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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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All the Subliminal Things: Epilogue

Killian Jones has a plan and a box and a question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Only he and Emma have never been particularly good at plans.

They’re better at falling into something that never really felt like falling, all ease and normalcy and beginning to expect the unexpected. So, he doesn’t really ask, so much as he states it and the next thing he knows, they’re on a plane leaving JFK.

Without telling any of their friends.

—–

Rating: Still teen, but just with like...a ton of kissing. Word Count: 7K’ish. Lots of Disney World knowledge. More kissing. AN: A few days ago I got a very lovely ask with some very nice words about All the Subliminal Things (plus a very nice message from @idristardis) asking for some kind of epilogue. And there are genuinely few things I love more than writing fluff and Disney World, so combining the two was a no-brainer of perfect day-off activities. Here you will find: kissing, fluff, more kissing, seriously more fluff, a bunch of Disney World moments that are far too autobiographical and how convenient it is that the Tangled bathrooms are that close to Peter Pan’s Flight at Magic Kingdom.

As always, I can’t thank you guys enough for saying such lovely things about the words I spew at you and to @cssns for hosting this event. I’ll have some more supernatural words later this month.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

—–

He genuinely, one-hundred percent does not mean for it to happen the way that it does.

That, however, seems to be how they operate –– unexpected and even better, a string of wonderful and slightly magical, all ease and two years of ups and downs and how comfortable it is to fall asleep on the couch together.

They fall asleep on the couch all the time.

It’s a ridiculous habit.

It’s painfully domestic.

And, sometimes, just painful, but Emma likes to say that’s because Killian is old and she always flashes him that very specific smile when she does it. That makes it less painful.

So, really, he can’t be held accountable for what happens. Because Killian did, in fact, have a plan. He had an idea and expectations and a box that’s been burning a hole in his pocket for the last few weeks.

Metaphorically.

But then Emma swings open the door of the bar, hair sticking to her face and color to her cheeks and––“We got him,” she proclaims, slumping over the front of the counter with a huff that probably shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

She lets her head fall forward, a soft thump that is also the single most wonderful thing Killian has ever seen, a joy that’s practically radiating out of her because she and David had been looking for this particular asshole for months, paperwork and long nights and part of the reason he hasn’t actually been able to put the plan in action.

And, really, he’s glad that justice has been served and Emma will probably have some department-mandated time off now and--

She tilts her head back up, staring at him from underneath her eyelashes. Her eyebrows pull low, all concern and confusion and Killian can’t entirely ignore the fluttering of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

That’s absurd. This is...well, it’s magical and soulmates and he’s fairly certain of the answer he’s going to get, but he’s also a human being and he wants. With every single fiber of his being. He’s surprised there’s not a constant stream of smoke coming from his left pant pocket.

“Babe,” she drawls, letting a finger drag through a ring of condensation he should probably clean up at some point. “This is the part where you congratulate me on being the best police officer in all five boroughs.” “All five of them?” “Wow, that is scathing.”

Killian lets out a breath, more nerves and Emma’s eyes narrow slightly. “No, no, no,” he mutters, ducking down to grab a pair of empty glasses he hopes are clean. Honestly, it is a miracle Robin hasn’t killed him yet.

Ruby has asked what the hell is wrong with you no less than forty-two times in the last two weeks alone.

And he doesn’t quite run around the side of the bar, but it’s definitely close enough that it draws a laugh out of Emma and, he supposes, that’s fair. They’re both a little out of breath by the time Killian moves into her space, an arm around her waist when he spins her on the stool he didn’t even realize she was sitting on.

Her legs part, just enough that he can crowd against her, hands on his chest and his fingers brushing strands of hair away from her forehead.

“I love you,” Killian says, barely getting the words out before he’s ducking his head and catching her mouth with his. He can hear Emma’s sharp inhale, the crack of her knuckles when she curls her fingers around the fabric of his shirt, and one of her hands flies into his hair.

There is absolutely, positively no way to know how often they’ve done this. It’s probably an obscene number at this point, drifting into the thousands, at least, but that’s also a good thing, the best thing, and Killian genuinely cannot think when Emma’s leg wraps around his calf.

She surges up, trying to get even closer and that never fails to make his whole world shift slightly, as if she’s greedy for every bit of it, trying to claim something that’s been hers from the very first moment he walked into that coffee shop.

That makes him a little less nervous.

About everything.

God, Ruby is going to be obnoxious about this.

David too, probably.

Robin may just be thankful to have a, relatively, normal business partner again.

And, eventually, the need for oxygen proves to be more pressing than the need to keep making out in front of the relatively small Tuesday night crowd, Killian’s shoulders moving quickly while he tries to regain his bearings.

“So, that’s a no, huh?” Emma asks, laughter still clinging to her voice. She pulls back slightly, chewing on her lower lip and he briefly considers pulling her off the bar stool, dragging her into the back office and doing several unspeakably unprofessional things.

It would not be the first time.

“What gave me away?” “Well, I’ll admit that it’s been kind of back and forth, but Locksley said you’ve been weird for the last couple of weeks and--” “--Are you gossiping about me with Locksley, Swan?” “Ruby brought it up first and then Locksley confirmed it. So, really, you may actually be the most popular guy in all five boroughs.” “Including Staten Island?” “You don’t want to include Staten Island?” Killian shrugs, another quick kiss because, well...he can’t come up with a reason not to. “I can’t say I’ve got much of an opinion on Staten Island. I don’t know that I’ve ever been to Staten Island in my entire life.”

“What, really?”

“Why would I?”

“Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” Emma admits. “Plus, the the toll over the Verrazano is just absurd now and you’d have to drive all the way through Brooklyn.” “God forbid.”

“The BQE and the entire borough of Brooklyn exists just to make me angry, I swear,” Emma says, and this is not the first time he’s heard this particular string of words in this particular order. It is also impossibly endearing.

Killian hums, lower lip jutting out. Emma nips at it. He was kind of hoping that would happen. And his hand has moved at some point, drifting over her side and the slightly rumpled shirt she’s got on, pulling until the fabric threatens to untuck from dress pants he’s, at least, seventy-six percent positive she wears just to drive him insane.

“Is it against the rules for New York’s finest to be critiquing the toll system?” Killian asks, clicking his tongue when Emma digs the heel of her shoe into his leg. “Swan, if you get my pants all dirty, I’m going to be really annoyed.” “That so?” “That’s not an answer.” “About the tolls?” He nods, fairly certain this entire conversation has gone completely off the rails, but it’s also kind of par for the course and if he doesn’t stop thinking in clichés, Killian may, actually, go insane. Emma blinks, lips twisting into something resembling a scowl. “Ok,” she says, tongue flicking out in a way that is far too distracting. Even with, like, six other people in the bar. “What is your deal?”

“What?” “Your deal,” she says slowly. “Locksley is legitimately worried. He thinks you’re overworked or something, which is--” “--I’m not the one catching dangerous criminals, love.” “Is that what it is?” “Is that what what is?” “Killian!”

He kisses her again. Something about habit or how much he’ll never be entirely used to the way she says his name, like it’s hers in a way that it absolutely is. So long as they both shall live. Eventually. Maybe.

Hopefully.

“If I tell you I’m exceptionally proud of you are you, in fact, going to kick me?” Emma huffs, but her mouth is still distractingly close to his and the breath of air on his cheek is warm. “I don’t think I have enough dexterity in my legs, honestly.” “Good word.” “Yeah, well, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Not flattery,” Killian promises, and that’s probably a step in the right direction. Promising. Declaring. The ring is in their apartment. “Honesty. I know how hard you’ve been working, Swan and the charges’ll stick. You’ve got more than enough evidence.” “Most of which you probably shouldn’t be aware of.” “Ah, semantics.”

She laughs again – giggles, almost – a softness to it that makes any lingering sense of tension disappear and he’s so, impossibly, completely in love with her Killian can’t believe he hasn’t gotten it sky-written yet. That’s a very soul-mate type thing to do.

That’s probably why he hasn’t done it.

Because this is that, but it’s more. It’s...everything and easy and simple and a complete contradiction to both of those things and he also can’t believe they haven’t gone to Disney World yet.

“Is that what it is, though?” Emma presses, digging the tip of her finger into his chest. “Were you worried about me? And this Gold dick?” “Phrase that differently.”

She scoffs, head colliding with his collarbone. “You are a very frustrating man, you know that?” “And you are very much charmed by that, my love.”

He doesn’t mean to do that. It’s happened a few times, a quick change that isn’t really much of a change because it is the absolute and complete truth, but it also feels a little possessive and like a line Killian kind of wants to pole vault over.

Emma glances up again, smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Yeah, that’s true,” she whispers. “Seriously, you’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking. Nothing was ever going to happen to me.” “I know.” And he does. Killian knows. He watches her walk out the door every morning with the certainty that she will walk back through it, has gotten so used to falling asleep with hair in his face that he can’t imagine a scenario that is any different, but he’s also all in and his mind cannot begin to process even the idea that any of this might not be.

It, simply, does not make sense.

Plus, he figures the world owes him.

But that seems like a dick move. Not Gold dick, but something different.

“Ok,” Emma says, stretching the word out until it sounds like several paragraphs. “So, then. What’s your deal?” “I have no deal.” “Babe. Seriously.” “No deal,” Killian says, not quite an exact repeat, but enough that he’s almost prepared for the skeptical look Emma’s face morphs into. “I just--”

“--You just?”

And, really, he has no idea what happens next. Honestly. It’s like falling into something, a rush in his ears and thud of his pulse, a burst of light in his vision that’s a bit like staring at the sun and there’s probably a metaphor there and, eventually, Killian will realize that it is, in fact, fairly magical. It’s oddly similar to the moment.

His moment.

Again. As if it’s trying to prove itself or remind him that having a plan is, sometimes, overrated and that’s really all there is to it.

The words spill out of him. There’s an alcohol joke to be made there. He doesn’t make it. He proposes instead.

“Marry me,” Killian breathes, and he’s dimly aware of Emma’s foot falling back onto the floor. She blinks. He blinks. It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t want to blink. He wants to see every single shift of her face, every expression, every twitch and the exact color of her eyes when she does, finally, process the words he didn’t actually mean to say.

He’s glad he did.

It’s more subtle than sky-writing, anyway.

“Fucking fuck,” Emma mumbles, eyes widening to a size that almost immediately makes them water when she realizes what she’s said. Her hand flies to her mouth, jaw going tense and another inhale that’s sharp enough to cut several metaphors.

And, honestly, laughing at his soulmate’s reaction to his less-than-planned proposal is probably against the rules of several different universes, but they’ve never really been very good at following the rules anyway and Killian throws his whole head back with the force of it.

“Oh my God, Swan,” he chuckles, chest shaking and it seems like the air gets sweeter around them. “Are you serious?” “Are you?” He stops laughing. Immediately. Enough that the silence that rings out makes it blatantly obvious that his neck cracks when he jerks back, eyes wide and Emma’s lip twisted between her teeth.

She’s very clearly not breathing.

“Swan,” Killian says, not quite a sigh, but the hope that he’ll eventually be able to make that tone of voice disappear entirely. As if she’s not quite sure or nervous about the hope he can practically see brimming in her gaze.

He reaches up, dragging his thumb over her lip until her teeth let go, and one of them probably gasps as soon as her hands finds his prosthetic.

“I planned this differently,” he admits, and he’s almost genuinely concerned for the state of her eyes. “I’ll have to apologize to Locksley. I--that’s what my deal is.” Emma’s jaw drops. Her tongue flashes again, quick enough that it’s barely there before she’s letting out a shaky exhale and the first tear that lands on her cheek brands itself on Killian’s entire soul.

He is drowning in metaphors.

“I love you,” Killian says. “I should have led with that.”

“Because of my thoughts on the Verrazano Narrows and the overall state of the MTA?”

“I mean, it’s part of it.” He chuckles, more endearments and something seems to settle in the pit of his stomach, a soft weight that doesn’t feel uncomfortable, more like it’s keeping him rooted to the spot or possibly just to her and Killian isn’t entirely opposed to that second one. So long as they both may live. “But it’s...well, it’s more than that, love. And it has been from the start. It’s…”

He has to finish his sentences.

That’s becoming more and more difficult.

“It’s...how much you care. About everything and everyone. You want to do something good, Swan and you do...just by opening your eyes in the morning.” That makes her roll her eyes, which he almost expected. He kisses her again, lets his forehead rest on hers so Emma can keep her fingers in his hair. And keeps talking. “It’s how much you hate scrambled eggs and your thoughts on the amount of cream cheese they put on bagels at Dunkin.” “It’s gross, that’s why. People take the phrase cream cheese sandwich way too seriously.”

Killian kisses the bridge of her nose. And her right cheek. And her left cheek. And the curve of her jaw. He can’t stop, tracing a pattern that isn’t actually there, but one he feels as if he can see. That’s another metaphor.

“I know, Swan,” he continues, “and it’s all of that. It’s these pants--” “--The pants?” “Swan, if you don’t stop interrupting, I’m not going to be able to get you to swoon properly.” “I mean, I think you’re doing an alright job now, honestly.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Yeah. Are you into my pants?” “I’m super into your pants. And you. And how you cried at the end of Moana--” “--Ok, that didn’t happen.” “Emma.”

She scowls, a scrunch of her nose and pinch of her brows and they’re starting to draw a few curious glances. It might be because, at some point, Killian’s hand has moved underneath her shirt. “I might have cried at the end of Moana.” “I know you did, love. That’s my point. I...I love you. And, more than that I...God, I like you so much. Even when you leave the pillows on the floor.” “Is this the part that’s supposed to get me to swoon?” Killian hums, brushing his lips over that pinch until he can feel it disappear. “It’s you, Emma. It’s always been you. No matter what. With the magic or without, with societal rules or expectations. I’d...I’d always get pulled back to you. And I want to keep doing that. On some kind of indefinite loop. With pants that make me lose my mind a little bit.”

“I can’t believe you keep talking about my pants.” “I really like your pants. And what they do to your legs.” “Oh my God,” Emma breathes, but there’s more laughter and tears that are trending more towards emotional than depressing. Killian kisses them away. “I love you too,” she adds, “Way before the moment, which, incidentally is cheating that you’re using again.”

“Yeah, that was the point.”

Whatever sound she makes at that, etches its way onto every inch of him –– every dark corner of his brain, the parts that remember being alone and scared and absolutely terrified that everything he wanted was some kind of fabricated lie of the universe.

But then he’d come to New York and--

“I walked into that coffee shop and it was like seeing the sun for the first time,” he says. “Settled everything, made it easier to breathe. I…” Killian’s eyes flutter shut, a shift of emotion and Emma’s hand is cool when it lands on his cheek. He kisses the inside of her wrist. “I can breathe when I’m with you.” She kisses him that time. It’s nice. Perfect. Happily ever after.

“Yes.”

He blinks again. And blinks. And might, honestly, gasp. “Wait, what?” “Babe,” Emma grins, and she’s moved off the stool at some point, standing on tip toes with an arm slung around his shoulder. “That was the answer. Yes. Obviously.”

The world shifts, Killian is positive. It alters its course of rotation or something happens to gravity and he’s not totally sure how the Big Bang actually worked, but whatever appears to be happening in his bar may be oddly similar.

“Obviously,” Emma repeats, as if saying it again will help him believe. It might.

“The ring is at home.”

“That’s ok.” “I really want to marry you.”

She blushes. It’s the greatest thing that has ever happened to him. Bar none. She’s the greatest thing that has ever happened to him.

Obviously.

“Ask one more time,” Emma mutters, and Killian can hear the want there, the same muted hope he’s been living for years. He nods, taking a step back and sinking onto his knee and, at least, four of the six people in the bar gasps.

She laces her fingers through his when he tries to lift her hand.

He takes a deep breath.

“Emma Swan, will you marry me?” Something, something, the goddamn sun. She beams, a shade of green he’s never seen before, but is probably going to covet the rest of his life, dropping down in front of him, which catches him by surprise, but then Emma’s lips are on his and Killian can’t think of any words.

At all.

“Yes,” she says again, pressing all three letters against his skin, repeated over and over, muttered in his ear and behind the bar, where she isn’t technically supposed to be, but he’s heard all about that evidence so he figures it’s a wash.

And the ring fits, sitting on her finger with those same fingers resting on his chest later that night, hair in his face and the quiet sound of Emma’s breathing lulling him to sleep.

He calls off the next day, some piss-poor excuse that Locksley absolutely does not believe, but Killian does not care and Emma keeps twisting her ring around her finger.

It may be driving him insane.

Which is saying something considering the fact that she’s resolutely refused to put pants on.

There’s a laptop propped up on her thighs, fingers flying across the keyboard with a determined look on her face.

That lasts, approximately, four hours.

And several cups of coffee.

“This is ridiculous,” Emma sighs, slumping further into the corner of the couch. “There is just...do you know how expensive DJs are?” “Oh God, why would we get a DJ?” “That’s what I’m saying!” Killian hums, lifting his arm up so Emma can curl against his side. She slings her legs over his,her head on his shoulder and fingers absentmindedly toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But it’s apparently less expensive than an actual band and--” “--Wedding bands are...something, aren’t they?”

Emma clicks her teeth, not quite frustration, but maybe just a sense of general overwhelmed and that’s not really the vibe he was hoping for. He hates that he even though the word vibe just now. He’s also running on, like, four hours of sleep, though.

He’s really glad she’s still not wearing pants.

“According to a TimeOut article I just read--do not laugh at that,” Emma adds quickly, when Killian opens his mouth, and he nips at her finger when she presses it to his lips. “Ok, seriously. This is just...there are a lot of things. And I was, you know, psyched to--” “--Get married?” “You say that like you aren’t.” Killian shakes his head, ducking down to mouth at the side of her neck. It earns him the exact noise he was hoping for. “I think I’ve proved my level of psyched, love. But I don’t want it to be some kind of something.”

“Explain that,” she says, rolling her shoulders so he’ll look up at her.

“You saw Locksley and Regina’s wedding. They had a fish course. It was absurd.” “It was nice. ‘Ish.” “Swan.” She huffs. “I was so intimidated by that castle.” “I do not want to get married at a castle,” Killian says. “And you despise fish. You’re the world’s pickiest eater, really.”

“That’s rude.” “That is a fact. All I’m saying, Swan, is that this does not have to be some kind of cookie-cutter, soulmate thing. There doesn’t have to be a castle or fish or anything you don’t want. I’m here for you, love. That’s it.”

“That was stupid romantic.” “Yes, exactly.”

She scoffs, but the smile is obvious when she kisses him again, all heady and emotional and Killian’s hips cant up as soon as she scratches at the back of his head. They haven’t actually told anyone, yet. That will, eventually, prove important.

“What if,” Emma starts, and Killian’s not sure when her legs moved to either side of his, but he can’t bring himself to complain. Her breath hitches when his hand moves up her spine. “I really can’t have a conversation when you’re doing that.” “I’m not entirely opposed to not having this conversation.” “Ok, slightly rude again and a little confusing with the double negatives.”

“What if we what, Swan?” “You know you only have to wait twenty-four hours after getting a marriage license to get married in the city of New York?”

Killian’s hand freezes. And Emma’s smile widens, a glint in her eyes that’s far too knowing and---“When did you look that up?” “As soon as I saw how expensive it was to have DJs at a wedding. It doesn’t make any sense. Just play Spotify.” “You want to play Spotify at our wedding?” “Not if we elope.”

The laugh that bubbles out of him is not like any other noise he has ever made –– equal parts joy and something akin to relief and twenty-four hours seems like an almost reasonable amount of time to wait to be married.

He’d more into, like, twelve, but he figures he can last a day.

So long as Emma takes her pants off when they get back from the city clerk.

“Honestly?”

Emma scrunches her nose. “Was that you double checking, or…” She yelps when he stands up, legs wrapping around his middle, like he’d actually let her fall. It’s another metaphor. And they don’t walk back to the bedroom, so much as they stumble, pausing every few feet so Emma’s back can collide with a wall, roaming hands and searing mouths, a press of hips on hips and her fingers never leave his hair.

They both put pants on before they go to the city clerk, impatient in the back seat of an Uber and Killian nearly throws his credit card at the man behind the desk when he says it will cost thirty-five dollars to get married.

Emma’s whole body shakes when she laughs.

The artificial light reflects off her ring.

Killian Jones marries Emma Swan, soulmate, best friend, the love of his goddamn life at three twenty-four on a Thursday.

They don’t tell their friends.

They have to ask a stranger to be a witness.

A man named Archie with glasses that are almost comically thick reads the vows off a slightly browned index card.

It is absolute and completely perfect.

And it really doesn’t last long –– partially because they just decided to do this and partially because they don’t even have rings, just a suit that was hanging in the back of their closet and a dress that’s more cream than actual white, but made Killian’s eyes widen all the same when Emma walked into the living room that morning and--

“Do you, Killian Jones, take Emma Swan to be your lawful wedded wife?” Archie asks. “To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” The muscles in his face ache, far too much use in far too little time, and Killian has to swallow before he can answer. “I do.”

Emma’s fingers tighten around his left hand.

“Do you, Emma Swan, take Killian Jones to be your lawful wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” She blinks, tears and something bigger than that, lips parting into a smile that Killian is certain he’ll think about with startling regularity. Once every day for the rest of his life. At least.

“I do,” Emma says, and he barely hears the rest.

There’s something about power and the city of New York, but the buzzing in Killian’s ears is too loud and his heart is beating too fast and--well, Emma kisses him. Before Archie finishes.

Her fingers tug on the front of his suit, pulling him forward without much grace, an arm around her waist and tongue tracing across her lower lip and someone might whistle.

That seems to spur them on.

Killian tilts his head, lets his nose brush over her cheek and his fingers drift over the back of her dress. She steps on his shoe. Emma’s fingers move, dragging up the back of his neck and making his hair stand up, a mess of feeling and emotion and official.

So long as they both may live.

Obviously.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words hanging in the minimal amount of space between them and it’s difficult to see through the tears clouding his vision.

He feels as if his chest is too tight and flying apart at the seams, bursting with feeling and magic and how this kind of settling is distinctly lacking any negative connotation. “I love you.”

Archie coughs, not quite pointed, but maybe a little uncomfortable and Emma ducks her head into Killian’s neck when she starts to laugh. “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” he says, the first time those particular words have been uttered in that particular order and Emma stills.

And for half a moment, the worry that slinks down Killian’s spine is annoying, but then Emma’s glancing up at him –– all green and love and––“Oh, that sounded good,” she breathes.

He can’t held accountable for what he does after that.

One of her shoes falls off.

Someone else whistles.

“So, what do we now, wife?”

Emma’s smile widens. “I’ve got an idea, actually.”

Eventually Killian will ask Emma, his wife, when she finds the time to do so much internet research. As it is, he’s far too busy being stunned that it worked and there is a website with other people’s cancelled Disney World vacations for sale.

They buy one.

Five days. At a resort that is, apparently, very fancy, something about a pool the internet is consistently impressed by and he’s fairly certain Emma hasn’t stopped smiling once in the last forty-eight hours.

That’s all he really cares about.

He’s a sap.

And he kisses the bend of her knuckles, fingers laced together and more light reflecting off her ring, as soon as they take off.

Of all the things that he has ever seen in his entire life, watching the way Emma’s entire face changes as soon as she walks into Magic Kingdom may be Killian’s favorite.

He can actually see her inhale, the way her shoulders shift and her eyes widen. Her lips twitch slightly, like she can’t decide if she wants to smile. Her fingers flutter at her side, only one hand because the other one is still wrapped up in his, throat shifting when she swallows and lips pressing together, a tight line that doesn’t quite match up with the suddenly quick pace of her breathing.

And he knows it’s wrong to be glad as soon as the first tear lands on her cheek, but he also knows it’s not sadness, it’s hope and romance and, well, romance again.

It is, after all, technically their honeymoon.

“Oh, shut up,” Emma grumbles.

“I didn’t say anything, Swan.” “Yeah, yeah, you didn’t really have to.” She turns, hands flying to his chest, and she’s going to do damage to her sandals if she keeps pressing up on her toes like that. “You look very pleased with yourself.” Killian shakes his head. “I’m happy, love.”

She doesn’t drop back to her heels. That’s nice. “Yeah, me too. I think that’s how it’s supposed to work here.” “Just with you, maybe.” “What a line.” He hums, ducking his head and this is not the place for it. There’s a crowd and people and someone in a red vest is trying to get them to move because there may very well be a parade starting soon, but Killian kisses Emma anyway, lets all the want and need and several other relationship buzzwords find their way into the movement.

“I think we’re going to get run over by a parade float,” Emma mumbles, drawing a laugh out of him and a possible agreement out of the clearly stressed out red vest. “Alright, what do you want to do first?” “How many different types of foods do you think are shaped like Mickey Mouse here?” “At least a dozen.” “You’re low-balling it.” “You think it’s more than a dozen?” “You should start with the pretzels,” red vest says, flashing them a grin despite her attempts to keep people from crossing the sidewalk. “And I really do need you to move.” Killian hums, fingers finding Emma’s again. “Let’s go find a pretzel, Swan.”

“We’re only at ten,” Killian says, two days later and he’s not sure either one of them have ever eaten this much food in their lives. That’s really all they’ve done. They eat and they drink and they make out in public places.

And, well, they take each other’s clothes off with an almost alarming amount of frequency, but he’s still using the honeymoon excuse and they do, at least, wait until they get back to their room for that.

They haven’t used the pool once.

It has a pirate ship next to it.

And a lot of kids.

Whose parents probably wouldn’t appreciate how often Killian likes to kiss his wife.

He keeps using that phrase.

Word, really.

Title?

It doesn’t matter. He uses it and thinks it and someone in one of the stores on Main Street gave them buttons that say happily ever after on them. It’s gotten them more food. And champagne that one time.

Emma rolls her eyes, taking a particularly aggressive bite out of a pretzel shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head. “That’s ridiculous,” she says, reaching out to brush her fingers over the fake headstone in the line queue they’re waiting in. Haunted Mansion appears to be her favorite ride.

She hums the song at the end.

Killian doesn’t think she realizes she’s doing it.

“Ten Mickey Mouse shaped foods, love. And I really don’t think the ice cream cone counts because it’s just a cookie on top of ice cream.”

“You’re just getting particular now. Also you hated those cake pops.” “If I’m going to pay six dollars for something on a stick, it should at least be an entire cake.”

Emma scoffs, shuffling forward when the line does and shivering slightly when they move into the air conditioned building. She hands him a piece of pretzel over her shoulder, trying to surreptitiously eat what may actually be their fifteenth pretzel before they get on the ride and she laughs every time the lights flicker in the entry room too.

He is hopelessly in love with his own wife.

It’s nice.

It’s obviously what was going to happen.

“Welcome, foolish mortals to the Haunted Mansion,” Emma mutters under her breath, leaning back against his chest. There’s hair in his face again. “This chamber has no windows or doors.”

The lights flicker again, Emma’s body shaking against Killian’s and she jumps slightly. That might have more to do with his mouth against her neck than anything else.

And she keeps humming the song long after they get off the ride, another loop around Magic Kingdom that gets disrupted by the parade –– “Seriously, there are so many parades here.” “You are very anti-parade, babe.” “It ruins the walking pattern of the whole park, Swan.” “So we’ve heard.” –– before they have fast passes at Hollywood Studios and they are both absurdly competitive at Toy Story Mania.

“You looked up cheat codes last night,” Emma accuses, pushing her 3D glasses up the bridge of her nose after he’s won. Again.

“I did no such thing.” “Show me your internet history.” “No!” “You cheated. You’re a cheater.” “I just have better hand-eye coordination than you, that’s all.” He twists his eyebrows, half a smirk and the tip of his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek and Emma groans. And kisses him. Her glasses slide down her nose again. “And they weren’t cheat codes,” Killian adds. “They were suggestions on where to aim the rings on that one game so you could get a shit ton of points, that’s all.”

“You are the worst.” He hums, holding an arm out when she clamors in front of him. "Still married me.” “You keep bringing that up.”

“Yup.” It makes her laugh, the sound of plastic being thrown in the bin echoing around them. “Alright, husband, where to now? Because if it’s not Tower of Terror, I think this marriage is destined for disaster.”

“Good alliteration.” “C’mon.”

He’s gotten very good at timing the photos on the drop, fingers brushing over Emma’s stomach at precisely the right time, making her laugh even louder and smile even bigger and she’s very quick to point out that buying the pictures now is pointless, they’re all on the website, but he’s kind of stubborn and they’re married, which isn’t an excuse, although it may be a reason and she buys a frame for it.

They drink around EPCOT on their last night there, not particularly good planning, but it is what it is and what it is is delightfully buzzed.

“This is professional curiosity, Swan,” Killian says, not sure when his words started slurring slightly, but it might have been somewhere around Morocco.

She nods against his shoulder, legs wobblier than normal underneath her. “So you mentioned when you were talking about the one guy’s pour technique in Canada.” “It wasn’t very good.” “Too much foam.” “Exactly.” “Is that why we’re only doing liquor? No threat of pour issues?” “No,” Killian shakes his head, which leads to his lips dragging across her forehead and he didn’t realize he was that close to her. “That’s so we don’t die on the flight home tomorrow.” “Oh, don’t mention tomorrow.” “What’s the matter?” Emma shrugs, tilting her head up and there’s just enough sobriety in her gaze to be...sobering. “I love you,” she says, which isn’t the last thing he expects to hear, but they’re also a few steps away from a giant statue of a Viking, so it’s probably not the first thing. “And, I--God, this has been so good. This whole thing and I don’t…” “You don’t?” “No, that’s not what I mean. I guess--” She licks her lips, a shaky breath and she’d really liked that ride in Norway when they’d ridden it a couple days ago. Maybe they should get some school bread to eat. Soak up the alcohol. “I’m happy. And not really surprised because you make me happy, but...I’m just glad we did this. That it was ours.” She shrugs again, as if she’s not sure of the reception she’ll get to the words and so, really, the only rational thing to do is kiss her until her left knee buckles. It ends up being her right, but Killian will work with what he’s got.

And he’s got her.

Obviously.

“I love you so much.” “That’s really good news,” Emma mumbles, a quiver of something that still sounds like nerves and there’s more to this than what she’s saying. “We’ve got to tell people eventually, you know.” “I do. And I have an idea about that.” “Do you just?” He hums, smile stretching across his face and excitement twisting around the base of his spine. It’s pleasantly warm. Like magic or something. “I do, but first, we are going to try the margaritas inside the pyramid thing--” “--That is not what it’s called.” “Inside the pyramid thing, because the subReddit said they were better than the ones outside.” “You are obsessed with the subReddit.” “Yes, let’s drink margaritas.” They do –– and they don’t try the ones outside, far too aware of the states of their livers, but the ones they have are pretty damn good and make Emma grit her teeth in the most delightful way, and then they’re on the monorail and standing in front of Cinderella Castle and there’s a camera pointed their direction. “So,” the photographer says, “what did you guys want to do, exactly?” Killian stuffs the Sharpie back in his pocket, an arm around Emma’s waist and maybe the smile is also permanent now. She holds her hand out.

The photographer laughs.

“We’re telling our friends we got married,” Emma explains, more laughter and kisses and she actually gasps when he dips her.

Their phones buzz, in tandem, for fifteen minutes straight.

Ruby sends four different audio messages.

David sends a photo of Mary Margaret. She’s crying.

Locksley writes finally with several exclamation marks.

And the rest of the night goes on –– starlight and moonlight and fake light, from trees and off rides in the back corner of Fantasyland, neither one of them quite buzzed anymore as they meander past the Tangled area towards Peter Pan’s Flight.

Emma stops walking.

Killian nearly falls over. “Swan?” She chews on her lip, chest heaving enough that he’s worried her pin is going to fall off. “Love,” Killian continues, a cautious step forward and his left hand on her waist. “Are you alright? You want to sit down?” She shakes her head, the ends of her hair fluttering a sudden breeze and--

“I wouldn’t want you to look at my internet history either.”

He can feel his eyebrows fly up his forehead, that same feeling of dread and worry mixing together with whatever his pulse is doing and the edges of his vision have started to go a little spotty. Maybe he’s not entirely sober yet.

“I don’t--” “--I know, I know,” Emma cuts in sharply, and she can’t seem to decide what to do with her hands. “I just...well, I was thinking about it before you even proposed and I--” “--You’re going to bite through your lip, love.” Killian thumbs at it, trying to pull it away from her teeth, but Emma is also stubborn and so obviously nervous and part of him probably knows. Part of him appears to be having a moment. Over and over. Again and again. Falling into a life and a feeling, a sense of security and want and how easy all of those things are.

He supposes that’s how it should work.

And how it has, even before he knew.

He’s always kind of known.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Swan, whatever you were looking up, it’s not…” “--I want to adopt a kid.”

His eyebrows are going to stay locked at the top of his forehead for the rest of his life.

Killian swallows, eyelids fluttering shut despite his best efforts, because he kind of knew, and he wants and wants and wants. With her. Obviously. “Yeah, ok,” he breathes, and Emma actually gasps. It makes him laugh. “Were you not expecting that?” “I…” “Swan, c’mon, love.” “Are you serious?” “Are you?” “I feel like we’ve done this before.”

She lets out a breath, body sagging forward, which isn’t much since she’s also pretty close to him and that’s as nice as it’s ever been. “I love you,” Killian adds. “And I know you think it’s too soon and--” “--Stop reading my mind.” “I’m not, love. And it’s not. It’s--” He shrugs, a tilt of his head and a smile that’s as genuine as any he’s given her all week. “I love you,” he says again. “And we’ve both been...you changed everything, Swan. If we could do that for kid, together, then I am in. All in.”

Emma tilts her head up, probably not an invitation to kiss her, but they did just decide they were going to try and have a family a few feet away from very intricately decorated bathrooms, so. Killian kisses his wife.

Hard.

And the fireworks start.

Loud.

There’s music and color and more light, reflecting off the ring on the hand that’s resting against his chest, tears on Emma’s cheeks and, maybe, on his cheeks, and they didn’t even read all of their text messages.

“We’ll swap internet history when we get back to hotel, yeah?”

Emma clicks her tongue, but then she’s laughing and kissing him and--“Maybe not the first thing we do.” “Deal.”

He keeps reading the Disney World subReddit.

And Emma sends him links. To an adoption agency. And baby stores. And how to bring a toddler to Disney World without losing your mind.

And three years later they do just that.

Henry likes the pool at the Beach Club.

He smiles and splashes, making faces and squirming in Emma’s hold while Killian tries to take pictures, ignoring any preconceived worries about his phone and its proximity to water. And they ride rides –– not Tower of Terror yet, because they are, actually, responsible, but Henry is delighted by the music on Haunted Mansion and even more so by Pirates of the Caribbean and Killian’s rough estimate is that they buy sixteen cake pops.

Over the first four days.

They eat more food and meet characters, something cliché about seeing joy reflected on your kid’s face that changes absolutely everything all over again, and, on their last night there, they stand in front of Cinderella Castle with smiles on their faces and a camera pointed at them.

Mary Margaret’s answering text message includes what may be a record-setting number of w’s in her aw.

Henry likes the fireworks too.

That feels oddly cyclical. As does Emma next to Killian, the feel of her lips obvious even through his t-shirt and it probably isn’t easy for her to get her arm around his middle when there’s a kid there, but they might both be holding that kid together and he kisses her hair.

“You happy, Swan?” “Yeah, I am. You?” “Yeah.”

Henry and Emma both fall asleep on the bus, her head on Killian's shoulder and their son’s arms wrapped around his middle.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #cs fic #captain swan ff #all the subliminal things #i cannot overstate how much these disney parts are based on real life #these are real telling about me and justin

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cottagethings · 4 years

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self-quarantine activities

1. Complete a puzzle: The more pieces the better! Feeling extra saucy? Take on a Rubik's Cube. More of a word person? Crossword puzzle!

2. Start a journal or blog. Sure, it can be about the coronavirus, but it could also be about a specific interest from chess to cheese.

3. If it won't bother your neighbors: Dust off that old instrument and practice.

4. Text all your exes just in case you have one more thing you wanted to get off your chest.

5. Write poetry. Perhaps you can craft a haiku for Mother's Day, or something without a specific structure. Just try it!

6. Watch all the really long movies you’ve avoided until now.

7. Download Duolingo, or a similar app, and teach yourself a foreign language.

8. Finally read “Infinite Jest,” “Les Miserables” or even “The Stand.” Go all in and read “Ulysses.” You got this.

9. Meditate. Try lying down with your eyes closed, palms up and while focusing on your breath. Or spend 20 minutes sitting crosslegged and repeat a soothing word to yourself in your head. (The latter is more like transcendental meditation.)

10. Face masks, moisturizer, oh my! Treat yourself to a 10-step skin care routine you don’t have time for during a normal work week.

11. Look at pictures of puppies.

12. Put together the most attractive charcuterie board possible, but you can only use foods you already have in your fridge and cupboard.

13. Take note from "Tangled" star Rapunzel, who has an entire song about how she's spent her days alone in a castle. Activities included in her ditty: Ventriloquy, candle-making, papier-mâché and adding a new painting to her gallery.

14. Write actual letters to family and friends. After that? Write thank-you notes to service people who you remember went out of their way for you.

15. Learn calligraphy. YouTube can help.

16. Finally read the rules to those long and intense board games you've never played with the family. Encourage the family to play.

17. Put on a soap opera. Mute the sound. Create your own dialogue.

18. Have a space in your home where all of the tupperware goes? Organize it and actually match lids to containers.

19. Try on all your clothes and determine whether they “spark joy” á la Marie Kondo.

20. Better yet, go through this process with your junk drawer and supply shelves.

21. Have a roommate meeting about how to be more considerate of one other, especially while you will likely be spending more time together. Bring baked goods.

22. Bake those goods.

23. Watch the films that won Oscars for best picture.

24. Watch films that won Independent Spirit Awards for best picture.

25. Watch films that critics say should have won those aforementioned awards.

26. Read all the New Yorker issues piled on your desk.

27. Will Tom Hanks into recovery from coronavirus by watching every Tom Hanks movie chronologically.

28. Knit or crochet.

29. Use Skype, FaceTime, Google Hangouts or Marco Polo to video chat with your long-distance friends.

30. Try out at-home aerobics or yoga videos. Consider downloading a fitness app with curated workout playlists.

31. Look at yourself in the mirror. Attempt a self portrait with pencil and paper.

32. Take a bubble bath (bonus: Add a glass of wine).

33. Make a classic cocktail, from negronis to Manhattans and aperol spritzes. Don't forget the garnish.

34. Coloring books: They’re not just for kids.

35. Take time to reflect: What have you accomplished in the last year? What goals are you setting for yourself in the next year?

36. Write a short story or get started on that novel.

37. Actually try to reproduce something you see on Pinterest. Probably fail. Try again.

38. Clear out the family room and camp indoors with all blankets, popcorn and scary movies.

39. Finally get around to fixing that broken door knob and loose tile or cleaning scuffed up walls.

40. Acquire a foam roller and treat yourself to some physical therapy.

41. Pretend you're 13 years old and fold a square piece of paper into a fortune teller you put your thumbs and pointer fingers into. Proceed to tell fortunes.

42. Learn how to braid (fishtail, French, etc.) via YouTube tutorial..

43. Throw out all your too-old makeup and products. (Tip: most liquid products have a small symbol on them noting expirations, usually six months to a year. This includes sunscreen!)

44. Interview your grandparents (over the phone, of course) and save the audio. Can you create an audio story or book with that file?

45. Go through your camera roll, pick your favorite pics from the past year and make a photo book or order framed versions online.

46. Go on a health kick and learn how to cook new recipes with ingredients you may not be using already, from miso to tahini.

47. Create a Google document of shows or movies you’re watching and share it among family and friends.

48. Make a list of things for which you are grateful.

49. Have your own wine tasting of whatever bottles you have at home. Make up stories about the journey of the grapes to your mouth.

50. Work on your financial planning, such as exploring whether to refinance your loan or ways to save more money.

51. Perfect grandma’s bolognese recipe.

52. Make coffee, but this time study how many beans you use, which types, how hot the water is, how long it brews and whether any of that makes a difference.

53. Buy gift cards from your favorite local businesses to help keep them in business while we quarantine.

54. Watch “Frozen 2,’ which went up early on Disney Plus. Another new movie on the streaming service: "Stargirl."

55. Write a book with your family. Pick a character and each member writes a chapter about their adventures. Read aloud to each other.

56. No March Madness? Have a Scrabble tournament. Or Bananagrams. Pictionary, anyone?

57. Get into baking with "The Great British Baking Show," but your technical challenge is baking something with the ingredients you have on hand (that you didn't already use in the charcuterie board).

58. Indoor scavenger hunt.

59. Alternate reading the Harry Potter series with your kids and cap each one off with the movie.

60. Dye your hair a new color. No one else needs to see it if you don't like it.

61. Read Robert Jordan’s 14-book “Wheel of Time” series before it streams on Amazon starring Rosamund Pike.

62. Write a play starring your loved ones. Perform it via a video call app.

63. Go viral in the good way by making a quarantine-themed TikTok.

64. Rearrange your sock drawer. Really.

65. Stop procrastinating and do your income taxes.

66. Make lists of all the museums, sporting events and concerts you want to visit when they finally reopen.

67. Get into comics with digital subscriptions on your tablet, like Marvel Unlimited.

68. Rearrange your furniture to make it seem like your home is a totally different space.

69. Practice shuffling playing cards like a Poker dealer. Be ready for employment opportunities once all casinos open back up.

70. Organize your spice rack alphabetically or get crazy and do it by cuisine.

71. Teach your dog to shake. Hand sanitizer optional.

72. Memorize the periodic table. You never know when that will come in handy.

73. Order and put together some IKEA furniture. Time yourself.

74. Get a free trial of a streaming service and binge-watch as much as you can before it expires.

75. Apply for a new job. You have remote work experience now.

76. Learn a new style of dance via YouTube, from bellydancing to breaking.

77. Update or write your will and organize your affairs. Yes, it sounds melodramatic and morbid but let’s face it: This is a task many of us avoid because we never have the time. Now we do.

78.The parades have been canceled but you can still make corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick’s Day.

79. Bring out the Legos. Build your house inside of your house.

80. Watch the "Star Wars" movies in this and only this order: Rogue One-IV-V-II-III-Solo-VI-VII-VIII-IX.

81. Two words: Coronavirus beard! Grow it, moisturize it, comb it, love it.

82. Learn the words to "Tung Twista." Get them so ingrained in your brain that you can rap them as fast as Twista can. Impress everyone.

83. Been meaning to get some new glasses? Try on new frames virtually on sites like GlassesUSA.com.

84. Attempt things with your non-dominant hand, from writing to brushing your teeth. Prepare to be frustrated.

85. How many words per minute can you type? See if you can get speedier by taking a typing course.

86. Prepare to verbally duel a bully who wants to discuss the evolution of the market economy in the Southern colonies, by memorizing Matt Damon's "Good Will Hunting" speech.

87. Learn origami. Make cranes for your loved ones.

88. Stretch. Work on your flexibility. It's possible to get the splits back, right?

89. Try to speak in pig Latin. Or, "ig-pay, atin-Lay."

90. Talk to your plants. How are they doing? Make sure they are getting the amount of sunlight they should be. Check their soil. Water if necessary.

91. Deep condition your hair and put paraffin wax on your hands. Enjoy your soft hair and nails.

92. Consider donating money to food banks to help families struggling to get meals.

93. Write a song. If you want to make it about your time inside and put it to the tune of "My Sharona" and replace "Sharona" with "Corona," do what you have to do.

94. Study the art of beatboxing.

95. Try moving in super-slow motion. It's OK to laugh at regular speed.

96. You know how there are dozens of ways to wear a scarf, but you only wear it the one way? Learn the other ways.

97. Learn Old English words. Pepper them into your conversation. Wherefore not?

98. Try on a new shade of lipstick. See how long it takes your partner to notice it.

99. Take deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth.

100. Sleep. Get lots of it.

#corona #coronavirus #quarantine #self care #activity #freetime #dosomethingforyourself

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