’s jarring to discover that it’s not the case everywhere.

There can be a comfort to the sameness, too. Emma has a kid, now, and there’s an appeal to raising him in a place where the whole town is your neighbor and neighbors look out for each other. Plus, the closest thing she has to family lives here. As much as Emma had wanted to get out and see the world when she was 18, there’s a point where you just want to come home. Home for Emma has been Ruth and David and Mary Margaret, and home for them has been Storybrooke. Maybe it’s about time Emma makes it her home too - if not for her own sake, then for Henry’s.

The nostalgia oozing from every inch of the gymnasium isn’t the reassuring kind of sameness, unfortunately, probably because Emma never felt comfortable here in the first place. Years in the system left Emma struggling to fit in and really find her place at school, emotionally and socially, even after the Nolans had taken her in for good. It had been hard enough to open herself up to Ruby and Mary Margaret and her adoptive family; anything more than that was a stretch too far, and Emma never really bonded with her classmates. All those streamer-festooned walls don’t hold any sentimental value for her, even if this was the school she graduated from. All things considered, it seems pretty stupid to be showing up to this ten-year reunion at all.

Mary Margaret had decorated the walls, though, had sent out invitations and implored Emma to attend. Mary Margaret, who had been Emma’s first real friend, and is still her best friend in the world. And even after all these years - especially after all these years - Emma can’t say no to that earnest pleading.

So she’d left her three year old with Ruth for the night, wiggled into one of the more tasteful of her honeytrap dresses, and set out to her ten-year high school reunion. The last place she wants to be.

There’s already a good crowd here, mingling around as Lady Gaga blares in the background like no time has passed at all - which doesn’t help Emma’s nerves in the least. The people, not the music. The faces are still recognizable, even if ten years have passed and left their mark. Ashley and Sean are over by the buffet, apparently still together; if Emma remembers what she’s heard from Mary Margaret, they’ve got a couple of kids now. Kris and his wife are over talking to Victor, who hopefully hasn’t just come from the hospital. Aurora’s still got that unpleasant look on her face, though her boyfriend or husband or whatever else seems friendly enough. Hell, even Will Scarlet has somehow managed to clean up well in a dress shirt and tie, holding hands with a beautiful brunette with a ring as he points out something on the photo slideshow. Who’d have thought their resident troublemaker capable of such a domestic display.

With the exception of Ruby, who Emma knows will be running late out of long-ingrained habit, it seems like the gang’s all here. As Emma scans the room, there’s only one obvious character missing from the bunch; somewhere around here should be blue eyes and dark hair and a smile that —

“Fancy meeting you here, Swan.”

— looks exactly as she remembers. It starts out as a smirk when Emma first whips around to face the man who’d whispered in her ear, but it softens into something more genuine as she laughs - almost like that’s the exact sound he’d been waiting for. Just like always.

As it turns out, that’s another thing that hasn’t changed in ten years: her hopeless crush on Killian Jones.

He’d been handsome, even in high school, with all that dark hair and his confident swagger. He’d earned that confidence too, as captain of the speech team and a champion swimmer. Somehow, even if it had made him cocky, he had still been kind, and it was that kindness that had attracted Emma in the first place - the way he’d always been happy to smile and help her in math class, even though he didn’t have to. Emma wasn’t used to that; it was its own kind of intoxicating.

He’s just as handsome now, and if that smile she’s so loved is any indication, just as kind. He’d joined the Navy after graduation, Emma knows, and it had obviously done him good, filling him out in all the right ways. The trim fitted suit is new too; probably a good thing too, as the cut of those pants would have driven Emma to distraction back in high school. Otherwise, he’s almost just the same as always; if it wasn’t for the prosthetic peeking out of his sleeve where a left hand should be, the Killian in front of her now could be mistaken for a blast from the past.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Emma grins back at him.

“I might say the same thing,” he quips. “After all, I live here now. You’re the one who had to drive in.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I absolutely am not,” Killian confirms with a laugh. “Just finished up my first year of teaching at good old Storybrooke High. American History. Go Knights.”

“Damn. Well, congrats, I bet you’re great.” Weirdly enough, Emma really can picture him as a history teacher. It was always his best subject, and she’d be willing to bet he’s one of the cool teachers all the kids love.

“I do my best,” he shrugs modestly. It’s a new look on the cocky, smooth-talking Killian Jones she used to know, and not a bad one. It makes him seem… adult. Like he’s got his ducks in a row now in a way neither of them were capable of when they were young. She almost misses his next question considering it. “I seem to remember David mentioning that you live in Boston these days?”

That snaps her back. “Yeah, Boston. I work in bail bonds there. Though lately…”

“You’re thinking about moving back?” he finishes. At Emma’s puzzled look, he continues. “Like I said, your brother mentioned it. He’s a bit of a gossip, I’ve rediscovered.”

Ah, of course. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“Well, if you end up deciding to come home… let me know. I’d be happy to see your face around these streets again.” He even smiles like he means it. It’s a nice surprise again; Killian Jones is just full of those today. She’d thought that there would only be a handful of people who’d be happy to see her - David and Ruth, Mary Margaret, Ruby and Granny - but maybe there’s some others, too. For whatever reason, Killian seems to be counting himself among them.

“Thanks,” she finally replies, somewhat awkwardly. What are you supposed to say to such an unexpected, purely kind thing, after all? It’s just the kind of thing the boy she remembered would have said - though she has to wonder if that’s a true memory, or something she inflated from her own childish crush and even more childish tendency to latch onto even the smallest kindness in the way only those starved for affection do. “I’ll make sure to do that. I’ll let you go mingle or whatever, but I’ll, uh… I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely, Swan,” he winks. Or tries to, in the same way he’s apparently never learned how. “Save a dance for me?”

Dancing has never been her strong suit, but weirdly enough - or perhaps, not weirdly at all, considering who made the offer - Emma finds herself wanting that too, finds herself agreeing. “Sure,” she shrugs, making her best display of nonchalance even if her pulse has picked up at the very prospect. “I’ll catch you later.”

What harm could it do? After all, it’s just one dance.

———

It’s weird how time can change people, or at least change her perceptions of them, Emma notes. With some notable exceptions - Aurora Stephenson, now… whatever the hell her last name is, who will probably never grow out of her tendency to look down her nose at everyone and everything - most of the people she graduated with have turned into more adult versions of themselves, whether that means happier or more responsible or just more tired. It’s refreshing to see in a room otherwise so mired in the past, from the decor to the never-ending 2010-era playlist constantly piped overhead. Emma’s a little worried she’ll hear Fall Out Boy’s entire discography before the night is over - weird, considering she’d never have pegged Mary Margaret for a fan.

But Scarlet turns out to be funny now that he’s dropped the class clown screwup act, and Ashley is actually sweet now that she’s allowed to be more than just a mouse under her stepmother’s thumb. Her older child is about Henry’s age, a little girl named Alexandra, and it’s a comfort that Emma never knew she was denying herself just to have someone else to talk to about all the trials and tribulations of toddlerhood with. She’s never been one of those mothers, but she’s never had anyone she could be one with, either. Mary Margaret and David have only recently announced that they’re expecting a baby, and Emma’s been somewhat isolated in Boston for a long time. But if she ends up returning to Storybrooke… it’d be nice, already knowing Henry has a playmate. Maybe they can set something up for before they return to Boston.

Still, as much as Emma’s enjoying herself - against her will, really - there reaches a point where she needs to get away from it all. By some miracle she’s never sure she’ll deserve, Henry calls to say goodnight just when she’s becoming too overwhelmed. There’s been a pair of picnic tables just outside of the gym for as long as Emma’s been here to see them - much longer, she’d bet, if she knows anything about Storybrooke - and it’s another thing that hasn’t changed in all this time, the tables appearing to have been replaced sometime in the past decade and then positioned in the exact same place as before. It’s the perfect place to take the call and collect her thoughts again - close enough to still hear the music faintly (Panic! at the Disco now, because none of them have actually grown out of their teenage taste in music apparently) without it overwhelming her senses.

Nothing’s the matter, of course - just some three year old affection. It doesn’t stop Emma from seizing the opportunity to take a moment for herself. It’s been a long time since she’s spent this much time with this many adults in a situation where she’s expected to actually interact; after almost four years of cartoons and make-believe and bedtime stories, it’s a little taxing. In a good way, she thinks, or at least not a bad one.

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice calls. Killian again. He’s everywhere tonight - the man himself before her eyes as he settles onto the bench beside her, back braced against the wooden tabletop, and memories of their time in school embedded in every wall.

“Did Mary Margaret send you?” Emma asks. It would be perfectly in character - Emma’s sister-in-law trying to make sure that she’s socializing properly.

Killian shakes his head though. “No, I just needed a bit of air. Victor’s trying to break out some of his old dance moves, which is just as scarring as ever, so I figured that was my cue to step out for a moment. Noticed you were missing too, figured that maybe you had the same idea.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughs. “I mean, I can’t blame you for avoiding that nightmare. But no, I, uh… I had to take a call.”

“Ah. Yeah, no, you definitely couldn’t manage that inside.”

Oddly enough, Emma feels the urge to open up to Killian, to tell him about Henry. It’s not something she does, typically; after so long searching for a family of her own, she still finds it hard sometimes to share Henry with others, even if it’s just bragging. She’d never keep him from making friends, of course - she’s not that kind of overprotective mother, and besides, his time at daycare has shown that the kid is unstoppably friendly - but in her own life, she keeps him to herself. Minimal talk with her coworkers. No mention at all to strangers, not even the vaguest reference.

But then again, Killian isn’t really a stranger, is he? Even after all this time, Emma’s instincts still say she can trust him. He’s never been anything but kind and generous.

“I’ve, uh… I ‘ve got a son,” she offers, with a weak smile. “Henry. He’ll be four in August. Pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? He’s just… the best. So, yeah, I came out here because he called to say goodnight.”

“He seems like a lovely boy,” Killian replies, something fond tinging his tone. The familiarity of it alarms Emma, and makes her eyes widen. To his credit, Killian seems to notice it right away, his brows furrowing into a frown. “Oh, now that sounded a bit creepy, didn’t it?” he asks. “It’s much less concerning than anything you’re thinking, Swan, I promise. Mrs. Nolan has an endearing habit of showing off any and all new photos of the lad she gets her hands on when she comes into Granny’s in the morning. A proud grandmother, that one, not that I can blame her if your boy is even half as bright and curious and sweet as she claims.”

That… makes sense. Even if it means Emma maybe needs to invest in muzzles for her entire family at the rate they’re blabbing her business around town. “Sorry if I looked like I was about to clock you,” she admits sheepishly. “It’s just… he’s everything. I worry.”

“I think that’s your prerogative as his mother,” Killian laughs good-naturedly. At least he’s not holding that little freak out against her.

Things fall into silence. Somehow, the quiet is more intimate than any conversation, almost cloyingly so. It keeps both of them from looking at each other, both turning towards the stars instead as P!nk blares distantly in the background. God, the last time Emma actually took a moment to look at the stars was probably in high school.

Killian, of course, is the one to break the quiet. He always was bolder than her. “Is the little lad with his father tonight, then?” He asks, almost too casually. Like he might care more about the answer than he wants to admit. Emma can’t imagine why.

“No,” she replies on a snort. “He wasn’t exactly interested in sticking around, for better or worse.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian murmurs. “It’s his loss.”

“It really is. Henry’s a great kid. It was hard at the time, though. I felt like I had found someone who really loved me and wanted me, but that obviously wasn’t the case. Should have known it was too good to be true.”

“You can’t possibly think this is your fault,” Killian prods, concern cooling his voice.

Emma shrugs. “I mean, I know that it was up to him. I didn’t force him out the door or anything. But at the same time… I know I’m difficult to love.” She tries to keep her voice nonchalant, but isn’t entirely convinced that it worked. That’s the problem with admitting one of your deepest fears.

“That’s not true,” Killian chides back gently

“Yeah, well, it sure seems like it a lot of the time. I don’t have much evidence to the contrary.”

The silence this time is almost anticipatory, somehow. Emma finds herself practically holding her breath as she waits for what’s next.

“You know, I had the biggest crush on you back in school,” Killian finally says, almost absentmindedly, still gazing up at the sky instead of at Emma.

“You did not.” It’s not one of her better responses, but it’s her gut response all the same. There’s no way - absolutely no way that Killian Jones, the Killian Jones of Storybrooke High, had a thing for her back when they were both still teenagers.

“Aye, I did,” he chuckles. She’d almost call it fond, if she didn’t know better. Fond is too big a stretch for someone you haven’t seen in ten years.

“I can’t imagine why.”

Killian stares at her blankly for a moment, like the words don’t process. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“Look, I was a mess in high school —”

“You were lovely, even then,” he interrupts. “Maybe that sounds a little cliche, but you were. To me, if no one else. There was so much drama and bullshit going on in high school, but somehow, in the middle of all that, you seemed like you couldn’t give less of a fuck about the whole thing. You were strong, and fierce, and… I guess I had a thing for that kind of attitude back then. Still do, really.”

Honestly, Emma doesn’t even know how to take that - any of that. Especially not that last bit. She’s just not equipped to process it. But at the same time… she owes it to herself to try. Both of them, really, and her past self to boot. He wasn’t the only one with a crush, after all. As much as it terrifies Emma to think that just maybe, after all this time, he might still think she’s lovely and fierce, it’s exhilarating at the same time. With that in mind, Emma takes a deep breath and forces herself to respond.

“Maybe you should have done something about that,” she replies with butterflies swarming in her stomach like she’s still a nervous high schooler.

For what it’s worth, Killian looks a little stunned. “I’m sorry?”

“I kind of had a thing for you too,” Emma confides. “You were kind of a dreamboat, you know.”

“Were?”

“Oh, don’t get cocky on me,” she laughs. “But yeah. If you had asked… I probably would have said yes. Almost definitely, actually.” It’s hard to say that she’d change things, if given the chance; after all, the path that took her here gave her Henry. But she still can’t help but wonder what might have been.

“I’m sorry I didn’t, then.” His voice is almost wistful, longing for something he’ll never grasp. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Not brave enough.” Emma waves a hand casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, despite remembering all the emotional turmoil of that same subject back in high school. “Plus, it seemed like you had a thing going with Tink half the time - which, trust me, I know sounds ridiculous now that she’s shown up to this with a girlfriend. Still.”

“Aye, that’d do it,” Killian laughs. “We’ve always been just close friends, though. For what it’s worth.”

“I know.”

The anticipatory silence is back, and this time, Emma knows what it’s waiting for. In any cheesy movie, this would be the moment they kissed, two former somethings reunited under the stars. She’s not ready for that, though - not with the pain of her last relationship’s abrupt dissolution still hanging over her head, just reinforcing all her concerns about abandonment. She’s already used up her bold quota for the day.

Quickly, she breezes past it to a new subject. “So what are you doing back here, anyways? I thought you were off to the Navy, gonna see the world.”

She regrets it as soon as she asks as Killian’s whole body suddenly seizes with tension.

“I was,” he says carefully. “I did. I was going to. But for better or worse, the Navy doesn’t have much use for a man with one hand.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask, wasn’t it?”

Killian sighs. “No, it’s fine. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it, it’s still just a subject I’m a bit touchy about.”

“I’m sure,” Emma murmurs. It’s hard to toe the line between wanting to seem sympathetic and coming off as prying.

“Before you ask, it was a car accident. Not at all related to my service,” Killian explains, seemingly seeing the hesitance in her eyes. “Someone ran a red light, and that was that. So I took advantage of servicemember scholarships to go to school instead, and six years later, here I am. It’s hard to claim that it’s all worked out for the best, considering I’m missing a pretty crucial limb, but I’m happy with where I’m at.”

“I was just thinking earlier, I bet you’re a great teacher,” Emma contributes. “One of the fun ones, but who still knows what they’re talking about and holds the kids accountable.”

It turns out, Killian still scratches at his ear when he’s embarrassed, just the way he did in high school. The red flush is the same too. “I do try. And what about you? Bail bonds, you said?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not a dream job by any stretch, but they were hiring when my ex and I first moved to Boston, close enough for me to walk to work, and I’ve kind of just stayed. It’s something I’m good at, as it turns out - a little bit of research and a little undercover work and a lot of being willing to chase down people doing their best to get away from you. It’s a living. The money can be good, if sporadic,” she shrugs. “One of the biggest appeals of the deputy position here, though, besides coming home, is the steady paycheck. I don’t know. Moving is hard, but it’s very tempting.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d be a brilliant deputy,” Killian smiles. As Emma stares back, the anticipatory silence falls again, but this time, she’s almost ready for it. With a few more seconds, maybe she could make a move, and it wouldn’t truly hurt to shift an inch closer…

“Emma, there you are!” Mary Margaret’s voice calls, shattering the intimacy of the moment. “David’s about to do his speech, and you wouldn’t want to —” she cuts off abruptly when she sees Emma’s not alone. “Oh, hello, Killian! I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all,” Killian smiles. Meanwhile, Emma wants to scream Yes! back at her friend. Timing has never been her strong suit. “Go ahead and get David all set up, we’ll be right behind you.”

As Mary Margaret scurries off again, Killian hoists himself to his feet before offering Emma a hand of assistance - one she’s only too happy to accept. God, his hand is just the perfect balance between soft and callused, the hands of a man who might not work with his hands (so to speak) every day, but might have a hobby where he gets to. She’ll have to ask. “Well, Swan? Shall we go see what our erstwhile class president has to say?”

“Lead on.” It’s probably best that they were interrupted, anyways. This is just one night, after all.

———

Poor David - he’s never been much for public speaking. Emma will never understand why they needed a speech at this thing in the first place, let alone why Mary Margaret couldn’t have just made the remarks instead as the organizer of this whole thing.

Still, somehow they make it through, even if David’s practically swimming in sweat by the time he exits the stage. That suit jacket is definitely going to need a trip to the cleaner. Emma manages to park herself close to the dessert table while the whole spectacle unfolds, sampling all the little bars and cookies and cupcakes while everyone else is distracted. She’ll have to thank David for that later.

She’s just reaching for a cookies and cream cupcake - she can’t quite remember who opened a bakery, but God bless them for it - when Killian appears by her side again.

“Might I steal you for a dance, Swan?” he asks. “I have it on good authority that they’re about to play a slow song.”

Emma laughs. “You bribed Mary Margaret, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shamelessly. So what do you say, Swan?” He offers his hand.

Maybe she should think about it more. Maybe it’s committing to something she’ll regret later. But for now, Emma takes his hand without hesitation. “Yeah. Let’s dance.”

There’s a little section of floor left open as if just for them, allowing Killian to lead her around to face him. Emma can’t help but chuckle as they come together, twining arms around necks and waists like any respectable high schooler faced with a slow song. And what a song it is: three beat time, Paramore. The soundtrack of her most fanciful imaginings way back when. Perfect.

“What are you giggling about?” he teases. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost say there’s affection in his voice.

“Nothing. It’s kind of stupid.” Still, Killian watches until she continues, until she caves. “It’s just… I used to dream about this, you know? My own personal fantasy - and not like that, don’t even start with the eyebrows,” she warns. “But… even if I tried not to show it and even if I believed that love wasn’t in the cards for me, there was still a little bit of me that wanted. I’d imagine a moment, just like this. It’d be like a movie. We’d be dancing at prom or winter formal or something, and the whole world would melt away. I’m pretty sure I choreographed the camera movements in my head. And then, at the end… there’d be a moment. We’d kiss. And it would be my first kiss, and it’d be perfect.” Emma laughs just hearing herself. It’s almost disgustingly romantic, really. “Pretty silly, honestly.”

“I don’t know, Swan. I think it sounds nice.” He takes a moment to carefully twirl her underneath his arm, followed by a few moments of silence once they’ve floated back together again. “We still could, you know. Make that fantasy happen.”

Emma snorts a laugh, even as a huge part of her heart yearns, practically pulling towards his. “I’ve got a kid, Jones. Trust me, the first kiss boat has long since sailed.”

Killian smiles down at her with those calm, kind eyes she fell in love with a decade ago. There’s no denying that she’s still held in their thrall all these years later. “Maybe so. But we could still have our first kiss.”

The words hang in the air between them, full of hope. Still, Emma knows he won’t make a move unless she’s right there with him. “I’m not that girl anymore,” she tells him - warns him, against everything her heart is screaming. “I’ve changed a lot since high school.”

“I know.”

“And even with that… you’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure. We’ve both changed, but all I know is that you’ve become even more lovely and enchanting in that time, and I’d be honored to kiss you to the greatest hits of 2009 and 2010.”

“I think Mary Margaret included some stuff from before then too,” Emma replies, stalling for time.

“Ah, well, that’s almost a dealbreaker, but I suppose I’d be willing to kiss you to the greatest hits pre-2009 as well,” Killian teases. “If you want me to, that is.”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? It’s a thin, fragile line between wanting something so badly and being afraid to just reach out and take it, especially when you’re given the chance to do just that.

“I’m afraid,” she finally admits. “I can’t tell you that I’m moving home. I don’t even know that. And what if I don’t? Is this just a fling from the old days? Some belated wish fulfillment? A one time thing?”

“I hope not,” Killian replies calmly. “ I hope this is more than just two people giving into an old crush and never seeing each other again. I know that I wanted you then, and I wanted you for a long time after we went our separate ways, and I wanted you again when I spotted you from across the room tonight. Do I hope that you’ll decide to move back to Storybrooke? Yes. But only if it makes you happy. And if you decide that you’ll be happier in Boston, that you and your boy belong there… well, I suppose I’ll have to start looking for date night spots in the city, because I want more than just this one kiss, and I’m willing to fight for it. But that all depends on whether you want that too.” As her silence persists, Emma searching for her courage and her words, Killian’s face drops into a twist of uncertainty. It’s not a look Emma’s used to seeing on his face, and she doesn’t particularly like it. At all. “Would you like that?” he asks softly, the uncertainty even coloring his tone.

“Yes.” Emma only whispers it, but stares into his eyes intently all the while. Hopefully that can convince him of her sincerity, even if her words can’t. When she tries to speak up, it only comes out in a jumble anyways. “I… yeah. Yeah, I would.”

His answering smile seems to spread from the very center of him, blooming across his face slowly like the most delicate flower. Maybe a water lily; that seems fitting, somehow. “In that case…” His hand travels from where it had rested on her waist to cup her cheek instead. “May I?”

Emma barely takes the time to nod before she’s pressing up that last half inch in her heels to capture his lips within her own.

The thing about imagining what a kiss might be like for so long is that you’ve run it so many times in your head at a certain point that the real thing is never going to live up to everything you imagined. What’s even better is that this kiss, this particular realization of all that longing? It doesn’t need to live up to anything, instead a perfect expression all its own. That little romantic voice still hiding deep inside Emma wants to call it a fairytale dream come true; the rest of her is more than happy to just savor the moment as it shifts from teasing, exploratory brushes of her lips against his to something deeper and more determined. Her arms wind fully around his neck and his more tightly around her waist, leaving them twined together as tongues begin to seek and probe and stroke. For a moment, it’s like they’re the only two people in the world - like some kind of teenaged dream, if she can ever be forgiven for such an awful, topical joke.

When they finally separate, it’s only by scant inches, bodies still pressed together and foreheads touching with only space left for their mouths to gasp for air.

“That was…” she starts, unsure frankly how to finish. There’s still not nearly enough oxygen reaching her brain to properly think, her body and all its functions far more interested in diving back in for more than any stupid thinking. Or talking. Or… anything, really.

Thankfully, Killian is there to pick up where her words fail. “Bloody earth-shattering.” Even if Emma can’t see his goofy grin with her eyes still closed, she can still hear it in his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, it definitely was.” Somewhere in the middle of their dance floor makeout, the song has changed to something more upbeat - a dance tune that Emma doesn’t recognize, but knows Mary Margaret would insist was absolutely definitely played at every school dance when they were in high school. She doesn’t really want this to end - doesn’t want it at all, in fact - but it’s probably about time they stopped standing in the middle of the floor. With great reluctance, she unwinds her arms from his neck and steps back, but makes sure to meet Killian’s gaze with a smirk. “So. You mentioned a date? Where are you taking me?”

Killian laughs before moving to dig in an inner jacket pocket, ultimately producing a flask. “Well, for the moment, what do you say to a drink? I think I see some glasses of punch over there just waiting to be spiked.”

“It’s a date.”

And if she has anything to say about it, the first of many.

#cs ff #captain swan #csseptembersunshine #my writing #The Song Remains the Same #high school reunions #mutual pining #and a blatant excuse for slow dancing to paramore

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

On What They Fall 3/ 4

YES OKAY I have added a chapter AGAIN. Just a short epilogue, to wrap up the loose ends. Because THIS chapter is the meat of the story, the conversation that’s five years overdue, and it is a DOOZY. (AND because @thisonesatellite said “oh this part would be a great epilogue” and she WAS RIGHT, curse her). I’m just not going to bother with chapter counts anymore.

ANYWAY.

In this chapter we have a cocoa date and and painful fight, and resolution, for better or worse.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is an angry young man. He has no family and few friends, and he’s stuck in a small town where everyone views him with fear and suspicion.

Everyone but Emma Swan.

She’s everything he wants in life and everything he can’t have. What he doesn’t know is that she wants him too.

Part 9 of Secret Things.

Rated: T

On AO3 and previous chapters on Tumblr

Tagging some folks who might enjoy it: @kmomof4, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @teamhook, @resident-of-storybrooke, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @shireness-says, @thejollyroger-writer, @ohmightydevviepuu @jennjenn615 @superchocovian

Chapter 3:

The next morning Killian stands in the lobby of the hotel where Emma’s staying, his hands shoved deep in his pockets because they tremble if he doesn’t restrain them. His heart is pounding so hard it makes his head ache, and his mouth is dry. He succeeded in not drinking the night before but he thinks wryly that it’s made little difference. He might as well be hung over, the state he’s in.

When she appears his heart actually skips a beat —a thing he’d thought dreamt up by florid romance writers— and he swallows hard, trying to work some damn saliva into his mouth. She’s more beautiful than he remembered, her hair falling in soft waves around her face instead of pulled back in the ponytail she favoured in her teens. He vaguely recalls that in later years she wore it down more often but by then he was so focused on burying his attraction to her that he forced such observations from his mind. That and he was drunk quite often in those days.

The sunlight catches in her hair setting it aglow, and her smile is tentative. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a soft-looking sweater and he’s glad his hands are in his pockets because they are itching to touch her, to sink into that hair as he holds her close and tight in his arms. As strong as his sexual attraction to her has always been the urge he’s had to fight the hardest over the years is just to hold her. Just to take comfort from her presence.

“Hi,” she says. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

“I said I would.”

“I know, but—” she shrugs. “Anyway I’m glad you did.” She seems surprised to hear herself say it.

“Ah,” he struggles to think of what to say. “There’s a nice little cafe not far from here, do you fancy a cup of coffee? Or something else?”

“How’s their hot chocolate?”

He grins. “I haven’t tried it. Care to take a chance?”

She grins back, and happiness lights her eyes. “Okay.”

The cafe is small and bright, quirky without being twee. It’s one of his favourites and he’s pleased to find the little table in the window is unoccupied. “I come here to write sometimes,” he tells Emma. “Though I usually get caught up in people-watching, it’s less creepy when you have a laptop in front of you.” She laughs and the light, sweet sound makes him feel like he could fly.

They both order hot chocolate and he watches Emma take a sip, waits for her verdict. “It’s good,” she says, and takes a bigger one. “Really good, actually. Better than—” she breaks off with a wary glance at him.

“Better than Granny’s,” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.” She drops her eyes, fixes them on her drink.

“It’s okay to mention it,” he tells her. “Good even. I see a therapist every week just for mentioning it. At first it was like pulling teeth but now I look forward to going.”

Her fingers toy with the handle of her cup. “You talk to your therapist about Granny?”

“Aye, among other things.”

She cradles the cup in her two hands, her fingers flexing on the warm ceramic. Her eyes dart up to his face as she sips. “You seem— I don’t know, more at peace now,” she says. “Is that why? The therapy?”

“It’s one reason.”

“Leaving Storybrooke.” It’s not a question.

“That’s another.”

“Do you… do you ever regret leaving?”

“No.”

He’s thought a lot about this question in the years since his departure and for hours last night, and no matter what angle he approaches it from the answer is still the same. Missing Emma has been a constant ache, like phantom pains in a severed limb, but as painful as being away from her has been he can’t regret leaving Storybrooke. Getting away from that place saved his life, made his life into something worth living. He’d not even realised how badly it had scarred him until he started meeting people who had no preconceptions of who he was. People who saw things in him worth liking, and liked him for them. He wasted a lot of time at first by holding himself back from those people, waiting for them to discover the real him and despise him for it. He lost several potential friends that way. But gradually he learned to accept that when people sought his company it was because they actually wanted it, and that for him was a goddamned revelation.

Emma’s eyes drop again at his unequivocal tone, and she gives a small nod. The sadness that chases away her earlier bright smile makes his heart ache and he wishes he could tell her that his leaving wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t, at least not the fault of anything she did, just of who she was and who he was and how he felt about her and the impossibility of feeling as he did while being who he was. But he doesn’t quite know how to express all the nuances of this. Of everything that went into his decision to leave.

“Emma,” he says, and she flinches slightly. “You stopped calling me that, remember,” she whispers. “The last few years it was always ‘Swan.’”

“I—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupts. She tilts her cup back, finishing the last of the chocolate. “Can we walk a bit?”

—

They stroll through the streets and he points out the places he likes to go, recommends some things she might enjoy doing in the area. He still doesn’t know how long she plans to stay. She is clearly interested, asks questions and takes some pictures on her phone, but when the conversation lags he feels her silence like a physical presence between them. He doesn’t know what to do to break through it.

They arrive at the corner of his street and he can see she recognises it. She glances at him and he gives her a hopeful smile. He isn’t ready for their time together to end, and he thinks she isn’t either.

“Do you want to come up?” he asks, nodding at his building. “Maybe sit down for a while?” They’ve been walking for the best part of an hour.

She nods. “I’d like that. And also—” She hesitates, looking uncertain.

“Also what?” he encourages.

“Would you tell me about the things in your apartment? The ones you collected while you were travelling? I read all the stories you put on your blog but I’d love to see the things that go along with them. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is.” He’s utterly thrilled that she’s interested, that she actually read the things he wrote. The thought of having her in his apartment, though, being alone with her there, telling her stories of his travels and having her listen with real interest— it sends excitement and apprehension coiling around his insides, squeezing them painfully. His heart is racing again and he really, really wants a drink.

They are silent in the elevator, leaning against opposite corners, and when they enter his apartment they stand staring at each other in awkward silence.

“Um.” Killian feels desperate to break it. “Do you— want anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

“Rum?” she jokes.

“Alas, no,” he says with a small smile, just a slight curve of one corner of his mouth.

“You don’t have any rum?” The joking is gone and she is genuinely surprised.

He rubs at a spot behind his right ear. “I stopped drinking,” he says, and her eyes widen.

“What, completely?”

He shrugs. “I have some beer, a few bottles of wine. But I don’t drink liquor anymore.”

“Oh.” She feels as though that’s a positive development, but congratulating him seems wrong, too glib somehow and not her place.

He sees her discomfited expression and his smile softens. “Therapy again,” he explains. “Apparently I use alcohol as an emotional crutch, and that’s not a healthy way to be.” He tries to keep his voice light. He does not want to answer any questions about this. Not now.

She nods, smiles. “I’m not really thirsty.”

He swallows back a surge of emotion. She’s always understood him far too well.

He gives her a mini-tour of his apartment, shows her all the souvenirs he’s collected and tells the stories behind them. She laughs at his jokes and asks insightful questions, and for a time the years fall away and they feel as close as they were in that long-ago summer before the fragile ties that bound them fell apart.

When she’s seen everything he offers her coffee again and this time she accepts. Emma watches him as he moves confidently around his kitchen, manipulating the complicated espresso machine with an ease she envies. He’s changed so much from when she last saw him, she thinks, but the changes have made him more like how he was when they first met, eager and interested under all his anger and just brimming with intelligence. The defeatist, bitterly resentful young man who left Storybrooke with no goodbyes was never who he really was.

He hands her a cup and they sit down, and silence falls again. Emma knows what needs to be said, what she came here to say. It lurks invisibly in the space between them, poised to destroy the delicate balance they’ve held all morning. She doesn’t want to say it but she knows she must.

“We need to talk,” she says.

He attempts a smile. “I find that when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

“Please don’t joke,” she implores. “This is hard for me.”

“I know, love,” he says gently, and she winces again. Love. It’s another name he hasn’t called her in many years. She needs to know just how much he means it.

“The woman in your book,” she says, watching him carefully. He catches his breath. “She’s me, isn’t she?”

“Aye.”

“And on my birthday, when you said you were in love you meant with me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Aye.” His voice is hoarse, he has to push the words past the tight ache in his chest. “It’s only ever been you, for me.”

This should make her happy, it’s what she’s longed for years to hear. Instead she is frustrated, furious with him. “But why didn’t you ever tell me?” she bursts out, grinding her clenched fist against her leg.

“How could I?” he snaps. “Who was I to say those words to you?” He sets down his coffee cup, drags a hand through his hair. “You have to understand, Emma, loving you... it was like trying to draw down the sun. You were so bright and beautiful it hurt to look at you and so far above my reach there was no point in reaching.”

“I wasn’t above you!” she chokes.

Killian’s face twists into a sneer she recognises all too well. “Tell that to your father,” he snarls. “Tell it to everyone in that bloody town.”

“But,” Emma gropes for the words she needs, cursing herself. She’s never been good at talking about her feelings, and especially not when she’s so caught up in feeling them. “It didn’t matter what they thought—”

“It did,” he snaps. “It’s all well and good to say that other people’s opinions don’t matter, but that’s a very privileged position to take. It did matter what people in Storybrooke thought of me because it informed how they treated me, and how they treated me informed every aspect of my life there.”

“Every aspect!” she sputters.

“Yes, every one! What kind of job I could get, where I could live, what establishments I was welcome to patronise. Who I could spend my time with.” His voice cracks.

“You mean me.” Her own voice is flat.

“Aye.” He breathes deeply, finds his calm. “Small towns like that, they like people to fit into tidy little slots,” he says. “The schoolteacher, the banker, the librarian, the troublemaker.”

“That’s ridicul—”

“The sheriff’s daughter,” he presses on. “The princess.”

Emma recoils. “You called me that once before.”

“Well can you deny it’s true? Your parents are the most respected people in town and you are their golden child. You’re as hemmed in to your assigned role as I was, darling, your role is just nicer and more comfortable so you’re content to inhabit it.”

“That’s not true,” she whispers.

“Isn’t it?” He leans back, gives her a hard look. “Tell me, love, what’s your job?”

“I’m a deputy.”

“Mmm,” he says. “Your father must be very proud. Just what he always wanted for you.”

She glares at him. “It’s what I want too.”

“Oh? And yet I seem to remember you talking about doing social work, advocating for women and girls.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Or your father changed it for you.”

“Is it so wrong to want my dad to be proud of me?”

“Are you saying he wouldn’t be proud of you if you hadn’t become a cop? Because if his pride in you is that bloody fragile then it sure as fuck wouldn’t have withstood—” he breaks off, picks up his coffee and takes a deep drink.

“What?”

“It’s not important.”

“Well it obviously is. Tell me.”

He sets the cup down, looks her straight in the eye. “It wouldn’t have withstood you getting involved with me.”

She stares at him. “That summer—”

“That summer,” he echoes, dropping his eyes as a sad smile curves his lips. “I’ve never been happier than I was then, not before or since, but I always knew that one summer was all we’d ever have. There was never any chance of a future for us. Even without all the other factors your father—” He swallows hard and a muscle begins to dance in his jaw. “The way he looked at me every time he saw us together, it was like he thought I was… despoiling you just by being near you. I was not what he wanted for his little girl. His princess.”

“And what about what I wanted?” she whispers. “You never even asked me.”

“Because I already knew,” he says gently. “You wanted to make your father proud. You said so yourself, many times. It’s why you became his deputy. And of course Graham.”

She breathes through a stab of guilt. “What about Graham?”

His voice is harsh again, roughened by this unhealed wound. “How long did you date him?”

“From the time you left until about two weeks ago.”

He gives a sharp laugh that cuts to her core. “Just as daddy wanted.”

“Yeah, well you left,” she snaps back.

“And if I had stayed, would that have made any difference at all?”

“No,” Emma acknowledges. “It probably wouldn’t.” Though only because you were shutting me out, she wants to add, but temper is sparking in Killian’s eyes again and he speaks before she can gather her words.

“So let me just be sure I understand,” he says, in a sneering tone that makes her want to slap him, “What you’re saying is I should have stayed in a town I hated full of people who hated me and lived a life that had no future while watching the woman I loved date the only friend I had?”

She sputters in frustration. “Well it sounds terrible when you put it like that!”

“How else should I put it? Are these not the facts?”

“Yes they are, minus one crucial one!”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That I loved you!” She is too caught up in her frustration to notice the way his mouth drops open. “That I only said yes to Graham because you wouldn’t give me the time of day! I could have stood up to my father, Killian, I would have if you had shown me even one reason why I should. But you rejected me again and again and I thought why the fuck shouldn’t I be with someone who actually wants me? Why shouldn’t I make my dad happy if I can’t be happy myself?”

“Emma—”

“And then you left!” she shouts. She’s on a roll now, the words finally flowing, and she doesn’t see the agony on his face. “And you didn’t even have the fucking balls to come to me and tell me so yourself! To say goodbye! I had to hear about it from Belle and I broke down in front of her and cried like a child but I couldn’t help it!”

“Emma—”

“I had tears and snot just dripping everywhere and she gave me a handkerchief to wipe my face. One of your handkerchiefs. And you know what, Killian?”

“What?” he whispers.

“I still have it.” She reaches into her jeans pocket, pulls out a small square of fabric. “I kept it. I carried it with me every day for five years, even when I couldn’t stand to think about you I had it. But you can have it back now.” She thrusts the handkerchief at him. “Go on, take it, I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want you.”

He stares at the handkerchief but makes no move to take it.

“Is your love so fleeting then,” he says.

“What?”

“You say you loved me, which is a hell of a thing to spring on a man out of nowhere, Swan, and then you tell me you carried my handkerchief with you for five years which seems to suggest that those feelings didn’t die when I left. But now the first time we have a proper fight you’re ready to give it back and be done with me?”

“Oh, I still love you,” she says in a voice like a dagger. “I’m just tired of waiting for you. Tired of waiting for you to come home.”

“Home,” he repeats, and there’s a bitter edge to the word. “And where would that be, precisely? Storybrooke was never my home.”

“I see that now,” she concedes. “But I could have been! We could have made a life together—”

“In Storybrooke, though?”

“In any place you wanted! I wish you had just told me you wanted to leave, I would have gone with you, anywhere you needed to go. To another town where no one knew us or— or on your boat around the world.”

He is silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts before he replies. There is a truth he’s come to accept, one doesn’t want to admit to her and that she will certainly not enjoy hearing. A truth that’s tangled up with so much else he’s learned about himself these past five years. He squeezes his eyes shut as he tells it. “I don’t think I would have wanted you to come on the boat.”

She turns pale. “But— I thought—”

“In some ways that would have been my dream come true,” he says, and the look in his eyes implores her to understand. “You and me on a boat exploring the world together. The first few years after I left I missed you constantly, and I often thought about what you would have said or done if you’d been there with me. But it wasn’t always fun, Emma, or safe. I got caught in storms and there were times I had to live on fish for days because there was no other food. If you’d been there I’d have felt guilty for taking you away from your family and your future to scrape by with me. And I wouldn’t have taken so many risks, or gone to certain places, because I wouldn’t have wanted to put you in danger. I’d have felt just like I did in Storybrooke, not enough for you, never good enough. And honestly—” She is staring at him with wide, devastated eyes, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “Honestly, I really needed to be on my own, to discover for myself what I was capable of out from under the weight of all that expectation of failure.”

Emma swallows around the tears gathering in her throat. She wants to say something but has no idea what words he needs.

“I get that this is difficult for you to understand, Emma,” he continues. “You’ve always been surrounded by people who loved and supported you and who expected the best from you. But I didn’t have a loving family as you did, not with my mum and Liam gone. All I had was Belle, and though I knew she cared about me I always felt like that affection was conditional, and could be withdrawn at any moment.”

“Belle would never— she loves you!”

“Yes, of course I know that, but she also doesn’t owe me anything. We’re barely even related, she only took me in because she’s too kind to let harm come to anyone if it’s in her power to prevent it. But I was a burden on her—”

“You couldn’t be—”

“I was. She never said anything but I knew the money she got for me wasn’t enough. We barely scraped by on it and then I turned eighteen and it was gone. So I got a job to make up the shortfall, and people shook their heads and clucked their tongues and said of course I’d ended up a high school dropout, they’d expected no better of me.”

“People said that?” she whispers.

His shoulders are tense, his mouth a grim line. “That and a good deal more,” he says tightly. “And every dirty look, every deliberately-too-loud remark, each one just reinforced the guilt I already carried about about Belle and about you. How I felt about you, and what I wanted—” He breaks off, brushes his fingers over his eyes. “And I couldn’t see any way out for me. There were no other jobs I could do, and no place I could go that would be any better. I’d still have no qualifications and no skills and also no impossibly kind distant cousin who would let me live with her rent-free. So I closed myself off and tried to ignore it, lost myself in books whenever I could and the rest of the time buried my feelings in alcohol and sex, which of course just gave people more reason to despise me and thus the cycle continued. The only way I could break it was to remove myself from it. From all of it.”

“From me.”

“Yes. And so I bought my boat and I saved what money I could, and then…” He gestures with his hand and she nods.

“And then you left.”

“Aye.”

Emma is still clutching his handkerchief, twisting it in her fingers. Seeking comfort from the bit of fabric is second nature to her now. “I had no idea,” she says. “I knew you were angry about your parents and Liam but I didn’t know how people were treating you or that you felt so guilty about Belle. Or about me. I’m so sorry, Killian.”

He attempts a careless shrug but she feels the pain behind his eyes like it’s her own. “Don’t be,” he says. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You didn’t think you could confide in me.”

“I didn’t want to burden you! I hate telling you this now; I don’t want to change the way you see your home and the people in it.” He runs a hand over his face. “But you wanted to know why I left Storybrooke, and this is why.” This is most of why.

Emma shakes her head, struggles to sort through the complicated mess of what she’s feeling. Sorrow and anger and frustration and confusion and love. “I understand how awful that must have been for you,” she says slowly. “Truly I do. But you pulled away from me and shut me out way before then.” She grits her teeth as the anger begins to gain the upper hand. “As soon as the summer ended I felt you getting distant. And you didn’t even bother to talk to me about it, about anything, even when I practically begged you to! You just decided I was too good for you, all by yourself, and it never once occurred to you to ask me how I felt about it!”

“What was there to say? You were too good for me, objectively so—”

“Oh hell no, there was nothing objective about it!” Fury is roaring through her now, igniting in the green of her eyes and staining her cheeks with scarlet.

Killian bristles with indignation at her tone. “You haven’t listened to anything I—”

“I have listened,” she hisses, “To every bullshit excuse you’ve made, and now it’s your turn to listen to me. Like you should have done years ago.” He opens his mouth again but she glares him down. “You have always been better than you give yourself credit for, Killian,” she says. “You are so smart, and you’re funny, and you see things in a completely different way than everyone else. You fascinated me from the beginning and I fell so hard for you, so fast it was embarrassing. I think it must have happened that first time I shook your hand.”

“That makes two of us,” he whispers.

“And I get why you felt angry and guilty but that was not something you had to deal with alone. I wanted to be there for you, I tried to be there, but you pushed me away and then you made a decision that affected both of our lives without even consulting me!”

“I— I never dreamed that you could— I had no idea—”

“Well, you should have! I could not have been more obvious about it, I did everything but wrestle you to the ground and kiss you senseless. But you never saw it and I just thought that I was making a fool of myself, throwing myself at you when you clearly weren’t interested. But now!” She gives a bitter laugh. “Now I find out that you just refused to see it, because you had these ridiculous ideas about me being ‘above’ you!”

“They were not ridiculous—”

“They were because I never felt that way!” she shouts, vibrating with frustration and anger. “I never thought I was better than you or that you were a failure! You got dealt a shitty hand by life, yes, but you were the one who let that beat you! I always knew you could be more, and do more, that’s why I kept nagging you to go back to school, I hated seeing you just fold like you did. And I would have told you all of this, and that I loved you and that I would have done anything for us to be together, if you had just once actually talked to me about what you were going through!”

He shakes his head, trying to deny the truth he hears in her voice. “I couldn’t— you were just so—”

“So what?” she snaps.

“So... perfect.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“It’s how you seemed! So beautiful and everyone adored you, meanwhile everything in my life was so ugly and I just— I couldn’t talk about it with you. I couldn’t allow that darkness to cloud your life. I felt unworthy to even touch you, much less hope that you could ever feel about me as I did about you.”

Emma stares at him as he stares at his hands. He means it. She wants to shake him, to scream at him, but as satisfying as that would be she knows it would do no good. The past is the past and she can’t change any of it, can’t get back the time they’ve wasted. All she can do is try to ensure they don’t waste any more.

“And what about now?” she asks, unable to keep the edge of irony from her voice. “You’ve stopped drinking, your therapy seems to be working. You’re a successful journalist and author with a beautiful girlfriend. I’m a small-town deputy whose life is passing her by because she can’t get over the boy she fell in love with at fifteen. Do you feel ‘worthy’ of my exalted affection now? Can we be friends again?”

“No.”

The word slaps her in the face and she recoils, fights the tears that try to form behind her eyes. “Fine, then,” she snaps. “I’ll just go—”

“No!” He reaches out to stop her, snatches his hand back before it can brush hers. “No, I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean it like that. I mean I can’t be just your friend. Trying to bury my feelings in friendship nearly killed me once already.”

He tosses out this declaration with a hollow nonchalance that wholly fails to hide the agony beneath it. Emma frowns. “What do you mean it nearly killed you?”

Killian is surprised by her question, then surprised at his surprise. When has she ever not heard the things he doesn’t say? He stands up from the sofa and turns away. He knows that if there is any hope for them to move beyond the mistakes of the past then they need to talk about all of them. But he can’t look at her when he reveals this one. “There’s another reason I left Storybrooke,” he says. “Or at least, a reason why I left when I did.”

Her frown deepens. “What was it?”

“I can be a bit… obsessive sometimes. That’s another thing therapy helped me to understand. I fixate on things and obsess about them and can’t let them go until I’ve pursued them to the end. In some ways it’s good, it helped get my book written, but it can be terribly destructive to focus on one thing until it becomes the only thing in your life that matters. I loved you so bloody much and there was nothing else I cared about, and— you were in my head all the time unless I drank and fucked you out of it, but that just drove us further apart.”

He sits on the sofa again and his fingers flex like he wants to take her hand, but he doesn’t and she doesn’t reach out. He stares at the empty cushion between them and forces his next words out.

“The night you agreed to go out with Graham I went home and I drank so much I nearly died,” he says, wincing when she gasps. “If Belle weren’t such an early riser I would have. She found me and got me to the hospital in time to save my life. And when I woke up a part of me was furious with her for saving me.”

“Oh, Killian.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t consciously plan to do it but I can’t deny that I wanted to die, there in that moment I didn’t care at all for my own life. I left Storybrooke to save myself because I knew if I had to watch you fall in love with my only friend that next time I’d go somewhere Belle wouldn’t find me. And I knew that I had to find something to live for. Something that didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Slowly she reaches out, lays her hand on his arm. He exhales sharply as his skin tingles and his heart begins to pound. Her touch affects him as strongly as it ever has, stronger even after all their years apart.

“And now you’re worried that if we got together you would obsess about me again,” she says.

“I might. It wouldn’t take much.”

She slides closer, leans in until he can count the freckles on her nose. “I don’t think you will.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because you have so much more in your life now than just me. You’ve found other things to live for. Haven’t you?”

Her eyes are warm and her lips look so soft, and Killian wants to howl with anguish. This is everything he’s ever dreamed of, Emma here with him and wanting him, loving him even, and he’s still not sure if he can take what she’s offering. Not sure he can risk losing the peace he’s fought to earn these past five years. He pulls back from her and stumbles to his feet. “I suppose I have,” he concedes. “But I’m still such a mess—”

“I am too,” she retorts. He turns to look at her, eyebrow raised. “And don’t you even think about arguing with me, we’ve established that you have very messed up ideas about how perfect I am.”

He can’t help laughing at that, at the sharp, straight-talking wit he loves so much. Emma sighs as the painful tension in her chest begins to loosen. She stands and goes to him, inches in as close as she dares. His eyes widen and his breath catches and still she moves closer.

“I love you, Killian,” she says softly. “I’ve loved you for eleven years. I know you’re not perfect but I’m not either. And maybe things wouldn’t have worked out for us in the past, maybe we weren’t ready for each other then. But I have tried everything to get over you and none of it’s worked, and that must mean something. And if you love me too then we have to at least try.”

—

Milah slams the car door shut and flashes a smile at the driver. “I won’t be long,” she says, and he grunts in response. She just has to run up and drop some documents off for Killian to sign. She figures —hopes at least— that he’s still out with Emma. She’s still got a key to his apartment, and she plans to leave the folder on the table just inside his door with a post-it note instructing him what to do. She’s not particularly keen to see him, and not only because she has about fifteen more things that need to be done today.

She doesn’t regret breaking up with him. She’s pushing forty, divorced, comfortably well off thanks to some savvy investments and being very good at her job, and she definitely doesn’t need to be wasting her time and energy trying to cling to a man who’s still hung up on someone else, a woman he insists on elevating to such a height no one else will ever match up.

And yet, she feels sad. She truly likes Killian, loves him really. And she knows he loves her too, as much as he can, and that if he could let go of Emma they would be happy together. But the looks on their faces when she interrupted them yesterday, the electric tension between them… the room was fairly crackling with it and Milah knew the moment Killian introduced the blonde as a ‘friend from Storybrooke’ that their relationship was over. She accepts it. But she can still feel sad about it. And she can still not be quite ready to see him again.

She unlocks his door and pushes it open, reaches in with the folder. And then she sees them. Standing as close as they could possibly get without touching, their gazes locked, tension radiating between them. Slowly Killian reaches up to touch Emma’s face with a hand that is visibly trembling. His fingertips trace the contours of her cheek and jaw and his thumb brushes across the dip in her chin. His expression is awed, reverent, and Milah tries hard not to roll her eyes. Has he listened to nothing she said?

“Kiss her, for fuck’s sake,” she mutters under her breath, just as Emma stands on her toes and presses her lips to his. His fingers sink into her hair and his arm wraps around her waist as she clings to his shirtfront by her clenched fists.

He keeps the kiss soft, though, his posture rigid with the effort of not devouring her as he clearly wants to, and Milah wishes she could smack him upside the head. Emma is no delicate flower, she looks like she could kick his ass in a fight, in fact, but he’s treating her like she’ll shatter if he puts his tongue in her mouth.

Emma’s having none of it, though. She sinks her own fingers into his hair and tugs at it, nips at his lips until he opens them, then she puts her tongue in his mouth. He tries to hold her back but she hisses at him. “Kiss me like you mean it,” she says against his lips, and Milah can practically see Killian’s control snap. With a growl he backs Emma up to the wall and presses her against it with the length of his body, slants his mouth over hers and kisses her properly. Emma makes a whimpering noise that Milah can fully understand —Killian’s a hell of a kisser— but then she twines her arms around his neck and gives as good as she’s getting. Milah grins as she puts the folder on the table and shuts the door silently behind her. She likes this Emma, she decides. She hopes someday they can be friends.

—

Killian’s head is spinning wildly and his blood feels thick and hot as it pounds though his veins. He is pressed against Emma from knee to chest, her hair sliding silkily between his fingers and her lips so soft under his, and she is kissing him back— with just as much fervour, her arms tight around his neck and their tongues licking deep into each other’s mouths and he can’t handle it. It’s more than he ever dared hope for and also not nearly enough, and he forces himself to break the kiss and get a grip on himself before he loses his mind entirely.

He’s struggling for breath and so is she, their gasps mingling as they lean their foreheads together and try to form words. Preferably coherent ones, thinks Killian, but really any form of verbal communication will do.

“That was—” he pants.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But I want—”

He cups her cheek. “You sure, love? Because we don’t—”

She nods. “I’m sure. So sure. I just— “ She pulls his hips into hers. “I want—”

He groans. “Aye, me too. Let’s—”

“Yes. Now.”

And then her lips are on his again and she is clinging to him, moaning into his mouth as he lifts her up, as she wraps her legs around him and he carries her to his bedroom.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #mutual pining #secret love #captain swan #angst #allll the secrets come out #and the anger #and the longing #of which there is much #pining idiots #on what they fall #profdanglaisstuff

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thecharmingknightemma · 4 years

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♚ Do you agree with fandom interpretation of your character? (roast the fandom again please I have popcorn)

not even remotely. lmao okay first I need to explain something to attempt not to sound like a really bad judgy person: when it comes to princess Emma, for me only my version of her can be possibly, realistic, because it’s the only realistic results that can came from the premise I see. Now that doesn’t mean I can’t respect that other people can have different ideas of how princess Emma is, but it can never feel real to me because those ideas come from a different interpretation of David and Snow, of the circumstances around Emma and that led to Emma, of how they’d react to what they have been through and what they’d teach her, on how her personality would respond to the outside world. Those interpretations are always valid, but they are not mine, and therefore I can’t agree and I can give you a thousand reasons why Emma for me would be a different princess than most fanon versions of her starting from what would led her to be this way instead. But I’m also aware that it all depends on my interpretation of every single thing involved in her life and my view of her isn’t superior, it’s just the only one that works for me.

I’ll put the rest under read more because whoops I may have a lot to say

Here are some common things I see that I absolutely understand where they are coming from but could never be true to me: -a princess Emma who is a serious, suave, normal classic princess. It’s extra rare in OUAT for the original fairy tale princesses to act in a classic noble-woman kind of way to begin with. Emma, the daughter of former bandit and now queen Snow White who has lived among regular people and who had drilled in her head that their people are important, and of David, formerly a stable boy, who fought against the unspoken rules of royalty like shutting up and accepting an arranged marriage, who has seven dwarves, a wolf and who knows who else being part of her parents council, who would have been taught to defend herself to be prepared to fight just in case, who would be certainly taught to speak up because her opinion and emotions matter, who has been shown and has seen from the beginning of her life that love wins, that she has all kinds of reasons to be happy and hopeful and grateful, would NOT be modest, would not be super serious, would not be a snob or unaware of her people’s struggles, and since even when it comes to Emma Swan her nature was to joke around and be happy as soon as the world gave her a minimum amount of reason to be that way, princess Emma has even more reasons to be that way. Her personality would be so encouraged by a loving, supportive family who wants her to respect others but also to express herself, to enjoy her life, the happy moments, and to find humor in everything. And David and Snow even speak in a different way from nobles like Kathryn, I doubt Emma would be too formal. It’s not that less loud, enthusiastic princess can’t be cool, I actually really like Kathryn, and Aurora may have been more ‘classical’ and out of her depth when it came to fighting but she still did everything she could to save Philip and to avenge him later, she was simply inexperienced and that’s not bad, but I cannot imagine Emma, with the family she has, her instincts, and what people around her would want to instill in her since young age, being the same kind of woman they are. -a princess Emma who hates ballgowns and balls and everything stereotypically feminine. Emma Swan, who has all reasons to favor comfortable easy clothing and lives in our world where often dresses and pink are associated to being weaker (?), still likes to wear stereotypically feminine things and to wear makeup and curls or styles her hair whenever she has some time off from her savioring. Even in s1, yes, when the sheriff election happened and she didn’t plan to have to run after criminals, she wore a cute skirt. Why would princess Emma hate them when she clearly likes the aesthetic and she hasn’t been raised with ideas such as ‘femininity is weak you must be distance yourself from it and prove you are different from other women’? Now, if you tell me she has problems with tight corsets because they are uncomfortable, that’s cool. Otherwise it just seems like she must be ‘special’ and therefore doesn’t like ‘girly’ things because ‘girly is inferior to masculine’. Still speaking stereotypically here, of course. Snow didn’t have to dislike dresses to be strong or special, she dressed depending on what she had to do. I believe Emma would be the same, with just some initial rebellion as a kid against girls until she grew up enough to realize she was being stupid. After that, she wears dresses when she can, she also likes comfortable riding clothing, she likes flowers, she likes colors, she likes the looks she gets when she wears low cut dresses, she likes to take care of her hair... When it comes to Emma Swan specifically and to different versions of her, I feel there is some hidden misogyny involved in wanting Emma to hate innocuous things to prove she’s ‘different’ and ‘stronger’. -helpless princess Emma: I can’t even. This is also what the Evil Queen’s wish brought to life. It’s already explained in my first point here but it bears repeating. Can you imagine two parents who were shown over and over that you must be prepared for everything because they will have more enemies come after them, enemies of them as royalty or for personal reason, leaving their only daughter completely unprepared, needing someone else to fight for her? After they had to learn the hard way, as fast as possible, and were at disadvantage for it? Emma would be trained from the beginning. -judgmental princess Emma, I get it, David and Snow were still less than welcoming to Killian - though I felt it was more due to his behavior than him being a pirate - but at the same time I cannot imagine being raised by someone who was a bandit and another person who technically committed treason by acting like a prince, and those two clearly never judged Ruby for being a werewolf, and so on, and to grow up to be immediately against people due to what they are. I feel Emma would have all the reasons to trust her instincts and to want to make sure someone is bad before treating them as such, while simultaneously wanting to avoid being manipulated and mistreated. -submissive Emma when it comes to men: I feel like I don’t really need to explain why when in the past I read CS involving a princess Emma who was all innocent and inexperienced I closed the page. -a princess Emma who has to deal with ARRANGED MARRIAGES BECAUSE HER PARENTS TRY TO FORCE HER TO MARRY PEOPLE LIKE I’m sorry but this is not even a matter of different perspective and respecting other people’s view of characters. David and Snow would never force Emma to marry someone, David and Snow suffered like hell because David was meant to marry Abigail due to king George’s choices. David and Snow love Emma. David and Snow would not do that to Emma. -just... a version of Emma that is so randomly ethereal and more similar to how real life past princesses are described in our world? when ouat woman are so real, with their flaws and qualities and opinions and motivations, and it just seems not to fit in a colorful family like the one Snow and David were going to have, dwarves and Granny included.

#about the princess #fairestmusesofthemall #answers

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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

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Zip Zap Zop || Blanche & Winn

TIMING: Friday, October 11th, 2019, Midday LOCATION: UMWC PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Winn makes his first friend (?) in White Crest. Oh God, Blanche has AirPods in. She can’t hear us! WARNINGS: None.

“—don’t think you can ignore me young lady! Blanche! I am speaking to you!” Blanche guessed that ignoring the ghost of her great-grandmother was probably some cardinal sin or something, but she was going on and on about things that just didn’t matter. Like her class load for the semester or how she was still an accounting major or how the boots she was wearing wasn’t appropriate for October (for some reason). Blanche was not going to get caught speaking to a ghost today. Everyone already thought she talked to herself, and she wasn’t really in the mood to pull an excuse out of her ass. She just wanted to go to class, take her test, and go home so she could nap before going to the night shift at Mooseventures. She was unwinding her headphones as she sped-walked through campus. “Blanche! Don’t you dare!” Oh, she dared. She shoved her earbuds in her ear and immediately blasted the first song she could find on her Spotify. Looked like Billie Ellish was what she was going with. Of course, she could still see Granny, and had to sidestep her a few times to ignore the unpleasant bone-chilling sensation she would get if she walked through a ghost. Sure, it looked a little ridiculous, like she was constantly trying to walk on something very specific, but she didn’t give a shit because she was just focused on four things. Class, test, home, nap. Class, test, home, nap. Class, test, home, nap. Class, test, home, nap.

Fridays had always been Winn’s favorite part of the school week, especially once he’d gotten to college. Drinking on Thursday nights with his packmates and waking up with nothing to do other than plan a party or a prowl had been a highlight of his years as an upperclassmen. Graduate school, Winn was finding, had a much more regular rhythm to it. He could manage to get his schedule to end early enough — there was no chance of him going furry in the middle of an Abnormal Psych lecture — but he and his attention span were doomed to fight through Friday classes. That struggle was all the worse this close to a Full Moon, when the wolf wanted nothing more than to tear Professor Rafferty limb from limb for no reason other than Rafferty looking like a snack — and not the sexy kind. But sweet freedom was in his clutches now, as he jogged towards the parking lot. Winn was getting some strange looks from undergrads for his mid-October clothing choices. Most of them had retreated into at least a loose jacket, some into sweaters. Winn had enough body heat running through him from his other half, thanks, and would wear a tanktop until the moment the odd looks turned into thinly-veiled suspicion. Winn had somewhat of a reputation, back home anyway, for his allergy to covering his arms or legs. He’d only recently switched into tanks and jean shorts, evolving from the crop tops and athletic shorts that were often still too hot for him in Virginia summers. Maine was cooler, sure, but not by that much. Winn stopped to stretch his calf out on the edge of a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. But as he leaned down, he noticed two things in rapid succession: first, that a blonde girl had just wandered past him and into the crosswalk and, second, that a university bus was coming fast down the street. Shit.

That was the thing about university buses. Did they care about speed limits? No. Did they care about students? No. In fact, more often than not, students could be seen hauling ass after one that had just closed its doors on them. Blanche had been there once or twice before she just gave up. Her car was easier, or even her bike when her car decided it was too good to work. Blanche was determined to ignore Granny and just stay listening to her music in peace. Except, as she sidestepped a guy (who had to be cold from how he was dressed. Then again, she shouldn't judge him, the bitter cold hadn't sunk into Maine yet. But, as Game of Thrones was fond of saying, winter was coming), Blanche had managed to wander right out into the middle of the road when it wasn’t her turn to walk. This hadn't been the first time something like this had happened. Usually it was for the same reason: trying to get the hell away from ghosts. She was lucky she hadn’t been hit yet. Blanche, though, had never walked in front of a bus. Granny’s screech of warning caused her phone to go on the fritz, and just as she looked up to start yelling, she saw the bus. Not only was there not enough time to move anyway, she was rooted to the spot. Frozen, like a deer in the headlights. At least I won't have to take my test or go to work, her mind cruelly supplied. “Oh fu—”

This was why he had to let the wolf out more often, actually! The proximity to the full moon was causing him to be sloppy and adventurous. Normally, he could work off the excess energy in the woods, but he’d been so, so busy. So, when Winn saw a person in danger, he leapt to action. Later, he would say he knew it must’ve looked strange, from the outside, when he bent the rest of the way down and ran at the girl on all fours, but, as he’d argue, he was already so close to the ground and he was faster on his hands and feet — his paws — than he’d ever be on two legs. In the time it would take him to bend back up and bolt into the street, the girl would lose precious time. ‘Course, he wasn’t much thinking about this at the time, his brain mostly concerned with blaring “DANGER” since he was, pretty much, a dog running into traffic and the wolf howling “GO, GO, GO!” in the back of his mind. Unlike when he was in his wolf form, though, a hit from a bus could do a lot of damage to his objectively nice bod. Fortunately for him and the girl both, the bus was fast, but Winn was faster — thank goodness for speed limits and relatively self-aware drivers. He grabbed the girl, tucking her smaller form under one of his arms, and shoved his body through the crosswalk. They landed with a thud on the edge of the sidewalk, a bit bruised but alive. Nothing in his life could be so easy, though. Winn sprang to his feet, too fast and without letting go of the girl under his arm... and almost immediately, Winn and the girl were tumbling together through, somehow, a window. Now, how’d that get there?

Blanche was pretty sure she blacked out sometime between Granny going absolutely batshit and the fuckboy running into her at a million miles an hour. She came back just as her and the fuckboy hit the curb. Ouch. Well, she wasn’t dead, so that had to be the bright side here. Except, she still didn’t really know what was happening. Granny was still losing her fucking mind. That was the problem with seeing and hearing ghosts that no one else could. Too frequently, they kept talking to her, and it was too hard to focus on the people who were among the living. It was overwhelming. Blanche coughed slightly, a tad winded, before they were moving again. Fuckboy — she should stop calling him that, he just saved her life — hadn’t released his hold on her, and to be honest, she was kind of holding on for dear life. The window was a surprise, because, really, why the hell was there a fucking window in the middle of campus. There wasn’t even a building attached to it. They tumbled and landed on the ground again, and this time Blanche hurriedly let go before any other harm could come to them. Well, maybe harm was a little strong, because for going through a window, she was feeling pretty alright. Blanche carefully scrambled to her knees to see a crowd of shocked students wearing all black staring at them, and realized almost instantly that they just dove straight through the theatre majors’ set piece. Blanche, a little dazed from the adrenaline, looked at Fuckboy. “Your shirt’s broken—” Blanche said, eyes wide as she started to stand. Bad move, bad move, super duper bad move. Her head connected what felt like concrete and she dropped like a sack of potatoes back to the ground.

There was nothing like flying through a window to bring some real perspective on things. For one, that Winn should maybe wear sturdier tanks to class. The one he’d had on was shredded — just, completely torn to bits. A piece of fabric hung from one of his nipple rings and, while Winn had very little shame, it was pretty embarrassing. It looked more like the world’s worst party streamer or, eesh, tassels? Tacky. He ignored the wolf-whistles (ha) from a few of the folks whose window Winn had just busted as the blonde scrambled away from him. Her clothes were fine, though they looked frankly suffocating. He heard her say something as he pulled himself up off of the ground, but his senses were finally coming back into their typical resting place and, well, he was admittedly distracted. With dim shock covering his heightened perception just enough, he didn’t notice the girl picking herself up off the ground until she connected with his head. Winn barely felt it, though from the way that the girl dropped back to the ground, he supposed she had to feel it. Huh. Guess what his ma had always said about him having a hard head was true. He crouched back down, ignoring the fairly indignant rumbling from the people dressed in black surrounding him and the girl. He looked at the glass surrounding them, finally realizing that the “window” had been something more fake. Winn had busted through actual glass before and, well, his shirt wouldn’t have been the only victim if they’d tumbled through real glass. That was a mark in his favor, but, well. The girl was definitely going to hate him. He’d shoved her through a window! Dumbass. Dumb wolf, dumb man. Dumb wolfman. Sighing, he reached out his hand, “Uh, sorry… about that. Are you okay? I was trying to get you out of the way, but think I might’ve done more harm than good…”

Maybe if she just laid there, they would leave her there to perish due to the forces of nature. Now, she had a headache, but all things considered, at least she hadn’t been squashed by a bus. Blanche opened an eye, before letting out a low groan as the Fuckboy said something to her. He looked ridiculous. How the hell did that happen to his shirt, there had to be, like, physics against that. “I’m okay,” she said, reaching out to grab his hand and pull herself up. This time, she was carefully avoiding smashing heads with anyone else, much less concrete head over here. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’d rather go through a thing of stage glass than get hit by a bus, honestly, so thanks for that.” She rubbed her head, before fully examining the contents around her and the disgruntled theatre majors. “Um,” Blanche lowered her voice to a whisper, wincing slightly. “I don’t think they’re too happy about the window, though…”

Winn whistled lowly at the destruction. “Yeah, uh, sorry folks. We didn’t mean to break your window. Honest. Just, er, an unfortunate accident. I’m Winn, by the way.” He wasn’t sure whether he was saying that to them, or to the girl he’d tackled near halfway across campus. Was it a bad idea to let them know his name? He could run away, but then Shorty would be straddled with the clean-up, or retribution, or whatever theatre majors could actually do. Method act at him? Winn hadn’t been a bully or anything in high school (he didn’t hang with bullies either, so he didn’t know how to shove people in lockers), but he was sure he could rumble with a few (honestly, kinda scrawny) undergrads dressed in black. As he was contemplating this, a put-upon looking older woman ran a hand down her face, bags under her eyes. She sighed deeply, but before she could say anything, Winn interrupted: “We could, I don’t know, do something for y’all? Quip bro quo, or whatever? We, um…” He licked his lips, panicking, and looked to the girl standing next to him. One hand raised and covering his lips moving, he stage-whispered (ha), “Do you have any ideas?”

This could not be happening. Blanche looked warily between Winn and the angry theatre majors. How was this her fault, exactly? She was considering just backing up and running away, and leaving Mr. Nipple Tassel to deal with it himself. As if Granny could sense what she was thinking, she hissed in her ear: “You were the idiot that walked in front of a bus. Take responsibility for your actions!” Sure. Okay. But did Winn, as she learned his name was, have to jump through a window while still holding on to her? Blanche’s gaze snapped from the tired woman who could only be the drama director when Winn offered up a Quip Bro Quo. Oh god, he was an idiot. And then he turned to her and asked if she had any bright ideas. “Uh—” Oh. She sure didn’t. Blanche grimaced, and looked between everyone. “Um. Well. Hi. I’m Blanche.” Well, that was stupid, now they knew her name. Fuck. The woman was giving her a withering stare. “We could… offer labor?” Blanche said, weakly. She glanced up at Winn. “I don’t know, paint sets? Or something?”

The woman was still glaring at the both of them. “Or something,” she confirmed.

#wickedswriting #para #Blanche #Zip Zap Zop

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