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communicationthroughlyrics · 4 months ago

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Watch The World Explode, From Underneath Your Glow

It was supposed to be a relaxing night with your wife. People forget things, that happens. But the way people look at your wife? Well, that drives you insane.

A/N: Hello friends, thank you all for your continued support and kind words. I appreciate it! As a thank you, a ONE-SHOT, smutty lil' thing with an Intersex Reader. Much love y'all!

TW: Intersex!Reader, P in V sex, jealous/kinda anxious reader, and just some sex that I desperately need to dish to someone 😅

Word Count: 5.1K

I Wanna Take You Home

There was a faint smell of perfume as you crossed the threshold to your shared loft. Tossing your backpack off to the side, you shrug the blazer off your shoulders, hanging it up behind the front door. The space was eerily quiet, which was unusual for a weekday evening. You could've sworn that Lizzie said she would be home tonight when you got off, but it doesn't seem like she is.

"Lizzie?" you call out, waiting for a response as you stand in the middle of your living room. The only reply is the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, echoing through the open-plan space. The loft's high ceilings and large windows normally filled the apartment with a comforting warmth, but tonight they only emphasized the emptiness. You glance down at your phone, seeing it's already 6:42 PM. You start to walk to your bedroom, recalling the conversations over the past week that would tell you where she may be.

Perhaps she got held up at work again or went to meet friends without mentioning it. You decide to call her, quickly pressing her contact photo, a photo that makes you smile at the memory. You had gone to a pumpkin patch to pick out some of the orange orbs for Halloween decorations. Her laughter had been infectious as you both tried to find the perfect one. She had walked ahead of you, oblivious to you fishing out the device from your pocket, and snapping pictures of her as she twirled and skipped through the field. The autumn leaves were a perfect backdrop as her blonde hair swirled around, a bright smile on her face as her eyes finally landed on you.

The line rings, and just when you think it's going to voicemail, she finally picks up. You can tell she is laughing, her voice having familiar breathiness, before hearing her speak through the line.

"Hi baby," she began. "Did you just get home?"

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, the question echoing in your mind. "Yeah, I was expecting you to be here," you laughed a little, walking around the living room, and rubbing the back of your neck. "Did something come up?"

Her laughter trickled through the speaker, and you felt a pang of annoyance. "Oh babe, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to text you. I'm at that restaurant on the corner of 12th and 47th. We had some last-minute changes to the project we've been working on, but since we got them all worked out, we are officially done and celebrating."

You leaned against the wall, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. "It's okay," you lied, trying to keep the edge out of your voice. "What time do you think you'll be back?"

"Well, we're just about to order some food," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "But I'm not sure, there's a bunch of people here. You should come, I want to introduce you to everyone."

Your eyes scanned the empty kitchen, the fridge barely holding a few takeout containers. "Okay," you respond, typing the restaurant name into your phone to get the GPS directions there. "I'll be there in 20. I love you, babe."

"Love you too," she says, and before you can ask anything else, the line goes dead. You let out a sigh, tuck the phone into your pocket, and head to the bedroom to change into something more dinner casual. You opt for a shirt you know Lizzie loves- a coppery, silk button-up that shows your tanned skin underneath. After slipping on a pair of loose-fit tan linen pants and some black loafers, you grab your keys and head out the door.

You muss your hair, ruffling it slightly and making sure it looks how you want it to, before pushing the brake pedal to the floorboard and starting the car. The engine purrs to life and you pull out of the garage, navigating the familiar streets to the restaurant. The evening air is cool and crisp, hinting at the coming winter, and the streetlights cast a warm glow that makes the city feel alive. You park and head inside, the buzz of conversation and clinking of glasses growing louder as you approach the large group in the private room in the rear of the restaurant.

As you enter, Lizzie spots you and waves, her eyes lighting up. She stands, and you take in her effortless beauty. The black blouse she chose was tucked into a heathered, almost canvas-like skirt that hugged her hips tight. The black heels she wore clicked through the restaurant as she began weaving through her colleagues with a grace that was as mesmerizing as it was frustrating. She's surrounded by a sea of faces you don't know, all of them looking at you with curiosity. She kisses you on the cheek, and you catch a whiff of wine and something else - a scent that isn't quite her perfume. "Everyone, this is my wife," she says, her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "This is Y/N, the one I've been telling you all about."

You force a smile, feeling a bit like an intruder in her professional world. The introductions are a blur of names and job titles, none of which you can remember. They all seem friendly enough, though you notice a few lingering glances from one of her colleagues, a man with piercing blue eyes and a cocky smile. You try to ignore the knot in your stomach and focus on the conversation, sipping the wine someone hands you. The room is a whirlwind of chatter and laughter, but it feels forced as if everyone's playing a role in a play you don't know the script to.

As the dinner progresses, the stories get louder and the drinks flow more freely. You sit next to Lizzie, trying to engage in the conversation, but she seems more absorbed in the banter across the table. You can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the ease with which she interacts with her work friends. You've never felt particularly welcome in this part of her life, always the plus-one at work functions and the one left out of inside jokes. The blue-eyed colleague keeps looking over, his gaze lingering just a beat too long.

The server brings out plates of food, the aroma of garlic and butter filling the air. You take a bite of the pasta, hoping the carbs will help soothe the discomfort in your stomach. The conversation turns to the latest office drama, and Lizzie leans in, recounting a story with animated gestures. Her hand lands on your thigh, and you give it a gentle squeeze, hoping to remind her that you're there. But she doesn't seem to notice, her attention fully on her colleagues. You begin to feel a familiar pit of jealousy and anger in your stomach, you don't like to be ignored. Especially when there is someone who is practically eye-fucking your wife from across the table.

The blue-eyed colleague, whose name you've already forgotten, tells a joke that has the whole table in stitches, except for you. You've heard it before. It's not funny, it's just a play on words that only people who don't know any better find amusing. You manage a polite chuckle, trying not to let your annoyance show. But as the laughter dies down, you catch his eye, and he winks at you. It's subtle, but it's there. The wink sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you take a sip of your wine, trying to wash the feeling away.

"Lizzie, dear?" You lean in, trying to get her attention. She turns to you, her face slightly flushed as she is now onto at least her 4th glass of wine.

"Yes, my love?" She purrs, her eyes a bit glazed over as she leans into your chest.

You swallow hard, willing the anger to stay at bay. "Could I talk to you for a second?" You ask, your voice calm but firm. Her face drops slightly, but she nods at you.

"Of course," she says, before she follows you out of the room, her stumble slightly exaggerated as she stands. You lead her to the quieter bar area, where the music isn't as loud and the lights aren't as bright. You lean against the polished wooden counter, the coolness of the marble seeping through your shirt.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her eyes searching your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "Well, yes, I would say 'OK' is an adequate way to describe everything," you start, keeping your voice steady. "But I just wanted to talk to you about something."

Lizzie's expression shifts from tipsy cheer to concern. "What is it?" she asks, reaching for your hand. You pull your hand away from her, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Actually, it’s a couple of things," you begin, your voice a tad shakier than you intended. "One, why didn't you tell me about this dinner? I would have liked to be included from the start."

Her eyes widen, the concern deepening. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. It just came up, I didn't think it would turn into this," she gestures vaguely to the noisy room behind her. "But I'm so happy you're here now."

You nod, acknowledging her apology but not letting it dissolve your feelings entirely. "And two, while you say that you wanted me here, and you're happy that I came, I cannot help but feel like you wouldn't have invited me had I not called, and you haven't been the most attentive since I got here." You let the words hang in the air, watching as the color drains from her cheeks. She goes to speak, but you stop her. "And lastly," you begin, glancing over to the room where her colleagues were all seated, laughing and clinking glasses as thier banter grew louder. "Flirty Mc Blue Eyes has been practically eye-fucking you all night. Is there something I need to know about, Elizabeth?"

Her hand flies to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips. "What? No, no, it's nothing like that. I swear, he's just a flirty guy, it's his thing." She tries to laugh it off, but her eyes dart back to the table where the blue-eyed colleague is watching the exchange with a smug look. "Baby," she steps towards you, her arms wrapping around your neck as her fingers work through your short hair. You look into those green seas that you find so much comfort in, seeing nothing but genuine honesty within them.

"You have nothing to worry about, darling." She purrs into your ear, standing on her tiptoes to reach. Her breath was warm, tickling the shell of your ear and sending shivers down your spine. "He's just a colleague. You know I only have eyes for you. Do you want me to prove that to you?"

You feel your anger and jealousy shift to desire and arousal at your wife's words. You feel a growl echo through your chest at her words. Leaning down to her ear, you whisper, "Those better not be empty words, baby girl." She shivers in your arms, and you can feel her breath hitch as you pull her closer. You kiss her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under your lips.

Lizzie pulls away, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "Now, let’s go be social, shall we?" she says, taking your hand and leading you back to the table. As you sit down, you notice the blue-eyed colleague's gaze lingering on the two of you, his smug look replaced with something resembling annoyance. You decide to make it your mission to show him that she's yours and you're not just some forgotten plus-one.

The conversation turns to the upcoming office retreat, and you listen intently as Lizzie's voice becomes more animated. You lean in, whispering sweet nothings in her ear that make her giggle and blush. You make a point to touch her frequently, your hand resting possessively on her thigh, your fingers tracing patterns that only she can feel. The tension between you two is palpable, and the blue-eyed colleague's glances become less frequent, his smirk fading.

Deciding to test the waters, you lean over, resting your lips against Lizzie’s ear. "You look stunning tonight, doll," you murmur, your voice thick with desire. She giggles again, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she nods. You nuzzle your nose under her ear, right by that sweet spot you know she loves. "Makes me want to take you home and rip that skirt right off of you." She shifts in her seat, her hand flying to your upper thigh, squeezing it tightly. You press a lingering kiss to her pulse point before pulling away slightly. "If you’re that beautiful in those clothes, you must be beautiful out of them, right?"

The room is a blur of conversation around you, but the only voice you’re tuned into is hers. Her hand slides up your thigh, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. "Oh, baby," she whispers, her breath hot against your neck. "You have no idea." Her eyes dart to her colleagues, who are still deep in conversation before she leans in closer. "But then again, you only think you know what’s underneath this outfit."

The tease sends your mind racing, and you squeeze her thigh in response. The night wears on, and the alcohol loosens everyone's inhibitions. You watch as Lizzie laughs at every joke, her hand sliding higher up your leg with every touch. It's a silent battle of wills with the blue-eyed colleague, but you're winning. He tries to rejoin the conversation, but she's focused solely on you now.

The teasing touches and remarks continue throughout the dinner, she has finally made her way up to the apex of your thighs, rubbing your member through the loose fabric of your pants. "Someone is liking this," she whispered, placing a kiss on the shell of your ear. "But don't get too excited, I'm not sure if we're going to be able to leave just yet." You bite your bottom lip, trying to compose yourself as the heat builds between the two of you.

You continue to think when you finally get an idea. You scoot back as subtly as possible, excusing yourself to the restroom. You walk down the darkened hallway towards the lavatory, thankful that the majority of the dinner rush has left. You look back over your shoulder, ensuring no one has followed you. The bathroom is empty, the soft lighting casting a warm glow on the tiles. You enter a stall, lock the door behind you, and pull out your phone, typing out a quick message to Lizzie. You feel like you're back in high school.

-Meet me in the restroom. 2 minutes. -

You smile as the text goes from delivered to read, indicating she knows what to do next. Not even 30 seconds later, you hear the door creak open, and her heels click on the tile floor. She locks the door behind her and you can feel the anticipation thick in the air. She opens the stall, and you take in her flushed cheeks and smoky eyes. Without saying a word, she straddles you, her skirt hiking up around her waist. You groan as she grinds herself against you, the fabric of your pants the only barrier between you two.

"Oh, baby, no panties?" you groan into her ear, nipping at the side of her neck as she whimpered and rocked on your lap. She smirks, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Thought you might like that," she whispers, her hand reaching down to unbuckle your belt. You tutt, swatting her hand away. Her eyes dart to yours, a mixture of lust and confusion.

"Home," you growl, standing with her legs still wrapped around your hips. She whined at the thought of having to wait, her eyes misty with passion. You give her a quick, hard kiss before setting her down and exiting the stall. You wash your hands, fix your shirt, and glance at her in the mirror. She straightens her skirt, fluffs her hair, and fixes her lipstick. The sight of her doing this in such a public place sends a thrill through you.

"Good thing you chose loose pants," she giggled, leaning into you and stealing a kiss, grasping firmly on your throbbing length. The sudden stimulation causes you to gasp, allowing her to push her tongue into your mouth, quickly overtaking and dominating a very sloppy, passionate kiss. She pulls away, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on baby, let's go."

You nod, leading her out of the bathroom, and glance at the table. "Should we say goodbye?" you ask, a wry smile on your features.

"No," she smirks back, quietly working through the main dining room of the restaurant. "I just want you."

Her words are music to your ears as you both sneak out of the bathroom. You can feel the tension between your legs, a stark contrast to the casual air you're trying to maintain as you make your way to the exit. The cool evening air hits you as you step outside, and you immediately feel a sense of urgency. You lead Lizzie to the car, the engine purring to life as you drive off, the city lights blurring past the windows. The drive home is a battle of wills, both of you fighting the urge to rip each other's clothes off.

As you pull into the garage, the tension is palpable. You can't even wait to get to the bedroom. You press her against the car, kissing her hard, your hands roaming her body. She gasps as you pinch her nipples through her blouse, her hips bucking against yours. You can feel her wetness through your pants, and the thought of her being this turned on because of you is intoxicating.

"Oh darling," you growl in her ear as your body presses her against the passenger door of the car. "I am going to destroy you for tonight." She gasps, her breaths coming out in short pants as she nods, eagerly anticipating what is to come. Your hand reaches down to lift her skirt, sliding your hand between her legs to feel her heat. She is soaking wet, and you can't resist sliding a finger into her, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure.

"More," she whispers, her voice needy. You comply, adding another finger, curling them just right to hit her g-spot. Her legs quiver around your hips, and you can feel her beginning to lose control. You pull away, suddenly turning and walking to the elevator doors. She stumbles after you, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Once inside the elevator, you push her against the wall, your mouth claiming hers in a fiery kiss. Your hands roam over her body, tugging at her clothes, desperate to feel her bare skin. The elevator dings, announcing your arrival at your floor, and you break away, smirking as you pull her out into the hallway. She stumbles slightly, her eyes glazed with lust.

You unlock the door and push her inside, the loft bathed in the soft glow of the living room lights. The quiet starkly contrasts the restaurant's buzz, and it feels like the perfect playground for your desires. You slam the door shut, spinning her around to face you. Your hands trace the curves of her body, the fabric of her blouse feeling like sandpaper against your fingertips. You rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, and she giggles, her cheeks flushed with excitement as her eyes darken to forest-green seas of lust.

Her skirt follows suit, landing in a pool around her ankles. Your kisses become more frantic, more possessive as you devour her neck and collarbone. She arches her back, pushing her breasts against your chest, her nipples pebbling with need. You reach behind her, unclipping her bra and letting it fall to the floor, revealing her perfect, perky breasts. You take one in your mouth, sucking and biting the sensitive skin as she moans your name.

Her hands are equally busy, unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders. Her nails trace the lines of your abs, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You lift her, her legs wrapping around your waist as you carry her to the bedroom. The room is dimly lit by the moon shining through the windows, casting shadows across the bed. You lay her down, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her, sprawled out before you, bare and beautiful.

You kiss down her chest, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her breasts before moving down to her stomach. You can feel her tense with every touch, her breath hitching as you reach her bare waist, nipping and licking above where she needs you the most. She's begging for you, her hands tangled in your hair, guiding you where she wants you. You look up at her, her eyes hooded with desire, and smirk as the smell of her arousal slowly invades your senses.

"What do you want, baby?" you husk at her, not quite willing to give in until she tells you.

Her eyes flash with something primal and she growls, "You know what I want."

You kiss down her body, your tongue tracing the path of your fingers, until you reach the juncture of her thighs. You hover there for a moment, feeling her pulse against your mouth. "Tell me," you demand, your voice low and commanding. Her legs we shaking as they tried you close around your head, but you were forcing them to stay open.

"I want you," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "I want you to taste me, to make me cum."

With a growl of your own, you give in to her demand, pressing your mouth to her pussy. Your tongue flicks out, tasting her sweetness, and she arches off the bed, her hands gripping the sheets. You lick and suck, exploring her with an intensity that makes her toes curl. Her legs tighten around your neck, and you can feel her getting closer, her moans filling the room. You love the way she tastes, the way she feels against your tongue. It's intoxicating, and you know you could spend hours doing this. You take the opportunity with her back off the bed to push yourself upwards, effectively lifting all but her head and arms off the bed, wrapping an arm around her hips while one supported her ass.

You pushed your tongue into her wet walls, slurping and licking at all of her arousal as she writhed and mewled in your grasp. Her moans were urging you on as you explored every crevice of her pussy. You could feel her getting closer, her juices becoming even sweeter as she neared her peak. You sucked hard on her clit, flicking it with your tongue in a rhythm that had her breathless and shaking. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as she begged for release.

"Please, baby..." she moaned, as you leaned back, pulling her with you as her back came into contact with your front. You could feel her shiver as you continued to probe her entrance with your tongue. You took her clit into your mouth, sucking and biting gently, while you slid two fingers into her, curling them in that magical way you knew she liked. She bucked her hips against your mouth, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls. You could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around your fingers. She was wiggling and moving you both around, desperate for her release.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over the shoreline of your senses as she screamed out your name. Her entire body tightened, her pussy pulsing around your tongue as she came hard. You didn't stop, keeping the rhythm steady as she rode out her climax, her heels digging into your shoulders. It was a sight to behold, one that you never tired of. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body trembled in your arms. You pulled away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you let her back down on the bed. You crawled up, resting between her legs as you kissed her passionately.

She moaned as she tasted herself on you. Her hands were everywhere, clawing at your back, pulling you closer as she kissed you with the same desperation she had felt moments ago. "I need you inside me," she gasped, her hips rocking against yours. You could feel the tip of your throbbing member poking at her wetness, and as she kept rocking against you, she began to tease herself with your length.

With a groan, you pulled away from her kiss, sliding down to position yourself at her entrance. You looked into her eyes, watching as she bit her bottom lip, her pupils blown wide with desire. You pushed in, inch by inch, her walls clenching around you like a tight fist. She was so wet and ready, and you felt yourself get lost in the feeling of her heat surrounding you. "Fuck," you breathed, as you reached the hilt, her pussy stretching to accommodate your girth.

She arched back in a silent scream, her hands blindly searching for you as they came to rest on your breast, thumbing your nipples as she lay back down. "More," she begged her voice a breathy whisper that sent chills down your spine. You didn't need any more encouragement. You began to thrust into her, your movements slow and deliberate at first, feeling every inch of her tightness. She was so wet, so warm, and so incredibly tight around you. It was like sliding into heaven.

Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper into her with every stroke. You could feel her nails digging into your back as she moaned your name, urging you to go faster. You obliged, your hips moving faster, the slap of your skin against hers filling the quiet loft. Her walls were tightening around you, contracting as she neared another orgasm. You leaned down, your teeth grazing her neck as you whispered dirty words into her ear.

"You're mine, Lizzie," you said, your voice gruff with desire. "Say it." You nipped and sucked at the column of her throat, leaving a trail of marks that would need to be covered if she goes to the office. But you didn't care. It was childish, but you wanted everyone to see your marks.

"I'm yours," she breathed, her voice was a sweet surrender that was music to your ears. You thrust into her harder, feeling the tension in your balls tighten. She was so wet, so hot, and she felt so good around you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your rhythm becoming erratic.

Her nails raked down your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Again," she begged her voice a whimper that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't need to be told twice. You picked up the pace, hammering into her with a fierce passion that left her panting and whimpering your name. Her walls tightened around you, squeezing you in a vice-like grip that was both painful and pleasurable.

"I'm going to cum," she screamed, her legs tightening around your waist. You could feel her pussy spasm around you, and it was all the encouragement you needed. You thrust into her one last time, feeling the warmth of her orgasm as it washed over you. You followed her over the edge, your release filling her up. You collapsed on top of her, both of you panting and trying to catch your breath.

You lay there, your heart pounding against her chest, your cock still twitching inside her. You kiss her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath your lips. "Fuck, Lizzie," you murmur, your voice still thick with lust.

She giggles, the sound is music to your ears. "That was... intense," she says, her voice filled with awe. "Maybe I need to get you jealous more often..." she teased, tracing her fingers over the red, angry welts from her nails on your back. You can't help but smile, feeling a swell of pride at her admission.

"Don't push it, darling," you murmur, kissing her forehead. "Or I might just have to take you in public." You both laugh, the tension of the evening dissipating as you lay in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of your passion.

You roll over, looking into her eyes. "I love you," you say, your voice earnest. She smiles, her eyes sparkling. "I love you too," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. You can see the truth in her gaze, and it fills you with warmth.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the distant sirens of the city outside. You kiss her softly, savoring the taste of her lips. Your hand finds hers, your fingers interlocking as you both lay there. "I'm sorry for being such a jealous prick," you admit, feeling the weight of the evening's tension lift from your shoulders.

She giggles, stroking your cheek with her thumb. "It's okay," she says, her voice soothing. "It's kind of hot, actually."

You can't help but chuckle at her response. "If you say so." You lean in for another kiss, feeling the love between you stronger than ever. The sound of her laughter, the feel of her skin against yours, it's all intoxicating. But you know you can't stay here forever. You roll off her, pulling her into your arms. "We should get cleaner up, get some rest," you murmur, your voice lazy with satisfaction. She nods, snuggling closer.

You both get up, a little wobbly on your legs, and make your way to the bathroom. The cold water from the faucet is a shock to your system, but it helps to bring you back to reality. You clean up, and she watches you with a smile on her face, her eyes roaming over your body. You look back at her, the love and lust warring in your gaze. "Ready for round two?" you ask, a wicked smile playing on your lips. She nods, her cheeks flushing with excitement. She grasped your semi-erect member, slowly pumping it as her eyes darkened.

It was going to be a long night.

#communicatethrulyrics #wlw fanfic #lesbian nsft #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x fem!reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x female reader #lizzie olsen #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader

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maybege · 1 month ago

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Drained

Summary: Donating blood suddenly has a very different meaning.

Pairing: vampire!Paz Vizsla x fem!!Reader

Wordcount: 3.9k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, explicit sexual content, dry humping, blood

Happy October everybody! I hope that autumn is treating you well and if it is not, that I can make you feel a little better with this Halloween-y Paz piece. As always, this is an AU that has existed extensively in my mind for a very long time, so it was fun to actually write something about it lol I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please leave a comment or a reblog, so we can all freak out about what a hot fun guy vampire!Paz is.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

The night air was crisp as you made your way to one of the most exclusive clubs in the whole city and your choice to wear high heels felt stupider with every step you took over the wet streets of downtown but it was too late to change your mind now. In more ways than one.

You threw another look at your phone, where your navigation app guided you down yet another dark alleyway until you arrived at a door that couldn’t look further from trustworthy if it tried.

But as you pushed the door to Vizsla’s Speakeasy open and made your way behind a deep red velvet curtain, you were suddenly enveloped in pure luxury. You could make out leather tufted booths in the candlelight. The walls were dark but shimmery, looking soft to the touch, and more than one wall was covered in golden picture frames. Jazz music played in the background, though you could not see a live band, though maybe they were just hidden in the depths of the bar.

The place was packed – so packed, in fact, that you were surprised you hadn’t heard the commotion outside. Those brick walls must be very thick, indeed.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that you were surrounded mostly by vampires, you made your way to the bar which was set up on the long side of the room. A tall woman stood behind the counter, looking busy. The shelves behind her were stacked with easily hundreds of liquor bottles, creating a colourful backdrop.

“Uh, hi, I am here to, uh, to – “

“New donor?” the gruff woman asked, not stopping her work of wiping down the counter.

You nodded quickly, trying to make yourself feel tall and confident and hoping that no one saw how tightly you were gripping your bag.

Marylin had sworn on her new designer bag that blood donating was one of the safest things one could do (“and it gets you bags like these!”). Considering how long you had worked together, it was kind of tragic that it took four years and her floating into work with that cherry red bag that you had seen in a window one day and had dreamt of ever since to ask her where she had all that disposable income from.

After all, you both worked the same job.

“Oh, that is easy,” she grinned, “I am donating blood.”

It was common knowledge that the streets of the city belonged to the creatures of the night. At least it had been that way ever since you could remember. Your grandparents sometimes still talked about the time before vampires and werewolves suddenly appeared at every corner, drastically changing life as they knew it.

The time of change was something neither of your grandparents ever talked about. It must have been rough. But somehow, after years of tensions and deaths and protests, it all settled into something that everyone could live with. And part of that was that the cities were flooded at night with people that previously had to hide. There were establishments specifically for them, where like and like mingled, and from a young age you were taught never to go out at night.

As you grew older and actually moved from your parents' place in the peaceful suburbs to the city, you knew that nighttime was not as dangerous as they had made it out to be. The interest vampires and werewolves had in actually tearing you up was overrated and you could still go out for an after-work drink or celebrate your birthday by going out until the sun rose. There were just some streets you tried to avoid.

But a huge part of why it was no longer so dangerous was because blood banks existed. And not the kinds to save people’s lives. Although, in some way, they did. Vampires no longer having to hunt and drain innocent bystanders entirely of their blood to survive made the biggest difference in being able to share a society.

You could go to any hospital and donate blood just like in old times and, just like in old times, you were compensated with a small fee. Charitable work, truly.

Unless you wanted to get a cherry red handbag, pay off the medical bills inherited from your childhood, finally afford an apartment bigger than a shoebox, or invite your friends out for dinner sometime.

Then, you wanted to go where Marilyn directed you. Into one of the vampire-owned locations where said vampires would splurge a lot of money on getting blood that was not vacuum sealed in a medical-grade plastic bag.

“It is like a very unusual cocktail bar,” your colleague had explained, showing you her neck and wrists to make her point about how no marks were left after a few days, “And I have never felt safer anywhere else. Just try it and thank me later!”

Which is why you were now standing in front of a woman who looked nothing like how you imagined a vampire to look. She was wearing normal clothes, for one, and her tattoo sleeve did not make her look very immortal. “Name’s Steph,” she introduced herself. “Care for a welcome mocktail while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

She nodded. “Mar sent you, right?”

It took you a moment to realize that Mar was Marilyn and you nodded, nervously looking around. There was no official dress code but you were happy you ended up going with the black pumps and the little black dress. Everyone here looked like they were dripping in understated wealth. “She said she wouldn’t be here today.”

“Nah, she only comes on Tuesdays,” Steph explained and set the glass down, “But you’re not here to see Mar.”

No, you were not, and the reminder made your throat feel very dry.

“There is no reason to be nervous,” she smiled, “The first donation is always with one of your more senior guests. They have more experience with feeding off someone alive and can control themselves if you show any signs of discomfort. If you feel in any way unsafe, just say Geronimo, and I will come and make sure you are okay, okay?”

You nodded, biting your tongue to ask how she was supposed to hear you over the noise.

“I am sure you want to get to know who is going to be assigned to you tonight – Pat!”

A woman turned around with the happiest smile you had ever seen. Her dark hair was in a tousled updo and heavy diamond earrings swung when she turned around. Though that was not what you focussed on. There was a small trail of blood down her throat and you wondered if you should tell her. How hard was blood to get out of clothes anyway?

“What’s up?”

“Where’s Djarin tonight?”

“Oh, he's gone camping again,” she explained, “He asked Mr Vizsla to take over, he should be here somewhere, I just saw him …”

“He is right here, ladies,” a deep voice said right behind you and you turned around.

You were not sure what you had been expecting. Certainly not this specimen. He was tall. And broad. And handsome.

Oh fuck, why is he so handsome?

Mr Vizsla was the biggest man you had ever seen and if you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was a werewolf. He had a strong, stubbled jaw and his dark hair was swept into a hairstyle that made you think of your grandmother's movies. He wore an all-black suit with the first few buttons undone, which meant you got a peek at his chest and the gold chain that was around his neck.

“She’s the newbie that was assigned to Djarin tonight.”

You met his gaze and immediately knew he had caught you ogling him. Shit. But then his eyes roamed over you and you swallowed, trying to stand a little taller even if your feet were already killing you. This was the most beautiful man you had ever seen and everything in you wanted to impress him. The side of his mouth quirked up into a charming smile.

“I'll take it from here,” he announced and held out his hand to you, “why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, darling?"

You followed him silently through the bar that seemed to much deeper in the building than you had originally thought. At one point, you even passed the band. You spotted his face in a few pictures, several of them black and white.

He looked older than you but he didn’t look old. Not like he had lived entire millennia. Maybe he hadn’t. Was it considered rude to ask vampires their age?

“Did you read the pamphlet?” he asked when he stopped you both at a small and empty booth. His hand was warm and dry, you could feel a few callouses at his fingertips and you wondered if he worked. Or if he had always been a … businessman? Bar owner?

You nodded, listing off every bullet point that had been on the online info sheet Marylin (Mar, apparently) had forwarded to your email. “I made sure to hydrate plenty, am not taking any blood thinners and my last check-up at the GP did not show anything wrong with my bloodwork. I should be good to donate blood.”

“Good,” he nodded, “do you have any questions before we get started? Anything at all?”

You shook your head. You knew why you were here but why did it suddenly all feel so fast?

His strong hand wrapped around your wrist and you let your eyes drift over the tattoos on his knuckles and the girth of his fingers and … damn it, how could one man be so … handsome? You had always thought of vampires as pale-faced, porcelain statue versions of humans. But he looked … rugged, and warm, and real. And pretty damn sexy.

“Do you have a preference?”

“What?”

With burning ears, you realized you hadn’t listened to a word this handsome stranger had said. He realized it too because he had that cocky smile again. “Don’t get distracted by my dashing looks, sweetheart,” he teased you, “This is important.”

You nodded numbly, still watching your hand in his. “I will take a bite at your wrist first,” he repeated gently, “Some people have a strong preference for where to bite and we find that it is a good test to see how you feel afterwards. I usually suggest the non-dominant hand but maybe you already have a preference?”

“No, uh, non-dominant is fine,” you murmured, holding out the hand in question.

Mr Vizsla did not look away from you though. His dark eyes were filled with mirth as he patted the spot right next to him. “Might be a bit more comfortable if you're closer,” he said and you looked down at the big space between your bodies. He was right, you knew that, but you also knew that your heart was not just racing because you were nervous to give yourself over to a vampire. No, you were pretty sure that the closer you got to him, the likelier you would be to embarrass yourself.

You really did not want to embarrass yourself.

Not even a second later, you could feel his thick thigh press against yours. Your heart skipped a beat and you wondered if he could hear it. It had been too long since anyone touched you and of course, it had to be at the most inopportune moment that you realized that.

“No need to be nervous,” he assured you, “If you feel in any discomfort if you want to stop for whatever reason, just say Geronimo and Steph is right there to punch me off you if you feel unsafe.”

“Steph?”

Who was Steph? All you could focus on was the sight of him gently cradling your hand and brushing his mouth over your palm. The touch was so gentle, yet so intentional, it made your thighs clench. His lips brushed over the inside of your wrist and your breathing stuttered. “Think of nice things,” he winked at you before his teeth sank into your skin.

An image flashed in front of your eyes. Nice might be the wrong words to describe it. You saw him – felt him, more like – bent over you, driving into you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, hands fisted into white sheets. It was warm, you were in the tropics somewhere, but that did not bother you. Because the man behind you fucked you so good you were crying, begging him for more and all you could see was –

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked, feeling dizzy at how violently you were pulled away from an idea that felt so real. What was that?

The dark-haired man still had your hand in his and you could see two little drops of blood forming on your wrist. It did not hurt, not really, except for a dull throbbing in your veins. You frowned, trying to clear your head of the image that had been so real for a moment that your body still craved being filled by … him.

“Good,” your voice felt hoarse and you swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in your throat. He had no business looking so devilishly handsome with his lips stained dark from your blood.

Your neck would be next, you knew, and immediately your mind was filled with pictures of you in his lap, closer than what was probably appropriate. Then again, it didn’t exactly seem like society’s rules were followed in this place.

He shifted in his seat, his legs spreading and your eyes involuntarily darted to the bulge hidden by his slacks. With the dim lighting, you shouldn't have been able to see anything but still, you imagined to see a very distinguishable something between his legs.

And then an idea popped into your head that you could not get rid of.

“Would it – would,” you swallowed again, trying to find the courage to ask what you wanted.

“What, darling?” he asked, his tongue darting out to lick over the puncture wounds on your arms. You gasped at the feeling. Maybe someone should add spontaneous arousal to the side effects section of that pamphlet.

“Can I – Could …”, you stopped short, frustrated at how nervous you were.

“You want to straddle me?” he suggested his legs spreading the tiniest bit more and you could feel your core pulse at the sight of it. Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

“Is that very inappropriate?” you rushed out, “I am sorry, I don’t mean to put you into an awkward position and –“

“Hey,” he murmured, his hands on your waist gently guiding you to him “Whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, all right?”

You took a deep breath, “All right.”

His large hand was on your neck, gently cupping one side so you could rest your weight against it, offering him up all this space. There was faint music in the background and you could feel his breath wash over the sensitive skin.

Your breathing stuttered, your heart raced and you shifted closer to him, your core settling over his which made you even more.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your jawline, the tip of his nose over your neck, “It is like I can hear your thoughts from here.”

Your laugh sounded breathy even to your ears but before you could worry about how you wanted to make sure you were not being a nuisance; his teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck.

The images returned almost instantly.

This time it wasn’t him behind you in the tropics. This time it was right where you were sitting. But instead of straddling him, you were kneeling between his legs, your mouth wrapped around the girth of his cock. You were caged in by his thick thighs, you could feel the heat of his body at your shoulders, his hand at the back of your head, pushing and pulling you on his shaft.

Good fucking girl, he rumbled in your mind and you gasped out a moan. With a particularly deep thrust, he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes eager to find him even through the tears.

The scene morphed and you were somewhere else, wearing next to nothing. There were people all around you, club music pounding in your ears. You wore a mini-dress with an orange pattern looking like it came out of one of those retro shows. But that was not what you focused on, no.

You were on him, his cock nestled inside you as he faintly talked with other people and you were just there, moving in minuscule thrusts as he kept his hands on you, his mouth occasionally on your neck, whispering things you could not hear but knew were dirty.

Oh fuck. You wanted to pull away, feeling your pussy getting wetter. At this point, you would not be surprised if you had left a wet patch on his pants. But you would be really fucking embarrassed.

The burning in your cheeks made you want to jerk back, get off his lap and run away to move to the other side of the county.

Don’t, sweetheart, you will hurt yourself.

Your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but the dark corner of the ceiling. He was in your head. Was he in your head?

You are in my head?

His mouth did not leave your throat and his other hand landed on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. Right onto the growing bulge in his pants.

Believe me, that’s my first time, too, his voice sounded amused, almost, don’t stop on my account. I quite enjoyed the little picture show.

The hand on your neck spanned wide and suddenly he was tilting your head differently and your eyes fell closed, returning to the images in your minds – and in his, too, apparently.

Your hips started moving on their own accord, grinding against his prominent erection as you found yourself chasing a high you had not felt in a long time.

Fuck, sweetheart. You could faintly hear him groan against your neck and you bucked against him again, the pressure on your clit delicious. The hand on your back wandered lower, to your ass and with how you were moving against him, it was easy for his fingers to slip under the hem of your dress.

Please, Paz, you thought, your pussy aching when his calloused fingertips brushed the lacy edge of your panties before finding the wet spot between your thighs.

Come for me, sweetheart, his voice commanded in your hand.

Countless scenarios flashed in your head, each one more pleasurable than the last but all of them too quick to focus on one. Even if you had wanted to, you would not have been able to form a coherent thought as your orgasm crashed through you.

When you came back into reality, his tongue was on your neck, closing the wound just like on your wrist before. Your thighs felt uncomfortably wet and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Well, that was a first,” Paz breathed and you blinked, trying very hard to be present. The high you were still floating on came crashing down when you realized you were still sitting on his lap and you had just come in front of this, essentially, stranger when that had really not been the plan.

Fuck, you had to get out of here before he kicked you out. How could you have dropped the ball so badly on this?

“No movement,” his hand flexed your back, stopping you from clambering off him, “We don’t want you to get dizzy. Stay here for five-ish minutes and we will see how you feel after some aftercare.”

“A-aftercare?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing over your neck. “A mocktail and the pastry of the day,” he elaborated, “I think it’s croissants today. “

You really liked croissants.

“I am so ashamed,” you whispered, your eyes firmly fixed on his collarbone, “I am so sorry. I promise I will never come back. When Marylin explained donating blood, it didn’t sound like – I wasn’t prepared for –“

“Please do come back,” he interrupted you gently, fingers tipping your chin up until you had to meet his dark eyes, “It – What happened is rare. And I never heard of both happening at the same time.”

Your puzzled expression was enough for him to continue.

“Some people are more … sensitive,” his deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, “When it comes to feeding from them. And I have heard of the odd pair where there was a telepathic connection, but I’ve never – haven’t experienced either. There is no reason to be ashamed. Clearly, I was affected too.”

Your cheeks burned at the memory of that one image that you were certain your head hadn’t come up with.

“Though I have to warn you that if you do come back, I might ask you to be assigned to me every time,” he teased, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. When he spoke, his fangs did not seem all that prominent but would it be different if you kissed?

“I – I wouldn’t mind that, Mr Vizsla,” you admitted quietly.

He scoffed, “Call me, Paz, sweetheart, please.”

The arrival of the waiter interrupted any further conversation and Mr Vizsla (Paz) gently eased you off his lap until you were sitting right next to him. Although the movement was slow and minimal, a wave of dizziness still washed over you and you understood why he had kept you from fleeing.

“Drink,” he offered you the fancy glass and you took it. His arm was draped around the back of the booth right behind you and you felt both comforted and nervous by how close he was.

“Slow and steady,” he murmured as you gulped down the fruity mocktail. His forehead was almost leaning against your temple and you had to resist the urge to just … relax into him.

This felt like the best sex you ever had and yet this man was virtually a stranger. But there was no hesitation in his gentle touches as he offered you the plate with the croissant and there was no flinching on your part when he put his arm around your shoulders.

Was it possible to feel such deep trust in someone you had met only once?

His phone rang and you watched as he pulled it out of his pocket, the sizable screen dwarfed in his hand. A frown formed on his face and your smile fell.

“I am so sorry, but I need to go now,” he announced with a frown on his face. With you still sitting down, he seemed even bigger and you looked up at him with big eyes. Somehow, you had hoped that he would stay. That you could get to know him more.

“So soon?”

“I have to be home in time to feed the cat,” he replied.

“You have a cat?”

“Yeah, her name is Biscuits and if her dinner is late she will start killing any mice she can find and I will not spend my eternal life digging small gravesites.” As if to prove his point, he unlocked his screen and showed you a picture of the fluffiest cat you had ever seen. Biscuits seemed a fitting name.

“Will – will you be here next time too?” you asked before you could lose your courage.

“Oh definitely,” he grinned, “Remember what I said, love, you’re stuck with me now.”

#maybege writes #paz vizsla x reader #smut

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newluvrs · 29 days ago

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Halloween movies w/ Riize ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ currently listening to: OBLIVION - GRIMES bb note: Happy halloween everyone! I cried my fawking eyes out last night bc this month was ass, but here's to a much better November. n e wayz, here r some movies that I think suit the boys based off their personalities

Shotaro ... Kairo (2001) dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa This film is Japanese Techno-horror. A slower film but one that suits him a lot, it is also a film with one of my personal scariest scenes I have ever seen! He's the type of person to like trying to get people to jump, and because of the tension in this movie it serves as the perfect backdrop for one of his schemes lol. Personally I also just want to hear his interpretation of the ending! He seems like he would like the ominous vibe and open interpretation of the events. He would def want to chat about it after and he might even still be thinking about it days later.

Eunseok ... Incantation (2022) dir. Kevin Ko This film is Taiwanese folk horror/found footage. Arguably the scariest movie on this list, I truly believe eunseok is the only one that can handle it lol. He's said in the past that he likes horror, and I noticed that he wants there to be a plot beyond it just being cheap scares and this movie has one! I saw this movie once and can never watch it again but I love to recommend it to people, it's scary and somber at the same time and I think he would enjoy it. He doesn't seem like the type to talk during movies so he can fully take in what's happening so this feels like a really good movie to enjoy with him. He's also pretty brave which you definitely need when watching this film....

Sungchan ... The Conjuring (2013) dir. James Wan This film is American supernatural horror. I don't really know why but sungchan screams the conjuring to me.. like I feel like even though he's a scaredy cat he would genuinely enjoy it? He seems like he does fine with horror films (ex. the Christmas we riize ep.) and he seems to get really invested in them. I think he had even mentioned in that episode that one of the films they watched had a setting that reminded him of the conjuring. I can picture him wanting to watch all of the movies in the conjuring universe and begging to watch them with you after finishing the first one.

Wonbin ... Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum (2018) dir. Jung Bum-Shik This film is South Korean supernatural horror/found footage. While doing my research I noticed that wonbin is the type to completely deny that he is scared during a movie even though he is very clearly hiding his face lol. Because of that I personally would really want to have him watch this film, because it's kind of amusing to watch him pretend to not be scared. I think it would be funny to spook him during one of the jumpscares during this film.. only if ur feeling a little evil >:]

Seunghan ... House (1977) dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi This film is Japanese psychedelic comedy horror. Not your typical horror movie at all, this film is full of bright colors and silliness! An easy watch for my non-horror movie lovers, and even though Seunghan isn't really easily scared (ex. horrorland we riize ep.) I feel like he would enjoy something light-hearted over serious horror. He seems like the type to want to talk through it, and even though I am strictly against talking during movies, this one is a good one to do so during just bc of how absurd it is! Would definitely give you both a good giggle and bring some joy while still keeping up w/ the halloween theme.

Sohee ... Ringu (1998) dir. Hideo Nakata This film is Japanese supernatural psychological horror. Sohee is another who isn't particularly bothered by horror and seems pretty invested in the plot! He's the type of person to look for more in a horror film and to want to be scared, and because of that I am going with this very classic film. He seems like he likes some of the classic horror codes and there's nothing more classic than this film (i.e. pale girl, long black hair, supernatural circumstances). Also seems like the type to want to talk about it after.. though I will say after you watch the film he might want to sleep with a light on.

Anton ... Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005) dir. Nick Park, Steve Box This film is Comedy/Parody horror. Let's be so serious after that we riize episode, I am NOT giving Anton a horror film unless you want him to cling to you for dear life & scream in ur ear. Because of this he gets what I think is still a classic halloween film, but a sillier one! Very nostalgic too, I feel like he would appreciate this more than an actual scary movie. He might even want to have it on in the background while doing some classic halloween activities like baking silly treats or carving pumpkins.... just for the love of god do not make this man watch an actual horror film.

#riize x reader #its not really x reader?? but it kinda is?? idk #I also hate when people talk during movies #and for that reason I personally would avoid watching w/ most of them 😭#I don't expect anyone to like this I just needed a distraction #I also just want to give them movie recs so bad #riize

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seanpultz · 2 months ago

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D-Generation X in The Haunted Mansion

The Heartbreak Kid and The Game in a spooky situation.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (whistles in amazement) "Would you look at that, man? That place is giving me major Joel Rathbone mansion vibes!"

TRIPLE H: "You're not kidding, Shawn. It's like we stepped into one of those spooky movies they show on the WWE Network during Halloween."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You know, the ones where the wrestler thinks he's tough until he meets a real-life monster?"

TRIPLE H: "Yeah, those. But we're not here to wrestle, we're here to check out The Haunted Mansion!"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Alright, let's do it. But remember, no cheap shots or hiding behind gravestones, okay?"

TRIPLE H: "Scared, Shawn?"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Not a chance, Hunter. But I've got a feeling this isn't going to be your typical 'Doink the Clown' level of spooky."

TRIPLE H: "Bring it on, Shawn. I've faced the Undertaker, I can handle a couple of ghosts!"

They both chuckle as they walk up the pathway, the grandeur of the mansion looming over them, casting eerie shadows across the manicured lawn. The ornate details of the Gothic Revival Pointed-style villa, reminiscent of A.J. Davis's design, stand out against the backdrop of the Magic Kingdom.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Okay, so the birdbath's a no-go for a splash. What's the deal with the carriage?"

TRIPLE H: "Looks like we've got some invisible horseman action going on. Maybe we'll get our own carriage ride later."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. And what's with the family portrait?"

TRIPLE H: (nods at the busts) "I think we're about to find out. The plot's thickening."

The mysterious music stops abruptly as they approach the gate, and the words on Prudence Pock's tomb seem to shiver before vanishing. The door creaks open, and a gust of chilly air greets them, beckoning them into the servant's entrance of the mansion.

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Well, this is definitely not the VIP entrance."

TRIPLE H: (smirks) "But it's definitely got the VIP level of creepiness."

As they step inside, the door slams shut behind them with a resounding thud.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (looks around nervously) "So, what do you think, should we split up and look for the ghosts or stick together?"

TRIPLE H: "Let's stick together. Safety in numbers, right?"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Good call. This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies."

TRIPLE H: (glances up at the portrait) "Who's this dashing fellow?"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "I don't know, but he's got that 'haunted mansion' vibe down pat."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "When hinges creak in doorless chambers. When strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls. Whenever candlelights flicker when the air is deathly still… That is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight."

While this is being said, the picture above the fireplace starts transforming Dorian Gray-style from that of a handsome young man, to that of a rotting corpse. Once the picture's transformation is complete, one of the walls opens up next to the picture, revealing an octagonal room.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (startled) "Did you see that, Hunter? The portrait changed!"

TRIPLE H: "Yeah, I caught that. It's like he's aging before our eyes—and not in the good 'HBK' kind of way."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "That's not right. Who said that spooky stuff?"

We enter this octagonal room from the Foyer. Four paintings (A bearded gentleman holding a document, A pretty young lady holding a parasol, An old woman holding a rose and A man in a bowler hat) flanked by candle-wielding gargoyles, hang from the walls in this chamber.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion. I am your host, your Ghost Host. Our tour begins here in this gallery. Here, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now."

The doors we enter slam shut, The room begins to stretch upwards, the paintings on the walls elongating with it to reveal a comically gruesome end for each subject:

The bearded gentleman holding a document is revealed to be wearing only his undergarments from the waist down and standing atop a lit keg of dynamite.

The pretty young lady holding a parasol is revealed to be balancing on a fraying tightrope above the gaping jaws of an alligator.

The old woman holding a rose is revealed to be sitting atop a tall gravestone, at the bottom of which is a stone bust of her husband George with a hatchet embedded in his head.

The man in a bowler hat is revealed to be sitting on the shoulders of another man who sits on the shoulders of a third man who is waist deep in quicksand.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (laughs nervously) "Well, that's one way to keep the guestbook interesting."

TRIPLE H: "I don't think 'corruptible, mortal state' means what he thinks it means."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Looks like we're stuck with the worst seats in the house, buddy."

TRIPLE H: (smirks) "More like the hot seat. Let's not stick around to see if they're hiring for a tag-team match."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm? And consider this dismaying observation, This chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!"

The Ghost Host laughs as our focus is on the ceiling.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): Of course, there's always my way.

The lights go out and lightning flashes above. The ceiling vanishes and gives a view of the mansion's cupola, where the skeletal corpse of the Ghost Host sways from a noose tied to the rafters. After a few seconds, the room becomes pitch black and a dreadful scream is heard, followed by the sound of bones shattering. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the horror ended, and the lights flickered back on. They blinked in the sudden brightness, their eyes adjusting to find that the skeletal corpse was gone, and in its place, a wall had slid open, revealing a hidden passage.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely. The real chills come later. Now, as they say, ‘look alive,’ and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please."

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Okay, that was… intense. Did you see that?"

TRIPLE H: (nods) "Yeah, I think we've got our exit strategy."

They cautiously step forward, into the now open passage. The air is colder, the walls lined with dusty cobwebs. The smell of ancient decay fills their nostrils as they proceed.

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You know, I've faced a lot in the ring, but this… this is something else."

TRIPLE H: "Just think of it as a new kind of steel cage match, Shawn. But with less steel, more dust."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "And hopefully less jump scares."

We continue onward down a long hallway, leading to a short queue that is used to board the Doom Buggies.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "And now, a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural. Once on board, remain safely seated with your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside. And watch your children, please."

The two Superstars board their Doom Buggy.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows) "Alright, this is it. Time to hop in and face whatever this 'Doom Buggy' has in store for us."

TRIPLE H: "After all those TLC matches, I've learned to expect the unexpected."

They both sit down in their designated Doom Buggy, the ride vehicle that would take them through the heart of the Haunted Mansion. The buggy starts to move on its own accord, guiding them through the darkened halls of the mansion.

TRIPLE H: (firmly gripping the safety bar) "Remember, Shawn, no hitting the ghosts. They're just doing their job."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "No promises, but I'll try to keep my Sweet Chin Music to myself."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Do not pull down on the safety bar, please. I will lower it for you. And heed this warning: the spirits will materialize only if you remain quietly seated at all times."

The safety bar is lowered, locking the two Superstars in their Doom Buggy.

The Doom Buggy enters a rather steep stairwell and pass under a landing where a floating candelabra floats in the darkness. After they pass under, they enter a hallway. To the left are two windows with white sheer drapes; lightning crashes and thunders outside. To the right are four paintings: a woman in a black sheer dress reclining on a daybed, a sloop on choppy waters, a knight on a rearing horse, and a woman in a Greek temple. With each flash of lightning, the paintings become: an anthropomorphic tiger, a ghost ship in a tropical storm, a skeleton knight on a skeleton horse, and Medusa in Greek Ruins.

TRIPLE H: "Keep your eye on those paintings, Shawn. They're playing tricks on us."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "This is getting wild, man. I didn't know Disney had it in them."

TRIPLE H: "I've seen weirder things at Vince's house, but this is definitely up there."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Oh yes, and no flash pictures, please. We spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights."

Leaving the hallway, we enter into a rectangular library, which is filled from floor-to-ceiling by shelves lined with hundreds of books. Phantom hands pull books from the shelves. An empty chair rocks gently back and forth, and a ladder slides to and fro as an unseen force searches for a good read. Among the shelves, marble busts glare at the two Superstars as we move along in the gloom.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): “Our library is well stocked with priceless first editions, only ghost stories, of course, and marble busts of the greatest ghost writers the literary world has ever known."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Whoa, check out those books flying around! It's like we're in a scene from 'Ghostbusters'!"

TRIPLE H: "And look at those busts, they're staring us down like we're about to jump off the top rope at them."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "I've got a feeling we're not going to find any WWE biographies here."

TRIPLE H: "Speaking of which, did you catch the title on that one? 'The Art of Haunting'? Sounds like a self-help book for heels."

Leaving the library, we enter the Music Room. In the room, our heroes find an invisible ghost playing a Rachmaninoff-style arrangement of Grim Grinning Ghosts on the piano. The ghost's shadow can be seen cast upon the floor, while a storm brews outside.

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Okay, now this is something I can get into—haunted tunes!"

TRIPLE H: "Just don't start singing 'Sexy Boy' to the ghost pianist, alright?"

The Doom Buggy glides smoothly.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "They have all retired here, to the Haunted Mansion. Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here. But there’s room for 1,000. Any volunteers?"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "One thousand, huh? I think we're good on that count."

TRIPLE H: "Yeah, unless they're looking for a tag-team to spice things up around here."

Next, we enter the main stairwell of the Mansion. Here in this M.C. Escher-like void the stairs go right-side up, upside-down, sideways, slantways, longways, back ways, front ways, square ways, and any other ways that you can think of. It is on these steps we see the ectoplasmic footprints of the Mansion's ghostly residents.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (looks around in amazement) "How do they even clean this place? It's like a staircase from the Twilight Zone!"

TRIPLE H: (smirks) "I bet Vince McMahon wishes our contracts were written on these stairs—we'd never find the loopholes."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Very funny, Hunter. But seriously, these stairs are giving me vertigo."

The Doom Buggy ascends the impossible staircase, the ethereal footprints guiding them deeper into the mansion.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Well, if you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour. A charming ‘ghostess’ will be on hand to take your application."

In the blackness, glowing, blinking eyes transform into the pattern on the wallpaper.

TRIPLE H: "Look at that, Shawn. The wallpaper's got more eyes on us than the crowd at WrestleMania."

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Yeah, and they're not exactly giving us a warm welcome."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat. Every room has wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills."

The Doom Buggies pass a second floor passageway that seems to go on forever, lined with doors. A lone candelabra floats in midair halfway down it. Flanking the hallway entrance are a subtly-moving Suit of Armour and an armchair designed to have a "face."

SHAWN MICHAELS: (points at the floating candelabra) "Hunter, check it out. It's like they're lighting our path to…uh, I don't know, the ghostly locker room?"

TRIPLE H: "I don't think we're heading for a pep talk. More like a spooky VIP section."

The Doom Buggies continue their journey, passing through a hallway where the wallpaper comes alive with more eerie eyes, watching the two Superstars. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation, each step deeper into the mansion revealing more of the otherworldly secrets it holds.

TRIPLE H: "Shawn, this place is giving me the creeps. But I've gotta admit, it's also kind of… cool?"

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): “Shhh, listen!”

A keening sounding like a banshee is heard.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Hunter, did you hear that? What in the world was that?"

TRIPLE H: (nervously glances around) "Sounded like someone's about to drop a chair on us, but with more screaming."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "That's not funny, man. What's going on here?"

They ride past an alcove-like conservatory, the space choked with decaying and overgrown plants and vegetation. Outside the huge glass walls is a misty landscape, with only the gnarled limbs of leafless trees visible in the gloom. A raven perches on top of a stand with a withered funeral wreath, and in the center of the chamber is a coffin whose occupant is trying to get out - skeletal hands attempt to push the lid open saying "Let me out! Let me outta here!", which based on the nails sticking through the wood was meant to stay sealed.

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Seriously, what was that sound? It's like someone's in trouble!"

TRIPLE H: "It's probably just part of the show, Shawn. You know, like when we had to wrestle in the thunderstorm at SummerSlam '98."

SHAWN MICHAELS: (skeptical) "Yeah, but I've never heard anything like that in the ring, man. It's giving me chills."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): “All our ghosts have been dying to meet you. This one can hardly contain himself. Unfortunately, they all seem to have trouble getting through."

Our Doom Buggy is then carried backward down an ominous corridor, a series of doors on either side of the car. Growls, screams, maniacal laughter and pleading voices emanate from behind them, as if something is trying to get out. Doors bend, as if they are breathing, knockers clack and rattle, and the walls are adorned with some "family portraits" of corpses.

TRIPLE H: "What's with these doors, Shawn? It's like we're in a haunted Hotel California."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Just don't expect to check out anytime you like, Hunter. I've got a feeling this place holds onto its guests."

At the end of the hall lies a grandfather clock, with its arms spinning wildly backwards and the clock striking 13. A shadow of a clawed hand passes over the face of the clock.

TRIPLE H: "Did you catch that, Shawn?"

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows) "Yeah, I did. That wasn't exactly a 'hands off' signal."

We next enter the shadowy Séance Circle. The buggies travel in a circle facing a large table and high-backed chair in the center of the room (a raven perches on the back of the chair). Above this table floats a crystal ball containing the spirit of Madame Leota, chanting incantations that summon the spirits to appear.

MADAM LEOTA Leota: "Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat, call in the spirits, wherever they’re at! Rap on a table — it’s time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond…

SHAWN MICHAELS: (whispers to Triple H) "I think we've found the ghostly GM's office."

TRIPLE H: "More like the 'Ghost in the Machine' if you ask me. This is getting pretty wild."

The Doom Buggy stops for a brief moment, allowing them to take in the eerie sight of the floating crystal ball and the ghostly visage of Madame Leota.

MADAM LEOTA: "Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween: Awaken the spirits with your tambourine! Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond: let there be music from regions beyond! Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint, by ringing a bell!"

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize. They’re assembling for a swinging wake, and they’ll be expecting me… I’ll see you all a little later."

Next, we travel along a balcony overlooking the hall. A major party is underway as a multitude of transparent spirits engage in all sorts of revelry. A long dining table covered with decayed floral arrangements and dusty silverware plays host to a birthday feast, and whenever the orange-haired birthday ghost blows out the candles on a birthday cake at the head of the table, the other ghosts seated there vanish, only to reappear when the candles light again; nearby, an old woman disappears and reappears in a rocking chair. Several haunts drift into the hall from a hearse parked in a doorway, while cloaked wraith-like phantoms fly in through the broken windows from a stormy night outside. While a number of ghosts - including the notorious Pickwick - gadabout on the chandeliers above the room, a pair of duelists emerge from their respective paintings on the far wall and take shots at each other, forever reenacting their age-old feud. The open floor whirls with waltzing couples as a ghastly organist plays Grim Grinning Ghosts on a pipe organ, where tiny spirits emerge from the pipes.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (whispers) "Hunter, did you see those dudes fighting with the candles?"

TRIPLE H: "I can't miss that, Shawn. It's like they're having a never-ending battle royale."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "And the waltzing ghosts? This is more dramatic than the Royal Rumble."

TRIPLE H: (chuckles nervously) "At least we don't have to worry about getting eliminated—yet."

The Doom Buggies continue to glide through the spectral soiree, the energy of the supernatural partygoers seemingly infecting the air around them.

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You know, this isn't so bad. It's like a backstage party after a big win, minus the free food."

TRIPLE H: "Yeah, and hopefully minus the hangover tomorrow. But we've got to keep our guard up."

Leaving the Grand Hall, we ride through a dark, dusty and cluttered attic, where the sound of a beating heart and a sinister piano rendition of "The Wedding March" can be heard. Among the brick-a-brac are several pieces of wedding paraphernalia and decor, and five different marriage paintings, depicting the same bride but with a different groom in each. As guests watch, the heads of each of the grooms disappear, only to reappear moments later. After passing the source of the music, a broken-down piano with an invisible pianist (only a shadow of a man cast on the wall and keys), we come face-to-face with the ghost of the bride, Constance Hatchaway.

CONSTANCE HATCHAWAY: “In sickness and in… wealth. You may now kiss the bride. We’ll live happily ever after. Till death do us part. Here comes the bride. As long as we both shall live. For better or for… worse. I do. I did.”

TRIPLE H: (whispers to Shawn) "Look, Shawn, it's the ultimate wedding crasher."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Hunter, that's not funny. This is starting to feel like a real horror show, not a wrestling match."

The ghostly bride, Constance Hatchaway, glares at them, her eyes following the two men as they pass, her sinister laugh echoing through the attic.

TRIPLE H: "Let's get out of here before she decides we're next on the guest list."

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows) "Agreed. This place gives me the willies."

The Doom Buggy descends into the next part of the mansion.

Following leaving the Attic window, the Doombuggies move down the balcony outside the house and down a flight of stairs backwards. A raven caws at guests from a tree branch. The shapes of rising spirits can be seen everywhere.

TRIPLE H: (swallows) "Okay, Shawn, we're not in the Performance Center anymore. This is next level."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Tell me about it, man. Those ghosts are giving me more chills than the 'Taker at WrestleMania."

Upon reaching the ground, the graveyard Caretaker can be seen with his dog, the two of them utterly petrified by the sight before them.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (whispers) "Hunter, check out the caretaker. He's more shook than when we faced The Brothers of Destruction."

TRIPLE H: (swallows hard) "Yeah, but his dog seems to be taking it in stride."

Music is all around, while playful spooks pop-up from behind their tombstones. To the left, a group of five phantoms play a flute, a horn, a bagpipe, a harp, and pound on a tombstone to create an unearthly vibe. A King and Queen balance on a see-saw while a Duchess swings from a tree branch while she drinks a cup of tea. In the very back a skeletal wolf is seen howling at the moon. On the other side of the path, five Singing Busts come into view, bearing very vividly lit, expressive faces as they sing:

♪ When the crypt doors creak ♪

♪ And the tombstones quake ♪

♪ Spooks come out for a singing wake ♪

♪ Happy haunts materialize ♪

♪ And begin to vocalize ♪

♪ Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize ♪

♪ Now don't close your eyes ♪

♪ And don't try to hide ♪

♪ Or a silly spook may sit by your side ♪

♪ Shrouded in a daft disguise ♪

♪ They pretend to terrorize ♪

♪ Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize ♪

♪ As the moon climbs high o'er dead oak tree ♪

♪ Spooks arrive for the midnight spree ♪

♪ Creepy creeps with eerie eyes ♪

♪ Start to shriek and harmonize ♪

♪ Grim grinning ghosts come out socialize ♪

♪ When you hear the knell of a requiem bell ♪

♪ Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell ♪

♪ Restles bones etherealize ♪

♪ Rise as spooks of every size ♪

Other ghosts materialize, gathering around a hearse and drinking tea. A Mummy sits in his sarcophagus, trying to make contact with an elderly spirit who is just too deaf to understand him. Two "Phantoms of the Opera" blast their ghostly voices into the night. A Beheaded Knight, his Executioner, and his Prisoner all sing as a trio, while the poor ghost behind them tombs himself up. Our hero's Doom buggy enters the Mausoleum at the end of the Graveyard sequence where they are immediately "greeted" by the Raven who caws at guests while perching on the door to the Mausoleum.

TRIPLE H: "Shawn, this is… intense."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You can say that again. It's like we've walked into a live action Night of the Living Dead, with a side of 'Bohemian Rhapsody'."

TRIPLE H: (forcibly laughs) "At least we're not the ones getting buried alive."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "Not yet, anyway."

As they enter the Mausoleum, the temperature seems to drop, and the air grows heavier with the weight of unseen presences. The Raven caws again, seemingly enjoying the intrusion.

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Ah, there you are! And just in time… there’s a little matter I forgot to mention. Beware of Hitchhiking Ghosts!"

They pass by three hitchhiking spirits; a Traveler, a Skeleton and a Prisoner.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Hitchhiking ghosts, huh? That's not something you see every day in the wrestling world."

TRIPLE H: (nervous laugh) "No kidding. I guess we're not in kayfabe territory anymore, Shawn."

Triple H and Shawn Michael's Doom Buggy passes by a wall of mirrors showing that the Hitchhikers are sitting in the vehicles along with the rider.

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Did you just see that, Hunter? Those ghosts are hitching a ride with us!"

TRIPLE H: (nervously laughs) "Looks like we've got some extra passengers. But hey, maybe they're just fans looking for a backstage pass to the afterlife."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "I don't know, man. This isn't the kind of tag team match we're used to."

TRIPLE H: "Don't worry, Shawn. We're the Heartbreak Kid and The Game. I'm sure we can handle a little post-match haunting."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "They have selected you to fill our quota, and they’ll haunt you until you return!"

A very small being only around the size of a doll. She wears a white satin dress with a long, non-transparent hood, often mistaken for a veil, of the same material. She has visible long blue hair and glowing pale blue skin. stands atop the ledge of the crypt holding a bouquet of dead flowers. She is Little Leota, the Ghostess.

LITTLE LEOTA: “Hurry back. Hurry back. Be sure to bring your death certificate, if you decide to join us. Make final arrangements now! We've been dying… to have you…".

SHAWN MICHAELS: (swallows hard) "Well, that's one way to sell merch, I guess."

TRIPLE H: "This isn't merch, Shawn. This is real. We've got actual ghosts trying to hitch a ride with us."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You know what that means, don't you?"

TRIPLE H: "Yeah, we can't exactly drop them at the next exit ramp."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "We're going to have to outsmart them, or we might be signing up for a lifetime subscription to 'The Twilight Zone'."

THE GHOST HOST (offscreen): "Now I will raise the safety bar, and a ghost will follow you home!"

The safety bar is risen and the Superstars disembarks the Doom Buggy. As we head for the exit, we hear the ghosts sing this following passage:

♪ If you would like to join our jamboree ♪

♪ There's a simple rule that's compulsory ♪

♪ Mortals pay a token fee ♪

♪ Rest in peace, the haunting's free ♪

♪ So hurry back, we would like your company ♪

SHAWN MICHAELS: (quickly) "Hunter, we've got to get out of here before we're stuck with these ghosts as permanent tag partners!"

TRIPLE H: "No arguments here, Shawn. I didn't sign up for a match that never ends."

They make a break for the exit, their hearts racing as the ghostly voices of the Hitchhikers and the rest of the Haunted Mansion's inhabitants seem to follow them.

LITTLE LEOTA: "Hurry back, hurry back, hurry back…!"

TRIPLE H: "Not a chance, Little Leota! We're retiring from the afterlife circuit!"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "And we're sticking together, like a well-oiled tag team!"

The two wrestling legends push through the swinging doors, the ghostly laughter fading behind them as they re-enter the bright lights and bustling energy of the Magic Kingdom.

TRIPLE H: (breathes a sigh of relief) "Well, that was… an experience."

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You can say that again. I've wrestled in some weird places, but that takes the cake—or should I say, the funeral wreath?"

TRIPLE H: "Let's just agree to stick to the ring from now on, okay?"

SHAWN MICHAELS: "You got it, brother. No more 'haunted' side quests for HBK and The Game."

They exchange a firm handshake, leaving the Haunted Mansion behind, but not without a few lingering shivers down their spines. As they walk away, the distant echo of the Ghost Host's laughter seems to remind them that the supernatural world of WWE is never truly far away.

#walt disney world #the haunted mansion #wwe #shawn michaels #triple h #d generation x

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hyachan-works · 1 year ago

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An update on how my fanart of Tale As Old As Time; False As It Can Be on AO3 😊

Sorry it's taking a while 🥲 Also, my unit at work isn't connected on the internet atm so I just took a picture on my phone 😅

I'm still looking at some references to make up my mind on what to draw at the back; like whether I should draw huge drapery as a simple backdrop or a fireplace with a mirror on top to reflect the chandelier 🤔🤔🤔 decisions decisions.

On another note, I have a bunch of fanart lined up for my own wenclair college AU shenanigans with the nightshade girls. I planned on working on one to post for halloween but I guess I'll just post two for christmas/the holidays 🤷🏻‍♀️

#wenclair #wenclair fanart #fanart #my art #wednesday x enid #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #tale as old as time; as false as it can be

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frostfall-matches · 2 months ago

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[ hello autumn - paired ♡ ]

@daemontargaryennn : spending fall with…

✧ Takeru Danma

-> [ Going to a haunted house is definitely on his must-do list. ] A lot of them might be cheesy, not very scary at all, but he wants to go to at least one each fall as a test of courage. He definitely gets a bit competitive about it, claiming that he won’t even flinch once while you guys are making your way through the haunted house.

-> [ He insists on planning the biggest Halloween party. ] The man loves a good party, and it’s all the more entertaining given the spooky theme. He pulls out all the stops. His place is completely decked out, there are plenty of snacks and beverages and candy, and of course he’s going to be dressing up. Part of him wants to do a couple costume with you, but another part of him wants you each to pick your own so you can surprise each other the day of.

-> [ Of course Hatter isn’t going to let anything seasonal or limited edition pass by without trying it at least once. ] Maybe it’s a bit of FOMO… But hey, even though pumpkin spice and spiced cider roll around every fall, there are often slight variations to the things that bakeries or cafés bring back each year. In any case, you’ve got someone who will indulge in these seasonal treats with you.

-> [ Sometimes Hatter can be a bit of a baby when it comes to cold weather. ] Definitely the type to prefer the warmer months, feeling much more alive and energetic when the sun is out and the breeze is warm. If he doesn’t have to go out for the day, you’ll find him dressed warmly and likely bundled up in a blanket on the couch or the bed. If you get too close, he’s going to latch onto you and you’ll be stuck getting cuddled for a while.

✧ Robin

-> [ She absolutely adores decorating with you! ] Robin loves switching up the decor to suit the season, and there’s something special about decorating a place with a loved one so each of your styles and preferences are included. She has a great eye for detail and aesthetics, and she is able to seamlessly blend your preferred aesthetics as you two get your shared space ready for autumn.

-> [ Robin loves bundling up in cute, cozy outfits and heading out on walks with you. ] While it may get a little chilly with the cool, late autumn breeze, the temperatures are still comfortable enough to enjoy getting some fresh air. She loves seeing the warmer outfits you put together, knowing how much care you put into your appearance and style. On a side note, she loves whenever your outfits end up similar to hers - you two look all the more like a picture-perfect couple when out and about together.

-> [ She wants to try baking with pumpkin or squash, given they’re harvested in the fall. ] You can find plenty of pumpkin pies and breads at bakeries, but Robin really wants to try making something at home with you. It’s a plus that you rather enjoy cooking and baking! The two of you can adjust recipes to your tastes, and it’s just so rewarding being able to have a tasty treat after putting in all that hard work.

-> [ If you wanted to dabble in a bit of photography as the season changes, Robin doesn’t mind being your model. ] She’s so gorgeous that any photos you snap of her will look amazing. Leaves in reds, oranges, and yellows create the perfect backdrop for Robin, bundled up in cozy clothes. You’re not the only one taking photos, though - she insists on returning the favor, and she’s able to capture a lot of beautiful shots of you, too.

✧ Itadori Yuji

-> [ The best person to watch horror movies with. ] He loves horror films, from cheesy to gorey to psychologically unsettling - he’ll watch anything from any subset of the horror genre. Definitely down to have a horror movie marathon with you as Halloween approaches. And, if there are any horror films coming out through the month, you two absolutely make it a point to hit the cinema to watch them.

-> [ Putting together matching costumes for Halloween is very fun with Yuji. ] He loves the idea of matching costumes and thinks they’re super fun. Honestly, he could go for either a cheesy and lame couple costume or something a bit more intricate and cool. Just let him know if you have any ideas or suggestions! He might need a bit of help putting the costume together, though, if he insisted on his being up to your standards.

-> [ You two load up on discounted Halloween candy the day after Halloween. ] It’ll probably take ages for you two to actually eat everything you bought, but hey - cheap candy! Yuji isn’t really picky about what he eats, either, so if you have any candies you really dislike you can just leave them and he’ll eventually snack on them.

-> [ Coffee shop dates are frequent throughout the fall. ] The seasonal drinks are something you both look forward to, and it’s nice to warm up in a cozy café if you’ve been out and about for a while. Yuji insists on trying out a different drink each time you guys go somewhere, wanting to figure out what his favorite is. He’d love it if you two ordered different drinks so you could each try the other’s and compare.

#hello autumn 2024 #event #phewww done!! i hope you like these!!#jjk #hsr #aib

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 26 days ago

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New ESO image captures a dark wolf in the sky

For Halloween, the European Southern Observatory (ESO) reveals this spooktacular image of a dark nebula that creates the illusion of a wolf-like silhouette against a colorful cosmic backdrop. Fittingly nicknamed the Dark Wolf Nebula, it was captured in a 283-million-pixel image by the VLT Survey Telescope (VST) at ESO's Paranal Observatory in Chile.

Found in the constellation Scorpius, near the center of the Milky Way in the sky, the Dark Wolf Nebula is located around 5,300 light-years from Earth. This image takes up an area in the sky equivalent to four full moons, but is actually part of an even larger nebula called Gum 55. If you look closely, the wolf could even be a werewolf, its hands ready to grab an unsuspecting bystander.

If you thought that darkness equals emptiness, think again. Dark nebulae are cold clouds of cosmic dust, so dense that they obscure the light of stars and other objects behind them. As their name suggests, they do not emit visible light, unlike other nebulae. Dust grains within them absorb visible light and only let through radiation at longer wavelengths, like infrared light. Astronomers study these clouds of frozen dust because they often contain new stars in the making.

Of course, tracing the wolf's ghost-like presence in the sky is only possible because it contrasts with a bright background. This image shows in spectacular detail how the dark wolf stands out against the glowing star-forming clouds behind it. The colorful clouds are built up mostly of hydrogen gas and glow in reddish tones excited by the intense UV radiation from the newborn stars within them.

Some dark nebulae, like the Coalsack Nebula, can be seen with the naked eye –– and play a key role in how First Nations interpret the sky–– but not the Dark Wolf. This image was created using data from the VLT Survey Telescope, which is owned by the National Institute for Astrophysics in Italy (INAF) and is hosted at ESO's Paranal Observatory, in Chile's Atacama Desert. The telescope is equipped with a specially designed camera to map the southern sky in visible light.

The picture was compiled from images taken at different times, each one with a filter letting in a different color of light. They were all captured during the VST Photometric Hα Survey of the Southern Galactic Plane and Bulge (VPHAS+), which has studied some 500 million objects in our Milky Way.

Surveys like this help scientists to better understand the life cycle of stars within our home galaxy, and the obtained data are made publicly available through the ESO science portal. Explore this treasure trove of data yourself: who knows what other eerie shapes you will uncover in the dark, say the scientists.

IMAGE: Fittingly nicknamed the Dark Wolf Nebula, this cosmic cloud was captured in a 283-million-pixel image by the VLT Survey Telescope (VST) at ESO's Paranal Observatory in Chile. Located around 5,300 light-years from Earth, the cold clouds of cosmic dust create the illusion of a wolf-like silhouette against a colorful backdrop of glowing gas clouds. Credit: ESO/VPHAS+ team

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics #ESO

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oftlunarialmoon · 10 months ago

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4 Halloween DIY Crafts Easy and Fun!

Originally posted to www.onlyfunthings.org on October 08, 2018

Ciao lovelies! Today I have 4 DIY projects for you for Halloween! These projects are easy and fun!

What you'll need for all 4 projects:

-Paint in colors Black, brown, orange

-Purple craft foam

-Thin cardboard (I cut up old snack boxes for these)

-Cat ear headbands (I found a 4 pack at the dollar tree)

-A small cardboard box (I used a poptart box)

-Hot glue gun and hot glue sticks

-Tacky Glue

-Paintbrushes

-Cardstock

-sticky notes

-One normal headband

-Scissors

-OPTIONAL- Black Cardstock

-OPTIONAL: half-pearls in various colors

Let's get into the DIY's!

DIY #1- Bat Headband!

Start with a cat ear headband. I got mine from a four pack at the Dollar Tree.

Cut two bat shapes from thin cardboard.

Paint both sides black.

OPTIONAL- Glue on half-pearls for eyes using tacky glue.

Lastly, glue the bats on to the tips of the ear outlines.

And you're done!

DIY #2- Halloween Doll Room! (or small object photography backdrop)

Start with a small cardboard box (I'm using a poptart box).

Cut away the top and one side.

Paint the inside orange.

Glue a piece of purple craft foam to the bottom to make a floor.

Cut a tree and bat shape from the foam, and glue them in place.

OPTIONAL- Add little charms to the tree!

And you're done! Now you can take pictures of small objects in the tiny room!

DIY #3- Pumpkin Notepad

Start with a piece of white cardstock.

Paint on your desired design, mine was a pumpkin (Hey! If you want to see some Halloween painting tutorials, leave a comment saying "Pumpkin" below!)

Cut the card-stock so it can be folded around a pack of sticky notes.

Glue the "spine" of the sticky notes onto the fold of the cardstock!

Now you have your own notepad!

DIY #4- Bat Wings Headband!

Cut some thin cardboard/cardstock into batwing shapes like these, being sure to leave a small rectangle at the end.

Paint them black (or skip this step by using black cardstock!

Fold the rectangle in half and glue it onto a headband!

Repeat for the other side!

And you're done!

Remember to Stay Awesome and Love Yourself!

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coquettebeautiful · 1 month ago

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Make this Halloween truly special with our Running Pumpkin digital backdrop. Create memories that will last a lifetime and capture the enchantment of Halloween like never before.Order yours today and Halloween magic begin!

#Pink and Black Halloween#Pink Wall Art#Halloween#Wall Art#Halloween Gallery#Halloween Pink Wall Art#Halloween Pumpkins#Pink Pumpkins#Halloween Decor Backdrop#Custom Halloween Backdrop#Halloween Cardboard Backdrop#Halloween Photography Backdrop Digital Backdrop#Halloween Backdrop 10x10#10x10 Halloween Backdrop#Halloween Backdrop for Party#Halloween Custom Backdrop#Photo Backdrops Halloween#Garage Halloween Backdrop#Halloween Back Drop Purple#Halloween Birthday Backdrop#Halloween Backdrop#Halloween Photo Backdrop#Halloween#Halloween Light up Banner#Halloween Picture Backdrop#Halloween Backdrops#Halloween Backdrop for Party#Spooky Back Drop#Halloween Cloth Backdrops#Halloween Photo Backdrop Kids#Halloween Backdrop

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sagesariadnd · 30 days ago

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Anyway, happy Halloween. Here's the mini that made my friend talk me into starting a blog; the Behold-O-Lantern!

I wanted to share a lot more of my minis by now but got caught up in...well, election year anxiety. I hope to post more pictures in the future, and I definitely hope to have more than just a white backdrop for some fun photoshoots soon.

#d&d #miniature painting #halloween #this is one of my favorite minis I've ever painted #alongside the rainbow beholder funnily enough

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kawaiigals · 1 month ago

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The image presents a young woman exuding an air of quiet confidence, her posture relaxed yet poised. She is adorned in a uniform that hints at a school setting, perhaps suggesting she's in the midst of a break or after-school activities. Her expression is neutral but attentive, as if waiting for something or someone, adding to the sense of anticipation. The backdrop paints a picture of an autumnal night, with Halloween decorations subtly enhancing the ambiance. The jack-o'-lanterns are not just festive decor but also serve as silent observers, silently bearing witness to whatever drama unfolds behind them. Given her attire and setting, one might surmise that she could be a student participating in or simply observing a Halloween event. It's possible she's waiting for friends, family, or even the night itself to unfold with its surprises and delights. [AD] Powered by NVIDIA GPU

#digital illustration #ai girl #flux.1

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alexandralyman · 2 years ago

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New Fic: Not Another Hallmark Movie

Hi Everyone! Coming off my long fic hiatus with a Captain Swan holiday story. I hope everyone has a very safe and happy Christmas after everything that’s happened in the past few years.

Not Another Hallmark Movie

The little fishing village of Storybrooke Maine was just like those quirky small towns you'd see in one of the Hallmark Channel's never-ending lineup of Christmas movies, so it was no surprise when it was chosen as the filming location for one of them to the delight of everyone in town.

Almost everyone.

Deputy Sheriff Emma Swan was less than thrilled to have Christmas come early in the form of a cast and crew that it was her responsibility to wrangle all over town, the prickly Scottish location manager Merida, seven surly Teamsters, the pretentious assistant director Arthur, and the two leads, former teen star Christina Bell and her love interest, up and coming English actor Killian Jones.

Well, maybe Killian wasn't so bad.

With Storybrooke fully decked out for the holidays several months early, a star-struck son, a totally not jealous brother, and Christmas music blasting everywhere she went, all Emma wanted was for the movie to finish and life in town to go back to normal.

(though a bit of flirting with the handsome lead actor certainly helped to fill the time until then)

AO3 Link / FF.net Link

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma gave a nonplussed stare to the teenage barista on the other side of the counter, who was holding out the coffee she’d ordered in a festive red and green paper up instead of the normal white one.

“Seriously?” she replied, one eyebrow raised.

The barista gave a cheery smile that it was far, far, too early for.

“We’re getting into the spirit! We should be getting a delivery later today with gingerbread syrup and pumpkin spice to make holiday lattes.”

“Great,” Emma muttered, taking the coffee and taking in the silver and gold tinsel strung up along the menu boards and the snowman cookies in the pastry case that she hadn’t noticed at uncaffeinated first glance. When she went outside the Storybrooke Bean & Brew it was more of the same, wreaths on doors, snowflake decorations in the storefronts, lights and bells and it was clear the whole damn town had gone completely Christmas crazy practically overnight. Which would be fine...if it was December, or even November.

It wasn’t.

It was August.

August, the middle of summer, when the chalkboard sidewalk sign in front of the Bean & Brew should have a sun and a beach umbrella drawn on it to advertise iced coffee, not a candy cane stuck in a mug of hot chocolate. The temperature was supposed to hit the high eighties today, for fuck’s sake.

No, Storybrooke hadn’t succumbed to the phenomenon known as “Christmas creep” when stores put out their holiday merch earlier and earlier each year so that artificial trees were on sale next to barbecues and gingerbread men shared shelves with Halloween candy. The little heritage town in Maine that looked like it had been designed by Currier & Ives themselves had been chosen by the Hallmark channel as the filming location for one of their insipid Christmas movies, where toothy, pretty people met, fell in love, and had their happy ending in an hour and a half against a picture perfect backdrop of evergreen trees and twinkling lights. A Holiday Romance, Jingle Bell Ball, New Love for Noel, Tis the Season, they aired them non-stop over the holidays and Emma never really gave much thought to where all those movies actually came from, until a fleet of trucks full of expensive-looking equipment had arrived a week ago.

They’d transformed Main Street into a faux winter wonderland within hours of unloading, and it seemed the townspeople were just as eager to get into character as well. Granny’s Diner was serving a turkey dinner special with stuffing and cranberry sauce, the local radio station had switched over from their usual playlist of songs that had been hits sometime in the 80s to nothing but Christmas music 24/7, and the coffee shop closest to the sheriff’s station was apparently now serving Emma’s morning caffeine fix in the cups printed with holly and ivy they normally didn’t pull out until it was closer to Thanksgiving than the Fourth of July.

It. Was. August.

And on top of having to listen to Bing Crosby dreaming of a white Christmas or Josh Groban calling to all ye faithful every time she got into her cruiser, Emma, in her capacity as Storybrooke’s deputy sheriff, had been tasked by the mayor herself, Regina Mills, to be the official town liaison to the movie people. Madame Mayor was adamant that they feel as welcome as possible, hoping to market Storybrooke as a filming locale to any Hollywood production that wanted small town charm and little red tape. All the permits they applied for had been approved without question, so Emma spent her days dealing with road closures and directing traffic around the sets, working long hours with the location manager, a no nonsense Scot named Merida, or with the assistant director, a jackass named Arthur who clearly viewed Storybrooke as nothing more than a backwater hick town that was stuck in time.

Which it was, but still. Rude.

As unenthused as Emma was having to deal with a woman whose accent she barely understood at times and a wannabe Martin Scorsese, her son Henry was just as excited about the movie coming to town. While not exactly in the Hallmark channel’s target demographic, Henry loved Christmas, loved movies, and loved the chance to actually see one being filmed in his own backyard. The fact that it was a cheesy TV movie aimed at women aged twenty-five to forty who drank wine and dreamed of their own hunky yet tender lumberjack love interest and not ten year old boys who were obsessed with Marvel and Star Wars didn’t matter, Henry had proclaimed to anyone who’d listen that it was the best thing to happen to Storybrooke in the history of ever. Since the last major event that Storybrooke had seen was a bad storm that washed a full container of live lobsters off one of the ships down at the docks and scattered them halfway to the town line, he did have a point.

Storybrooke was a fishing village in Maine. There were a lot of lobsters in that container.

A lot.

Emma had listened with half an ear while Henry spouted off every bit of information he could find online about A Midnight Clear, the title of the movie, scouring IMDB, Wikipedia, and the Hallmark channel’s social media accounts. Since Emma didn’t let him have his own Twitter or Instagram account yet, he’d followed anything remotely relevant from hers so he could keep tabs on them all. He was even more excited when he discovered the male lead in the movie was British actor Killian Jones. While he wasn’t exactly world-famous, with one of those fancy BBC costume dramas and some London theater work under his belt, Jones had guest-starred in a two-part episode of Doctor Who, making him, in Henry’s opinion, hands down the coolest person to have ever set foot in Storybrooke. An opinion he freely shared with everyone from Granny Lucas during lunch at the diner to the mailman when he dropped off the water bill.

David was visibly annoyed by it, which amused both Emma and his wife Mary Margaret to no end.

“I’m cool,” he’d protested, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair with a pout.

“Yes dear,” Mary Margaret deadpanned, patting him on the shoulder.

“I taught Henry how to ride a horse. Could Killian Jones do that?”

“I dunno, maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “He’s English, isn’t riding a big thing there? Besides, he’s been inside the TARDIS, and sorry David, but that’s pretty hard for any of us to top.”

David threw his hands in the air. “It’s a TV show! The TARDIS is a prop, it’s not like the guy has actually been to space or traveled in time.”

Henry had come back in from the yard with dog and immediately started in again on the movie and how cool it was that someone like Killian Jones was visiting their town, brightly asking, “isn’t it the coolest thing ever, Uncle David?” and making David grumble to himself all through Sunday dinner while Emma and Mary Margaret trader knowing looks across the table at his sulking and Henry’s obliviousness to it. Emma and Henry had moved to Storybrooke because of David, her adoptive brother, and lived with him and Mary Margaret and their golden retriever Fandral on their farm at first until Emma got them their own place. Small town life had been a huge adjustment, at least for Emma. Henry had the ability to fit in wherever he went.

Big city girl with a cute, precocious kid moves to a picturesque small town and falls in love with a rugged lumberjack who looks like he stepped out of a paper towel commercial and proposes under the mistletoe before the credits rolled. Wasn’t that the plot of most of those made for TV Christmas movies? Although in Storybrooke it would probably be a lobster fisherman instead, and Emma’s life wasn’t a movie.

Plus, after the whole lobster incident, she really, really, didn’t want to see one ever again even if it was brought to her on a silver platter by Chris Evans in nothing but his Knives Out sweater.

Emma parked her Bug in the station lot after her stop at the Bean & Brew and went inside to both check in with Graham Humbert, town sheriff, and grab a bear claw from the ever present box of donuts he kept on his desk. More for the bear claw. Normally, she’d eat it at her own desk while going over the morning paperwork and seeing if there’d been any breaks in her one and only open case, the ongoing crank calls to Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and shoo-in favorite if Storybrooke ever needed to vote in an official town Scrooge. Not exactly something they needed to call in the FBI to consult on. But with the movie scheduled to spend all day filming at not one, but two different locations, Emma had to head out again immediately in one of the cruisers, so she brought the bear claw with her and slid behind the wheel, putting her coffee in the cupholder and turning the key in the ignition with one hand while she took a bite with the other.

Mariah Carey came blasting out of the stereo and Emma nearly choked, coughing and sputtering around her mouthful of pastry.

“Oh come on, it’s August,” she muttered, fumbling for the volume control. “Ugh!”

Once she got it down to a level that wouldn’t make her ears bleed, she pulled out and headed towards Storybrooke Town Hall. The trucks were already there when she arrived, cables snaking up and down the street and a sign with the name of the movie’s fictional town in place on the building’s facade. Several locals were watching eagerly from behind the barricades that Emma bypassed, badge on her hip and tossing back the last of her coffee as she went.

“How’s it going?”

She directed the question to Merida, whose cloud of red hair made her easy to find among the mostly male crew. The location manager had a clipboard in one hand, a walkie talkie in the other, a headset perched messily in her curls, and an expression that was the opposite of holly jolly.

“How’s it going? Well, I’ve got seven Teamsters who are all on their union mandated break at the same bloody time, the call sheet had the locations for today backwards so my two lead actors are currently at the wrong sets, which is absolutely grand, and to top it off the snow machine is on the fritz again so we’ve got no snow for our fecking Christmas movie. So that’s how it’s going.”

Emma understood about half of that, and it wasn’t just because Merida’s accent got as thick as oatmeal the more she talked. Henry was the movie expert, not her. Still, she made a sympathetic face, since it was clear things weren’t going particularly well.

“Bummer,” she offered, which made Merida let out a very Scottish sounding harrumph.

“You can say that again.”

The walkie talkie in her hand crackled to life in a burst of static and she started talking to whoever was on the other end.

“You got an ETA on Bell yet? Well, why not? I don’t care what the call sheet says, she’s supposed to be at the town hall, not the park!”

Emma assumed she was referring to the lead actress in the movie, Christina Bell. She’d met her briefly on the first day of filming, a tiny blonde pixie of a woman who Emma vaguely remembered from some soapy teen drama show that had been popular when Henry was a toddler. She hadn’t had much time for TV back then, and her own teenage drama was still too fresh for her to really be into the fictional kind, so she wasn’t nearly as starstruck as Mary Margaret and Ruby Lucas were when they came by to watch some of the shoot.

“Merida love, If you’d just give me the keys to one of the cars I can drive myself.”

“No,” Merida answered without looking up from her clipboard at the man who’d come over to join them. In contrast to the members of the crew in their jeans and black T-shirts, he was dressed in a three-piece suit that he had to be absolutely sweltering in, his dark hair was slicked back from his face and he had an accent that was tea and crumpets to Merida’s malt whiskey.

It was Killian Jones, the male lead and officially the coolest person to have ever set foot in Storybrooke. According to Henry, that is.

“But-“

“I said no, Jones. You’re not covered by the insurance and Arthur will have my arse in a sling if I let you. Or he’ll try to, at least, and I don’t fancy having to explain to the network exactly how their AD got a black eye. You just have to wait until Leroy finishes his break and then he’ll drive you over.”

Regina Mills had been adamant that Emma was to make everything as smooth as possible for the movie people, and if she’d learned one thing about Storybrooke, it was Regina’s town and the rest of them were just living in it. Normally it was beyond annoying, but, what Madame Mayor wanted, she would get in this case.

“I could drive you if it’s that urgent,” Emma offered. “Emma Swan, deputy sheriff. You’ll be safe with me.”

Both of them turned to look at her and she saw Killian’s blue eyes dart down to where she was oh so casually resting a hand next to her badge and then back up to her face.

“A police escort? Well, I suddenly feel very important,” he joked, with an easy smile that could only be described as movie-star handsome. Not that Emma planned on describing his smile to anyone. “Killian Jones, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Officer Swan. Oh, sorry, Deputy Sheriff Swan.”

“Emma is fine. Nice to meet you.”

She shook the hand he held out and smiled back. A few weeks ago she would have scoffed at the idea of playing chauffeur for some spoiled actor, she hadn’t gone back to college to get her criminal justice degree when Henry was old enough for kindergarten just to end up a glorified Uber, but the guy was cute and it beat standing around pretending to watch the crew fiddle with lights and cables in case Regina was in her office and decided to pop out and check that Emma was doing her civic duty.

“Brilliant,” Merida said, scribbling something on her clipboard. “He needs to be at the park, they’re filming at that bench we scouted last Wednesday. Thanks so much, Emma, you’re a lifesaver, in that you just saved Arthur’s life, since this was his cock-up and I was going to kill him.”

Emma knew the bench Merida was talking about, it was a favorite place of hers when she needed a quiet place to think. She nodded and pulled out her car keys, gesturing towards where she’d left the cruiser. “The Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department is always happy to assist. This way.”

Michael Buble informed them that it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas when she turned the key and the radio came to life again. Emma swore under her breath, the volume control was obviously broken.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

He said it with an amused laugh and she felt her cheeks flush hotter than the eighty degree forecast. “Yeah, well, it’s the local station. We always keep the radio on them in case someone calls them instead of us, and they’ve been playing Christmas music in honor of you guys filming here even though it’s August.”

She glanced over at his not very seasonal attire and turned the air conditioning up, letting a rush of cold air wash over them both. At least that was working fine.

“You have a very charming little town here, Sheriff Swan. I grew up in a village by the sea like Storybrooke back in England before I moved to London, it reminds me of home.”

Emma had spent nearly an hour the other day listening to Arthur, assistant director and grade A asshole, bitch about the lack of a Starbucks and a decent place to get Thai food in Storybrooke when she’d had to work with him on the logistics of shutting down Main Street in the middle of the day so they could film a scene, as he oh so condescendingly put it, “before the light changes, Emma, you see, we have this thing in filmmaking called continuity.” At least Killian Jones had some freaking manners to go along with his good looks and sexy accent.

Nope. Don’t go there, Emma, don’t even think about it. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“Uh, thanks,” she mumbled. Lame, Emma.

The park wasn’t that far away, but she couldn’t take the fastest route thanks to the trucks blocking the streets around Town Hall and had to go the long way instead. With the volume turned down on the radio it was quiet in the car and she could sense him watching her from the passenger seat while she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road. She was the deputy sheriff, she had to set a good example to visitors about safe driving habits.

Or something.

The long way involved driving past Henry’s school, it was closed for the summer, of course, since it was freaking August, but the message on the signboard out front had been changed from, “See You in September!” to “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” because of course someone had done that. Still, she smiled to herself at the reminder of her son. Henry went to day camp during the week with his friend Paige, coming home every night eager to hear everything that was going on with the movie shoot and Emma had definitely earned some cool points in Henry’s eyes for getting to work with the cast and crew. He was going to freak when she told him she’d finally met Killian Jones.

“Did you grow up here?”

It took Emma a second to realize Killian had asked her a question. “What? Oh, no, I didn’t, actually. We only moved to Storybrooke about two years ago.”

“Ah,” he said, voice seeming to go a bit flat. “Well, I can see why you and your husband decided to relocate. It’s lovely.”

She snorted, trying to imagine Neal in Storybrooke. He’d think it was ridiculous, twee and old-fashioned, and he’d probably also complain that there was no Starbucks or Thai food within an hour’s drive of the town.

Not for the first time, she wondered if part of the appeal of Storybrooke was just how much her ex would hate it.

“Nope, no husband. My son and I moved here from Boston, my brother David and his wife have a farm just outside of town. He heard about the job opening in the sheriff’s department and told me about it, and the rest is history.”

Her long overdue breakup with Neal had come on the heels of finally finishing her degree thanks to night school and loans she wouldn’t pay off before Henry went to college, after dropping out on the first go round when she’d had a baby at twenty. Emma knew their relationship only lasted as long as it did because of their son and even though they kept half-heartedly planning to get married, it never did happen. David also wasn’t her actual brother, his mother, Ruth Nolan, had been Emma’s final foster parent before she aged out of the system and the Nolans became the closest thing she had to family.

Not that she was going to share her entire life story with a complete stranger, of course. Even a handsome one with bright blue eyes the color of the ocean just beyond Storybrooke’s harbor.

“You have a son?” he asked, “How old is he?”

He was a good enough actor that he actually sounded interested, even though most guys noped right out of the conversation when they found out she had a kid.

“Henry’s ten, and according to him the movie is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to this town.” she said, and glanced over at him to add, “He’s also a huge Doctor Who fan, by the way.”

Killian’s whole face lit up at that, clearly pleased. “I’ve been a Doctor Who fan since I was ten, so getting that part was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. You should bring Henry to the set next time, I’d be happy to give him a look at what goes on behind the scenes.”

“You would really do that?”

Emma realized with a start that they were parked and she was twisted in her seat to fully face him. When had they arrived at their destination and why hadn’t she noticed anything except the fact that, up close, Killian Jones had just about the bluest eyes she’d ever seen?

And not only that, he was looking right back at her.

“Of course I would.”

He said it like there was no question that he’d want to entertain an overly excited ten year old boy he didn’t know when he could be…practicing his lines or taking selfies for Instagram or whatever it was actors did when they had downtime on set.

It was a knock at the window that made them both look up and Emma had a very vivid flashback to being sixteen and getting caught parked in a car with a cute boy after sneaking out past curfew. That little stunt had gotten her kicked out of the group home she’d been living in at the time (safe haven for all, her ass) and even though she’d ended up at the Nolans as her next placement and been welcomed with open arms by Ruth, the memory still left a sour taste in the back of her throat. She turned away from Killian and got out of the cruiser with a cough, wishing she hadn’t forgotten her sunglasses.

“Mr. Jones, I’m sorry for interrupting, but we’re way behind schedule today and-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, exiting on the other side of the car and waving off the apology from the harried looking crew member with a lanyard around his neck and another of the ubiquitous walkie talkies they all seemed to carry. “Thank you very much for the official escort, Sheriff Swan.”

She didn’t bother to correct him again that she was only the deputy sheriff, giving him what she hoped was an official looking nod in response. “I’ll be sure to send Merida the bill for using so much of my valuable police time. And you’re welcome, Mr. Jones.”

“Killian,” he offered, before the crew member whisked him away, shepherding him through the maze of trucks and RVs while letting whoever was on the other end of the walkie talkie know that “Mr. Jones was now on set.” Emma thought that he might have hesitated for a bit, lingering for a moment longer with a glance back before disappearing around the side of an Airstream trailer with the crew member and she lost sight of him.

Or maybe she was imagining it.

She needed another coffee.

With their leading man safely delivered, Emma’s next task was to check that everything was running smoothly at this location and if A Midnight Clear needed any further assistance from the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department.

“Another last minute permit…shut down traffic on Main Street again…close the library so you can film in it and have to listen to old Mrs. Hubbard bitch about not being able to read the latest National Enquirer for half an hour…give the ridiculously handsome star a blowjob-”

Emma halted dead in her tracks. Had she actually said that out loud? Shit, she did. Luckily, she’d only been muttering under her breath and it didn’t look like anyone was around to overhear. Her fingers found the badge on her belt, running over the metal star. She wasn’t some teenager crushing on a cute boy she’d talked to for all of five minutes, she was thirty years old, for fuck’s sake. An adult, with a college degree and a savings account. A law enforcement officer, come to…enforce the law.

God, that even sounded lame in her own head.

She really, really needed another coffee.

“Enforcing the law” in this case meant moving an orange pylon the crew had left that was too close to the accessible entrance to the park’s footpath. She’d make sure to note that stellar bit of police work in her daily log back at the station.

Signs had been posted to point the crew towards the set, not that Emma needed them. The bench was set in a clearing halfway down the path, not visible from where she was standing because of the trees. She followed along until it came into view, feeling her breath catch in her throat at the sight.

Henry had called it magic, and she supposed it was. Movie magic.

It was like an invisible snow globe had sprouted around the clearing. The green summer grass had been covered in a blanket of white that glittered in the sunlight the way actual snow would, while several faux evergreen trees had been strategically placed around the bench with more snow dusting their branches and dangling icicles that looked so real it was hard to believe they were probably made of plastic. A loud whirring noise suddenly rent the air, sounding like a motorcycle gang was about to come racing through. But this was Storybrooke, the closest thing they had to a motorcycle gang was when Marco gave Granny Lucas a ride to the diner on the back of his Vespa. A minute or so later, large white flakes started falling from the sky and the noise died down to a quieter hum as Merida’s malfunctioning snow machine had obviously been fixed. It all looked pretty damn realistic, Emma would give them that.

Killian appeared on the other side of the clearing, now sporting a black scarf and a pair of gloves with his suit. He was talking to Arthur, Emma was too far away to hear what they were saying but it didn’t take long before the actual filming started. She’d seen enough by now to know that it was a lot less exciting than it sounded. After watching the lead actress, Christina, film the same five second shot of her character walking into the library umpteen times, she really hadn’t paid much attention to what they were actually shooting whenever she had to babysit the crew on location around town. Regina called it “liasoning with the production” because Regina was, quite frankly, a bit of a snob, but really, it was babysitting.

She hadn’t seen Killian film before, and it was a lot more interesting. Yes, Emma could admit that partially it was because he was really, really good looking and it had been a while since her last date, and even longer since her last good date, but it wasn’t just that though. Something about him just changed when Arthur yelled action, the way he walked, his expression when he pretended to answer his cell phone, he wasn’t Killian Jones anymore, he was his character. Emma had only ever played the pity role of a tree in a school play once, she knew jack about acting. It was cool to watch an actual professional do it, especially when that professional looked like he did. They ran through the scene several times and during one of the breaks Killian waved at her. Emma waved back, telling herself the warm feeling in her chest was from the sun.

It was August, after all.

Henry was very excited to hear that she’d finally met the “coolest person ever to have set foot in Storybrooke” when Emma picked him and Paige up from camp that afternoon. They climbed into the Bug and showed her the popsicle stick snowflake ornaments they’d made in arts and crafts, since the Christmas fever had clearly infected Camp Arrowhead. After dropping Paige off at home and eating dinner Henry asked if they could watch Home Alone on Disney Plus, begging, “Please Mom? Please?”

Emma sighed to herself, putting the leftover potato salad back in the fridge. Whenever Henry was interested in something, he threw his whole heart and soul into it, and right now he was all about Christmas movies. She loved that about her son, while privately wondering where the heck it had come from. Not from her or Neal, that was for damn sure. Emma didn’t actually have a middle name, but if she did it might as well have been Cynical, and Neal, well, Neal never took anything seriously enough to care the way Henry did.

A part of her still loved Neal, even after everything that had happened between them.

She really didn’t want Henry to follow in some of his father’s footsteps, though.

Or hers.

“Home Alone it is then,” she agreed.

Henry settled happily on the living room floor, lying on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands to watch Kevin McAllister get left behind while his family rushed off to Paris. Emma curled up on the couch, feet tucked under an afghan Ruth had made for her when she’d been dropped at the Nolans’ door late one night with a duct-taped backpack and a chip the size of the McAllister’s ginormous house on her shoulder. She’d never really liked this movie, even when she was Henry’s age. Sure, the slapstick humor was still funny even as an adult, but…

But…

That huge mansion, filled to the brim with family on Christmas.

The desperate mother, fighting tooth and nail to return to her abandoned child.

The tearful reunion at the end.

Emma didn’t need a session with town psychiatrist Dr. Hopper to figure out that she had some issues with Christmas. Growing up in the system it was far from the most wonderful time of the year.

It was usually the worst.

Donated clothes that never fit quite right and generic gifts bought for “Girl Age 9-11”, no mother or father out there fighting their way back to her, no house full of family and Emma knew far too young that Santa wasn’t real, magic didn’t exist, and she was alone in the world, left behind to fend for herself not just for a few days, but for the rest of her life. She was the CPS equivalent of a misfit toy, a foster kid who got too old to be wanted. Even after Ruth took her in and David became the big brother she’d secretly always longed for, the damage had already been done. Even now, Christmas movies just reminded her of her shitty childhood.

“That was awesome!” Henry said once Kevin had been reunited with his family and the credits started to roll. Emma exited out of the Disney app and dropped the remote back onto the couch.

“You’ve already seen it about a million times,” she reminded him.

“If burglars tried to break in here, I’d set up booby traps to catch them too.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “No, you’d call 911 and do exactly what they told you to do. This is real life, kid, not a movie.”

“Movies are way cooler,” Henry proclaimed, flopping onto his back as dramatically as any actor with his arms spread wide as he announced it to the ceiling. She stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, they are,” she agreed, standing over him and holding out her hands to pull him to his feet. “Too bad you’re stuck here in the real world with me, huh?”

After Henry went to bed and she’d mindlessly scrolled through Netflix for a while —ignoring the algorithm’s suggestion to watch The Holiday and lingering for a bit on the thumbnail for Doctor Who before putting on a random episode of Nailed It instead—Emma found herself standing just outside Henry’s room. The door was ajar and she watched him sleep under the superhero posters that were dark shadows on the walls, with the Lego Star Wars x-wing fighter that David and Mary Margaret had given him last Christmas in place of pride on his dresser. Their little two-bedroom house in Storybrooke could charitably be called shabby chic, with its mismatched thrift-store furniture and and oddly-shaped rooms, it was a far cry from the McAllister’s giant McMansion and there was no luxury trips to Paris in Emma’s single mom budget, but she’d worked her ass off to make a home for her son and she was pretty damn proud of it

Her phone vibrated and she gently pulled Henry’s door closed before fishing it out of her pocket to check the notification. She expected to see a text from David or that Mary Margaret had tagged her in another Facebook post, instead it was from Instagram, letting her know that she had a new follower on her thatswangirl account, officialkillianjones. Sure enough, when she tapped the screen it took her right to his profile, the picture was definitely him and there was a blue check mark next to his name. The most recent post was a selfie where he had the black scarf he’d been wearing on set wrapped around his face and fake snow dusting his dark hair, one eyebrow quizzically raised while he stared into the camera. It was captioned, “Just walking in a winter wonderland, it’s still August, right?”

Having had similar thoughts multiple times a day over the last week, Emma snorted in agreement. She leaned against the wall, looking down at the screen. Killian Jones was now following her on Instagram, that was unexpected, to say the least. She followed him, or rather, Henry had followed him on her account, but she’d never expected him to follow her back. Had he actually gone looking for her profile or had Instagram just recommended her the way Netflix had recommended a Christmas movie even though it was August? Her finger was hovering over his latest post while she mused on it and the next thing she knew, she’d liked the photo. Seemed like the polite thing to do.

Henry was going to freak out again when she told him Killian followed her. Being “mutuals” on social media was apparently a Big Deal for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

She’d tell him in the morning, just like she’d told him that she’d met Killian on set, had answered all the questions he’d eagerly peppered her with during dinner, yes, he was very nice, yes, he liked Storybrooke, no, he hadn’t heard about the rain of lobsters (she hadn’t actually asked him if he did, to be honest), and yes, she told him Henry was a Doctor Who fan and he was happy to hear it.

She hadn’t told him about Killian’s offer to show him around the set and give him a behind the scenes look at the movie.

Her son wasn’t like her. Henry was cheerful, exuberant, and believed the best of everyone he

met. He would absolutely, one hundred percent believe that an actor in the middle of filming a movie would carve time out of his busy schedule to play tour guide to a random ten year old.

Emma knew better. It wasn’t worth getting his hopes up when the odds were that Killian had already forgotten all about it.

She closed Instagram. It was late, it had been a long day and she was ready for bed. Her own bedroom wasn’t that much larger than Henry’s and there was a serious lack of closet space, but it did have original hardwood floors that David had helped her refinish and a little wrought-iron Juliet balcony off the window. The house was an old sailor’s cottage, and Emma supposed the balcony had been for the sailor’s wife to lean on and look out to sea, waiting for her husband to return to her once more. She could hear the faint sound of the waves crashing on the beach when she opened the window to let in some air, the original features definitely didn’t include AC. It was a far cry from their old apartment in Boston, where there had been no chance of hearing anything except the drone of traffic or a drunken bar fight out of the window. Storybrooke had been a hell of an adjustment, but it was worth it to have a house with a backyard where Henry could play, a steady job with health insurance, family close by in the form of David and Mary Margaret, everything she’d ever wanted.

Well, almost everything, she thought, looking at the empty space on the side of the bed that used to be Neal’s.

Some dreams just didn’t come true.

************

“Seriously, you too?”

The turkey special was one thing, but now Granny’s Diner was fully decked out with little fake Christmas trees sitting on each table, snowflake banners strung up everywhere, red and green napkins in the dispensers and instead of the usual 80s music that was usually playing from the jukebox, it was Michael Buble again, currently informing them in his 40s throwback style that Santa Claus was coming to town. In August.

Granny Lucas looked down over the rim of her glasses. “Oh come on, Sheriff, it’s the most exciting thing to happen to this town since-”

“-since it rained lobsters on Main Street, I know, I know,” Emma finished with a sigh. “But it’s August.”

“It’s good for business,” Granny said. “The lobster bisque is still a top seller, you know.”

Emma hadn’t been able to stomach even the thought of lobster since that fateful day. She ordered her usual grilled cheese and onion rings, not bothering to look at the menu.

“Mom, can I get the turkey special?” Henry asked.

“Knock yourself out, kid.”

Henry wanted turkey instead of a burger and fries, and the woman whose picture could appear in the dictionary under “crotchety” was humming along to Christmas music in the middle of summer while she poured coffee. Everyone in Storybrooke had lost their damn minds. Or almost everyone. Mr. Gold was the lone holdout who’d refused to allow any filming on the properties he owned, his creepy little pawn shop was the only one left on Main Street without any decorations in the windows and Regina was utterly furious with him. Not that he cared, and the standoff between the mayor and the richest man in town didn’t look like it would end before the filming did.

Granny disappeared back into the kitchen and Emma listened while Henry chatted away about camp and whatever was considered new and cool among his fellow ten year olds, which seemed to change on a daily basis and she was barely thirty but god did she feel like she was about a hundred when her son started in on TikTock trends.

“Mom, look!”

Henry’s sudden gasp and grab at her arm came a split second after the bell over the door chimed, announcing that someone had just walked in. Her back was to whoever it was, but Henry’s eyes were as big as saucers and even before she turned around in the booth Emma knew exactly who had just walked into the diner.

Killian Jones was standing just inside the door, looking around with interest. Strangers in Storybrooke always stood out, something Emma remembered well from their first few months in town, and when said stranger was a handsome man who everyone knew was the star of the biggest thing to happen to the town since the lobsters, well, all eyes were on him.

He caught sight of her, and his face lit up with a smile. All eyes were on him, and he was looking only at her while he walked over to the booth.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi!”

It was Henry who replied to his greeting first, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement.

“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff Swan, but I was told this was the best place in town to get real American food and I was wondering if there was anything in particular I should order?”

Again it was Henry who answered, grabbing one of the menus from behind the napkin dispenser and opening it up on the table. “Oh, you have to try a milkshake. And a cheeseburger. I always get it with fries, but Mom prefers onion rings, and-”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Emma interrupted him, while Killian looked like he was stifling a laugh at Henry’s rapid-fire enthusiasm. “Mr. Jones isn’t going to order everything on the menu.”

“Call me Killian, please. And you must be Henry.”

His attention was all on her son now as he held out his hand for Henry to shake and uttered the magic words. “I heard you like Doctor Who.”

By the time Ruby came over to take his order he was sitting in the booth with them, showing a completely enthralled Henry pictures on his phone of the Doctor Who set. Ruby gave Killian a wide smile, her signature crimson lipstick perfect and one hip cocked in his direction when she pulled out her order pad and pen from her apron. Most men (and more than a few women) in Storybrooke were unable to resist Ruby’s bare midriff and wolfish grin. Killian only gave her a polite nod before looking back down at the menu and ordering a milkshake after conferring with Henry on which flavor was the best (chocolate, was Henry’s answer) and a cheeseburger with fries, Henry’s normal go-to meal. Ruby went back into the kitchen with a disappointed pout and Killian went back to telling Henry what he said were top TARDIS secrets until the food was dropped off on plates roughly the size of frisbees.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, looking a little stunned.

“There’s your real American food,” Emma smirked, picking up an onion ring from her plate and biting into it with relish.

“If I eat all this I don’t think I’ll fit back into my costume.”

Henry decided to be helpful. “Mom’ll steal some of your fries when you’re not looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks kid.”

“Steal?” Killian repeated, putting a theatrical emphasis on the word. “A fine upstanding officer would never steal, unless…why, Sheriff Swan, are you secretly a pirate?”

Henry was giggling alongside him and Emma played along with the joke, corny as it was.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back.

“Perhaps I would.”

They were interrupted by two teenage girls, sharing nervous giggles as they came over to ask for Killian’s autograph and a selfie. He turned to them with that movie-star smile, signing and posing for several pictures with each. When he turned back Emma was holding one of the fries off his plate, the end already dipped in ketchup.

“Oops, how’d that get there?” she mused with faux innocence.

His smile turned to something less suitable for the Hallmark channel’s family friendly reputation as he leaned back in the booth and gave her an appraising look that she met head on while she ate the pilfered fry. She was still pretty good at nicking food when no one was looking, it was a lot more fun now than it had been when she was sixteen.

When Ruby dropped off the bill it seemed like no time had passed, but Emma noticed with a start that the diner was practically deserted, the lunch rush was clearly long over. Killian’s plate was empty, after he’d taken a few pictures to post “real American food” on his Instagram he’d dug in and eaten everything except the fries Emma had filched every time someone else had come over to ask for his autograph or a photo. It had turned into a game they all played until there was none left.

Killian got her back by taking the last onion ring from her plate, aided by her son distracting her, the little traitor. Now she knew how David felt.

“Bye Killian!” Henry said. “See you on Monday!”

During lunch he’d invited both Henry and Paige to visit the movie set on Monday after camp. Emma knew Henry was going to talk about nothing else until then. David was going to be just thrilled to hear all about it during Sunday dinner.

They all slid out of the booth and she went to grab the bill so she could take it up to the cash register at the front, only to see that it had disappeared off the table. Emma frowned, wondering if it had fallen on the floor.

“Ah,” Killian said, and he was even better at sleight of hand than she was because when she looked up she saw he had it, having lifted it without her even noticing. “Let me get this.”

Her initial reaction was to protest, it wasn’t like they’d been on a date or anything, plus it wasn’t just her grilled cheese, it was Henry’s turkey special too on the bill. He must have seen her reluctance on her face because he added, “Consider it thanks for keeping me company, I was just going to get takeaway for one and this was much more fun than eating by myself.”

“Okay,” she found herself agreeing. “Thanks.”

Granny came bustling over from behind the counter. “Hang on, Sheriff, you almost forgot these.”

She handed over two oversized candy canes, Henry snatched one and immediately unwrapped a cellophaned end, sticking it in his mouth like an old man with a cigar.

“Thanks Granny!” he beamed around his mouthful of peppermint before bounding towards the door. “See you on Monday, Killian! Don’t forget!”

“They come with the turkey special,” Granny explained in response to Emma’s questioning look. “And here’s one for our visitor, too, on the house. Come back anytime, Mr. Jones. You were very good for business today. Try the lobster bisque next.”

She handed another candy cane to Killian, looking very pleased with herself. The diner had been more crowded than usual during lunch, now that Emma thought about it, and there had definitely been a higher than average amount of teenage girls. Emma watched through narrowed eyes while Granny went back to the counter and waited until she was out of earshot.

“Take my advice,” she said to Killian, leaning in to murmur it low in his ear, “don’t try the bisque.”

“I heard that, Sheriff!”

Okay, so maybe Granny wasn’t quite out of earshot.

“I think you just made the naughty list, Swan,” Killian chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

She smirked at his stunned look, feeling something that she hadn’t felt in a long time when she turned and headed for the door, something that made her put a little bit more of a swing in her hips than was strictly necessary and unwrapping her own candy cane as she went. Maybe it wasn’t very professional of her to flirt with him like that, especially when Granny Lucas apparently had the hearing of a woman half her age, but hey, she was off duty and he was only going to be in town for a short while. What was the harm?

The candy cane was pretty good, Emma had to admit to herself.

Hey, candy was candy, no matter what month it was.

***********

David, predictably, was less than pleased at Sunday dinner to hear about Killian’s invitation, and was even grumpier the following week when Henry was still on cloud nine after visiting a real live movie set. He got to hear all about how cool Killian was, and how Henry and Paige got to watch him film a scene while sitting in real director’s chairs, and then they got to be extras in the background and were actually going to be in the movie and wasn’t that the coolest thing ever? Everyone at camp had been so jealous.

“They’re not the only ones,” Emma said with a knowing smile, glancing over at her brother.

“I am not jealous!” David protested. His crossed arms and childish pout told a different story. “Why would I be jealous? Pass me the potatoes.”

Emma handed him the bowl and he started spooning them onto his plate with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Hey Mom?” Henry asked, oblivious to his uncle’s black mood as he took a roll from the basket Mary Margaret was offering to him, “Can I be Prince Charles for Halloween?”

“Prince Charles?” Mary Margaret repeated, putting the basket of rolls down and looking completely baffled.

“Not Prince Charles, Prince Charles,” Emma tried to explain, which only made her look even more confused. “Not the real Prince Charles, I mean. The character Killian played on Doctor Who was named Prince Charles, it was this running gag because he was from a different planet and didn’t know there was a Prince Charles here too so everyone thought he was joking when he said that was his name. Especially since he’s a lot more hand-“

She caught herself before she finished the thought and covered it up with a cough, trying to divert attention away from the fact that she’d almost just called him handsome in front of both her brother and her son. Judging by David’s rolled eyes and Mary Margaret’s raised eyebrows she wasn’t entirely successful, although thankfully Henry didn’t appear to have noticed.

“But, kid,” she continued, “Halloween costumes already? It’s only August. You’ll change your mind ten times before October.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t, I promise! Please Mom? Please?”

“You said that last year about Iron Man, but then you wanted to be Boba Fett instead, remember?”

“This is different!”

Henry had that stubborn look on his face, the same one he had whenever he’d made his mind up about something, like which was the best Star Wars movie after Empire, (it was Rogue One) or that peas were gross (she agreed with him there), the look that Neal claimed he got from her and boy did that never fail to piss her off. But Neal was back in Boston (with Tamara, that little voice in her head oh so helpfully reminded her, the woman he said she didn’t have to worry about) and while he may have been right about where their son got that particular trait, she didn’t feel like arguing with Henry tonight, especially not so close to Christmas…

…fuck. It was August. She blamed the constant stream of Christmas music and the decorations Mary Margaret had put up already. Her Bug could only pick up the local station and it was too old (or vintage, as she preferred to call it) to have Bluetooth, so they'd arrived at the farm before dinner with the Little Drummer Boy rum-pa-pum-pumming away from the radio to find enough wireframe reindeer set up in the yard to pull Santa’s sleigh and a wreath on the door, while inside the stockings Ruth had made were hanging up on the fireplace mantle and even Fandral the golden retriever was jauntily dressed in a festive red plaid collar instead of his normal black one.

“They won’t make a costume for that,” Emma said instead of saying no outright, trying to let Henry down easy, “he’s not a big enough character.”

He frowned, looking down at his plate and chewing on his lip. She knew she was right, Target wasn’t going to have a Prince Charles costume alongside the umpteen Spidermans and Elsas.

“I could make it,” Mary Margaret offered.

Henry looked up, hope flaring bright on his face. “You could?”

“I’ve been meaning to get Ruth’s old sewing machine down from the attic to make a few, um, projects anyway, it’ll be good practice. Do you have a picture of it?

“Mom?”

He swiveled to face Emma with big, excited eyes. She had her phone sitting on the dinner table in case there was an emergency back at the station, like Mr. Gold getting another call asking if his refrigerator was running or Regina making an urgent report after catching someone littering. With a few taps she opened Instagram, going to Killian’s profile and scrolling back until she found a photo he’d posted of himself dressed in the Prince Charles costume of a long brown coat worn over a white shirt and black vest.

“It doesn’t look easy to make,” she warned, turning the screen towards Mary Margaret. Emma wasn’t the crafty type, not like her “I saw it on Pinterest!” spouting sister-in-law, but that coat seemed pretty complicated. Mary Margaret took the phone to have a closer look and squinted down at the photo, chewing her lip just like Henry.

“I’ll have to look for a pattern that I can adapt into the coat, and it’ll take a decent amount of fabric, but I should be able to copy it.”

“Yes!” Henry was bouncing in his seat, “See Mom? Aunt Mary can make it for me!”

Emma wondered if she’d ever stop getting caught by surprise every time David showed up at her house with his toolbox whenever she complained about the water pressure in the shower or the window that refused to open, or when Mary Margaret made social media-worthy cupcakes for Emma to take to the PTA meeting after she had a late shift at the station the night before and had no time (or skill) to bake herself. Her knee-jerk reaction was usually to protest, to say she could handle it herself, except she had to admit she wouldn’t be able to make anywhere near as good of a costume as Mary Margaret could make no matter which online tutorial she tried to follow.

“Okay,” she agreed, knowing she was powerless against the both of them now that they’d teamed up against her, “but, Mary Margaret, if it turns out it’s too much work for you-”

“Bah,” she interrupted. “What’s family for? Henry’s going to be the best Prince Charles in Storybrooke when I’m done.”

“He’s going to be the only Prince Charles in Storybrooke,” David pointed out. “Sure you don’t want to be Han Solo this year? I can be Chewbacca.”

“Nope!” Henry said, his ten year old mind clearly made up. Which meant he’d probably change it tomorrow, just like he’d gone from insisting that he had to be Iron Man one day to Boba Fett the next last year, but for now, her son was going to be a two-episode character that no one except die hard Doctor Who fans would recognize for Halloween.

David continued to sulk in his chair and stab at his food while Mary Margaret handed the phone back to Emma. It was still open on the photo from Killian’s Instagram and when she looked down she saw the heart was now filled in, meaning Mary Margaret had liked the months-old post.

Crap.

She narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law, who was calmly serving herself from a snowflake patterned bowl that normally didn’t appear until December. For someone who dressed and acted like a 1950s schoolteacher with her pastel sweater sets and sunny, glass-is-half-full optimism, she had a suspiciously satisfied look on her face.

“Pass the salt, please,” she asked mildly, meeting Emma’s gaze over Henry’s head. “It’s certainly a nice…costume, isn’t it, Emma?”

Yeah, liking Killan’s post was no accident.

************

If there was one place in town that Emma would have bet actual cash on not giving in to the red-and-green wave that had spread through Storybrooke like a zombie apocalypse, only with a horde of gingerbread men instead of the walking dead, it was The Rabbit Hole.

Nope.

The shitty dive bar atmosphere of mismatched glassware and pool tables with faded felt was somehow even shittier with one of those white artificial trees set up in the corner and old-school multicolored lights strung haphazardly around the walls. At least there wasn’t any Christmas music playing—Emma may or may not have looked up flights to Canada one afternoon at the station while plotting how to murder Michael Buble and make it look like a tragic accident—classic rock thumped in the background instead when she walked in the door.

Henry was spending his monthly weekend in Boston with Neal and Ruby had dragged Emma out of her empty house to hit the town. In Storybrooke the pickings were slim, it wasn’t like there were any wine bars or clubs, so they went down to The Rabbit Hold alongside everyone else who wanted to blow off some steam on a Saturday night. Which included a bunch of the movie people, Emma saw the seven Teamsters pounding back beers together at a table and Merida throwing back shots as if they were water, while Arthur was hitting on anything in a skirt. Including Emma herself when they first arrived, which…no. Even though he was a good looking guy and would be far from the first asshole she ever slept with, she did not need to get laid that badly.

“You know it’s August, right?” she said to Ruby, pointing at the headband she was wearing. It had reindeer antlers. She was also wearing a short, sparkly red dress that would fit in perfectly at a Christmas party, but then again she wore red year round anyway.

“So? Lighten up, Emma, you’re giving off serious Grinch vibes, you know.”

She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at Ruby, which probably proved her point. Emma had to admit she was in a grinchy mood, with Henry gone and the house so much quieter without him there.

“You need a drink, and a dick, and not necessarily in that order.”

One thing about Ruby Lucas that anyone who spent more than five minutes with her learned was that while she may live in a storybook town that looked like the very definition of family friendly, she talked like she was starring in her own show on HBO.

“Let’s start with the drink,” Emma said, steering Ruby towards the bar and not having much hope of finishing with a dick.

The thing about small towns where everyone knew each other was that...it was a small town and everyone knew each other. One night stands were super awkward when you had to pull them over for speeding a week later after they never called you back, and she didn’t need Mary Margaret to start wedding planning after hearing from Ashley at the grocery store that her boyfriend Sean had been told by his friend Philip that Emma had left the bar the night before with someone they’d all known all their lives. So she nursed her Sam Adams (you could take the girl out of Boston, but you couldn’t take Boston out of the girl) for as long as possible and watched Ruby work her mojo instead of looking for someone to give her the “D” - as Ruby so unsubtly put it. Not that Ruby herself was leaning that way either, since she ended up doing shots with Merida and from the way they were looking at each other, leaning in close to speak in the other’s ear even though it wasn’t that loud, “friendly” touches to hands and arms and shoulders that lasted a little too long...yeah. Ruby wasn’t going home alone.

Well, she did like red. That extended to redheads, apparently.

“So...looks like your friend is having a Highland fling tonight.”

Emma looked over as Killian Jones sat down next to her in the seat Ruby had abandoned to go visit Scotland instead. He tipped his glass towards the pair, Ruby was now sitting on Merida’s lap with her dress riding dangerously high up her thighs and Emma really hoped she wouldn’t have to arrest her best friend for indecent exposure.

Again.

“I guess so,” she drawled, waiting to see if he was going to leer and make some gross comment about how hot two girls were together. He didn’t though, he just finished his drink and waved at the bartender.

“Another rum, neat, and one of whatever the lady is having.”

He looked good, that knife’s edge jaw covered with dark scruff several hours past a five o’clock shadow, his blue eyes bright even in the dimly lit room. Blue eyes that were fixed firmly on her, making Emma warmer than the liquor or the balmy summer night.

Ruby and Merida disappeared together at some point, Emma wasn’t really sure when. She drank the beer Killian bought her, and then bought him a drink, because she was an adult with a job and her own credit card and he didn’t know Philip or Sean or Ashley.

Especially because he didn’t know Philip or Sean or Ashley.

“Need a police escort home?” she asked, when his glass was empty and she knew the burn between her thighs wouldn’t be satisfied with her own hand tonight. Technically she was off the clock, but it was her sworn duty to protect and serve the people of the town, and that included handsome visiting actors with accents more delicious than candy canes or pumpkin spice lattes. It was just hitting midnight when they left The Rabbit Hole into a clear night of sea breeze coming in off the ocean and the stars above guiding their way like the sailors coming home to the lovers left behind on land. There was heat in the air, heat between them in the heavy-lidded glances they shared that were thick with anticipation, heat in the rum Emma wanted to taste directly from his mouth instead of a glass. She pulled him to her by his necklace, fingers wrapping in the cool metal of the chain and her back hitting the wall behind them.

The music from the bar was still faintly audible when their lips met, bass notes echoing like the beat of her pulse as she felt the kiss all the way to her toes. He caged her in place, hand sliding to the back of her neck and she met him more than halfway, her hips pressing against the bulge she could feel in his tight jeans and sliding her tongue along his reddened bottom lip. She relished his shiver when she grazed it with her teeth.

Killian pulled back, his eyes a glittering line through dark lashes and his voice a rasp of liquor and lust.

“Swan, are you sure?”

Emma really, really shouldn’t be doing this for a number of really, really good reasons, she had a kid, she had to oversee the rest of the movie shoot, Regina would probably kill her if she found out, literally, not figuratively, but, fuck it.

“Yes.”

He was staying in a house that the production company had arranged for him, he explained, a giant Victorian affair with gingerbread trim and one of those wide wrap-around porches that was made for a swing. Killian seemed slightly embarrassed when she couldn’t stop herself from gaping at it, although who could blame her, the house had a damn turret, for fuck’s sake. He fumbled with the lock and muttered that it was far too big for one person but it had been on the market for ages with no takers so they got a good deal on a short term rental. She followed him in when he finally got the door open, catching a glimpse of a kitchen that would have Mary Margaret squeeing over the vintage appliances and a giant bay window before he was on her, mouth latching onto her neck and all thoughts of her sister-in-law and architectural details flew out of her head. Strong hands reached under her thighs, lifting her up so that her legs wrapped around his hips. The line of his erection pressed against the damp lace under her dress with the movement, making them both shudder.

Killian carried, actually carried, her up the stairs, like she was a heroine from Bridgerton or something and not just a blonde he picked up at a bar, and damn if that wasn’t even more of a turn on. They tumbled through a door and onto a bed, her ankles crossing behind his back while he continued to grind between her thighs, his tongue in her mouth and his hands now planted rather firmly on her ass. She didn’t mind that at all and was eager to get her hands on him too, grabbing the hem of his T-shirt to find bare skin that was scorching to the touch when she dragged it up his sides. He had to go up on his knees on the bed to get it off completely, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as soon as his arms were free. His chest was dusted with a generous amount of dark hair, it turned into a line that went down his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans with a tantalizing hint of the treasure that lay at the end of the trail. There was something so delightfully male about it, and the noise he made when she raked her nails through the fine mat was even better.

Her dress was next to go, and while she hadn’t gone out with the expectation of getting laid she had worn something underneath that definitely meant she wasn’t opposed to the idea, lace-trimmed and sheer in all the right places and would look damn good on Killian’s bedroom floor. He pulled a bra strap down with his teeth and swirled his tongue around her nipple, bringing it to a tight pebble in his mouth while his fingers worked at the button of his jeans.

“You have condoms, right?” she asked, voice more than a little breathless and her back arching to give him better access.

“Yes,” he answered, flicking his tongue one more time over the tight peak before his dark head came up and he winked at her. “But we’ve got time before we need them.”

He leaned forward then and kissed her, far more softly this time. The hookups she’d had after her breakup with Neal had been more about scratching the itch, getting off and getting out as soon as possible. She’d almost forgotten it could be like this instead. Killian kept his word and took his time, kissing a line down her neck and back to her breasts, lavishing each one in turn with licks and sucks that had her flushed right down to her navel. When he hooked his thumbs in the lace clinging to her hips and dragged it down she was more than ready, slick with arousal under his fingers while he braced himself on one arm to reach between her legs. He slid up and down in a friction that had her gripping his shoulders and holding on against the wave that was poised to drag her under. When he slid two fingers inside and crooked them just right she met his eyes for a moment, the blue swallowed in a dark storm of desire, before her head tipped back helplessly into his pillow and she fell over the edge with a gasp.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. Another kiss was pressed to her lips while she lay panting for air and then he reached over to the bedside table and pulled open a drawer, rummaging around blindly inside until he found the box of condoms. Emma saw that it was unopened, which made her wonder if she was the first woman he’d slept with since he arrived in town. Not that it really mattered, this was just a one time thing, but still.

His boxer briefs were tented with his erection. She sat up and slid her palm over it while he was tearing a condom off the string and his hips jerked into her hand. A smirk played at her lips as she did it again, before toying with the waistband and tracing the lines of his abs with the tip of her nail.

“You said we had time, right?”

His accent was thicker, rougher, when he answered. “I did, didn’t I?”

Emma peeled the cotton down his thighs and pushed him onto his back, plucking the condom from his unresisting hand for later and laying it on the sheets next to his hips. As late as it already was, she wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet. They had time, time for her to lick a teasing stripe up the length of him and watch the muscles in his stomach contract at the sensation, time to take him in her mouth and continue the tease with her tongue. Each gasp and groan that followed made her feel sexy, gorgeous, desired, all the things she didn’t usually have time for in her daily life. When she finally released him her was rock hard and the second the condom was rolled on he dragged her onto his lap, a wrecked look on his face. It was just the right side of rough when he thrust up, hands tight on her hips and breath hot on her neck. His beard rasped against her skin while the thick drag of his erection rocked inside her, she was going to feel it in the morning and she relished the thought.

They found a rhythm, Emma riding him to the tempo only they could hear, rolling her hips and squeezing around him. The bed creaked with the movement and his deep groans mixed with her own higher-pitched cries. He filled her on each stroke, it felt amazing and yet it wasn’t quite enough to bring her off again. Killian seemed to sense it when she started to falter, chasing the high that stayed just out of reach. He tightened his arms around her back and rolled them, settling on top of her and giving a heavy thrust that made her toes curl and her back arch. Her eyes squeezed shut and one of his hands found hers, lacing their fingers together against the mattress and holding tight. The other lifted her knee and changed the angle just enough to give her that last little push she needed to come a second time.

Killian followed her a few moments later, burying his face in her neck and his back slick with sweat as he shuddered through his climax.

“That was,” he breathed, clearly too blissed out to even finish the thought.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

It had been the best sex she’d had in a long time, blowing every other one-night stand completely out of the water. She had no illusions that it was more, he was only in town for a short time and it was all she wanted, anyway.

“Does Granny’s serve breakfast?”

The sudden question from the pleasant weight pinning her to the bed caught her off guard. “What, like right now?”

Killian chuffed quietly into her shoulder. “No, it’s just that I’ve got nought but some tea and toast to offer you in the morning, and I think I’ve finally finished digesting that cheeseburger by now.”

That made her snort, remembering the look on his face when he’d first encountered Granny’s idea of a portion size. It took her another second to realize that he expected her to not only stay the night, but to stay for breakfast. It was sweet, but-

There was always a but.

But if she went to Granny’s Diner with him in the morning, wearing the same dress she’d worn to The Rabbit Hole the night before, the whole town would know they’d slept together before the lunch rush. She should make an excuse to leave, find her underwear, and go home.

Killian kissed her neck and got out of bed, disappearing into an ensuite bathroom. She’d tell him she had the early morning shift at the station, she’d tell him Henry was coming home and she had to go, she’d tell him something, anything, and leave…

The combination of alcohol and incredible sex was making her limbs heavy and the prospect of having to put her bra back on was about as appealing at the moment as a budget meeting with Mayor Mills. Plus his bed was so comfy, king-sized and covered in pillows that she wanted to bury herself in.

Emma was almost asleep when Killian climbed back into bed, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her so that she was spooned against him with her back to his front. Lips brushed against her ear and he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

Just before she drifted off completely she felt a pang of regret, that she couldn’t go out for breakfast with him in the morning or go home with him again at night no matter how good looking he was or how good he was in bed.

Or how good he was with her son.

It was just a one time thing.

********

“A grilled cheese and onion rings, right Emma?”

“Yes, thank you Ruby.”

Ruby jotted the order down on her pad and turned to Henry. “And for you, kiddo?”

“No turkey special?”

She rested a hand on her hip and shook her head. “Fraid not. Back to the old menu now, I can do a burger, or the lobster bisque.”

Emma suppressed a shudder. Luckily Henry wasn’t much interested in lobster unless they were raining down from the sky, and he ordered a cheeseburger with fries instead. In addition to the old menu Granny’s Diner was back to the regular decor, the napkins were white, the mini trees were gone, and the jukebox was playing Top 40 hits from the Reagan administration instead of Christmas music. No more Michael Buble, no one was wearing Santa hats, or wishing each other happy holidays, the Bean & Brew was back to promoting iced coffees instead of pumpkin spice lattes and everything was back to normal in Storybrooke.

Just what Emma had been waiting for.

Henry started chattering away about whatever was currently going viral, something that was of vital importance to any self-respecting ten year old. Emma listened with half an ear, waiting for their order. Ruby brought over Henry’s milkshake and her hot chocolate with cinnamon. It was slightly cooler now than it had been a few weeks ago, but it was still almost seventy degrees out. She’d just been in the mood for one.

“Crap, I forgot to add the cinnamon. Sorry Emma, I’ll go grab it.”

Before she left the bell over the door rang, announcing a new arrival to the diner. Emma’s back was to it so she couldn’t see who it was at first, it was Ruby who looked over first and a smile broke over her face.

“Hey, look who just came back to town.”

Emms felt her heartbeat quicken and a flush rise in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat coming from her drink. Henry was grinning and waving like a maniac and she took a breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When she opened them and turned around she immediately locked eyes with the man who’d just walked in.

“Oh,” she said, slumping down in her seat and unable to stop the wave of disappointment washing over her. “It’s August.”

*********

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma smiled and took the festive red cup from the barista, a young man wearing an elf hat with his green apron.

“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She stepped outside of the packed Starbucks after adding an extra dash of cinnamon from the condiment bar to her gingerbread hot chocolate, beanie pulled down over her ears and her jacket zipped up to her chin. The cold still nipped at her cheeks and her breath immediately fogged the air, it was December, after all.

Fortifying herself against the chill with a sip of her drink, she joined the throng packing the sidewalk. The skyscrapers above, the massive crowds, the Starbucks and takeout places on every corner, New York City was a far cry from Storybrooke.

Henry’s list of exciting things to happen in their sleepy little town now included the day when the FBI had arrived without warning to arrest Mr. Gold. It turned out that the pawn shop owner and richest man in Storybrooke had made his money years prior by defrauding investors in a scheme where he claimed to be able to create gold from inexpensive materials, like lab-created diamonds, that was indistinguishable from the real thing. In truth, it was all a scam and the supposed gold was fake. By the time his investors found out they’d been fleeced, he’d taken the money and run. “Gold” wasn’t even his real name, he’d chosen that as his alias and from Emma’s acquaintance with him she was sure he was probably feeling very smug and satisfied with himself over his not so clever little joke. Storybrooke had been his hiding spot with his young trophy wife and stolen cash, the townspeople none the wiser until a literal SWAT team showed up.

Emma had caught him before he crossed the town line, trying to flee in a car that had just been reported stolen to the local radio station instead of the sheriff’s department. She’d been completely unaware of the special task force that was raiding his house at the same time, a group of highly trained agents who didn’t look too happy that it was a small town cop who’d actually apprehended the man who was fifth on their top ten most wanted list when she brought him in.

Gold had stolen a lot of money. A lot.

As the arresting officer she’d had to come to New York City, the scene of Gold’s crime, to give a formal statement in person at the FBI’s field office, answer the same questions over and over again about a hundred times, sign more paperwork than the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department generated in six months, and accept her share of the reward money.

Yes Virginia, there was reward money.

Enough to pay off her student loans, put a sizable chunk into Henry’s college fund, splurge on a killer leather jacket that she’d been eyeing online forever and looked damn good in, if she did say so herself, and buy some very nice Christmas presents for the people in her life. She had several things already stashed back in her hotel room for Mary Margaret and David, although her idiot brother was still in the doghouse with her for the little stunt he’d pulled. Bound and determined to prove he was Henry’s cool uncle (never mind the fact that he was Henry’s only uncle) he’d let her ten year old son drive his truck.

Right into a town mailbox.

She should have bought him a lump of coal instead of AirPods. Luckily Regina was too busy gloating over Gold’s arrest and the defeat of her longtime nemesis to notice the wilful destruction of town property before Graham had it removed. Emma, on the other hand, had threatened both David and Henry with a weekend in side by side cells at the station with nothing but bread and water if they ever did it again. Technically that was a misuse of police authority, but considering she had a citation from the FBI with a fancy seal and everything now posted above her desk she felt she could get away with it.

David’s gift was done, Mary Margaret’s was done (along with a few gifts for the new addition to the family that had been tearfully announced at Thanksgiving, Baby Boy or Girl Nolan would be making his or her appearance right around Easter) and while she’d picked up several things for Henry, there was one item on his list she was still trying to snag.

Gingerbread hot chocolate in hand, she crossed 34th street and walked into Macy’s to hit up the special Lego pop-up holiday store inside. It carried several sets that weren’t available anywhere else, not even online, including a limited edition Star Wars themed one that Henry had declared to be the coolest Lego set ever. He wasn’t the only one, it was such a hot ticket item among Lego enthusiasts that the store only put out a few at completely random times of the day to discourage scalpers and they always sold out immediately. There were even Twitter accounts solely devoted to posting when they were available, Emma had followed them all in desperation but had no luck so far. Now she was down to her last night in New York before heading back to Storybrooke and she was going to give it one more try even though she had little hope of finding one.

But for Henry, it was worth a shot.

Like every other store Macy’s was completely done up for the holidays, with garlands of tinsel and greenery draped everywhere, giant stars hanging from the ceiling, and Paul McCartney simply having a wonderful Christmastime over the loudspeakers. The entrance to the pop-up itself was flanked by two six-foot tall nutcrackers made of Lego, and inside there was a Lego Christmas tree that everyone stopped at to take photos. As impressive as it was, Emma was on a mission and she bypassed all the tourists taking selfies to make her way straight to the Star Wars section, feeling a bit like Princess Leia when she knelt down by the life-sized Lego R2-D2 to check the lowest shelf just in case one had been shoved back there.

Hey only hope was dashed when all she found was a line of Baby Yodas.

“Excuse me,” she straightened up and snagged one of the employees walking by in his “Merry and Br(icks)ight” T-shirt, “are there any of those limited edition May The Force Be With You sets out right now?”

He shook his head, juggling an armful of Imperial tie fighters. “No, sorry, we’re already sold out of those for the day. You can try again tomorrow.”

She couldn’t, but she didn’t say it. “Okay, thanks.”

It had always been a longshot, but she couldn’t help the stab of dejection. Some part of her had thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d miraculously be able to find one for her son and make his Christmas dream come true. The employee walked off and she gave one final, resigned look at the display of Millenium Falcons before she left the store too, just in case.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Emma turned around at the voice to find another employee standing behind her, and older man with white hair and glasses. He looked a bit familiar, but before she could figure out how her gaze dropped to the box he was holding. She recognized it on sight even though she could hardly believe what she was seeing, it was the limited edition, impossible to find even on eBay, May The Force Be With You Lego set, number one on Henry’s Christmas list.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, is this what you were looking for?”

She took it from him, almost too stunned to speak. “Yes,” she managed to squeak out, sounding like a little kid, “yes, this is the one my son wants. But I thought it was sold out?”

“Ah,” he smiled. “There was just this one left in the back, I’m glad I was able to grab it for you. Merry Christmas to you and your son.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She turned the box over carefully in a bit of a daze, double and triple checking to make sure it was really the right one and she wasn’t seeing things. When she looked up to thank the employee again, he was already gone.

Huh. Weird.

On her way to the checkout she got stopped three separate times by people offering to buy the set off her, it was that hot. It was also ridiculously expensive, like holy shit, how much kind of expensive, but she didn’t even flinch at the total when she swiped her credit card. It was for Henry, and that was all that mattered.

The temperature had dropped some more by the time she left Macy’s and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her hotel and order some room service, since she was on official business all her expenses were paid for and an overpriced grilled cheese and a glass of wine from the mini-bar followed by a hot bath were calling to her, but she had one final thing to do in New York before she left.

When Henry had found out about her trip he’d been incredibly excited, which surprised her because she’d been expecting him to be disappointed that she had to leave so close to Christmas and would miss out on both the Town Hall carol sing and David and Mary Margaret’s annual ugly Christmas sweater party. It turned out he was so thrilled because the nonstop holiday movie marathon that had been going on in their house all month thanks to Disney Plus had included numerous viewings of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Henry had all these grand plans for her trip, that she was going to stay in a lavish suite at the Plaza Hotel, visit Duncan’s Toy Chest, and be driven around in a limousine, just like Kevin McCallister did when he got separated from his family, again.

Right.

She was staying at a nondescript Hilton in midtown, was taking cabs instead of limos, and had to break the news to Henry that the toy store in the movie was fictional.

There was one key location though that wasn’t either insanely expensive or non-existent and she hailed a cab, keeping a tight hold on her shopping bag as she slid into the backseat and told the driver where she wanted to go. He pulled away from the curb and Emma watched the streets go by from the window, storefronts all decorated and a kaleidoscope of lights reflecting on the glass.

“The WYNC-FM weather forecast is brought to you by the Hallmark Channel, where every night is Christmas Eve! Tune in tonight for Mistletoe and Memories, a brand new movie about a secret, second-chance romance at the holidays! ”The latest weather forecast has changed again and most of the Eastern seaboard can expect to see a white Christmas this year, with snow expected on the twenty-fourth through the twenty-sixth. Maine in particular will receive several inches spread over the holidays, especially in the coastal parts of the state. And to celebrate, here’s the time-honored classic itself.”

The radio station started playing White Christmas, Bing Crosby’s gravelly voice drifting out of the speakers. Henry would be happy to hear there was going to be snow on Christmas, while it had definitely been cold and blustery in Storybrooke, there hadn’t been any snow yet. He’d asked if the town could get one of those machines they used to make the movie and have Christmas all year round.

Emma didn’t find the idea nearly as unappealing as she might have a few months ago.

“We’re here, miss.”

After paying the fare she stepped out and was immediately looked up. The famous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Centre was a lot taller in person than it was on screen in Home Alone 2, she had to crane her neck to see all the way up to the star on top. It was covered in lights and shone bright against the night sky, presiding over the open plaza below. At the foot of it was a skating rink, and despite the near freezing temperatures it was still full of people gliding back and forth on the ice. There were tourists come to sightsee milling about, couples bundled up against the cold walking arm-in-arm, hot dog carts and souvenir stands and the whole scene was all very quintessentially New York.

Back home in Storybrooke they had their own tree-lighting ceremony on a much smaller scale at the Town Hall a few weeks prior to kickoff the season, followed by the “Gala Premiere,” as Regina called it, of Storybrooke’s very own Christmas movie. The gala premiere consisted of a screen and a projector set up in the high school auditorium, hot drinks catered by the Bean & Brew, and a rented popcorn machine. David and Mary Margaret came, and Ashley and Sean, and Paige and her dad, and a very, very excited Henry with Emma in tow, all to watch the bookish small-town girl played by Christina Bell fall for the visiting, mysterious Englishman played by Killian Jones, against a backdrop of fake snow and careful editing to hide the fact that it had been filmed in August. They’d renamed the movie, instead of A Midnight Clear it was now A Count for Christmas, because the big reveal was that Killian’s character was actually a count.

Henry was already planning next year’s Halloween costume based on it. As David had predicted, no one had known who he was supposed to be in the Prince Charles costume Mary Margaret had painstakingly made when he went out trick-or-treating with Paige in her much more recognizable Scarlet Witch outfit from Target. But Henry hadn’t cared, not when the official Doctor Who Instagram account itself had reposted the picture Emma had taken of him all dressed up.

She was pretty sure she had Killian to thank for that.

So next year her son was going to be a count instead of a prince. The scene where he and Paige were extras in the background had lasted less than a minute, and only the back of his head was briefly visible on screen, but in true Mike Wazowski fashion none of that had mattered to him and he’d proclaimed to anyone who’d listen, Ruby, the mailman, his dentist, Pongo the Dalmatian, that he’d actually been in a movie!

It was cheesy, and sappy, and sentimental, and all the things Emma swore up and down she wasn’t into.

Maybe she was, a little bit.

A clip from it even went viral, of a rather smoldering look Killian had shot to Christina that was very un-Hallmark like and more suited to something on HBO. It blew up on TikTok, to the point where Killian had even been interviewed by several media outlets and gained over a hundred thousand Instagram followers. Emma was happy for his success (and maybe, just maybe a tiny bit jealous that the look hadn’t been directed at her), although she wasn’t as thrilled as Regina, who actually put out a press release about Storybrooke’s role in the clip.

The selfie Emma took with the Rockefeller Christmas tree behind her wasn’t going to go viral when she posted it on Instagram, adding the caption “not so lost in New York”. That was okay,

it was for Henry and his love of Christmas movies, belief in superheroes and magic and all the good things in the world that she might have forgotten about without him in her life.

There was a busker in the plaza in fingerless gloves and a Santa hat, playing the guitar. Naturally, it was a Christmas song. Even though she’d only planned to grab the photo with the tree and then head back to her hotel, she found herself staying to listen.

Emma recognized the irony of it, after all her complaining back in August about the non-stop Christmas music that drove her to secretly plot how to take out the three worst offenders, Josh Groban, Mariah Carey, and Michael Buble (he was Canadian, so it involved a hockey stick and maple syrup) she’d come around and actually didn’t mind the acoustic version of All I Want For Christmas Is You the busker was strumming. A small group had gathered around to listen and when he finished, she clapped along with them. His guitar case was open on the ground by his feet for donations and a few people tossed in some coins and small bills.

She dropped in a fifty, with the reward money safely deposited in her bank account she could afford to spread some extra Christmas cheer to a stranger. His eyes absolutely lit up when he saw it and she smiled to herself.

“Thank you everyone, I hope you’re all having a lovely evening tonight,” he said to the crowd. “Are there any requests?”

The question was directed at her and there was one song, in particular, that immediately sprang to mind.

“Do you know It Came Upon a Midnight Clear?”

He thought to himself for a moment, plucking a few experimental chords on his guitar. Then he found it, and music filled the air again. As far as Christmas songs went it was softer than a lot of the other, more popular ones, it was wistful, with just a hint of melancholy but ending on a hopeful note. Even though the title of the Hallmark movie had been changed, they kept a scene where Christina and Killian’s characters had to meet up at midnight to break into the library and find the stolen deed to Killian’s ancestral estate that proved he was the rightful heir so he could claim his title. The song had played while snow fell around them as they opened the book of fairytales where the deed had been hidden and found it at last.

Emma had heard Merida cursing at the snow machine with insults that got increasingly more Scottish when it kept malfunctioning the day they filmed the scene, even the seven Teamsters were shocked by how colorful some of them were, and that asshole Arthur had been in a giant snit by the delay and was even more insufferable than usual. But it all came together in the end and watching the final result in the darkened Storybrooke High gym with Henry beside her staring in slack-jawed awe at the screen like it was Avengers Endgame, she had to admit it was worth it.

Movie magic, as Henry called it.

“Emma? Emma, are you here? SWAN!”

The voice cut through the music and the crowd, rising above them all and she felt herself frown, turning in a circle to look for whoever the hell it was who was calling her name. She was alone in the middle of New York City, hundreds of miles away from home.

A man pushed his way through a knot of tourists clustered around one of the hot dog carts and came to a halt several feet away as he caught sight of her. Emma froze on the spot, too shocked by the unexpected sight in front of her to do anything except stare as the music and the crowd and everything else faded away.

It was Killian Jones.

She blinked.

He was still there.

Dressed in a black puffer coat with a scarf around his neck but his head bare against the winter chill. His dark hair was longer than it was the last time she saw him back in Storybrooke the day after filming wrapped, a lock almost fell into his eyes and it curled around the tips of his ears in the winter breeze. He looked good and he looked happy, smiling bright as he crossed the last bit of distance between them.

“Fancy meeting you here, Deputy Sheriff Swan.”

“What? How?” she sputtered, not quite believing he was real. “Killian?”

“I saw your Instagram post.”

She saw now that he had his phone in one gloved hand and when he held it up, the photo she’d just posted was displayed on the screen. Her own phone suddenly vibrated inside her jacket and when she pulled it out, she saw a notification that officialkillianjones had liked her new post.

“I came to see if I could find you,” he explained, which didn’t exactly clear up her confusion.

“You came to find me…from London? Did you Apparate here, or something?”

“No,” he chuckled, “alas, I’m only a Muggle. No, I’ve been in New York for a few days now, I’ve been auditioning for a new TV series and I just got out of a meeting at the production office over there when your post popped up on my phone.”

He pointed across the plaza at one of the office buildings that surrounded it and she followed the motion, registering what he’d just said.

“You’re auditioning for a new TV show? That’s great!”

Was that a bit of a blush on his cheeks when he ducked his head or was it just red from the cold?

“Yeah, the meeting was actually to tell me I got the part. It was this whole last minute thing, they’ve been trying to full the role for months but couldn’t find anyone they liked, and then when that scene from A Count for Christmas went viral they contacted my agent to see if I was interested. So, I guess I have your lovely town to thank for helping me land it.”

“Oh, wow. Really?”

Henry was going to flip when she told him. He loved all that behind the scenes stuff and would be so proud that it was Storybrooke’s very own movie that was responsible for Killian getting the part.

Heck, she was kinda proud too.

“Really,” he winked. “I’ll have to thank everyone else in person, when we start filming.”

He couldn’t possibly mean…? She met his blue gaze and saw how intently he was looking at her, as if gauging her reaction.

“Start filming?” she asked, “In Storybrooke?”

He turned a bit sheepish, reaching up to scratch behind one ear. “Yeah, they also told me in the last meeting that they just settled on the filming location and signed the contract. Apparently your mayor put together a very impressive and persuasive proposal last week. Frankly, I think they were too intimidated by her to say no.”

Regina had been in a suspiciously good mood lately, but Emma had chalked that up to Gold’s arrest and to winning the town gingerbread house competition for a record-breaking fifth year in a row. Legitimately, too, even she had to admit Regina’s gingerbread castle was pretty dang impressive.

“So, you’re coming back to town,” she said, slowly, and quickly added, “for your TV show.”

“Looks like,” he agreed. “For at least six months of filming. Maybe longer.”

Killian was going to be staying in Storybrooke for at least six months. The official coolest person ever to set foot in it, according to Henry, and the man she hadn’t been able to get out of her head was coming back.

“Good.”

The single word that fell from her lips grew between them in the air with the promise of something more, something new and unexpected and exciting. Emma didn’t know where it was going to lead, but she was willing to find out.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been nattering on all about myself and I haven’t even asked, what are you doing in New York? Is Henry here with you? His Halloween costume was incredible, by the way.”

She shook her head with a laugh, “No, Henry’s back in Storybrooke with my brother and sister-in-law. As for why I’m here, that’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he said. “Tell you what, why don’t I buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it. There’s a lovely little bar in the lobby of my hotel that does a great hot buttered rum. What do you say, Swan?”

She would say that hot buttered rum and a hot as fuck guy who was about to move to her small little town both sounded like Christmas had just come early.

“Lead the way.”

He offered her his arm like the count he’d played in the movie. She looped her hand through it and they started over to a waiting line of taxis on the other side of the square.

“What hotel are you staying at?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s the Plaza.”

Emma halted mid-step. He was staying at the Plaza?

“Seriously?”

Killian looked down at her, brows knitting together in a frown at her reaction. “Yes? The network put me up there, I understand it’s rather famous?

“Yeah, it is, it’s just, um, have you seen Home Alone 2?”

He made a face. “Once or twice when I was a child, I think. Now don’t go telling the Hallmark people this, but, truth be told, my deepest, darkest secret is that I don’t really like Christmas movies.”

Her shoulders silently shook with mirth, thinking of that interview he did post TikTok blowup where he’d absolutely gushed about them. He really was a damn good actor.

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. Although, really, they’re not so bad.”

The star on top of the Rockefeller Centre Christmas tree winked in the rearview mirror when they climbed into the backseat of a cab and started to drive away, Killian’s arm wrapping around her shoulder like it was meant to be there.

Yeah, Emma decided, Christmas movies were alright.

**********

Henry was thrilled when she came home for Christmas with both the most coveted Lego set on the planet and Killian Jones. He couldn’t leave the country while his work permit for the new TV show was being processed, and she wasn’t going to leave him all alone on Christmas.

David was less than pleased when she brought Killian over for Christmas Day dinner at the farm, although he hid it behind a smile and a handshake while Mary Margaret immediately fussed over their last-minute guest and Fandral the golden retriever ran circles around them.

Emma just hugged her brother and whispered in his ear, “This is payback for letting my ten year old son drive. Merry Christmas.”

#captain swan #captain swan fic #cs ff #cs fic #my fic #(yes there's smut in this)#merry christmas ya filthy animals #and a happy new year

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