#Look! A fic where I don’t fawn over how amazing Henry is!

[101flavoursofweird]

3 for any PL character for the Angsty Sentence Starters?

((I’m sorry this took FOREVER, but thanks for the prompt…))

Spoilers: For Miracle Mask and light spoiler for Azran Legacy

Title: Rewritten

Description: Randall proposes. Angela gets cold feet.

Set: Two years after MM.

Warnings: Rejected marriage proposal, Angela’s controlling parents, Randall’s disapproving father, referenced character death… but a hopeful ending?

Inspiration: The prompt “We just don’t work anymore.” —With Randall/Angela (The winners of the ‘Which ship should almost break up?’ Poll) Also, Rewrite the Stars from the Greatest Showman

Two years since Randall’s return, Angela had been wearing her pendant less and less often, leaving it safely locked inside her jewellery box.

It wasn’t as though she no longer cared for Randall’s gift… but she had kept that coin close to her heart every single day that she and Randall had been separated.

After her wedding with Henry, she had strung the coin into a pendant and hidden it beneath her pearl necklace if she went out in public.

The pendant was like a secret promise— Angela would look after Randall’s treasure, while Henry looked after her, and they would wait for Randall together.

Marriage had never truly been part of the arrangement— merely a show to appease Angela’s parents— but now…

Now that Randall was back, Angela really needed to return that treasure or do… something to complete her promise.

When she finally went to retrieve the pendant from her jewellery box, however, Angela released a distraught gasp.

Her pendant— Randall’s gift— was gone!

She hunted high and low around the mansion. Henry assured her the pendant would turn up soon and no, he hadn’t moved it while he was cleaning…

Retracing her steps around town with Alphonse and his dogs’ aid didn’t yield any success either.

Angela doubted she would have just dropped her most precious keepsake…

It was possible someone had pinched it— but why Angela’s pendant, of all things?

There were far more valuable treasures in the mansion or Henry’s study at the Reunion Inn…

Though, the pendant did hold sentimental value, if only to Angela, Henry and Randall.

Randall… Angela feared he would be devastated when he learned that the pendant was lost— after all those years she had taken care of it— but much to her surprise, Randall winked at her and told her not to worry.

Then… the very next evening at dinner, Randall presented her with a small black box.

They were eating a meal at home— not out in Monte d’Or— but Angela suddenly felt like the eyes of the world were fixed upon her.

A proud, expectant smile transformed Mrs. Ascot’s face. Henry, who had stood up from the table to gather their plates, stopped to watch with bated breath— as if every move he’d made since leaving Stansbury had led to this moment.

As Angela opened the box with trembling fingers, she pondered (prayed) if this could be another treasure from Randall, or a magic trick…

Her stomach roiled with dread, though, when she saw the ring.

It was beautiful; with an opal set in its centre ( Her brother’s birth stone …) and a gold band fashioned from the coin Randall had given her twenty years ago.

Angela’s breath hitched.

She could picture her parents’ reactions— How pleased they would be to hear about Angela’s proper marriage, at long last!—and Mr. Ascot’s frown; disapproving, as he had been with most of Randall’s choices.

If Mr. Ascot was still with them, maybe he would have forbidden any nuptials from proceeding. Secretly, Angela would have been grateful to him.

There was no need to restrain her tears— at leastthose could be written off as joy— but she needed to work past the knot in her throat. She needed to say something to Randall.

He was watching her with wide dark eyes, his mouth slightly open in question, his hands still frozen where he had offered her the box.

“I…” Angela spluttered. She picked the treasure out of the box— maybe she was wrong, maybe it was another piece of jewellery— and she nearly dropped it, her hands were so slick with sweat.

“Whoa!” Randall chuckled as he caught the ring— it was definitely a ring. 

When Angela stared at him, he had to ask:

“Angela… Will you marry me?”

“…Yes.” She pushed the answer from her throat like a stone. A stone that fell into a river that swept Angela up in the wave of applause from Mrs. Ascot and Henry.

Angela clung to Randall as he kissed her passionately, lovingly, with tender relief.

“May I…?” he breathed, lifting her hand. Dizzily, Angela nodded. He slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, where it fit perfectly…

Like a manacle.

-

After dessert and champagne and a toast from Mrs. Ascot, Angela excused herself and retreated up to her… her and Randalls’ bedroom.

Angela gently removed the ring and placed it on the windowsill, where it glittered in the distant lights of Monte d’Or.

Inside the ring was an engraving which, according to Randall, roughly translated to: ‘My heart will beat for you until the stars burn out’… 

A romantic notion— or a morbid one, especially with the true nature of the Azran legacy in mind.

When Hershel had grudgingly informed them about his globe-trotting expedition, Angela had hoped Randall would renounce everything related to the Azran, but… no.

Archaeology would always be a pastime to Randall, even if he had sworn off dangerous adventures and dedicated himself to rebuilding/running Monte d’Or.

Angela was still destined to be an archaeologist’s wife, to some degree…

“Angie?” Randall’s call at her— their— bedroom door was soft, hesitant.

Whirling away from the window, Angela shoved the ring back on her finger. “Y-you can come in!” Would he hear the reluctance in her voice? 

Just to be safe, Angela put on bright smile as Randall poked his head into the room. His hair looked rumpled (Another haircut was due soon— Henry could help with that…) and his cheeks were flushed.

“You okay?” Randall checked, with a wide grin.

Angela nodded. “Yes, I just… needed a minute.”

“Were you blown away by my ring-crafting skills?”

“A little…” Angela felt her smile flicker.

Noticing the tiredness in her voice, Randall started to retract his head. “I can… come back later if you want?”

The opportunity was there; he was willing to give her time and space to process this. Angela could head to bed early, Randall would join her later, she would pretend to be asleep, and they could discuss this tomorrow...

Or Angela could stop waiting, for once in her life.

“No, it… it’s fine.” Angela reached out to him. “I need to talk to you…” 

Away from your mother and Henry, she added silently.

Randall got the message. He shut the door, shuffled towards her and took her hands.

“Randall…” Angela sighed. His palms were warm and calloused in hers, concealing the ring between them. “I’m not… sure if I’m ready for this…”

Randall hesitated for a second, before he squeezed her hands. “That’s alright! I’m nervous too!” He glanced out the window, probably towards the register office. “It’ll take us a while to organise everything— maybe over a year…”

(Not if Henry had anything to do with it.)

“No—“ Angela swallowed as Randall looked back at her. She stammered, “I mean, I’m… I’m not ready to be engaged yet. I can’t accept your proposal.”

Twenty years ago, when she had turned down Alphonse Dalston in favour of Henry, Alphonse had met with her afterwards.

This whole marriage thing had been his family’s idea, Alphonse had snorted. No offence to Angela, but he wanted to go to uni to study hotel management, and he’d rather not be dragging a Mrs around with him!

For the first time since Randall’s departure, Angela had laughed.

Alphonse had known she was still grieving and he’d accepted her rejection with grace— far more grace than anyone had ever given him credit for.

It had been such a relief for Angela in her darkest hour. She may have lost Randall, but she’d still had (some) friends left.

Although Alphonse and Henry hadn’t seen eye to eye, they had put her feelings first.

Surely the man she loved would do the same? Now that they were all safely home, the Azran were history, and there wasn’t an urgent incentive to get hitched…

These past few moments, Randall had been peering at Angela with shock. Sadness, disappointment and a touch of anger soon followed across his face.

Earlier, he must have felt like he was on cloud nine… only for Angela to bring him crashing down.

“But…” Randall exhaled slowly. “I thought… when you changed your name—“

“Back to Redoll.” Her maiden name, even if she was no longer a maiden. 

At thirty-seven, she should have been thrilled that the person she had cherished since childhood had proposed to her…

“—When you called your parents,” Randall recalled, with difficulty. “Didn’t you tell them…?”

“I told them… you were home,” Angela admitted, “and I told them I was ‘divorcing’ Henry, so they assumed—“

“Like I assumed,” Randall muttered. He dropped her hands.

“I’m sorry! I know— I should have been clearer with you…”

“You should have —“ Randall cut off whatever he had been about to say. Clenching his jaw, shaking his head, he surged around the room.

Angela watched as he slumped onto the bed. 

Perhaps, if Angela had just kept quiet, if she had been jubilant like a normal bride-to-be, they could have been lying together right now…

Randall chucked off his glasses. He groaned. “Maybe… I should have asked you… before I went and proposed.” He blinked up at Angela. “I just… I thought we were on the same page?”

Actually, it was more like he had skipped a hundred pages— years of tedium and heartache— to reach the happy ending.

Everyone was still bringing Randall up to speed… but Angela hadn’t quite caught up either.

Randall had written his own a book— casting himself as a brave king, Henry as a traitorous minister, and Angela as a mournful princess/queen who had been tricked.

It turned out, however, that the minister and the princess/queen had remained loyal to the king… even after the king had tried to destroy their city.

In the end— and in Randall’s mind— the princess/queen was still expected to marry the king, no questions asked.

How could Angela explain that? 

She silently shrugged to Randall.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Randall exclaimed, 

“It’s been two years since… since I tried to…” When he opened his eyes again, Angela saw tears. “Is it because of what I did?” 

“Of course not—!”

“Don’t lie to me, Angela— please…”

“It is… partly,” Angela conceded with a sigh. “But it’s not just—“

“What can I do?” Randall begged, stumbling away from the bed. “How can I make it up to you?”

He looked ready to climb a mountain or capture the stars, all for her.

Already, he had done so much. She had forgiven him within the first year.

But this wasn’t about forgiveness.

Angela shook her head.

“Tell me!” Randall returned to her side. Grabbed her hands once again. “Whatever it takes to redeem myself—“

“I’m not a reward for your redemption, Randall,” she pointed out, quietly.

“I know that— now…” Randall’s voice broke. 

Angela squeezed his hands. “It’s not fair of me to hold you to that standard,” Angela intoned, “and it’s not fair of you to expect that of me— to live with the prospect of marriage looming over my head…”

Since the day her brother had left, she had lived with nothing but expectations.

When are you going to find a boyfriend?

When are you going to get married?

When are you going to have children?

Never ending. Never enough. Never, for a moment, asking what Angela wanted.

She had found some reprieve when Henry asked for her hand in marriage— she had staved off her parents’ demands for a few years— but now it was starting again.

Henry hadn’t had her best interests at heart when he offered her that choice— well, he had, but not Angela’s alone. He had made that proposal with the intention that he and Angela would wait for Randall together…

And, when the time came, Angela would return to Randall. Like the fortune from Akbadain, or the rights to the city.

Like nothing had changed since Angela was a teenager.

She was her brother’s bereaved little sister. Her parents’ precious daughter. Randall’s kind, boring girlfriend. Henry’s beautiful, reserved wife. Randall’s reluctant fiancé…

She could never just be Angela, could she?

“Do you understand, Randall?” Angela whispered, gazing into his eyes.

Randall sniffed, nodding slightly. Then he nodded again, stronger.

Sighing, Angela let him go. “It’s time I gave this back to you…” She removed the ring— his coin, his gift she had carried for twenty years— and placed it in Randall’s palm.

Randall stared at it for a moment. “If… If I had asked you before I left for the ruins,” Randall mumbled, “would you have said yes— back then?”

“Yes…”

After her brother’s disappearance, after their family nearly went bankrupt searching for him, Angela’s parents had been determined to marry her off as soon as she came of age.

If she had to marry, then she would have made the choice herself. She would have chosen the bright-eyed boy who treated everyone as an equal, who could take Angela far away from Stansbury, who could talk her ear off about archaeology…

Even if her parents didn’t agree. Even if Mr. Ascot didn’t approve of the girl whose brother had perished in the Akbadain ruins…

“Yes,” Angela said again. “I would have chosen you, because I grew up with you and I loved you—“

“You did,” Randall choked out.

“I do,” she amended. “But I’m… still getting to know this version of you, who I’ve only known for two years…” 

She let out a tearful sigh. “And I’m… still finding things out about myself… I suppose, what I need is more time.”

“I owe you that time, after everything…” Randall slipped the ring into his pocket. Angela wondered if he would save it for her, or if he would give it to someone else…

“You don’t owe me anything,” Angela assured him. “And you mustn’t wait for me… ”

“Will you let me know,” Randall murmured, “if you change your mind?”

“Of course.”

Then, she embraced him not as her fiancé, but as her first love. 

Angela wasn’t sure if Randall Ascot would be her last love — for as long as they both should live— but she would always love him.

She would love what they had been… what could have been… and, perhaps someday, what they had become.

But first, there was someone she had to find.

-

“Good afternoon, this is Hershel Layton speaking. How might I be of assistance?”

Gentlemanly as ever… 

Angela smiled down the phone. “Ciao, Hershel!”

“Oh, Angela…! ” Hershel’s formal voice filled with warmth. “Are you, per chance, in Italy?”

“Correct!” (No doubt, Randall had contacted him already…) “Right now I’m staying with my parents…”

When she trailed off, Hershel asked, “I hope you’re having a good time?”

“It’s been— good to catch up with them, and straighten some things out, but…” Angela glanced over her shoulder, even though she doubted her parents would hear.

Hershel prompted. “But?”

“…I won’t be staying for much longer,” Angela murmured. “I’ll be leaving soon— on my own…”

“ I see,” Hershel said, with understanding. “Are Randall and Henry aware?”

“They might suspect, but they don’t know where I’m going.” (She wasn’t sure yet either.) Angela sighed. “I just… wanted to give you a heads-up, before they asked for your help tracking me down…”

There was no judgement in Hershel’s tone. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?”

“Not forever— a couple of months, maybe.” How ever long it took to rediscover oneself. “But I will come back… ”

For a few moments, Hershel was quiet, considering.

Angela thought she heard a baby babbling somewhere in the background. Right— hadn’t he taken in a little girl, along with Flora and Alfendi?

(She really hoped he was happy, after everything …)

Then Hershel breathed, “If you ever find yourself in a spot of trouble— or simply need a listening ear— you will call, won’t you?”

“I will,” Angela promised, just as she had promised Randall and Henry. She brushed away a tear. “Goodbye, Hershel…”

Goodbye, Angela Redoll.

Hello… Angela.

[kitkatopinions]

The baby boy himself, Whitley!

(for the ask meme)

Whitley is so my baby, I love my child so much. I’m realizing I say ‘I’m really excited for this one’ for like every character I get for this ask game, but it’s because I’m having so much fun! These take a bit to write, but they are honestly so interesting to me, so as an fyi, if anyone does have any character they want to ask my about, but thinks they might be too late, or I might be uninterested, I’m still totally interested! It just might take me a bit to answer. :)

My top three ships for the character

Whitley/Oscar is my top ship for this in canon currently. It works best if Ozpin could somehow be separated from Oscar (which is theoretically possible I guess,) but yeah. Farm boy vs rich boy, they look cute together, their personalities could vibe, and they’re both snarky, but at heart caring and compassionate. Whitley/Mercury. I mentioned this in my Mercury ask, but I was writing a fic with @why-i-hate-rwby-now where Whitley and Mercury were thrown together and had to work together to escape their abusers, and I just kind of started shipping them while writing it. O.O Also Whitley/Penny is cute as heck and I could totally see her grounding him and also making him loosen up, while Penny thinks he’s funny and interesting.

My three least favorite ships for the character

Whitley/Blake. I don’t understand this ship, Blake just feels like more of an adult atm compared to Whitley - a literal child. (Yes, I realize I ship Whit with Merc, but A. I thought Merc was sixteen while I was writing that fanfiction and he acts kind of on the young side, while Blake has been acting ‘as an adult’ and being treated ‘as an adult’ for two seasons at least while directly talking to Whitley, and has always been more of a mature character for her age anyway.) But on top of that, Blake seems to treat Whitley like an in the way child and is kinda judgey to him, while Whitley barely seems to notice her. Whitley/Henry Marigold just feels bad. And Whitley/Yang. Again, Yang has been written as a nineteen year old demanding to be treated as an adult (though I wanna say she’s less mature than Blake) but also Yang is a hotheaded character and has been acting pushy lately, and that’s fine as a character flaw, but I feel like it just puts me off her for Whitley especially.

My biggest criticism for the character

He’s treated like he’s not a victim??? Like, his abuse and neglect and even his struggles are just... Not really gone into or acknowledged very much, Weiss acts like he has to prove himself before she can show him the slightest bit of sympathy or affection when she’s his big sister, his relationship with Jacques is glossed over and he isn’t given closure there, Willow’s neglect isn’t really acknowledged seriously, Winter seeming totally disinterested in him doesn’t feel like it even matters, Weiss is treated as blameless in her and Whitley’s problems. And the writing kind of frames Whitley as having gotten a redemption, when the worst things he did was be a bit of an asshole while in an abusive situation as like a fourteen-fifteen year old with no aura or glyphs or fighting ability. Emerald and Whitley’s volume 8 arcs should not be comparable! Emerald is a full on murderer and was still willingly working with Cinder to attack people as a nineteen year old woman, and yet she and Whitley are treated very similarly by the narrative (helping one person and then that ‘making up for’ their ‘past mistakes’ and then them just being on the good side and carrying the team’s actions until the pathways arrive and they both go to Vacuo. To be clear, I think this framing was too much for Whitley since he never even needed a redemption at all imo, and not enough for Emerald, the literal murderer of Penny who was just recently willingly helping Cinder try and murder Penny once again.) Whitley should’ve been treated as the child he is, he should’ve been treated as the victim he is.

My favorite thing about the character

His potential dynamics, but specifically with Weiss. He and Weiss both had almost the exact same upbringing, only Weiss actually had more support, but guys... The way the two of them coped had similarities, but were also very different. Weiss hid behind anger and sternness, Whitley hid behind peppiness and smiles. Weiss copied Winter, Whitley copied Jacques. Weiss was always afraid of people putting on acts around her, Whitley was constantly putting on acts as a means of survival. Each of them are plagued by jealousy, pettiness, judgmental behavior, and they both have good qualities that are similar, but they both are too prejudice against each other to see those good qualities and need to learn to understand where the other is coming from. Weiss is a fighter, but a follower, while Whitley seems to have a bit of a ‘fawn’ tendency, but plans and enacts schemes under the table (even if it doesn’t have to be, like with Nora! Whitley’s instincts were to just figure out how to help Nora and then go off and do it alone without telling any of the obviously antsy people with guns what he was doing - after he was spying on them lol.) I just love the possibilities that exist with two characters that are so similar, but so fundamentally different. Also I’d love to see him resentful of Winter and snarky and passive aggressive with her, and Winter not really getting the problem, and Weiss having to mediate between them. Idk, there are so many possibilities of amazing interactions and connections Whitley could have with the others, and he could be a really new, good viewpoint if he was allowed to flourish. And maybe became kind of a ‘guy in the chair’ more permanent part of the team. Like, I know we don’t need more character bloat, but let me dream!

A headcanon I have about them

Before Weiss lost her inheritance, Whitley was sort of tasked with learning everything but being head of the company, like he was learning the financial side of things, the technological side of things, ordering, inventory, scheduling, all about Dust and mine operations... And Whitley’s naturally academic and a fast learner, so he absorbed a lot of it. But yeah, I think Jacques was trying to train Whitley up to be a sort of always available PA of Weiss’s that could handle anything she didn’t want to do / was too busy to do, and that was something Whitley really resented too. His skillset was essentially being crafted around helping Weiss, but never learning how to actually manage the company itself and severely lacking in the social side of things, like he’d never be able to make a proper speech. Also, like pretty much everyone I think he plays piano and writes his own music compositions (which in my headcanons he subconsciously writes to include vocals only for him to then get bothered that even his music seems influenced by Weiss. XD) Also I know this is three headcanons, but if he had been trained to fight, he would’ve used duel pistols and would’ve eventually developed a ‘born out of trauma’ semblance.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I’d just allow his status as a victim to be recognized and for him to have the sympathy I feel his character deserves. I’d have him and Weiss both framed as having contributed to their bad relationship, but Weiss - as the sister four to five years older than him - would be the one who makes the first moves towards repairing it, proving she has changed enough to put aside her pettiness and be there for the brother she does truly love. I’d also get Willow away from him, or at least let Whitley be angry and distant and not have their relationship fixed over the course of an in-universe day. This is why I say there should’ve been another Atlas season, which I think is what I’d do when it boils down to it. With every plot point coming fast and then being pushed on the back burner for the next plot point, there’s no time to focus on any of it or to give the character’s sufficient growth from it. So then things like Willow having her hand glued to Whitley’s shoulder feels very ingenuine, because their ‘growth’ was so rushed. So yeah, I’d really just add an extra season and let Weiss recognize that Whitley is also an abuse victim, make her be the one to start making steps to be there for him, and let things like his relationship with his mother come slower and not be an easy fix. Also I’d have Winter acknowledge that she has a brother more regularly and have her actually care about him, even if she hasn’t shown it well at all.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Whitley has no assigned character allusion and his name doesn’t offer very many hints, since it literally just means white meadow/field snow, but it’s easy enough to assume that like Weiss and Jacques - Snow White and Jack Frost - Whitley’s character allusion has something to do with the cold. I agree with the general opinion that he’s connected to ‘the Snow Queen,’ and is likely meant to be Kai, a once kind hearted boy who gets a piece of a magic mirror in his eye that only lets him see the bad in people and gets kidnapped by the snow queen. His best friend Gerda goes on a quest to save him - encountering a land of eternal summer and a talking crow amongst other things - and temporarily forgets him due to an enchantment, but then finds him almost frozen over and saves him by crying on him and through the power of her love that literally makes people and nature bend to her will, Gerda rescues Kai and dislodges the mirror piece from his eye so that he can be cheerful again. Pretty in tune with how the writers wrote things. I don’t mind this, but if Whitley is meant to be Kai and Weiss is meant to be his Gerda, there were two missed opportunities here that could’ve been great. One, Gerda is reminded of her love for Kai whenever she sees red roses, and Ruby and Whitley have a few similar mannerisms and kind of similar coping through their ‘cheery exterior’s’ even f Ruby’s lost all her sass and Whitley’s never had her spazzy, dorky, rough around the edges traits. I think it would’ve been cute and make for a more interesting dynamic if Weiss had mentioned to Ruby in volumes 1-3 that Ruby reminds her of her brother, and if it had made Weiss both harder on Ruby (since she and Whitley are estranged and he does drive her crazy a lot lol) but it also made Ruby all the more endearing to her and is one of the reasons they could be friends fairly fast despite Weiss’s early animosity (since she loves her brother and the traits he shares with Ruby compliment hers.) The next missed opportunity I can think of is that everyone thinks Kai is dead in the Snow Queen for a bit, but Gerda doesn’t believe it and goes looking for him instead. You could easily fit this into a narrative where everyone else has given up Whitley as a lost cause, but Weiss won’t believe that and is determined to help and to get close to Whitley again, which is what I think I’d want to go with. But also, a Whitley death fake out? That could be very good and very emotional. And it’d be easy omg. Weiss could think the Hound has killed him sometime during the fight (even if just for a moment,) but also if Whitley had been the first one to fall in the void instead of going through to Vacuo O.O 

Idk if we’ll ever get his character allusion confirmed, but if it isn’t someone from the Snow Queen, I feel like the whole fandom will say “What?!” at the exact same time. XD 

[freddiesaysalright]

Peace Like A River Part 2

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @simmisblog, @assembledherethevolunteers, @lookuptotheskiesandsee If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Wow, you all caught on to the inspo from She Loves Me real quick lol! One of my favorite musicals of all and definitely a part of what inspired this fic. Hope you enjoy the update!

Part I

Part 2 here we go!!!

Saturday was approaching faster than you wished. On Friday night, before getting on stage, you were tempted to text Gwilym and cancel. And then call your mother and cancel going to the reunion as well. If it hadn’t been for Stacy, you absolutely would have done those things. Unfortunately, your assistant was strong willed and persistent. You were going. You thought her real intentions were to get you to see Gwilym more romantically and forget about Dear Friend. But you could never forget Dear Friend, even if Gwilym was sickeningly handsome and fun to hang out with.

On Saturday, Gwilym arrived to pick you and Violet up from your hotel around noon. You wore a simple blouse and jeans and had Violet in a dress your mother had sent her a few weeks earlier. Violet twirled around in the lobby and giggled. 

“Careful, sweetie, you’re gonna get dizzy,” you warned gently.

“If she falls, I’ll catch her,” Gwilym said as he walked up.

You beamed at him. “Aren’t you a gentleman?”

“I do what I can,” he returned. “Are you ladies ready?”

“We are,” you said. “Violet, can you say hi to Gwilym?”

“Hi!” she chirped, waving to him.

“Hello, sweet girl!” he returned, along with the wave. He looked at you. “She’s certainly friendlier today.”

“It’s amazing how different they are when they aren’t tired,” you said. You turned to your daughter. “Take my hand, baby.”

She obeyed. She reached her other hand toward Gwil. 

“It’s the rule,” she told him.

“Well, who am I to argue with rules?” he said with a smile.

He offered her his hand and she wrapped her little fist around his pinky. Together, you all walked out of the hotel and to the waiting car. Gwilym helped Violet in first and then you. You looked at the floor and smiled. He had brought flowers. He climbed in beside you and closed the door.

“Flowers?” you questioned.

“Naturally,” he replied with a shrug. 

He picked them up and you saw there were two bouquets and a small bunch. He handed a bouquet to you.

“For you,” he said. The small bunch (which consisted of only three flowers) he handed to Violet. “For you, dear.”

“Thank you,” she said happily.

“And the last is for your mother,” he finished.

“Gwil…” you trailed off. “This is too much.”

“I’m just a dedicated actor,” he joked.

You laughed. “Whatever you say.”

The reunion was in Central Park. You and Gwilym discussed a plan and decided to go with as close to truth as possible. You had filmed together years ago and recently reconnected. It was just vague enough that it wouldn’t be hard to explain the “breakup” to your mother in a few weeks. You reached the park in no time and Gwilym helped you out of the car, just as he had helped you in. He held your hand as you walked across the grass toward your mother. Violet took off running to her grandmother, who scooped her up and kissed her cheek, leaving a big red lipstick mark. 

“Hi, Grammy!” Violet giggled.

“Hello, sweetheart!” she returned.

You and Gwilym finally caught up just as she was returning Violet to the ground. Immediately, her cousins pulled her aside to play. You smiled as she ran around with them, her curls bouncing right out of her ponytail.

“Mom, this is Gwilym,” you said. “Gwilym, this is my mother.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Gwilym said, extending the flowers to her.

She took them and smiled wide. “Oh, how thoughtful! Are you a special friend of Y/N’s?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” you lied. 

She let out such a shriek of delight, it startled you. She yanked a shocked Gwilym into a tight hug as she giggled.

“Finally!” she cried. “Thank God!”

She pulled away and straightened his shirt, still grinning like a madwoman.

“Mom, what the hell?” you demanded.

“I can’t help it, dear,” she returned. “I just - you know how long I’ve waited for someone to take care of you since you left Henry. Now you won’t have to do anymore of that vulgar comedy!”

“I’m still gonna do comedy,” you told her. “I’m not having this argument again.” You looked at Gwil. “Sorry about this.”

“No worries, love,” he assured you. 

“Oh, he’s so English,” your mother gushed. “Well, come on and meet the rest of us, Gwilym. We won’t bite you...until we know you better.” She giggled at herself.

“Mom,” you groaned.

Gwilym chuckled.

“Don’t encourage her,” you snapped.

“What? It was cute,” he argued.

Before you could answer, he was being dragged away by your mother to meet your dad, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. You felt sorry for him as she paraded him around. The way she acted, you would think you’d won a prize. But to your mother, there was no greater prize than having a man in your life. Gwilym handled it all well, charming everyone. In fact, everyone was so enthralled with your pretend boyfriend, you were pretty much ignored. It hit you once again just how angry they still were at you for leaving Henry.

Your family was traditional. No one had ever gotten a divorce until you. What made it all the worse was that they loved Henry. He had them all so wrapped up in his big personality that no one saw that you were deteriorating beneath him. They never saw the monster that he was. When you divorced and announced that you were cutting him from your life - he was never to contact you again - they were devastated. They believed you when you explained you were abused, but none of them ever fully believed the extent of it. They were shocked to their collective core when he signed away all his rights to Violet. Now as you watched them fawn over Gwilym, that neglected feeling returned. Your stomach churned uncomfortably.

You took a seat on a bench and tried to swallow the lump that had appeared in your throat. It was especially bruising since you knew that if you were a man, you would be considered successful. You had two Netflix specials, after all. You were completely financially independent and provided a good life for your daughter. But because of your family’s backwards ideas, none of that meant anything. Simply because you were a single woman. Your eyes found Violet where she ran with her cousins. You could not allow her to grow up around people who made her feel less than just because of her gender. You took a deep breath.

A sigh escaped you just as Gwilym took a seat on your right. You looked at him and concern clouded his face as he handed you a glass of wine. You took a large gulp of it.

“Woah, are you alright?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, not really. I don’t wanna talk about it, but this is the last time I’m coming to one of these fucking things.”

“Did something happen?” he pressed.

“No,” you told him. “It’s what’s been happening my whole life. I left my husband to protect my daughter, and I’ll leave my family too if I have to.”

“I’m confused,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him. “It’s just...it’s my own shit that I’m realizing now that I brought someone here. Thank you for coming, Gwilym, really.”

“I’m sorry for...whatever it is that’s hurting you,” he replied. “I’m glad I was helpful to you. Your family is certainly unique in their beliefs. Your mother mentioned twice to me that you refused to give Violet her father’s last name.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, not that again.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Because she’s not his,” you said. “She’s mine.”

“So he has no contact with either of you?” 

“No,” you said firmly. “I’d never let my daughter around that animal.”

A beat passed as he looked at you. It was not pity in his gaze. Admiration lay behind his eyes, and you appreciated that. So many people pitied you when you talked about your marriage. Part of the reason you joked about it was so that people would not look at you with pity. Humor has a way of showing people you were over it, even if you weren’t.

“It amazes me how you were able to pull yourself out of that,” he told you. “I know another woman who was in a similar situation and had the courage to leave, and I can’t say it enough...you’re impressive.”

Tears stung your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. 

“Thank you,” you said.

Somehow, it was exactly what you needed to hear. His timing was almost as good as Dear Friend’s. Your heart rested again. Even so, you only stayed for about another hour before you left the reunion. As the car pulled away from the park, relief began to wash over you. Violet crawled onto Gwilym’s lap and dozed against his chest. You closed your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulder. 

“I’ve got some tired girls,” he said with a small laugh.

You nodded. “Sorry if this is weird, I just feel heavy.”

“Rest, Y/N, I don’t mind,” he replied.

When you reached the hotel again, Gwilym carried the now sleeping Violet up to your room. You followed close behind and felt an ache in your heart. Why couldn’t she have had a father like him? Or like Dear Friend? It was so unfair. He put her in bed and you pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

“Thanks again,” you said to Gwil. “For everything. Let me know if you ever need a fake date to something. I’m your girl.”

He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You walked him to the door and you found yourself sad to see him go. You didn’t know when you would see him again.

“I’m sorry your day was so difficult,” he said as he took hold of the knob.

You held his gaze. “Not all of it was.”

He released the door and pulled you into a hug. You held each other for a long moment. It felt like it was two years ago. Like he was truly your friend. You heaved a sigh in his arms and drank in the moment, telling yourself you would do better about maintaining the friendship this time.

“We’ll see each other soon,” he said, sounding just a little unsure.

“I’ll make sure we do,” you replied.

With a quick goodbye, he left. You watched him disappear down the hall. With another sigh, you closed the door. 

The following week, you were in Boston. You felt lighter now that you had rid yourself of the burden of your family. Even though you only ever saw them at reunions, it was freeing to get away from that. However, your heart grew heavier the longer it took to hear from Dear Friend. It was taking longer than usual to get a letter back, and it sat in the back of your mind as you went through your set.

“It’s hilarious to me when men argue about women’s issues,” you said to another large crowd. “Like, women can say something as simple as ‘hey, can we maybe get paid the same amount of money to do the same job as you?’ and men immediately go ‘oh, so we can hit you now?’”

You heard mostly women in the audience laugh.

“Oh, it’s ridiculous. How is that even related? I would love for someone to explain that logic to me. Because in case y’all didn’t know, you’re already hitting us and getting away with it,” you went on. “My ex-husband beat the shit out of me and I never once got a check in the mail afterwards.”

You took a drink of water as they laughed some more.

“When has that ever been the exchange?” you continued. “And what the fuck do you mean ‘we can hit you now’? You’ve only not been able to legally hit us within the last hundred years, before women were being paid to do anything! Not to mention, you still fucking do it anyway! Our salaries have never made a difference in whether or not you hit us!”

About half the audience cheered, and you soaked in the applause, but your mind wandered briefly to Dear Friend once more. You caught a glimpse of Stacy backstage and hoped she had a letter for you.

“I realize the men in the room are probably a little uncomfortable right now,” you said. “But to be honest, fellas, I didn’t know y’all were coming.”

They laughed.

“So just sit there and take that shit, honestly,” you finished with a shrug. 

You continued on through your set and got to the end, where you talked about Violet and shared that part of your life with them. As you took your bows and headed off stage, Stacy smiled at you and held up an envelope. Your heart skipped a beat. You would recognize that handwriting from anywhere. Dear Friend. At last.

“Finally!” you cried, taking the letter from her and tearing it open.

“Good show, by the way,” she said, smirking.

“Thank you,” you replied distractedly. You opened the letter and your eyes scanned across it, taking in every word.

“Dear Friend,” it began, as that was his name for you as well. “I’d like to begin by apologizing for this letter taking so long to reach you. I’m travelling right now and my post is being forwarded to me. I do hope you weren’t too worried. I could never abandon you, darling. I’m happy to hear all is well with you. I read a quote from Tolstoy the other day that made me think of you and our relationship. It went, ‘I already love in you your beauty, but I am only beginning to love in you that which is eternal and ever precious - your heart, your soul. Beauty one could get to know and fall in love with in one hour and cease to love it as speedily; but the soul one must learn to know. Believe me, nothing on earth is given without labor, even love, the most beautiful and natural of feelings.’

“Isn’t that a lovely sentiment? Although I don’t know what you look like, I feel I do know your soul. We have worked hard to establish such a love. I do feel that I love you. Have I ever said it to you before? Well, I’ll say it again. I love you. I love you. I love you. Who cares what it means to others as long as we know what we mean to each other? Looking forward to your response as always. Yours, Dear Friend.” 

You hurried back to your hotel, tucked Violet into bed, and then sat down to write a response. Your heart was fluttering around in your chest like a hummingbird. He loved you. You could now tell him you felt the same. Yet another sense of freedom washed over you. You were in love. For perhaps the first time in your life. With a trembling hand, you began to write back. 

Dear Friend. That was a lovely sentiment from Tolstoy. I admit I haven’t been reading as much lately since I too am travelling. Where are you in the world? My heart goes with you!

I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to know your true feelings! It’s given me the strength to be vulnerable and express my own! I love you. I love you. I love you. Can you believe we’ve gone so long without saying these simple words? I’m so relieved to have them out there. And I can safely say I’ve never felt so strongly for another person before.

You started to write the next line, but the sound of a voice from the hallway turned your blood cold. The voice of a man who was everything Dear Friend was not. He was talking on the phone judging by the lack of responses between phrases. But what on Earth was your ex-husband doing in Boston?

Shaking your head, you reasoned with yourself. Henry was a sergeant with the NYPD. He was much too busy to be making random trips out of town. You had to be mistaken. The mystery man and his frightening voice faded down the hall, and you released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. Nearly four years had passed since you left him, and Henry still scared you stiff. You hated his lingering hold on you.

You glanced at Violet, who was still sleeping soundly.  Feeling an extra need to be near, you got up and walked over, sitting carefully next to her. You reached out your hand and ran a gentle finger through her curls. She barely stirred and rolled over, cuddling closer to you subconsciously. She took a deep breath as she nuzzled down into your lap and you felt a surge of affection for her. 

What you said to Dear Friend wasn’t necessarily true. You had felt a strong love - perhaps the strongest in the world - but he didn’t know about Violet. That felt more like an in-person conversation to have. If you could ever work up the courage to meet him.

Out of nowhere, your phone buzzed on the bedside table. You snatched it up and saw that the caller was Gwilym. A smile claimed your lips as you swiped to answer.

“Hello?” you whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” he wondered.

“Violet’s asleep,” you returned lowly. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Oh it is rather late, isn’t it?” he chuckled. “Are you still in Boston?”

“Yeah,” you told him. “Are you in town?”

“Not yet,” he replied. “But I will be tomorrow. I’ve got this charity gala thing that...well, a person invited me to, and let’s just say it would be better for my pride if I had a date.”

“Oh, I see,” you said with a smirk. “Your ex invited you.”

“How’d you guess?” he asked with a laugh.

“Gee, I dunno, maybe it was the vague ass description and the fact that you need a date,” you teased.

“Can you come?” he pressed.

“Yeah, tonight was my last show, and I don’t fly out for another two days,” you assured him. “Do I need to get a gown?”

“Yeah, it’s black tie,” he said.

“How sexy do you want it to be?” you wondered.

He chuckled and you felt your heart speed up. You narrowed your eyes at yourself. What the hell was that about?

“Make it classy,” he said. “But with a little something extra.”

“Got it,” you returned. “How’s the promo going?”

“It’s loads of fun, but I’m looking forward to doing something else for at least one evening,” he said. “With some fresh company.”

“I’m telling Joe you said that,” you joked.

“Eh, he won’t hook up with me for a few days, but it’s no big deal,” he replied.

You snorted.

“How’s tour?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s sort of the same stuff every day, so I’m looking forward to changing it up as well.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said. “Hey, have you ever thought about touring in England?”

“You think I’d do well over there?” you pondered.

“Sure you would,” he assured you.

“I am a pretty funny fucker, aren��t I?” you remarked.

He laughed. “The funniest of all the fuckers, no doubt.”

You giggled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gwil.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.”

You hung up. Violet stirred again and her eyes fluttered open. She looked sleepily up at you.

“Mommy…”

“What is it, sweetie?” you asked.

“Had a dream,” she said.

“What did you dream?”

“You and Mister Gwilym got married,” she said. “In Mexico.”

“Oh?” you chuckled. “Was it a nice wedding?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Until I got captured by monkeys.” 

You laughed. “That would make it a sad day.”

“S’okay, you saved me,” she assured you.

“I’ll always protect you,” you said, stroking her cheek gently. 

Her eyes slowly closed again, and she was asleep. You got up and went to finish your letter to Dear Friend. You read over your words again and your heart soared. You were in love. The most beautiful and natural of feelings.

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

Ready, Set, Please Don’t Go

Killian Jones walks in on his daughter in a compromising position, leading to the realization that his little girl really is growing up.

Author’s Note: Here's another snippet set in the Finding Neverland universe. It's absolutely unnecessary to read Finding Neverland to understand this story, though readers of the original my remember a "library incident" mentioned in a chapter of this story. hat being said, this turned out way different than I expected it to go, which is the best/worst part of writing fic. I hope you all enjoy! Also, this story is dedicated to the wonderful @distant-rose, who is amazing and wonderful and a fantastic friend.

Rating: M (strong language and sexual situations)

[AO3]

XXXXXX

It starts with an admission of a high school tryst.

They’re back in Storybrooke, making the most of a long weekend away from work and research. There’s a festival going on, because somewhere over the near thirty years of the town’s existence, they’ve embraced celebrating. Juliet’s grandmother says it’s because everyone learned all too well how easy it is to lose everything. Whatever the reason, Juliet is fond of the fact that she gets to wander around various booths with his fingers twined around her boyfriend’s and enjoying the familiarity of coming home.

Juliet likes to think she’s come a long way since she was the girl who left Storybrooke for New York City four years ago. She has a degree and a license that actually says she’s twenty-one, but it’s more than that. She likes to think she’s matured, and though she has no inclinations of returning back to her hometown anytime soon, she now embraces the coziness of it all. And, well, the girl of four years ago never would have imagined holding hands with Gideon Gold as they traipsed down Main Street, happy and deliriously in love. 

They’d only been in the same school for a year, her a freshman and he a senior, but he Juliet Jones of Storybrooke High hadn’t been particularly kind to Gideon. She’d been a little too conscious of their respective places in the high school caste system. Even as a freshman, she’d been fawned over by her classmates as a member of the Charming family, The Savior’s daughter, and Henry’s sister. The son of the Dark One didn’t warrant the same favor. It was only once they were both in New York, she starting at Columbia and him finishing up his degree at NYU, that they’d begun to forge a closer relationship, and later, a romantic one.

She supposes his loner nature and her role as the school’s “princess” only furthers the cliche nature of their relationship. When they had made it public they were dating, Neal had monologued the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet.  (“Two families both alike in dignity, in fair Storybrooke we build our scene…” “I hope you realize this means you die too, asshole.”) They might as well add the damn John Hughes movie to the list.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re happy, in love, and openly together in Storybrooke.

They’re in line for cotton candy, Gideon whispering into her ear about the unhealthiness of eating pure sugar, when they bump into old friend hers from high school, Viola. It’s not unexpected. Most people don’t leave Storybrooke or choose to come back to Storybrooke, after all, and they exchange pleasantries.

“How are you liking the big city? I don’t think I could deal with that many people. The traffic alone…”

“That’s what the MTA is for,” Juliet replies with a laugh. To be honest, her friendship with Viola had been one that drifted after she left for Columbia. It was one that Juliet now realizes was born out of proximity and not very many common interests. “But, seriously, it’s great. We’re really happy.” She flashes a grin up Gideon.

He returns her grin with one of his own. God, she loves his smile. “I dunno, I’m pretty damn miserable.”

“A miserable liar, maybe.” Juliet turns her attention back to Viola, who is watching them with an incredulous expression. Maybe this isn’t what Viola expected of the Juliet of four years ago. Maybe it’s not what she would have expected either. Knowing the conversation will only grow more stitled from there, Juliet focuses on what Viola clearly wants her to notice. With exaggerated excitement she doesn’t feel, she asks, “Holy shit! Is that a ring?”

Viola waves her left hand, where a diamond sits. “Yes, Aidan proposed! You’ll have to come back up for the wedding. We’re thinking next April.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” To be honest, Juliet hadn’t known Viola was even dating Aidan.   Oh well. Thankfully, they’re saved from more conversation by the cotton candy. They bid their farewells, and go their separate ways.

“Are we seriously going to go her wedding?” Gideon asks once they’re far enough out of earshot. He steals a bite of her cotton candy -- the hypocritical bastard -- before saying, “I wouldn’t really mind, but I only have the vaguest idea of who she is.”

“God, no,” Juliet replies, instantly regretting how mean she sounds. But, she has a reason. “Honestly, even if we had said more than ten sentences to each since graduation, it would be a little awkward. The last time I saw Aidan, he’d just finished fingering me in sci-fi section of the library. It’s weird to go to the wedding of guys you hit third base with, right?” She shudders at the memory.

Gideon stops abruptly. “Wait, what?” He looks surprised, and honestly, a little annoyed.

“Oh, God, please don’t turn this into a thing.” Gideon unfortunately has a slight jealous streak when it comes to her. It’s not overbearing, thankfully, but it’s present enough to annoy her every now and then. She attributes it mostly to his low self-esteem brought by half the town assuming he’s turn evil as an adult coupled with the way she’d dated every guy but him the year leading up to them finally getting together. She understands where he is coming from, really, but she doesn’t have to like it.

“I’m not turning this into a thing. That’s not it, not entirely,” he amends. “But, seriously, the library?”

“Oh, this is about defiling books .”

He laughs, almost hysterically. “Not quite, no.”

“Then what is it?” She takes a bite of the cotton candy, and delights in the way his eyes track the movement of tongue as she traces her lips for any errant sugar.

He begins to lead her away from the crowd, and his voice lowers. “Remember that time we listed our fantasies?”

She hums in reply. She remembers it well, and still benefits from it too.

“Let’s just say teenage Gideon would have killed to be fingering a pretty girl in the library.” His cheeks are an enjoyable shade of red. He’s always a little embarrassed when talking publicly about sex. Back when they were ‘just friends’, his exploits were something that rarely ever came up, even though she’d been less discreet about hers.

“And what about adult Gideon?”

“What about adult Gideon?”

“It’s after six. The library is closed, and you have a pretty girl who is just about to finish her cotton candy and will soon be wondering just what she can be getting up to later.” She quirks her brow for emphasis. “So what would adult Gideon say we do?”

She’s always been a bit reckless. She enjoys the rush of adrenaline, and sees caution as a suggestion. Gideon’s her opposite in that regard, which is why she can’t contain her gleeful laugh as he more or less drags her to the library at a half-jog. She knows she could magic them there, but this gets her heart pounding in a way that magic does not.

In no time at all, they’re in the library — she bites back a laugh at his attempts to unlock the door — and her back is against the wall as Gideon’s mouth fuses to hers. It’s times like these where she wishes she had gotten over herself enough for them to come together sooner. As much as Gideon had been quiet about his sexploits, he’d picked up some skill. And where he lacked, he certainly made up by being a quick study. “You’re amazing,” he tells her. He lifts his hand, and brushes he strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into his palm.”Do I tell you that enough?”

“You do.” She runs her hands over the front of his shirt, and begins to toy with the buttons. With a teasing smirk, she adds, “Though, to be fair, you mostly tell me when I’m in a state of undress...or about to be.”

“I’ll be sure to rectify that...later.” She squeals when he pulls away from her, only to lift her into his arms. He quickly maneuvers them to the collections desk, and drops her on top of it. Goosebumps form over her skin as his hands span up her bare thighs, and she relishes in the way his warm breath fans across the skin of her face. “This okay?”

“It’s totally okay.” Any other quips she might think to say are lost when he lips close over the most sensitive spot on her neck, sendling shocks of pleasure down her spine. She gasps, her hands carding through his hair as she tilts her neck for easier access. His hands skate over her shorts and work their way under her shirt. Her skin burns hot as his palms burn over the smooth expanse, and she sighs.

They break apart long enough for both of them to remove their shirts. She thinks he breaks a button in his eagerness to remove his top, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest, enjoying the sight of shirtless male in front of her. He’s not incredibly muscular, but he’s toned enough -- and god, his collarbones. She pays particular attention to that part of his body first, eagerly nipping. As she leans forward, his hand slip over her ass, pulling her closer and squeezing as he goes. They move together, their pants dulling the sensation and doing nothing to hide his ardor for her.

She loves the power that comes with sex, the thrill of slowly making her partner come undone -- and that is what drives her next course of action. After all, she knows of know better way to make a man come undone. He groans when she pulls away, the brokeness bringing a smile to her face. She places a finger against his lips as she dismounts from the desk. He nips at the pad of her index finger as she reverses their positions. “What are you planning?”

“Something that will blow teenage Gideon’s mind.”

Juliet drops to her knees.

  -/-

  There are sacrifices one makes for their children.

Some are small, like the last piece of pie. Others are larger sacrifices, such as dedicating everything you can in you to ensuring your child has the best life. Killian Jones, of course, makes these sacrifices willingly, and most of the time, happily.  Ever since the day that the doctor placed a squawking infant -- his daughter -- into his arms, Killian Jones knew that he’d do everything in his power to make her smile. Decades later, he likes to think he’s done a decent enough job. Juliet is happy and healthy, and has the confidence to leave the comfort of Storybrooke and chart a course of her own. And, despite her being an adult, he’ll continue doing what he’s able to ensure her happiness.

However, there are some sacrifices that try his patience -- such as being friendly with the Crocodile.

Over the course of two decades, he and the Dark One have kept their distances. They’ll be cordial at functions that they’re both in attendance, and he’ll never disparage the man around Belle. He values his friendship with her too much for that. Truthfully speaking, over the years, no one has ever truly required them to go out of their way to be in the same place.  

Ah, but then his daughter fell in love with the Dark One’s son, and expectations had been formed.  

“I know you all have bad blood, but can you at least try? For me?” Juliet had asked him. He can’t blame her for doing such a thing. He’d shield her from much of his history with the Crocodile. She knows enough -- he remembers with stunning clarity the afternoon he’d explained to her, just five and infinitely curious, why the name ‘Milah’ was tattooed on his wrist -- but both he and Emma had intentionally agreed to leave out the gorier details of his life. Her basic knowledge cannot compared to the memories of living in the thick of it all.

Which is why, shortly after Juliet had made that request of him, he had mused to Emma in the comfort of their own bed, “Perhaps they’ll break up.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. This one’s different,” Emma had replied, and that much they knew to be true. Killian had seen that boys that had captured Juliet’s interest over the years -- all of them unworthy of her, in his opinion -- and it’s true that this one felt different. “Besides, if things do go south, you don’t want that heartbreak for her.”

“No, you’re right,” he’d replied. He remembers pulling Emma closer to him, and whispering in her hair, “I’m beginning to understand your father’s perspective a bit more when you began courting me.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

And it is because he doesn’t want to make life harder for his daughter -- he knows well enough the benefits of a smooth relationship with the in-laws -- Killian puts on his best smile and acts even friendlier with the Crocodile. Though they’ve never explicitly discussed the matter, Killian suspects that Gideon had made the same request of his own father, as the Crocodile has not made one snide comment or appeared surprised at whatever warming relationships they might have.

Belle, at the very least, seems happy about the turn of events. And he can’t deny that Gideon is a good young man, a far cry from the tortured soul who had attempted to kill Emma decades ago. (Killian still has nightmares of their wedding night, of watching the sword drive into Emma’s gut.) But he can’t hold that against Belle’s son. He’d be hypocritical at best, especially considering the respectable person he’s since grown into. Besides, there’s no denying that Gideon looks at Juliet like she’s the moon and stars, and his daughter is quite happy with him.

Which, unfortunately, means he’s on a quest with the Crocodile to retrieve a box of books from the library for a booth at the festival. They library had been going through the process of culling its selection, weeding out extra copies of no longer popular tomes so there would be space for current interests. Belle had concocted a plan to set up a booth to give away the books, and had asked Killian and her husband to fetch a couple of boxes she’d left behind.

He honestly thinks this is a plan of Belle’s to get the two of them to talk more, to further bury the hatchet at the request of their children. The Dark One certainly has the power to poof the boxes. (He has made an effort to use magic less over the years, something Killian will not complain about.) She might have also asked Emma for help, but he’s pretty sure his wife is also in on the scheme.

In the effort of trying , he and the Dark One -- Gold -- exchange in small talk, but it is stilted and awkward. Which is possibly why the conversation dovetails into talking about their children, an easy topic for any proud parent.

“Gideon tells me that Juliet graduated cum laude? I’ll have to extend my congratulations to all of her hard work.”

“Aye. She did excellently. Emma and I are quite proud.” He already has a picture from her graduation day of the three of them sitting on the mantle -- Juliet clad in her regalia, smiling broadly while flanked by her parents. Gideon had been the one to take the picture. “I imagine you are too, with Gideon studying to be a doctor.”

“We are.” The Crocodile’s expression morphs into one that Killian knows all too well -- the sort of look one gets when they can’t quite believe they had a part in raising someone good. “It’s astounding to think that he’ll be completing medical school next year. It seems like yesterday he was just learning to walk.”

“I know the feeling all too well.” He hates how much he relates to Gold at the moment. Emma has occasionally commented how fatherhood has mellowed them both over the years, but Killian doesn’t want to bond over it. The things we do for our children.

But, at the same time, he cannot deny that Gold is wrong. Killian Jones has lived hundreds of years, but none have passed by as quickly as those since Juliet’s birth. In what feels like the blink of an eyes, she’s gone from being a wee babe to a child to a teenager and now an adult. Hadn’t it been just yesterday that she had been stumbling over her consonants as he taught her how to read?

“Those nights when she would keep Emma and I up all night, I remember wishing that time would pass quickly. Now I find myself wishing I could turn back the time and go back.”

“After what happened with my sorry excuse of a mother, I learned not to take any time with Gideon for granted,” Gold replies darkly.

Killian’s first reaction is to consider it a slight, an implication that he somehow has taken his daughter’s childhood for granted, but his cooler head prevails. He recalls how scarred Belle had been during the mess with the Black Fairy, and how even after Gideon back she had barely left him out of her sight. If the same thing had happened to Juliet…

It’s a thought that kept him awake many nights during Emma’s pregnancy. Storybrooke and normal pregnancies or childbirth rarely went hand-in-hand back in those days, and certainly not for their family. He’d be plagued by nightmares full of villains from his past -- men he’d crossed or wronged -- sneaking into his home and doing harm to his child with him unable to save her.

They’d been lucky, with Juliet. She’d been safe and sound. There had been villains since then, but she’d been mostly safe. Nothing like what Gold and Belle had gone through with Gideon, or David and Snow with Emma. For once, Killian Jones had been the blessed one. He tries not to let himself forget it.

He and the Crocodile don’t talk much after that, not until after they’ve worked their way through the crowd and arrive at the library.  

“Where did Belle say she left the boxes?”

“By the circulation desk.” Gold pulls the keys to the library out of his pocket before he suddenly stops. Killian glances over the other man’s shoulder to see why, before noticing the slightly ajar doors. By Killian’s estimation, it seems as someone had simply let the door close behind them, not realizing that they hadn’t shut completely. “I know I locked this earlier.”

“It’s not the first time someone has broken into the library. Probably some horny or drunk youths looking for a quiet space and a good time.” How many times had he or Emma busted people sneaking into the library for a good time over the years? It’s turned into almost a rite of passage amongst the teens. Though he understands the thrill of breaking-and-entering, Killian doesn’t quite understand why the library is the chosen location. He’s crossed Belle enough times to know that is a spectacularly bad idea. “They probably thought the festival would be a good distraction.”

“And now they’re about to find themselves caught by the Dark One and Captain Hook. I almost pity them.”

Killian highly doubts that this is what any of the women is his life hoped for when it came to bonding with Gold. This certainly isn’t what he envisioned, but he’ll take it. Terrible as it might be, he takes certain enjoyment in knowing just how terrified whomever is in there will be when they realize just who they’ve been caught by. Quietly, Gold pushes open the library door and they creep inside the building. Once inside, they can clearly hear low moans and the slick sound of--

“Oh fuck---ohmygod!”

  -/-

  Juliet is hiding. She’s admittedly doing a poor job of it, because her hiding place is the back porch swing of her childhood home. In her defense, no one had been home when she’d come back. Now, however, the lights are one and she can hear the obscured voices of her parents. (She can barely make out the words “shower” and “tired”, if she strains.) Thankfully, they haven’t come to look for her. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at her father in the eyes again. She’s already formulating a plan for sneaking out before breakfast -- or maybe pretending to sleep until after he leaves for work.

Until she is sure her parents have convalesced themselves upstairs, she’ll continue hiding outside on the back on the back porch swing -- how many summer nights did she spend out here growing up? She had attempted to distract herself from her complete and utter mortification by attempting to read, but the exploits of Natasha Rostova weren’t enough to ebb away her embarrassment. Now, she just sits and stews, swaying back and forth on the swing.

She wishes Gideon were here. After a minor freakout --

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Worse than that time you got stabbed in Agrabah?”

“Yes! I got healed from being stabbed! My dad caught be going down on my boyfriend. How do you come back from this?”

-- she and Gideon had decided to go their separate ways for the rest of the night. The mood had effectively been killed, and they had already agreed to spend the night at their respective childhood homes . She now wishes he were here, however, if only to give her a hug and share the mortification together. The text messages from him, of which there are many, are hardly sufficient. Besides, she hardly even wants to look at her phone anymore, not since she made a mistake of telling Neal, who has sent her three texts that consist of “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” written over ad nauseum . Jerk.

Beyond embarrassment, she’s also incredibly disappointed in herself. The Juliet of four years ago had never been caught involved in illicit acts. Had she been caught vomiting into a bush after a night of underage drinking? Sure, but at least she’d been clothed and not hooking up with anyone. Has she fallen so far? Has living in New York eroded her sense in Storybrooke? The Juliet of four years ago would have insisted to sneak deeper into the library to fool around.

One thing’s for sure: I am never doing this in Storybrooke again.

She picks up her book again, and thumbs to the dog-eared page. Her adamant refusal to use a bookmark drives Gideon up the walls -- “Books are sacred, J.” The thought of him, and his exasperation, warms her heart and she makes a note to call him once she’s sure her parents are asleep. Slinking further into the swing, she attempts to read a bit more. It’s a mostly futile effort, and she’s about to give up when she is startled by the creak of the back door porch opening. She winces when she sees her father slide through.

“Hi.”

“Hullo, Cygnet.”

Juliet readjusts herself in the swing, swinging her legs to the ground so that he could sit beside her. She doesn’t meet his eyes when he sits down. She takes a deep breath, bracing for whatever lecture is bound to come, wishing he had somehow gotten the memo that this was something that they weren’t going to talk about. She had hoped that she and Gideon had gotten off the proverbial hook in that regard when her father and Mr. Gold had disappeared immediately after catching them, but apparently not.

“I’m guessing you’re not coming out here because you wanted to see the stars?”

“It’s a touch too overcast for that tonight, darling,” he replies, and there’s humor in his voice, but it is strained. God, this is the worst. “I wished for us to have a chat, not matter how awkward it might be.”

“Or we could pretend it never happened. I prefer that option.”

“When you were a toddler, you preferred to not wear clothes, so you stripped yourself in the middle of Granny’s, waving your dirty diaper as a victory flag. And yet your mother and I still dressed you,” her father replies, and he has the audacity to wink at her.

“Okay, that is so not fair.” It’s a story she’s heard maybe a hundred times by this point, but it makes her cringe every time. Why was she such an awkward child?

“I’ve learned from experience that life, unfortunately, isn’t fair.”

“Now you’re getting angsty,” she says. She’s being difficult. Juliet knows this, but she really doesn’t want to talk about whatever if on her father’s mind. She already feels terrible enough. “Dad, seriously, can we just forget today ever happened?”

“Trust me when I say I do, and after you and I have a chat, we can.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. We were just being dumb, okay?” Juliet feels like a teenager again, getting caught after staying out past curfew. But, to be fair, this is perfectly in character for her father. Years ago after a party, he’d caught her stumbling around clearly drunk. The next day he’d given her a lecture about the importance of staying safe while inebriated. “We’ll be more responsible from now on. Trust me when I say that no one involved wants a repeat of that. Ever.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” He runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I want to discuss.”

“Oh.” They sit like that for a moment, listening the sound of summer bugs and the creak of the swing swaying back and forth. When their respective awkward silence feels unbearable, Juliet asks, “So what did you want to talk about then?”

“As you’ve mentioned you’re an adult, and I have no bearing on telling you what you can and cannot do.” He takes a deep breath and looks up. “But now that you’re an adult, you are making adult choices and are finding yourself in adult situations.”

“Mom already gave me the sex talk in high school.” Her mother had been incredibly thorough with the sex talk, no doubt influenced by her own harrowing experience with teenage pregnancy. While she had done an excellent job discussing the different forms of birth control, Juliet had walked away so scarred by everything else that she’d done everything but penetrative sex until she had started college for fear of getting pregnant before her finishing her high school degree. “I know how to be safe. We’ve been tested. I have an IUD.”

Juliet winces at her explanation. Even though she’s veering into TMI territory -- her father knowing her current form of birth control does not top the ‘need to know’ list -- she wants to express to him that the earlier encounter had been a bit of fun and that she’s actually a responsible adult when it comes to these things.

“I’m glad you are aware of those things.” He runs his hand through his hair again. It’s also something Juliet does when she’s stressed. Both her mother and Gideon have commented on it. Unsure if it is a nature or nurture thing, she chalks it up to simply being Killian Jones’ daughter. “I just also want you to be aware that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to if you. If you ever feel uncomfortable doing something, you can say no. You don’t need to...you don’t need to consent to an action simply because your partner--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Gideon didn’t force me into doing anything. Holyshit, he’s not that kind of guy. I’m the one-- it was my idea, okay? He’s not some creep who would force me into that. This is not the time for that PSA.” Juliet pushes herself from the swing, turning to face her father. She’s angry and hurt and how could he even imply…? “Is it because of what we were doing? Newsflash, Dad, women can like giving head. Women can like sex. And I know this might be hard to hear, but I like sex. What you walked in on? That was me doing what I enjoy doing with my partner.”

To call her furious would be an understatement. She wonders how her father could even think that about Gideon. Gideon, who is the nicest person she knows. Gideon, who is so afraid of everything thinking he’s just another villain because of his last name. The implication that he would be the one forcing her, or that she would be so easily coerced boils her blood. And for it to come from her father?

She turns to leave -- to where, she doesn’t know -- but her father is up in an instant and following her. He gently takes hold of her arm, stopping her at the door. “Juliet, sweetheart, wait.”

“What, so you can imply my boyfriend is some asshole who forces me into sex?”

“No, so I can better explain what I was trying to say,” he tells her. Juliet doesn’t move at first, but he gradually leads her back to the swing. “It was not my intention to imply at Gideon was that sort of man. I honestly don’t think he is. I was talking about relationships the in general and not him specifically.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m doing a train on the hockey team.” Her father winces. She thinks it serves him right. “I’m kind of a big believer in monogamy.”

“That’s...that’s something. But even with the people we love, it’s easy for us to feel like we should do things that we normally wouldn’t want to do. And I don’t mean this situation specifically, but in relationships as a whole. I want you to know that it’s okay to say no,” he says gently. “You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want.”

“Again, I wanted to.”

“So you said.” He bites his lip and looks down. “I also want you to know that if you want to do something that your partner doesn’t, you should respect their decision, as well.”

“I know.”

“It’s easy to say when you’re not in the situation. And if you think your desires outweigh their own. And I’m not simply talking about what one might get into in their bedchambers, or libraries as it were. It extends to hospitals, how you raise your children, end of life care…” He trails off, before shaking his head. He turns so he can fully face her. “Juliet, darling, you’re growing up and making so many decisions, and now you’re making them now with a partner. I love you, more than anything you can comprehend, which is why I’m telling you these things. Adulthood isn’t simple, and strong emotions makes it even more difficult. What I’m trying, rather poorly it seems, is to say that it’s okay to communicate your desires, just as it is for he to communicate his, but both of you can say no and the other needs to respect it, aye?”

She’s unprepared to deal with the intensity of his speech. She’s been unprepared for a lot that has happened today, and she wants to deal with none of it. So she nods her head. “Yeah. Okay. Communicate. Have adult conversations. Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.” He looks taken aback at her response. She regrets her, but he’s already up and walking to the door. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

And then he’s gone, and Juliet feels like the worst person ever.

“You aren’t the worst person ever,” Gideon tells her later that night, after she creeps into the house and back to her childhood bedroom. “Maybe a bit short. As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, based on what he said I don’t think he was meaning it that way. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.”

“I don’t know, I think he was trying to do the ‘Dad’ thing and make it like a sitcom feel-good moment.” In the immediate aftermath, once she had cooled off and really registered what her father had been saying, she had realized that maybe he hadn’t been implying what she thought he had. “And I yelled at him and then blew him off. I mean, he was being a bit weird about it with the sex stuff, but...I don’t know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

“That’s not my call, babe,” he says gently. She hears a rustle over the line as he shifts in the bed. She wishes she were there with him, if only so she could feel the comfort of his warmth around her. “You know your dad. Do what you think is best.”

She just has to figure out what that means.

  -/-

  Emma is waiting for him in bed when he clambers into their bedchamber. Her hair, now wet, is pulled into a braid and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, but she still looks stunning. She closes the book she had been reading, and gives him a sympathetic look. “I heard yelling.”

“You heard correctly.” He strips off his clothes and brace, for once not bothering to fold them neatly into the hamper. Deciding not to wear his pajama pants, he crawls into bed and takes his spot besides his wife. “I’m not sure how well that conversation went.”

“I told you wait until morning.” Emma pokes him in the chest. “She’s mortified now. Nothing you said was going to register.”

“I didn’t want the moment to pass.” He interlocks his fingers with hers, and kisses her knuckles. “I’m afraid if I had waited until the morning, she would have snuck out. I’m not convinced she still won’t.”

“That does sound like our daughter.” They re-adjust themselves under the blankets so that Emma is laying on his chest. Killian feels his heart rate, previously pounding, slow as he succumbs to the comfort of her presence. “Even if it didn’t go well, I’m proud of you. You pushed past any awkwardness to have a real conversation with your kid.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that. She accused me of implying her boyfriend was an abuser.”

“She also apparently likes sex,” Emma adds, humor evident in her tone.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You kinda of walked into that last one, buddy.” He feels Emma traces nonsense into his chest. It tickles, but he allows her to continue. She grounds him, that wife of his, keeping him afloat in the wild storm of his emotions.

“I walked into a lot of things today.” Things he would very much like to forget, regardless of what he told Juliet. He wonders if he might be able to convince Gold to whip them up a memory potion. He thinks the Dark One might agree.

“Yeah, I don’t envy you.”

“You are taking far too much joy in this situation.”

“What can I say, babe? It was a long time coming. Remember when mom walked in on us?”

“Which time?”

“Exactly.”

He laughs, but he doesn’t quite find the humor in the situation. He’s too caught up thinking about all the things he did wrong while talking to Juliet than right tonight. It had been easier when she was younger, far less prone to lash out. Back then, of course, the lessons hadn’t felt some complicated or embarrassing. Perhaps he misses that too, her willingness to listen and the faith that the advice he was imparting was done with her best interest at heart.

But that’s not how it works anymore, is it? She’s her own person. One who apparently likes sex and fools around with her partner in public spaces. And he doesn’t mind, not really, but today had been a stark reminder that she’s not his little girl anymore. He hadn’t been prepared for this part of fatherhood.

“Killian?” Emma says after a lifetime of silence. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And you want to know how I know it is?” Emma moves that her chin is now resting on his chest. He catches a glint in her green eyes. “Because we’ve been down this road before, and everything turned out fine. Our daughter still comes home.”

“Why does it feel different than before?” he asks. Emma is correct, this isn’t the first time either of them have had a less than ideal encounter with their daughter. He still cringes when he thinks of the slammed doors and eye rolls from her teenage years.

“Because I think this is the first time it’s really sunk in for you that our baby isn’t a baby anymore.” Her words are a heavy weight on his chest as he considers them. Objectively, he recognizes that Juliet is an adult. She’s done well for herself living away from home and completing her studies. She hasn’t starved. But, Emma isn’t necessarily wrong either, and the incident earlier is a reminder of just how much she’s grown.

“You know, earlier I was telling the Crocodile I wished I could turn back time to when she was small. She used to be no longer than my forearm, do you remember that?” He’d been so delicate with her, so afraid of damaging something so small and precious to him.

“Of course I remember that.” Emma smiles fondly, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “Remember those bows my mom got her? The ones with flowers bigger than her face?”

“She would scream every time one of us tried to put it on.”

“You singing sea shanties was one of the only ways to get her to sleep.”

“Aye.” Tired as he had been, Killian cherished those moments he had with his infant daughter. She would be curled up on his chest as he rocked in a chair and hummed her his favorite songs. He felt special, being one of the only people who could calm her down. “I miss it.”

“I know, babe, but we’ve got a lot of new memories ahead of us.” Emma stretches up, leaving him feeling bereft, as she reaches to shut off the lamp. As his eyes attempt to adjust to the light, he feels her settle more firmly into her side of the bed. Unwilling to let her go quite yet, he turns to his side and wraps his arm around her waist.

“You were right about one thing, though.”

“Just one?”

“Hush,” he teases. “This one is different. Gideon, I mean.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Emma is goading him, but he doesn’t care. “You should have seen the fire in her eyes when she thought I was accusing him of being untoward. I’ve never seen her so defensive of anything or anyone in her life.”

“She’s in love.”

“Aye, she’s in love.”

Killian allows that sentiment to close out the night, and lets the evenness of Emma’s breaths slowly lull him to sleep. In the morning, he awakens to the sounds of someone rattling around the kitchen and the smell of pancakes wafting upstairs. He dresses quickly, pulling on the previously ignored pajama pants and a t-shirt before padding down the stairs. He expects to find Emma at the oven, but instead she is sitting at the table, drinking a mug of coffee. She casts him a knowing look and tilts her head to where their daughter is pouring batter into a sizzling skillet.

“Smells amazing, Cygnet.”

“Thanks, I made ‘em from scratch.” As the pancakes cook, she points with a spatula to a plate waiting for him. “You should get them while they’re hot.”

“As the lady insists.” He exchanges glances with Emma as he takes a plate of pancakes and settles into a chair. Rarely is Juliet ever awake this early on her own volition, let alone the one to making breakfast. After taking a few bites, he says, “These are excellent.”

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to learn how to cook, and ta-da.” Juliet flashes a wide smile -- Emma’s smile -- before turning back to her pancakes. Killian holds off on eating the rest, waiting until Juliet settles at the table with a plate of her own food and a glass of orange juice, extra pulp .

Emma excuses herself under the guise of needing to put on makeup, an obvious lie if he ever heard one. However, he can’t fault his wife for engineering an excuse for him and Juliet to be alone. His anxiety from the night before has slowly begun to ebb away knowing that his daughter did, in fact, not sneak out or intentionally sleep in to avoid him. She’s here and having breakfast. It’s the best he can ask for.

“What else are you learning how to cook?” he inquires, because he genuinely wants to know. This is a part of Juliet’s life he hadn’t initially been privy to with her living in New York. He’s eager to learn more.

“This and that. I make a mean pumpkin pasta sauce. If I’m up in the fall, maybe I can make it for you and Mom?”

“There’s nothing we would like more.” The hardest part of her growing older has been her absence. He’s proud that she has the confidence to leave home and forge a path of her own, but he misses her terribly. David had lucked out with both of his children living nearby. Killian has to settle for the occasional visit, mirror chats, or phone calls. The fact that she’s talking about visiting in a few months is a godsend.

She tells him more about the recipes she is learning how to cook -- caramel pie, enchiladas, various stews. He’s impressed, and he tells her as much.

“A girl’s gotta eat,” Juliet answers with a shrug. She pushes around some of the remaining pancakes on her plate. “Hey, Dad? About last night…”

He opens his mouth to apologize. Not for what he said, but instead for not yet coming to terms with her adulthood. Juliet, however, doesn’t allow him to finish. “Thanks for caring about me and everything.”

“You never need to thank me for that. I’m your father.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” she replies. He cheeks flush, and she pushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. “And, I didn’t say it last night, but I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Cygnet.”

Killian chooses not to press for any conversation surrounding last night anymore. He recognizes an olive branch when he sees one, and Emma’s advice about waiting is stilling lingering at the back of his mind. Instead, he asks his daughter her plans about the rest of weekend, and suggests that if they have time, her and Gideon should join he and Emma on the Jolly for a sunset cruise -- an olive branch of your own to say that he doesn’t actually hate her boyfriend.

“I’ll have to check, but that sounds fun,” she tells him.

Later, when they’re at station, Killian tells Emma all of this. He watches as her smile grows wider with each addition to the story, culminating on the tentative sailing excursion.

“I told you she would cool off.”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised she did so quickly.” Since Juliet has inherited his temper, he had feared she would inherit his ability to hold a grudge. She certainly did when she was younger. As a teenager, she had perfected the silent treatment in a way that’s almost impressive. (For those not on the receiving end.”)

Emma simply gives him another one of her smiles and peck on the lips. “Well, yeah, our baby is growing up.”

He mutters something that sounds like agreement before giving his wife a kiss and returning to his work. He’s still not fond of his daughter being an adult, an absurd thought for something so inevitable and expected. But she’s happy. That’s what matters in the end.