#Maybe I should have tagged this as Coop's salt instead

[cooplagoop]

My Hero Academia chapter 1 to 7 review

When the anime adaptation was announced, I decided to check out the manga in order to avoid the infamous “The manga is better!” line. When I first read the first volume, I dropped MHA. By the time the tournament arc was coming to a close in the anime, I had almost forgotten why I despised the first volume. So, I started to read about the Internship arc due to the temptation of the heroes losing. I also decided to attempt a revaluation of the first volume in order to see why exactly did it suck.

Colour me surprised! Something tickled my fancy!

I consider All Might to be an interesting character. In chapter 1 he came off as cynical jerk when he told Deku he couldn’t be a hero since not 20 seconds before he did he had said that he lies to himself on a regular basis. Once he starts training Izuku for UA’s entrance exam, we see that he’s really just a bitter old man, who doesn’t like the new generation of heroes due to their obsession with fame & money. All Might is an interesting spin of the classical goody two shoes hero, who most have seen in some incarnation. Despite being capable enough to lower the crime rate marginally, he can’t change other pro heroes to view their jobs as honors like him, instead of jobs or a means to an end.

Another positive would be the weaknesses our mentor-student duo have. All Might can use his quirk for only 3 hours a day due to a severe injury. Meanwhile, Deku can’t control his new quirk because he used to be quirkless. The assigned limitations are more than welcome as One for All is a very overpowered quirk. Of course, when Deku learned how to activated One for All only in his finger from a metaphor about an egg in a microwave, a shift to the other spectrum of my review is needed.

What grinds my gears:

At the center of MHA’s downsides is Deku quite literally. The narrative superglues itself to Deku to the point that only characters who happen to be around Deku will get screen time. For an example lets use All Might, Ida and Bakugo. The greatest similarity they share is that they didn’t acknowledge Deku at first. After Deku tried to save someone their opinion of Deku changed for the better. Despite the significant affect Deku’s act of kindness had on these characters, none of these characters got the screen time they needed in order to reestablish themselves as better people. I’ll exemplify them in the order of least blatant to most blatant. 1st°: All Might doesn’t know what to do. -Deku tries to save Bakugo- -All Might starts acting more like a hero- -All Might tells Deku he can become a hero & starts training him- Instead of focusing on what the encounter with the Sludge villain meant for All Might, as he intended to make Deku his successor due to this battle alone, we are stuck with Deku or future!Deku (I will never understand this.) narrating the events that took place after the Sludge villain was defeated. Aforementioned narration is 100% insight free for all characters except Deku, which doesn’t help solidify Deku as a worthy successor when All Might was searching for 5 years with no results to speak of. 2nd°: Bakugo is controlled by the Sludge villain. -Deku saves him- -Bakugo doesn’t bully Deku like he used to (he’s more bark than bite)- Will he get more screen time? Will we see what he thinks of Deku after he saved him? Why did he mellow down a bit? How did he score so many point in the entrance exam? Why is he so good at fighting? What kind of training did he do before the entrance exam? Why is he the deuteragonist if all of my previous questions were not answered? 3rd°: Ida ran away from the giant robot -Deku rescues Uraraka from the robot- -Ida starts to question if he would do the same thing Deku did- -before Ida can finish his sentence we cut to Deku- This one was so in your face that right there was when I noticed how narrow MHA’s narrative really is. 

What’s the deal with Deku?

The issue I have with Deku is not his personality, but how the narrative treats him. Like I mentioned before Deku hogs the spotlight from other character as if he is the most interesting character to have graced us. When in actuality he is the bare bones protagonist type, whose purpose is to emphasize the complexity of the characters around him. Deku like 95% of protagonists is restricted in the personality traits he has (there’s something about him being a nerd, but when plot stuff is going on he turns into a virtuous hero with no flaws (I think the nerd aspect of his “personality” was added in for pandering)). The worst part is that MHA does use Deku for initiating character development...until the spotlight comes back to Deku & I’m left in the dark about what these characters went through or are still going through in their next scene. What I mean is that it’s teasing me about potentially amazing character writing & then it doesn’t deliver on any of it.

The main reason, which caused me to drop MHA in the first place, was the great obsession MHA has with quirks. I swear that even All for One (the man whose bread & butter is stealing quirks) talks less about quirks than Deku or any other random character in MHA. You could say MHA was addicted to the concept of quirks. I’m not joking here. This addiction was so intense that MHA was no longer about a quirkless boy, who wants to be a hero in a world where the quirkless are looked down upon. It became about a kid with an OP superpower trying to not kill himself with it, while going to the most prestigious hero school in Japan. I don’t understand why they did this. The first page says “Not all men are born equal.”. So, wasn’t MHA trying to prove this first line wrong? Everybody in MHA thinks that quirkless people can’t be heroes, no matter how nice or horrid they are as people (All Might, Midoriya’s mom, Midoriya’s junior high teachers, Bakugo). I know that Deku got his superpower through worthiness unlike everybody else, who got theirs by chance, but what were the chances that All Might’s quirk was transferable? What were the odds that All Might would meet Deku? What were the odds of Deku being the one to walk pass the Sludge villain while going home? What were the chances that All Might didn’t find somebody else to be his apprentice before he met Deku? By this logic Deku also got his quirk through luck. Not to mention that the whole “Deku is worthy” shtick isn’t done that well like I said in 1st°. Furthermore, Deku having a quirk contradicts the moral MHA started out with. “You can be a hero without a quirk.” changed to “You can be a hero if you have a quirk.”. When I first read MHA, I expected it to have a theme of discrimination like the X-men and that was MHA’s main theme. After you-know-what happened the quirkless were unceremoniously shoved into the background. A quirkless hero? No, it doesn’t exsist. Surely our righteous protagonist wouldn’t simply accept One for All without questioning if it’s the right thing to do due to the horrible experiences he had while quirkless? He accepts it. No questions were asked. Maybe we’ll see more quirkless people since every 5th person in the world is quirkless? Check the MHA wiki for the list of quirkless characters. If I’m being frank, this shift in moral is simply rotten to the core. Until I read MHA I thought I knew hypocrisy, but MHA is a level I believed to be an exaggeration.

This post is still valid.(link)

Another major factor in my initial disatisfaction with Vol. 1 was & still is Aizawa’s character. Unlike my annoyance with Deku, my problem with Aizawa lies entirely in his personality. When introduced, Aizawa scolds his students for socializing, taking 8 seconds to shut up & promises to expel the student who places last in a physical test because one of the kids displayed excitement. These actions make him come off as nitpicky to an unfair extent. To top of my great first impression of him, he wants to allow quirk usage in PE, when he himself doesn’t have a quirk which can come in handy in a physical exam. Besides the travesty this ingenious idea represents to the quirkless, it also effects those whose quirks can’t be utilized in a physical exam & don’t even get me started on the property damage. In contrast to All Might Aizawa has a more darwinistic mentality, which is reflected in the quirk evaluation test. To specify, he doesn’t care if the kids are only doing it for fame & money or if they have the traits of a true hero like All Might does. Aizawa is primarily interested in the results to the point where he deems those who fall beneath an unspecified quota to be idealistic half-asses. If you’ve seen either GTO or Assassination Classroom, you may remember that Aizawa’s teaching style is the kind these shows tried to shun & disapproved of in general. Onizuka & Koro-sensei are the antithesis to Aizawa mainly because they genuinely cares about their students. They know that how the kids grow up is more important for them than a test & want them to become better human beings, which both go to great lengths to accomplish. The concept of their students failing them doesn’t exist while Aizawa will fail & scrutinize his students only if they don’t meet his expectations.

Why didn’t Aizawa expel Deku? Remember the only Deku has screen time curse I ranted on and on about? They did it with Aizawa. No insight was given for us to see the person that he is. No defining reason was given on why he expelled 154 students. However, Aizawa is a different case from All Might, Ida & Bakugo in this regard. The primary difference between them is the foundation for their character development. The 3 stooges I mentioned have one a.k.a. experiencing Deku’s heroic deed, but Aizawa doesn’t. Aizawa didn’t experience Deku’s heroism like the three of them & by all means Deku should have been expelled. The only answer I have is that Deku’s plot armor is so strong that it can force Aizawa to break character or Horikoshi wrote himself into a corner with Aizawa.

The gibberish of My Hero Academia This is the part where I express my inter Cinema Sins-wannabe by listing the other things MHA did wrong or didn’t do at all like an explanation. I’m not going to detail why I consider them faults as I can stand them more or less unlike the issues I covered above. However, if you’d like me to expand upon anyone of them, send me the number & I’ll tell you what I meant (The same goes for all other parts of this review). The list is mostly in chronological order.

#1 Why aren’t there any superhero teams? #2 Why aren’t there any quirkless people in Izuku’s junior high? #3 Why is everybody a jerk to Deku? #4 Why didn’t Izuku’s mom lie to him? #5 Why was the Sludge villain waiting for someone to walk by? #6 How did All Might put the Sludge villain in a bottle? #7 Why didn’t All Might lie to Deku? #8 Why did All Might trust Deku with his secret? #9 How is All Might even alive right now? #10 Why did All Might chase the Sludge villain for 3 whole hours? #11 Why is heroism so dependent on quirks? #12 Why couldn’t Mt Lady shrink a bit in order to fight the Sludge villain? #13 Isn’t the firefighting hero the one with an advantageous quirk? #14 How is Deku able to make eye-contact with Bakugo? #15 How did Deku get pass Death Arms? #16 Why didn’t any of the other heroes intervene before Deku was 3 seconds away from certain death? #17 Did All Might kill the Sludge villain? #18 Why is One for All so OP? #19 Why was nothing explained about the Sludge villain or his quirk? #20 Why are they praising Bakugo? #21 Isn’t putting your life in danger due to adrenaline/shock the same as laughing uncontrollably due to adrenaline/shock? #22 Why did they spoil the ending? #23 Why aren’t there any quirkless heroes? #24 Why aren’t any other hero schools besides UA mentioned? #25 How is Midoriya not dead? #26 Why did Bakugo tell Deku to shut up if he started their conversation? #27 How is Deku distracting Ida? #28 Why is MHA willing to risk getting a lawsuit from Nintendo, but doesn’t kill of any of the characters who have screen time? #29 Why is video game logic being used in a school for heroics? #30 Why does this exam sound like something Shigaraki & Stain would design? #31 Why didn’t All Might give Deku his quirk earlier? #32 Why didn’t Uraraka float away from the robot? #33 Who controls the robots? #34 How did Midoriya not faint from his injuries? #35 How was Midoriya still able to think clearly through the pain of his broken limbs? #36 Why didn’t Uraraka look up how to not vomit before the practical exam? #37 Why was Deku able to properly heal from his injuries? #38 Why is everybody so obsessed with quirks? #39 Why is Izuku still training if he knows he didn’t get into UA? #40 Why did Uraraka get less rescue points than Izuku? #41 Why is Deku always paired up with Bakugo (in the story)? #42 If you need to be muscular, so One for All doesn’t kill you, how is All Might still using it? #43 Why did Aizawa have a PE uniform with him? #44 How is UA still in business if they allow teachers to expel students for the most pettiest reasons? #45 Why didn’t Aizawa get fired if he expelled 154 students? #46 Why did class 1B get less powerful students? #47 Why couldn’t All Might find out who was Deku’s homeroom teacher earlier? #48 How does Deku accomplish anything with All Might as his mentor? #49 Why is Aizawa questioning how Deku got into UA? #50 How are Aizawa’s bandages floating? #51 How are quirks activated in general? #52 How can a teacher afford a scarf made out of nanofiber? #53 Why did Deku hang out with Bakugo when they were kids? #54 How did Hagakure & Jiro get into UA? #55 Why did Deku need to use his quirk during Aizawa’s exam? #56 How did Uraraka not know that Deku was an insult? #57 Why are they teaching them normal school subjects?

All in all, I can now finally use this: #Volume1IsHell What? I made reviews for less.

[searchingwardrobes]

Self Promo Sunday: Hope for the Orphans

This was my very first fic, and it’s really hard for me to believe that it’s almost four years old! It’s never been posted on tumblr before, nor have I ever made art for it. So here it is: my way of bringing little!Killian and little!Emma together - in canon. I hope these two cuties bring a smile to your face (even in the midst of their canon-compliant troubles.)

I also wrote this for @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ whose writing I have always admired. Little did I know back then that she would become a wonderful friend! Love ya, Jen!

Summary: One night, while remembering his mother, nine year old Killian Jones asks the man in the moon a question. The next thing he knows, he’s in a strange realm meeting a seven year old Emma Swan at a Valentine’s Day party. Could she be the answer to his question?

Rating: G

Trigger warnings: mentions of child abuse (very vague), and a very ill Killian as a child

Words: 6k and some change

Also on A03

Tagging my usuals:  @snowbellewells @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @superchocovian​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @optomisticgirl​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @nikkiemms​ @hollyethecurious​  @profdanglaisstuff​ @kday426​ @distant-rose​ @carpedzem​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @branlovestowrite​  @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @scientificapricot​ @snidgetsafan​ @vvbooklady1256​

When Killian Jones first saw Emma Swan, he had the strangest sensation that he had met her before. It was like a long-forgotten detail that niggled the back of his brain, and just as he began to grasp it, away it slipped like grains of sand. So he was delighted when it had been Emma Swan to volunteer to climb the beanstalk with him. “I was hoping it’d be you.” And as they climbed, he uncannily just knew things about her. That she was an orphan, for one. He wasn’t lying when he said she had the look of a lost boy in her eyes, but he noticed the look after the knowing. “Open book,” he had told her, but he hadn’t the slightest clue how or why.

The longer he knew her, the more he felt he had always known her. Of course, he never voiced this to Emma. He knew his Swan – he knew if he said such a thing it would terrify her. So it wasn’t until the night of their honeymoon, that he voiced it in the dark.

“From the moment we met, I have felt . . . like I’ve always known you.”

Emma surprised him with her response. “You too?” she asked, propping her chin on his chest. He could just make out the green of her eyes by the light from the bedside lamp. There was no fear there, not anymore.

Killian gazed down at her, confused. “You mean you’ve felt that way too?” At her answering nod, he asked, “How long?”

Emma snuggled into his side before answering. “Since the first day we met. I looked into your eyes and thought that I knew you from somewhere. I mean – I’m not saying it was love at first sight or anything-“ he could almost feel her roll her eyes at that notion – “it was more like a vague ‘I’ve seen this guy somewhere before,’ know what I mean?”

Killian chuckled, “Exactly.”

They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating what it might mean. Emma finally scooted herself up to nuzzle his neck. She murmured against his skin, “It’s probably just the whole true love thing.” How far his Swan had come to speak of it so matter-of- factly!

“Hmmm, “he sighed, as she lightly kissed his jaw. “And pray tell, love, exactly what does that mean?”

“You know,” she murmured as she lazily kissed a path across his face, “two souls destined to be together. Kindred spirits who recognized one another immediately, despite all reason. That sort of thing.”

And that was what they decided. The soul mates cliché. After all, what other explanation could there be?

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

 Nine year old Killian Jones stuck his head slowly out of the hatch leading below decks, so only his eyes were visible through a narrow crack. He searched carefully to be sure no other sailors were above deck. He knew, of course, that there was a sailor on watch up in the crow’s nest. But he would be scanning the skies and sea, not looking down below at the deck. Seeing that the coast was clear, Killian quietly slipped out on deck, padding silently to the railing. The wood was cool beneath his bare feet. He leaned over the railing and down at the water below. It was a calm night. He could even see the moon and a few stars reflected in the almost glassy surface of the sea, the image broken only occasionally by the undulating waves. He looked up at the velvet sky and reveled at the sight of so many stars twinkling down at him. He breathed in deeply the familiar scents: salt, seaweed, and damp wood. He listened to the familiar sounds of the ocean and the creaking and rocking of the ship. He felt the cool night air gently fan his flushed cheeks. This was what he needed so desperately after being cooped up for three whole days below deck. Even if the slight saltiness of the air stung his right cheek just a bit.

“Killian Jones! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Slowly and reluctantly, Killian turned to face his older brother. Liam stood there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking far older than his 13 years.

“I just needed some fresh air, brother!” Killian tried to explain. “I couldn’t stay down there in the hold one more minute.”

“Little brother,” Liam said on a sigh, putting his hand gently on Killian’s shoulder, “you had a raging fever for three full days. The last thing you need is to stand out here, breathing in the deadly night vapors. You must remain abed until you get your strength back.”

Liam tipped Killian’s head up, then turned it to the side to look at his cheek. The deep cut there was still a bright, angry red, but the wound was no longer weeping. Killian saw the regret and guilt in his brother’s eyes.

“It could be worse, I suppose,” Liam grumbled, dropping his hand from Killian’s face. “You’ll have a scar, though.”

Killian decided that the best course of action was to make light of it. “Well, every good sailor worth his salt needs a scar,” he said brightly. Then he poked Liam in the chest, “And what do you expect? I was stitched up by a 13 year old.”

Liam winced. Okay, maybe it was too soon for that joke. But according to Cook, Liam may have saved Killian’s life.

“Well,” Liam replied, poking his little brother in return, “you should have kept your mouth shut, as usual, and refrained from setting off the Captain.”

Now it was Killian’s turn to wince. Liam was constantly berating him for his sass. “Just keep your mouth shut, Killian, and do as your told,” was the seemingly endless refrain from his brother’s lips. And it was true, Killian’s mouth was constantly getting him into trouble. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. A few days ago, the Captain had sent his youngest cabin boy below decks for some more rum. Unbeknownst to Killian, the barrel he had filled the decanter from was not properly sealed. Salt water had seeped in and ruined the rum. The Captain had taken a large gulp and promptly spit it out across his desk. He had roared at Killian, blaming him. Killian should have taken the scolding meekly and gone to get rum from the second barrel, but instead, as usual, he had opened his mouth.

“As drunk as you are, I’m surprised you noticed.”

The Captain had roared even louder and would have knocked his desk over if it hadn’t been nailed down. Instead he threw the glass tumbler in his hand right at Killian, who had ducked just in time. The tumbler smashed into pieces against the wall directly behind his head (really, who uses glass tumblers on a ship? was Killian’s ridiculous thought). Ducking hadn’t prevented a shard of glass from slicing across his cheek. The Captain screamed at him to get out, face red and eyes bulging. Killian had stumbled out, putting a hand to his stinging cheek. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. He wiped his bloody hand on his tunic, and reached up to his cheek again. By the time he stumbled on deck to his brother, his face and cheek were slick with blood again.

“Liam,” was all he managed to say before he swayed on his feet.

The rest was a blur. Killian remembered opening his eyes to find himself laid out on the table in the galley, Liam and the bos’un, Starkey, arguing.

“Cook’s gone to shore for supplies.” Starkey hissed, “What’ll we do?”

“I don’t know,” Liam hissed back, as if he didn’t want his brother to hear him. “Go to shore and look for him, or a healer.”

“Captain was adamant that his slaves stay on board. He may do worse to me and to Killian if we disobey. Besides, Killian needs help NOW. Look at how much blood –“

“Then what’ll you do?”

“Get Cook’s kit. I’ve seen him do it before . . . “

“Have you lost your senses?” Starkey practically screeched. “You’re just a boy!”

“Exactly!” Liam shot back. “I need you to hold him down. I’m not strong enough.”

Then Killian saw Starkey and Liam bending over him. Starkey and the Cook had taken a liking to Liam and Killian a year ago when their father had left. The boys trusted both men with their lives.

Starkey took Killian by the shoulders. He thought he remembered tears in the man’s eyes, but surely he had imagined that. “I’m sorry son.” Then the pain. Killian writhed and screamed. Then everything went dark.

When Killian awoke, he was in his hammock in the hold. He was shivering all over, and no matter how tightly he wrapped his scant blanket around him, he felt chilled. For three days, he drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard snippets of conversation around him.

“The wound’s turned septic.”

“I was a fool thinking I could stitch him up!”

“You did what you had to, my boy.”

“The Captain is demanding to know where his second cabin boy is. He has work he needs him to do.”

“Then stall, damn it!”

Concerned faces floated in front of him. Someone made him lift his head to drink some water. Extra blankets were tucked around him. It wasn’t until later that he realized his brother, Starkey, and Cook and given him there’s. As the fever raged higher, he started to hallucinate. Calling out to his mother. To his father. And most frightening of all, was the hallucination he had of Liam. His brother was weeping, begging him not to leave him alone. It had to be a hallucination. Liam never cried.

But by some miracle, this morning Killian had awoke sweating and hot underneath the pile of blankets. When Cook had come down to check on him, Killian had asked for something to eat. Cook laid a gnarled hand against Killian’s forehead, and then whooped with joy. He had never seen the man do anything but scowl. He tried to get up, but Cook, and later Liam, insisted he was too weak. The two of them and Starkey were covering for him; the Captain had been too drunk to know his smallest sailor was missing.

And that was why, on this night, Killian had snuck out of his hammock as soon as the rest of the crew was asleep. Staying in bed all day when he had all his wits about him was about to drive him mad. It was dark, stuffy, and hot in the hold with absolutely nothing to do. And now he had no doubt Liam would send him right back down there.

So Killian couldn’t believe it when Liam said, “Ok little brother, we’ll stay up her for a bit.” When he saw Killian’s grin, he hastily added, “But not for long, and you’re sitting down.”

Killian couldn’t argue with that, he was swaying a bit where he stood. The two boys sat side by side with their backs to the railing and looked up at the night sky.

“There’s a man in the moon tonight,” Liam pointed out. Killian looked up. Sure enough, there was the outline of a man’s face. “Do you remember what mother used to say about the man in the moon?”

Killian shook his head and sighed, “No brother, I sometimes fear I am forgetting her completely.”

Liam gave him a small, reassuring smile, “It’s not surprising. You were only seven when she passed. But I can tell you stories. That way, you won’t forget her.”

“Ok,” Killian agreed with a smile.

Liam cleared his throat. “She always said to give your problems to the man in the moon. But you had to make sure to tell him everything, so he had all the pieces. Like a puzzle. Then, while you were sleeping, he would work out the problem for you.”

Killian tilted his head up to gaze at the moon. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew he could remember his mother if he thought hard enough. He had to. Slowly, an image came to his mind. A smile that would light up a room. A turned up nose with a dusting of freckles. He saw her face, still a little fuzzy, leaning over him and wiping his brow. He was four or five and was ill. He saw curls framing the pretty face. Light brown, like his brother. Her eyes? He concentrated harder. They seemed to change color. Crystal blue when she was laughing. A stormy gray when she was arguing with his father. Sea green as she sang him to sleep.

“She sang us to sleep!” Killian exclaimed triumphantly. “And told us bedtime stories!”

Liam laughed softly, “That’s right. She had a beautiful voice. Her favorite was –“ and Liam began to sing haltingly:

Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s green; When I am king, dilly, dilly, You shall be queen Roses are red, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s blue. If you will have me, dilly, dilly, I will have you.

The song came back to Killian and he joined in. “I’ll say, little brother!” Liam exclaimed. “It seems you’ve inherited her singing voice.”

The boys continued gazing at the sky silently, lost in their own thoughts of their mother.

“Do you remember what you always asked her at the end of every story she told?” Liam finally broke the silence.

Killian laughed, “Yes I do. No matter what it was about, giants, kracken, true love’s kiss, I would always ask her if she believed in it.”

“And she would always say, ‘I believe in everything.’”

“Aye,” Killian scoffed, “and you would always roll your eyes and say it was silly.”

“Not you,” Liam chuckled, poking his ribs, “you would always loudly proclaim, ‘Then I believe in everything too!’ Momma’s boy.”

“Hey!” Killian protested, but he didn’t really mind his brother’s ribbing too much. His mother used to always says she couldn’t believe two brothers could be so different. Now that his memory had been jogged, more flooded into his mind. The clearest memory was the day his mother died. His father was away, he couldn’t remember where or why, but Elizabeth Jones had insisted on her boys being allowed in the sick room. Their father was a respected merchant, able to afford a housekeeper for his modest home. Little did they know he had gambled it all away. Agnes, the housekeeper, had tried to argue with Elizabeth, but to no avail. She dutifully brought the boys to their mother.

Elizabeth spoke to Liam first, asking him to look after Killian. “You are all he has left,” she had said. He now realized his mother had known their father wouldn’t stick around. She gave Liam a ring with a garnet stone, hanging on a chain. She slipped it over Liam’s head, saying, “This ring will always bring you safely home.” Liam had nodded solemnly and vowed that Killian would always be safe.

“Killian,” Elizabeth had called, gesturing to her youngest son. Killian stepped to her bedside, unable to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Liam was strong, but he was weak. “Killian, you have more love in your little finger than most people have in their whole bodies. When you love, you love fiercely, with all that you are. That is rare, my son. And it is strength. It will make you a hero some day.” At this, she took Killian’s freckled face in her hands. “No matter what happens, Killian Jones, no matter what mistakes you make – and we all make some – never forget that you are destined to do heroic things. Promise me you won’t forget.”

“I won’t mother,” Killian had sobbed. Then he had thrown his arms around her. Elizabeth had held him close, drawing Liam into the hug as well.

“Forgive me boys, for leaving you.” She wept. “I don’t want to.”

“Of course we forgive you, mother,” they had both declared. And the next morning, she was gone.

Killian looked up now at the man in the moon. He didn’t have a problem for him, not exactly. More a question. He realized he had broken his promise to his mother. He had already forgotten that he could be a hero. Because his mother was the only one who had ever seen that in him. So, with her gone, he had forgotten. Liam loved him, he knew without a doubt. But he always had the nagging feeling he was letting his brother down. “Why are you always getting into trouble, Killian?” “Can’t you keep your thoughts to yourself, Killian?” It was always something. So Killian Jones looked up at the moon and asked one single question as he closed his eyes.

“Will anyone ever see me the way my mother did?”

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

Killian’s eyes blinked open. He must have fallen asleep on deck. But – something wasn’t right. The surface against his cheek was smooth and cold, not rough and damply warm like the wood of the ship. Someone was saying something to him. . .

“Sweetie . . . come on, sweetie, you need to wake up and get off the bus.”

Wait . . . what? Everything was off. The woman’s strange accent, calling him sweetie, and . . . what the bloody hell was a bus?

Killian jolted up, looking frantically around him. In front of him was a plump woman, middle aged, holding what looked like a rectangle of smooth wood.

“Wh-where am I?” he stuttered. He looked around him ��� it was all so strange. Two rows of leather benches with an aisle down the middle. And the entire thing was encased in some kind of metal? What was this place?

The woman in front of him chuckled. “You’re at the Valentine’s Day party. All the other children are already inside. You must have fallen asleep.” She looked down at her piece of wood. “Now, what is your name? I thought we had counted everyone.”

“K-Killian J-Jones.”

The woman frowned. “I don’t see your name here.” She shrugged and looked at him with sympathy. Killian wasn’t sure, but it seemed like she was staring at the cut on his cheek. “You must be a brand new arrival. I’ll add your name – go on inside.”

Killian didn’t know what else to do but obey her. He walked down the aisle towards a door at the front of the vehicle he was in. He guessed it was a vehicle. The seat at the very front had a wheel in front of it. He walked down the steps and onto a smooth, black surface. It was all so strange. He looked behind him at the vehicle he had just exited. Large and bright yellow with four enormous wheels. Bizarre. There were words painted across the side in black. He was grateful that Liam had continued his reading instruction after his mother passed. “Baptist Children’s Home.” A children’s home. A nice way of saying orphanage. Great. He was apparently in a strange realm, separated from Liam, and in an orphanage.

“Better hurry up,” the woman behind him admonished. “The food will all be gone.”

Food! Well, at least he wouldn’t starve. He could certainly eat before trying to get back home. Even Liam couldn’t argue with that. He saw a strip of white through a small green lawn. A path. It lead up to two large doors. From the doors and windows of the strange looking building poured a bright, glaring light. What type of lanterns did they have in this realm to make light that blinding? As he walked nearer to the doors and the light, he could see the kind of clothes he was wearing. His trousers were made of a stiff, blue material. The shirt he was wearing was thin, but soft, with strange pictures. The pictures were like nothing he had ever seen, but he could read the words “Star Wars.” That was odd. Over the thin shirt, he wore a short coat made of similar fabric as the trousers. He shivered a little as the wind blew. Seems orphans wore coats too thin in any realm.

Walking into the bright room was overwhelming. At first Killian didn’t know where to look. Glittering, paper hearts of red and pink were hanging on almost every surface of the room. Children of various ages were all around the room. Some were talking, some were playing what looked like carnival games, and at one long table children sat with more paper hearts, rubbing them with colored sticks. But what finally arrested Killian’s attention was the table draped in pink and red tablecloths in the dead center of the room. Food! He tried to calm himself as he approached the table, but he had never seen so many confections in his life! His mother used to make them shortcake with strawberries for their birthdays, but this! The table was a rainbow of color he had never seen on food before. Cakes, pastries, cookies, and . . . was that chocolate?! Pirates would raid ships carrying chocolate, vanilla, or cinnamon, but in this realm such things must be as abundant as sea water. Why else would they serve such rich foods to mere orphans?

Killian almost couldn’t decide what to try first when his eyes landed on a large, heart shaped cookie. The last one on its tray. It wasn’t just the enormous size of the cookie; it was the fact that it was completely covered in pink frosting. Killian had never had frosting in his life. He had seen wealthy patrons buy cakes with frosting from bakeries, but had never tasted it. He picked up the large cookie almost reverently, his mouth watering.

“Hey, kid! You ain’t eatin’ that! It’s mine!”

Before Killian knew what was happening an older boy who towered over him had shoved Killian and snatched the cookie from him. Killian clenched his fists as he watched the boy cram the cookie in his mouth. The bully laughed, his gaping mouth filled with pink frosting and mashed cookie. Killian felt the anger rising, and all reason flee. The boy was huge, but so help him . . .

“I can split mine.”

The soft, kind voice stopped Killian in his tracks. Forgetting his rage, he turned around to see a girl, not much younger than him, standing there with a heart shaped cookie extended to him in her small hand. She was dressed in a similar manner to every other child in the room: the blue trousers, the cotton shirt (with a glittery pink heart), the thin jacket, but she may as well have been the only one in the room wearing a ball gown the way Killian’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. He had seen Liam get tongue tied over girls, but it had never happened to Killian. Until now.

The girl laughed – a wonderful sound. Then she rolled her green eyes and cocked her blonde head. “So ya want the cookie or what?”

Oh, she was a tough lass. He could tell already. Speak, you idiot! Killian thought to himself, but all he could do was nod.

The girl carefully broke the cookie in two, handing half to Killian. Killian ate his half slowly, relishing every sweet bite. It was almost sickening it was so sweet. Almost. Then he shyly licked his lips and his fingers, watching the little girl. She laughed again.

“Didn’t get many sweets at your last home, huh?” She said. “Same here. My last place it was nothing but bologna sandwiches. That I had to make myself, of course. Guy spent all the state’s money on beer. My name’s Emma Swan. What’s yours?”

He hadn’t understood half of what she said. But he had sense enough to remember what Liam had told him about ladies. Whether a duchess or a slave, you should always be a gentleman when greeting a lady. So Killian took Emma’s hand, bowed over it and said, “Killian Jones, m’lady.”

Emma giggled. “You talk funny!” Killian’s face fell until she said, huge smile on her face, “But I like it!” Then he was elated. This Swan girl would be the death of him.

“You must be new,” she continued. “Is the cut why you’re here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand . . . “

“This home, you don’t stay long. It’s for emergencies. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Emma rolled up her sleeve and showed Killian her wrist. On it was a scar, puckered and red. “Bologna and beer guy. From his cigarette.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but he saw a little wetness in her eyes.

Killian gently patted his cheek. “Glass of rum,” he told Emma with a smile, “he threw it at my head.”

She smiled back and he just stood there stupidly. “I’m nine,” he finally said, “how old are you?”

“Seven,” she answered, then abruptly grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s do something! The craft table is lame, totally for babies. But they’ve got some good games.”

Emma dragged him to a table with little darts laid across it. On the wall behind the table was a dartboard surrounded by shelves of stuffed toys. Emma picked up a dart and showed it to Killian.

“Suction cup darts. Don’t want to give the screwed up orphans real ones,” then she laughed. Seven and already cynical. Yeah, Killian could relate.

She leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear, and he thought his heart might pound right out of his chest. “I want the duck. Think I can do it?”

“I think you could do anything,” he whispered back. And he meant it.

He watched as Emma picked up a dart and concentrated on the board, her tongue sticking adorably out of the corner of her mouth. The first dart didn’t even make it to the board, and the second dart hit two circles from the edge. Emma blew out her breath and narrowed her eyes as she threw the third dart. Close, but no bullseye. Emma sighed.

“Sorry kid, you only get three tries,” said the volunteer.

“Figures,” Emma grumbled.

“I’ll give it a try,” Killian said. The volunteer gave him his three darts. Killian tried to ignore the fact that Emma was watching him, but it was bloody hard to ignore her. His first throw hit the edge of the board and bounced off crazily. He breathed in deeply on his second. He had to win that duck for Emma! His second dart hit on the very edge of the bullseye and he heard Emma cheer beside him. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the bullseye, tossed the dart and …

“We have a winner!” exclaimed the volunteer. “Now, what would you like, little boy?”

Killian didn’t hesitate. “The duck.”

Killian thought it was obvious that he had played for Emma, but when he turned to her and placed the duck in her hands, her mouth dropped open.

“You won this for me?” she whispered, hugging the duck to her chest.

“Of course I did,” Killian said with a shrug. Why wouldn’t he? He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. He scratched behind his ear. “I mean, you did share your cookie.”

Suddenly Emma was grabbing his hand and dragging him along. Again. Not that he minded. He would follow this angel anywhere. The two of them slipped out of a side door and then down a dark hallway. Emma stopped in front of a heavy oak door.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Emma whispered conspiratorially. “You just got here, so you haven’t come to the Bible lessons yet, huh.”

“Bible lessons?” Killian asked, once again confused.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered back. “They’re not so bad. They read you a story, you make a lame craft, play a game. There’s cookies and juice. That’s the best part.”

The only thing Killian really understood was the part about cookies and juice. Food was certainly easy to come by in this realm.

“I mean, it’s the deal with this place. Bible lessons every Wednesday afternoon. But they take us places. I’m hoping I’m still here next week. We’re going to the movies. I’ve never been.”

Once again, Killian had no idea what Emma was talking about. “So what’s behind the door?” Kilian asked.

“Oh, right,” Emma laughed. “The first Wednesday I came here, I had to go to the bathroom. And on my way back to class, I saw colored light shining through the little window here in this door. I was curious, so I snuck in. And . . . it’s sort of my special place. I wanted to show it to you.”

Emma was the one who seemed shy now, chewing on her bottom lip. Killian smiled at her,” I would be honored to see it, Swan.” Emma giggled, and somehow he knew he was “talking funny” again.

Emma pushed open the heavy door and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then she silently motioned for Killian to follow her. When he followed Emma into the room, he gasped. This must be a cathedral! he thought. Each side of the massive room was lined with exquisite stained glass windows. The room was dark, but the moonlight poured through the colorful windows, spilling colored light onto the carpeted floors. “I see why this is your special place,” he breathed.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Emma agreed, “but I have a special spot. Come on.”

And she was pulling him along again. Did Emma Swan ever slow down? Killian didn’t think so. She stopped at the end of a pew and plopped down on the carpeted floor, her back against the wood. She yanked Killian’s hand to sit down next to her. Just a foot in front of them was a beautiful scene in stained glass. It was a man (the same man who seemed to be in a lot of the glass pictures) seated on a rock, surrounded by children. The man’s face seemed gentle and kind, and the children looked at him with smiles on their faces. One little boy sat on his lap, and he had placed his hand on a little girl’s head. At the bottom of the window, in the stained glass, were the words, “Let the little children come unto me.”

“Who is that man?” Killian asked.

“Jesus,” Emma answered. “You’ll hear a lot about him in this place, trust me.”

“Is he a god of this realm?”

More giggling from Emma. “Realm? Yeah, they say he’s god.”

“So you worship this god?” Killian asked, trying to understand fully why this was her special place.

“No,” Emma sighed, “I mean, I don’t really know what to think about him. But the first night I came in here, we had just heard this story. Jesus was really important, so they tried to send the kids away, they thought he was too busy. But Jesus said the kids could come and actually told the grown-ups they ought to be more like the kids.”

“Really?” Killian asked, surprised. Liam was always telling him to grow up.

“Yeah, I know. And then I saw this window, and I don’t know, it’s just – the Bible teacher said Jesus meant that kids believe stuff real easy.” Emma pulled her knees up to her chest. “But I’m only seven, and it’s getting harder and harder to believe in stuff, you know?”

Killian thought of his mother. I believe in everything. What had happened to the little boy who would echo those words back to her? Killian sighed, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“And in this home, they keep going on and on about how Jesus cares for the orphans. And I want to believe that someone cares – anyone – but it’s just so hard. So when I come in here and look at this window, I imagine those children are orphans. And for one moment, I don’t know. I feel . . . I feel . . .”

“Hope?” Killian supplied.

Emma looked at him and smiled. “Yeah.” Then she took Killian completely by surprise and rested her head on his shoulder. They both gazed up at the window for a while in silence, and then he heard Emma softly snoring. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and suddenly felt very, very tired . . .

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

“Killian! Killian, wake up!”

Suddenly, Killian felt someone shaking him. He felt damp wood beneath him and smelled salty air. He groaned. His head felt full of cotton and his limbs felt heavy.

“Killian,” Liam spoke urgently, “we fell asleep, and now you’re burning up. I’ve got to get you back to bed.”

Liam began yanking Killian to his feet, and Killian didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Swan?” he asked. He was on his feet now. Liam tried to pick Killian up, but he wasn’t strong enough. Killian swayed and leaned into his brother.

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, little brother, now walk.”

“The – the swan. With golden hair. She was a little angel.”

Liam chuckled. “You’re fever is definitely back. You’re hallucinating. Besides, you said girls were a nuisance.”

“Not this one,” Killian mumbled as Liam helped him below and then into his hammock. “Bloody brilliant she was. Amazing.”

But Liam was right, his fever was back. Killian spent two more days in a feverish fog, and when he woke up he assumed the blonde angel and her strange realm had all been a dream. And as hundreds of years ground away at his heart and mind, even the dream faded almost into oblivion.

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

Killian and Emma knew that the other parents of Storybrooke were probably rolling their eyes at the idea of taking an 8 month old to a Valentine’s Day party. Although none of them should have been surprised. As orphans, they had missed out on so much. They were determined to give their little girl everything they had missed out on. Children’s events at the public library were one of them.

Belle had always been a natural at running the library, but after becoming a mother she took it to a whole other level. She convinced Regina to approve the addition of a children’s wing, and she kept said wing abuzz with activity. Storytime, laptime, babytime, summer reading programs, and countless special events were a welcome improvement over research to defeat monsters and secret war councils. In the peace that had descended on Storybrooke, the Jones family were Belle’s number one customers. They brought baby Elsa to babytime every Wednesday morning, alternating weeks. Belle had tried not to chuckle the first time Killian brought her. Elsa couldn’t even hold her head up yet, so when they sang the song about riding a pony to town, Killian couldn’t bounce her on his knee like he was supposed to. So really, was a Valentine’s Day party that crazy of an idea?

Granted, Elsa drooled, babbled, and squealed her way through storytime about two rabbits who try to outdo each other with declarations of love. Emma had basically done the craft for her after Elsa tried to eat the glue stick. And now Killian was trying to figure out how to balance a plate of food with his good hand while holding Elsa in his other arm. He was trying to grab Emma’s attention across the room where she was talking to Snow, but with no luck. Suddenly, Elsa made a grab for Killian’s plate, taking a heart shaped frosted cookie into both her chubby hands. She squished the cooked delightedly and then tried to cram the confection into her mouth with both fists.

“Oy, little pirate lass!” Killian pouted. “That was your Papa’s cookie!”

Killian heard a chuckle behind him. He turned to see Emma, holding another cookie out to him.

“Wanna split mine?”

And suddenly, just like that, they both remembered. They both gasped.

“It was you!” Emma exclaimed first.

“I thought it was a dream.”

“I thought you were an imaginary friend,” Emma laughed. She stepped forward and drew her thumb across the scar on his cheek. “Rum, huh? Figures.”

Killian grinned. His hands were full, so he gestured with his head to her wrist. “So that’s why you got the tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Emma said while rubbing her wrist, “the scar never did go away.”

They just stood there staring into one another’s eyes, both their hearts breaking for the little lost girl and the little lost boy.

“But how?” Emma asked, shaking her head.

“I don’t know,” Killian shrugged. “All I know is, I fell asleep asking the man in the moon a question. And the next thing I knew . . .”

“Seriously?” Emma rolled her eyes. “The man in the moon? What did you ask him?”

“If anyone would ever see me the way my mother did.”

Emma cocked her head to one side. “Mmhm, and how did she see you?”

“A boy who could be a hero one day.” Killian’s smile lit up his face as he leaned down to kiss his Swan. But before the kiss could get really good, two chubby hands patted Killian’s cheek, covering him in pink frosting. Killian pulled back, both he and Emma laughing. Emma reached up with a napkin to wipe the frosting out of Killian’s scruff.

“What happened to the duck?” Killian asked. “It didn’t earn a place in your memory box?”

Emma laughed. “You’ll never believe this. Another kid stole it.”

“Stole it?”

"Yeah, the same kid who stole your cookie.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Figures. We were truly made for each other Swan.” And he bent to kiss her againn.

[writing-essence]

Switch Flipped - Sweet Pea

Chapter Three: Glow in Our Mouths

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Andrews!Reader, Reggie Mantle x Andrews!Reader

Warnings: Riverdale being wack 🤷🏻‍♀️ also language

Summary: After your dad was shot by the black hood, Archie has gone off the deep end, little did you expect yourself to question your northside loyalties

Author’s Note: Sorry, it’s taken so long! Check out our masterlist or #switch flipped series for the other parts. Let me know if you want to be tagged! -Milla

Word Count: 2,784

The holidays had come and gone. Christmas trees that were once radiating with the scent of fresh pine had reverted to dry needles covering living room floors.  Forgotten decorations remained in dark corners not to be found until February. The feeling of conclusion washed over Riverdale. Instead of being preoccupied with new shoes or shiny cars families were thankful to be breathing. The Black Hood met his end a biting December night much to the relief of your family. No longer would you be fearful for the lives of those closest to you. For the first time in weeks, you felt safe, like you were home again. Although that didn't stop the irking feeling of evil being hidden under your nose this whole time, walking the same fluorescent hallways of Riverdale High. 

You pushed the nagging to the back of your mind as you sat by your window. Snowflakes fell to the pavement melting upon impact. Riverdale was colder than usual, salt covered every road and sidewalk to keep lives moving instead of cooped up for the final days of break. Your eyes drifted toward a familiar figure exiting the Cooper house, a grey hat acting as armor against the frost. Your mind started to wander back to another young serpent. 

The last time you saw Sweet Pea was at FP's "retirement party." You had shown up in support along with Betty, Archie, and Veronica. While the other three decided to put on a show of their own you stayed back talking with Jughead or sitting with Toni at the bar. It wasn't the most comfortable night. You were obviously out of place in the musky bar, Veronica and Archie's rendition of "Bad World" didn't help. You left to find your brother midway through Betty's impromptu striptease. As you pushed your way passed oggling, drunk men, your face crashed into someone's chest. Your eyes trailed up to meet a familiar smirk.

“Easy there, watch where your going Princess,” Sweet Pea spoke over the slow music. You shook your head, embarrassed.

“Did you see where my brother went?” You attempted to look over his shoulder. He leaned back against the poster covered wall and motioned his head toward the exit. “Thanks,” you rushed. Sweet Pea nodded and crossed his arms moving his attention towards the stage. 

The temperamental state of high school relationships made an appearance that night. You had tried to comfort Archie the same he did for you when you broke up with Reggie, but you knew he was still in love with Veronica. After Betty and Archie caught the black hood, they rekindled their respective relationships, at least to a friendly degree. Balance restored in Riverdale, or so it seemed. 

“Students of Riverdale High, this is your principal speaking. E-mails have been sent to your parents, but effective immediately, Southside High School is shut down. Its students will be transferred to other schools in the district, including this one,” the second Weatherbee’s monotonous voice flooded through the intercom chaos ensued. 

The usual hushed highschool chatter amplified to the thousandth degree. There was a tension flooding the hallways. It was to be expected. The northside and southside are seemingly two completely different cultures, cultures that in most people’s eyes should be kept separate. You never understood the hate toward the southside. Yes, it wasn't as pretty as the neighboring northside suburbia, but the people living there are the same as everyone else. It’s not like anyone made an effort to help “clean up” the southside anyway, so what gives them the right to judge the people for doing their best to navigate what northside politicians gave them? Your dad played a significant role in your acceptance of the southside. 

Fred Andrews loved his town almost as much as his family and not just one half of it. He welcomed southsiders, namely a few Southside Serpents with open arms to his construction company. Fred never took an issue with the wrong side of town. Although he would never let you travel there alone, you had visited Jughead at the Twilight Drive-In countless times. It had an unmistakable charm; not even the most clean-cut northsider could refute. Now that it shut down the southside’s reputation went further downhill.

When Veronica asked you if you would help her greet the new Southside High students and try to make them feel comfortable walking into the Bulldogs den you jumped at the chance. She knew you would. While you were ecstatic for Jughead to return you couldn't help but hope he’d have his new rag-tag trio following behind him. 

Things had been weird in the friendship department ever since you and Reggie split. Of course, Midge was still your rock, but Moose didn't have much of a reason to talk to you anymore. It was a weird feeling. Reverting to social status, you hadn't felt since the 8th grade. No more cheering for your friends at football games and treating them to a victory dinner at Pop's. No more rides to school from Reggie when it's raining.  No more cozy couple's corner to sit at during lunch. It was the little things that caught you off guard.  And you felt bad for Midge who was stuck in the middle of it all. You didn't want her to have to choose between sitting with Moose near Reggie or help you find a new domain to eat lunch.

A piece of you wished nothing ever changed, but the rest of you saw this as an opportunity to grow. What better way to grow than by befriending Jughead's southside pals? They seemed nice enough the few times you met them. And knowing the mentality of Riverdale High, they'll need a northside ally. Not even a minute into Veronica’s introduction to the new students, the cavalry rolled in.

"Listen up, Raggamuffins," Cheryl started. You bit back a laugh at her attempt to sound intimidating regarding your school's above average GPA. She continued spewing her fascist regime until Toni challenged her. Before anything more could come of it, Archie decided to try and diffuse the situation. You were proud of your brother; he was starting to relax back into the open-hearted Archie you knew.  Your admiration for your brothers change of agenda was cut short.

"You don't speak for the Bulldogs, Andrews," Reggie butted in. "And need I remind you, these greaser-snakes showed up at your place trying to kick your ass," he said with a hand on Archie's shoulder glaring towards Sweet Pea and Fangs. You noticed Sweet Pea's face contort into venom as he pushed forward at Reggie. Before another rumble broke out, you spoke up.

"A fight that Archie started in the first place," you looked apologetically towards your brother for throwing him under the bus. Reggie looked back at you almost bewildered.

"You're really defending these thugs?" He waved his finger at the group. You took a seething breath pushing your way in front of Reggie and Archie. 

"Thugs? Reggie?" You couldn't help but snort at the irony, "have you seemed to forgotten who Riverdale High's resident drug dealer is?" With each word, your tone got sharper. You hadn't breathed in Reggie’s direction since the break. You didn't have the patience. "Apologize. Now," you crossed your arms.

Reggie looked at you as if you had a third head. His mouth floundered searching for his next attack as he glanced between you and the motley crew. You noticed Sweet Pea stepped forward breaking free of Toni and Jughead's grasp.

"I'd listen to the princess if I were you," Sweet Pea glared at Reggie. The bulldog snarled in return ready to lunge. Before he got the chance, Veronica cut in, followed by the bellow of Weatherbee.

The two forces dissipated in opposite directions. You and Veronica lead the southsiders and fellow members of the welcoming committee to the student lounge where you could finish handing out schedules and assigning tour guides in peace. Veronica made it halfway through the list.

"Who would care to show Sweet Pea around fair Riverdale?" She lifted her eyes above her reading glasses at the clump of clean-cut teens. Whispers tangled throughout the group as they stared at the brooding boy. Shaking your head at their shallowness, you stepped forward.

"I'd love to," you smiled at the surprised serpent. "C'mon Sweet Pea," you said walking out of the safety of the lounge. The two of you walked in silence as you showed him to his first-period and second-period classes. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable. Neither of you knew what to say. You weren't exactly friends, but not strangers. While walking, you glanced up towards the clock. Six minutes before the bell inevitably rang you stopped short of Sweet Pea's giant steps. He mirrored your sudden halt.

"Um, the bells gonna ring soon, do you maybe want to pick this up during lunch?" You offered. Sweet Pea retuned a hint of a smile and agreed, taking a last look at the room numbers on his schedule before folding it and putting it in his jacket pocket. "Cool, I'll meet you back in the student lounge," stepping back you parted ways.

You tapped your pencil between your fingers on your musty textbook. History seemed especially historical today. Your teacher droned on, dust practically collecting on every word she said. All you could think about was finishing touring Sweet Pea. You were excited to see new faces around Riverdale High. Even now you looked toward your left and spotted washed out pink hair. Finally, the bell snapped you out of your gaze, and you swiped your supplies back in your bag. 

You caught up with Toni in the hall as you both headed to the lounge. She plopped down in the chair next to Fangs who was already talking to Kevin by the time you arrived. Not too long after Sweet Pea took a seat next to Kevin while Jughead took his place in the center chair. Josie and Veronica approached the gaggle of teens to made small talk and introductions. Before any meaningful conversation commenced Weatherbee barged in.

“You guys!” He commanded while pointing. We all shared glances of confusion. “Yes, you, come with me.” He promptly exited the doorway. Shrugging, we followed him to the middle of the hallway where a previously sparkling Bulldogs logo remained on the floor. As we looked closer, a green squiggle revealed itself to be a poorly drawn Serpent, tragically mimicking the same one on Jughead’s jacket. “Now! Which one of you defaced our school seal with this graffiti?” He asked pointed at the leather-clad teens.

“This is what they do, principal Weatherbee,” started Reggie in a matter of fact tone. “They tag their turf,” he smirked eyeing the tallest serpent. 

That smarmy son of a bitch. “God Reggie, could you be any more transparent?” Veronica took the words right out of your mouth. Weatherbee decided on banning all serpent paraphernalia, including tattoos. At this moment you thought Sweet Pea might be regretting the placement of his own. When everyone retreated back into the lounge, you stood your ground staring at Reggie. Weatherbee and the spectators had continued about their business. 

"What the hell Reggie," you were the first to say something. 

"I don't know what you mean Y/N," he replied feigning innocence. 

"There's only one person in this school with a car fast enough to get to the store and back with still enough time for an amateur art project during his free period," you deducted. "What's your problem with them?"

"They don't belong here," he tried to reason, "they're bad news." 

"You don't know a thing about them, Reggie!" Your arms raised up in exasperation. He continued going off on his wrong side of the tracks rant. Most of it muddled through one ear and out the other as you squeezed your eyes shut pinching the bridge of your nose. Then you heard it.

"Babe, c'mon you can't-" Reggie attempted, but you cut him off.

"You don't get to call me that," your voice sounded hollow, "you're, not my boyfriend anymore Reggie. You made that choice yourself." 

He didn't get a say in what you chose to do or who you chose to associate with. Without bothering to hear his reply you backed away from him. The person in front of you wasn't the bright-eyed boy you fell for. He was infected with the pain of loss and neglect which contorted into a hatred for people who threated the one slice of normalcy he had left. You wouldn't let him pass that virus to you. As you stepped through the doorway of the student lounge, you didn't notice a certain Serpent eyed the confrontation through the wall of windows. The leftover scowl on your face forced itself into a mildly pleasant smile. You walked up to Sweet Pea determined to finish his tour. He swiftly dug the tattered schedule from his pocket and followed you through the halls. 

"We have math together 4th period," you said stopping by the door to the dreaded classroom. "There's an empty seat by me after some kid transferred to Seaside. You can sit there if you want? Um, I mean you don't have to it's just an option if you-" you rambled worried you were being to forward.

"Thanks," he stopped you gently. 

You nodded curtly and continued with the tour. Your hands clasped in front of you twiddling with your fingers. You were nearly finished. After showing him the gym, all you had left was the library. You took your phone out of your pocket smiling triumphantly, still 10 minutes to spare before the end of lunch. Looking up to your side you noticed Sweet Pea was staring at you, he was biting the inside of his cheek.

"Do you have a question about anything," you asked suspiciously. It took him a few moments before he concluded what he was going to say.

"What was with you and that Bulldog earlier?" he questioned innocently.

"What? Reggie? He's just an idiot," you tried to brush it off. Sweet Pea's brows furrowed, quirking his head to the side.

"Really? It looked kinda intense?" He must have seen you clenching your jaw as he quickly added, "sorry, uh, its none of my business." His hand offered to surrender. 

"It's fine," you smiled reassuringly. "Let's just finish this tour shall we?"

He nodded brightly. You were surprised the way he marveled at the library. His eyes noticeably fixated on the few rows of computers. After that grand finale, the two of you said your goodbyes as you headed towards your respective third periods. Your mind started to wander. Why did he seem so interested in you and Reggie? Was he trying to make small talk? Or perhaps he was taking intel on the enemy? Whatever his motives were the bell disrupted you from sleuthing any further. 

Even the smell of the math class made you sick. The second you stepped foot in that room you were bombarded with the scent of worn out erasers, used up pencils, and tears. All trying to be masked by your teacher's obnoxiously citrusy chalkboard cleaner. You took a seat in your familiar spot second row from the back. You took out your textbook and notebooks, hissing as they slipped from your hands. Frazzled you tilted your head back to the front of the room. Sweet Pea stood next to Mr. Chase, holding back a smirk. He had obviously seen your blunder. Sweet Pea nodded at whatever Mr. Chase told him, taking a textbook from his hand and headed towards you.

"So which one's the empty seat you were talking about?" He said pointing to the desks either side of you. 

"Um, this one," you motioned to the desk on your right, adjacent the window. The boy took his seat, his long legs miraculously fitting under the table. Throughout math you held your head in your hand, struggling to keep up with the chicken scratch written on the board. Accepting defeat, your attention turned to Sweet Pea. His face was scrunched in concentration. His tongue peeked out from his lips as he clenched his hand around his pencil frantically writing away. You were amazed at how the pencil hadn't snapped due to the white on his knuckles. The dog tags around Sweet Pea's neck glinted in the sunlight that flooded through the cracks of the drawn blinds. 

You didn't understand how Reggie could see him as evil or vile. He had been polite and kind to you without incentive that night at Pop's and carried that reputation next to you. Maybe now you had a reason to look forward to math class. 

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[searchingwardrobes]

OUAT Fandom Crescendo: Hope for the Orphans

I wanted to join in with @scribblecat27 's wonderful idea to "re-release" some of our early works in the fandom as a celebration leading up to the finale. I have actually been meaning to clean up this fic's formatting on Ao3 forever, so this was good motivation. Reading over it was interesting. It's nice to see ways I have grown as a writer since I wrote this two years ago. (Hard to believe!) I gave @whimsicallyenchantedrose a prompt wanting to see little!Killian and little!emma meet somehow in canon. I'm sure she would have knocked it out of the park, but I started thinking it over, and this - my first fanfic - was born. I'll never forget how scary it was hitting that post button! And who knew how far it would take me . . .

Tagging people I think may be interested: @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules @shady-swan-jones @awkwardnessandbaseball @shireness-says

When Killian Jones first saw Emma Swan, he had the strangest sensation that he had met her before. It was like a long-forgotten detail that niggled the back of his brain, and just as he began to grasp it, away it slipped like grains of sand. So he was delighted when it had been Emma Swan to volunteer to climb the beanstalk with him. “I was hoping it’d be you.” And as they climbed, he uncannily just knew things about her. That she was an orphan, for one. He wasn’t lying when he said she had the look of a lost boy in her eyes, but he noticed the look after the knowing. “Open book,” he had told her, but he hadn’t the slightest clue how or why.

The longer he knew her, the more he felt he had always known her. Of course, he never voiced this to Emma. He knew his Swan – he knew if he said such a thing it would terrify her. So it wasn’t until the night of their honeymoon, that he voiced it in the dark.

“From the moment we met, I have felt . . . like I’ve always known you.”

Emma surprised him with her response. “You too?” she asked, propping her chin on his chest. He could just make out the green of her eyes by the light from the bedside lamp. There was no fear there, not anymore.

Killian gazed down at her, confused. “You mean you’ve felt that way too?” At her answering nod, he asked, “How long?”

Emma snuggled into his side before answering. “Since the first day we met. I looked into your eyes and thought that I knew you from somewhere. I mean – I’m not saying it was love at first sight or anything-“ he could almost feel her roll her eyes at that notion – “it was more like a vague ‘I’ve seen this guy somewhere before,’ know what I mean?”

Killian chuckled, “Exactly.”

They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating what it might mean. Emma finally scooted herself up to nuzzle his neck. She murmured against his skin, “It’s probably just the whole true love thing.” How far his Swan had come to speak of it so matter-of- factly!

“Hmmm, “he sighed, as she lightly kissed his jaw. “And pray tell, love, exactly what does that mean?”

“You know,” she murmured as she lazily kissed a path across his face, “two souls destined to be together. Kindred spirits who recognized one another immediately, despite all reason. That sort of thing.”

And that was what they decided. The soul mates cliché. After all, what other explanation could there be?

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

  Nine year old Killian Jones stuck his head slowly out of the hatch leading below decks, so only his eyes were visible through a narrow crack. He searched carefully to be sure no other sailors were above deck. He knew, of course, that there was a sailor on watch up in the crow’s nest. But he would be scanning the skies and sea, not looking down below at the deck. Seeing that the coast was clear, Killian quietly slipped out on deck, padding silently to the railing. The wood was cool beneath his bare feet. He leaned over the railing and down at the water below. It was a calm night. He could even see the moon and a few stars reflected in the almost glassy surface of the sea, the image broken only occasionally by the undulating waves. He looked up at the velvet sky and reveled at the sight of so many stars twinkling down at him. He breathed in deeply the familiar scents: salt, seaweed, and damp wood. He listened to the familiar sounds of the ocean and the creaking and rocking of the ship. He felt the cool night air gently fan his flushed cheeks. This was what he needed so desperately after being cooped up for three whole days below deck. Even if the slight saltiness of the air stung his right cheek just a bit.

“Killian Jones! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Slowly and reluctantly, Killian turned to face his older brother. Liam stood there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking far older than his 13 years.

“I just needed some fresh air, brother!” Killian tried to explain. “I couldn’t stay down there in the hold one more minute.”

“Little brother,” Liam said on a sigh, putting his hand gently on Killian’s shoulder, “you had a raging fever for three full days. The last thing you need is to stand out here, breathing in the deadly night vapors. You must remain abed until you get your strength back.”

Liam tipped Killian’s head up, then turned it to the side to look at his cheek. The deep cut there was still a bright, angry red, but the wound was no longer weeping. Killian saw the regret and guilt in his brother’s eyes.

“It could be worse, I suppose,” Liam grumbled, dropping his hand from Killian’s face. “You’ll have a scar, though.”

Killian decided that the best course of action was to make light of it. “Well, every good sailor worth his salt needs a scar,” he said brightly. Then he poked Liam in the chest, “And what do you expect? I was stitched up by a 13 year old.”

Liam winced. Okay, maybe it was too soon for that joke. But according to Cook, Liam may have saved Killian’s life.

“Well,” Liam replied, poking his little brother in return, “you should have kept your mouth shut, as usual, and refrained from setting off the Captain.”

Now it was Killian’s turn to wince. Liam was constantly berating him for his sass. “Just keep your mouth shut, Killian, and do as your told,” was the seemingly endless refrain from his brother’s lips. And it was true, Killian’s mouth was constantly getting him into trouble. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. A few days ago, the Captain had sent his youngest cabin boy below decks for some more rum. Unbeknownst to Killian, the barrel he had filled the decanter from was not properly sealed. Salt water had seeped in and ruined the rum. The Captain had taken a large gulp and promptly spit it out across his desk. He had roared at Killian, blaming him. Killian should have taken the scolding meekly and gone to get rum from the second barrel, but instead, as usual, he had opened his mouth.

“As drunk as you are, I’m surprised you noticed.”

The Captain had roared even louder and would have knocked his desk over if it hadn’t been nailed down. Instead he threw the glass tumbler in his hand right at Killian, who had ducked just in time. The tumbler smashed into pieces against the wall directly behind his head (really, who uses glass tumblers on a ship? was Killian’s ridiculous thought). Ducking hadn’t prevented a shard of glass from slicing across his cheek. The Captain screamed at him to get out, face red and eyes bulging. Killian had stumbled out, putting a hand to his stinging cheek. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. He wiped his bloody hand on his tunic, and reached up to his cheek again. By the time he stumbled on deck to his brother, his face and cheek were slick with blood again.

“Liam,” was all he managed to say before he swayed on his feet.

The rest was a blur. Killian remembered opening his eyes to find himself laid out on the table in the galley, Liam and the bos’un, Starkey, arguing.

“Cook’s gone to shore for supplies.” Starkey hissed, “What’ll we do?”

“I don’t know,” Liam hissed back, as if he didn’t want his brother to hear him.

“Go to shore and look for him, or a healer.”

“Captain was adamant that his slaves stay on board. He may do worse to me and to Killian if we disobey. Besides, Killian needs help NOW. Look at how much blood –“

“Then what’ll you do?”

“Get Cook’s kit. I’ve seen him do it before . . . “

“Have you lost your senses?” Starkey practically screeched. “You’re just a boy!”

“Exactly!” Liam shot back. “I need you to hold him down. I’m not strong enough.”

Then Killian saw Starkey and Liam bending over him. Starkey and the Cook had taken a liking to Liam and Killian a year ago when their father had left. The boys trusted both men with their lives.

Starkey took Killian by the shoulders. He thought he remembered tears in the man’s eyes, but surely he had imagined that. “I’m sorry son.” Then the pain. Killian writhed and screamed. Then everything went dark.

When Killian awoke, he was in his hammock in the hold. He was shivering all over, and no matter how tightly he wrapped his scant blanket around him, he felt chilled. For three days, he drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard snippets of conversation around him.

“The wound’s turned septic.”

“I was a fool thinking I could stitch him up!”

“You did what you had to, my boy.”

“The Captain is demanding to know where his second cabin boy is. He has work he needs him to do.”

“Then stall, damn it!”

Concerned faces floated in front of him. Someone made him lift his head to drink some water. Extra blankets were tucked around him. It wasn’t until later that he realized his brother, Starkey, and Cook and given him there’s. As the fever raged higher, he started to hallucinate. Calling out to his mother. To his father. And most frightening of all, was the hallucination he had of Liam. His brother was weeping, begging him not to leave him alone. It had to be a hallucination. Liam never cried.

But by some miracle, this morning Killian had awoke sweating and hot underneath the pile of blankets. When Cook had come down to check on him, Killian had asked for something to eat. Cook laid a gnarled hand against Killian’s forehead, and then whooped with joy. He had never seen the man do anything but scowl. He tried to get up, but Cook, and later Liam, insisted he was too weak. The two of them and Starkey were covering for him; the Captain had been too drunk to know his smallest sailor was missing.

And that was why, on this night, Killian had snuck out of his hammock as soon as the rest of the crew was asleep. Staying in bed all day when he had all his wits about him was about to drive him mad. It was dark, stuffy, and hot in the hold with absolutely nothing to do. And now he had no doubt Liam would send him right back down there.

So Killian couldn’t believe it when Liam said, “Ok little brother, we’ll stay up her for a bit.” When he saw Killian’s grin, he hastily added, “But not for long, and you’re sitting down.”

Killian couldn’t argue with that, he was swaying a bit where he stood. The two boys sat side by side with their backs to the railing and looked up at the night sky.

“There’s a man in the moon tonight,” Liam pointed out. Killian looked up. Sure enough, there was the outline of a man’s face. “Do you remember what mother used to say about the man in the moon?”

Killian shook his head and sighed, “No brother, I sometimes fear I am forgetting her completely.”

Liam gave him a small, reassuring smile, “It’s not surprising. You were only seven when she passed. But I can tell you stories. That way, you won’t forget her.”

“Ok,” Killian agreed with a smile.

Liam cleared his throat. “She always said to give your problems to the man in the moon. But you had to make sure to tell him everything, so he had all the pieces. Like a puzzle. Then, while you were sleeping, he would work out the problem for you.”

Killian tilted his head up to gaze at the moon. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew he could remember his mother if he thought hard enough. He had to. Slowly, an image came to his mind. A smile that would light up a room. A turned up nose with a dusting of freckles. He saw her face, still a little fuzzy, leaning over him and wiping his brow. He was four or five and was ill. He saw curls framing the pretty face. Light brown, like his brother. Her eyes? He concentrated harder. They seemed to change color. Crystal blue when she was laughing. A stormy gray when she was arguing with his father. Sea green as she sang him to sleep.

“She sang us to sleep!” Killian exclaimed triumphantly. “And told us bedtime stories!”

Liam laughed softly, “That’s right. She had a beautiful voice. Her favorite was –“ and Liam began to sing haltingly:

Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly,

Lavender’s green;

When I am king, dilly, dilly,

You shall be queen

Roses are red, dilly, dilly,

Lavender’s blue.

If you will have me, dilly, dilly,

I will have you.

The song came back to Killian and he joined in. “I’ll say, little brother!” Liam exclaimed. “It seems you’ve inherited her singing voice.”

The boys continued gazing at the sky silently, lost in their own thoughts of their mother.

“Do you remember what you always asked her at the end of every story she told?” Liam finally broke the silence.

Killian laughed, “Yes I do. No matter what it was about, giants, kracken, true love’s kiss, I would always ask her if she believed in it.”

“And she would always say, ‘I believe in everything.’”

“Aye,” Killian scoffed, “and you would always roll your eyes and say it was silly.”

“Not you,” Liam chuckled, poking his ribs, “you would always loudly proclaim, ‘Then I believe in everything too!’ Momma’s boy.”

“Hey!” Killian protested, but he didn’t really mind his brother’s ribbing too much. His mother used to always says she couldn’t believe two brothers could be so different. Now that his memory had been jogged, more flooded into his mind. The clearest memory was the day his mother died. His father was away, he couldn’t remember where or why, but Elizabeth Jones had insisted on her boys being allowed in the sick room. Their father was a respected merchant, able to afford a housekeeper for his modest home. Little did they know he had gambled it all away. Agnes, the housekeeper, had tried to argue with Elizabeth, but to no avail. She dutifully brought the boys to their mother.

Elizabeth spoke to Liam first, asking him to look after Killian. “You are all he has left,” she had said. He now realized his mother had known their father wouldn’t stick around. She gave Liam a ring with a garnet stone, hanging on a chain. She slipped it over Liam’s head, saying, “This ring will always bring you safely home.” Liam had nodded solemnly and vowed that Killian would always be safe.

“Killian,” Elizabeth had called, gesturing to her youngest son. Killian stepped to her bedside, unable to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Liam was strong, but he was weak. “Killian, you have more love in your little finger than most people have in their whole bodies. When you love, you love fiercely, with all that you are. That is rare, my son. And it is strength. It will make you a hero some day.” At this, she took Killian’s freckled face in her hands. “No matter what happens, Killian Jones, no matter what mistakes you make – and we all make some – never forget that you are destined to do heroic things. Promise me you won’t forget.”

“I won’t mother,” Killian had sobbed. Then he had thrown his arms around her. Elizabeth had held him close, drawing Liam into the hug as well.

“Forgive me boys, for leaving you.” She wept. “I don’t want to.”

“Of course we forgive you, mother,” they had both declared. And the next morning, she was gone.

Killian looked up now at the man in the moon. He didn’t have a problem for him, not exactly. More a question. He realized he had broken his promise to his mother. He had already forgotten that he could be a hero. Because his mother was the only one who had ever seen that in him. So, with her gone, he had forgotten. Liam loved him, he knew without a doubt. But he always had the nagging feeling he was letting his brother down. “Why are you always getting into trouble, Killian?” “Can’t you keep your thoughts to yourself, Killian?” It was always something. So Killian Jones looked up at the moon and asked one single question as he closed his eyes.

“Will anyone ever see me the way my mother did?”

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

Killian’s eyes blinked open. He must have fallen asleep on deck. But – something wasn’t right. The surface against his cheek was smooth and cold, not rough and damply warm like the wood of the ship. Someone was saying something to him. . .

“Sweetie . . . come on, sweetie, you need to wake up and get off the bus.”

Wait . . . what? Everything was off. The woman’s strange accent, calling him sweetie, and . . . what the bloody hell was a bus?

Killian jolted up, looking frantically around him. In front of him was a plump woman, middle aged, holding what looked like a rectangle of smooth wood.

“Wh-where am I?” he stuttered. He looked around him – it was all so strange. Two rows of leather benches with an aisle down the middle. And the entire thing was encased in some kind of metal? What was this place?

The woman in front of him chuckled. “You’re at the Valentine’s Day party. All the other children are already inside. You must have fallen asleep.” She looked down at her piece of wood. “Now, what is your name? I thought we had counted everyone.”

“K-Killian J-Jones.”

The woman frowned. “I don’t see your name here.” She shrugged and looked at him with sympathy. Killian wasn’t sure, but it seemed like she was staring at the cut on his cheek. “You must be a brand new arrival. I’ll add your name – go on inside.”

Killian didn’t know what else to do but obey her. He walked down the aisle towards a door at the front of the vehicle he was in. He guessed it was a vehicle. The seat at the very front had a wheel in front of it. He walked down the steps and onto a smooth, black surface. It was all so strange. He looked behind him at the vehicle he had just exited. Large and bright yellow with four enormous wheels. Bizarre. There were words painted across the side in black. He was grateful that Liam had continued his reading instruction after his mother passed. “Baptist Children’s Home.” A children’s home. A nice way of saying orphanage. Great. He was apparently in a strange realm, separated from Liam, and in an orphanage.

“Better hurry up,” the woman behind him admonished. “The food will all be gone.”

Food! Well, at least he wouldn’t starve. He could certainly eat before trying to get back home. Even Liam couldn’t argue with that. He saw a strip of white through a small green lawn. A path. It lead up to two large doors. From the doors and windows of the strange looking building poured a bright, glaring light. What type of lanterns did they have in this realm to make light that blinding? As he walked nearer to the doors and the light, he could see the kind of clothes he was wearing. His trousers were made of a stiff, blue material. The shirt he was wearing was thin, but soft, with strange pictures. The pictures were like nothing he had ever seen, but he could read the words “Star Wars.” That was odd. Over the thin shirt, he wore a short coat made of similar fabric as the trousers. He shivered a little as the wind blew. Seems orphans wore coats too thin in any realm.

Walking into the bright room was overwhelming. At first Killian didn’t know where to look. Glittering, paper hearts of red and pink were hanging on almost every surface of the room. Children of various ages were all around the room. Some were talking, some were playing what looked like carnival games, and at one long table children sat with more paper hearts, rubbing them with colored sticks. But what finally arrested Killian’s attention was the table draped in pink and red tablecloths in the dead center of the room. Food! He tried to calm himself as he approached the table, but he had never seen so many confections in his life! His mother used to make them shortcake with strawberries for their birthdays, but this! The table was a rainbow of color he had never seen on food before. Cakes, pastries, cookies, and . . . was that chocolate?! Pirates would raid ships carrying chocolate, vanilla, or cinnamon, but in this realm such things must be as abundant as sea water. Why else would they serve such rich foods to mere orphans?

Killian almost couldn’t decide what to try first when his eyes landed on a large, heart shaped cookie. The last one on its tray. It wasn’t just the enormous size of the cookie; it was the fact that it was completely covered in pink frosting. Killian had never had frosting in his life. He had seen wealthy patrons buy cakes with frosting from bakeries, but had never tasted it. He picked up the large cookie almost reverently, his mouth watering.

“Hey, kid! You ain’t eatin’ that! It’s mine!”

Before Killian knew what was happening an older boy who towered over him had shoved Killian and snatched the cookie from him. Killian clenched his fists as he watched the boy cram the cookie in his mouth. The bully laughed, his gaping mouth filled with pink frosting and mashed cookie. Killian felt the anger rising, and all reason flee. The boy was huge, but so help him . . .

“I can split mine.”

The soft, kind voice stopped Killian in his tracks. Forgetting his rage, he turned around to see a girl, not much younger than him, standing there with a heart shaped cookie extended to him in her small hand. She was dressed in a similar manner to every other child in the room: the blue trousers, the cotton shirt (with a glittery pink heart), the thin jacket, but she may as well have been the only one in the room wearing a ball gown the way Killian’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. He had seen Liam get tongue tied over girls, but it had never happened to Killian. Until now.

The girl laughed – a wonderful sound. Then she rolled her green eyes and cocked her blonde head. “So ya want the cookie or what?”

Oh, she was a tough lass. He could tell already. Speak, you idiot! Killian thought to himself, but all he could do was nod.

The girl carefully broke the cookie in two, handing half to Killian. Killian ate his half slowly, relishing every sweet bite. It was almost sickening it was so sweet. Almost. Then he shyly licked his lips and his fingers, watching the little girl. She laughed again.

“Didn’t get many sweets at your last home, huh?” She said. “Same here. My last place it was nothing but bologna sandwiches. That I had to make myself, of course. Guy spent all the state’s money on beer. My name’s Emma Swan. What’s yours?”

He hadn’t understood half of what she said. But he had sense enough to remember what Liam had told him about ladies. Whether a duchess or a slave, you should always be a gentleman when greeting a lady. So Killian took Emma’s hand, bowed over it and said, “Killian Jones, m’lady.”

Emma giggled. “You talk funny!” Killian’s face fell until she said, huge smile on her face, “But I like it!” Then he was elated. This Swan girl would be the death of him.

“You must be new,” she continued. “Is the cut why you’re here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand . . . “

“This home, you don’t stay long. It’s for emergencies. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Emma rolled up her sleeve and showed Killian her wrist. On it was a scar, puckered and red. “Bologna and beer guy. From his cigarette.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but he saw a little wetness in her eyes.

Killian gently patted his cheek. “Glass of rum,” he told Emma with a smile, “he threw it at my head.”

She smiled back and he just stood there stupidly. “I’m nine,” he finally said, “how old are you?”

“Seven,” she answered, then abruptly grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s do something! The craft table is lame, totally for babies. But they’ve got some good games.”

Emma dragged him to a table with little darts laid across it. On the wall behind the table was a dartboard surrounded by shelves of stuffed toys. Emma picked up a dart and showed it to Killian.

“Suction cup darts. Don’t want to give the screwed up orphans real ones,” then she laughed. Seven and already cynical. Yeah, Killian could relate.

She leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear, and he thought his heart might pound right out of his chest. “I want the duck. Think I can do it?”

“I think you could do anything,” he whispered back. And he meant it.

He watched as Emma picked up a dart and concentrated on the board, her tongue sticking adorably out of the corner of her mouth. The first dart didn’t even make it to the board, and the second dart hit two circles from the edge. Emma blew out her breath and narrowed her eyes as she threw the third dart. Close, but no bullseye. Emma sighed.

“Sorry kid, you only get three tries,” said the volunteer.

“Figures,” Emma grumbled.

“I’ll give it a try,” Killian said. The volunteer gave him his three darts. Killian tried to ignore the fact that Emma was watching him, but it was bloody hard to ignore her. His first throw hit the edge of the board and bounced off crazily. He breathed in deeply on his second. He had to win that duck for Emma! His second dart hit on the very edge of the bullseye and he heard Emma cheer beside him. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the bullseye, tossed the dart and …

“We have a winner!” exclaimed the volunteer. “Now, what would you like, little boy?”

Killian didn’t hesitate. “The duck.”

Killian thought it was obvious that he had played for Emma, but when he turned to her and placed the duck in her hands, her mouth dropped open.

“You won this for me?” she whispered, hugging the duck to her chest.

“Of course I did,” Killian said with a shrug. Why wouldn’t he? He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. He scratched behind his ear. “I mean, you did share your cookie.”

Suddenly Emma was grabbing his hand and dragging him along. Again. Not that he minded. He would follow this angel anywhere. The two of them slipped out of a side door and then down a dark hallway. Emma stopped in front of a heavy oak door.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Emma whispered conspiratorially. “You just got here, so you haven’t come to the Bible lessons yet, huh.”

“Bible lessons?” Killian asked, once again confused.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered back. “They’re not so bad. They read you a story, you make a lame craft, play a game. There’s cookies and juice. That’s the best part.”

The only thing Killian really understood was the part about cookies and juice. Food was certainly easy to come by in this realm.

“I mean, it’s the deal with this place. Bible lessons every Wednesday afternoon. But they take us places. I’m hoping I’m still here next week. We’re going to the movies. I’ve never been.”

Once again, Killian had no idea what Emma was talking about. “So what’s behind the door?” Kilian asked.

“Oh, right,” Emma laughed. “The first Wednesday I came here, I had to go to the bathroom. And on my way back to class, I saw colored light shining through the little window here in this door. I was curious, so I snuck in. And . . . it’s sort of my special place. I wanted to show it to you.”

Emma was the one who seemed shy now, chewing on her bottom lip. Killian smiled at her,” I would be honored to see it, Swan.” Emma giggled, and somehow he knew he was “talking funny” again.

Emma pushed open the heavy door and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then she silently motioned for Killian to follow her. When he followed Emma into the room, he gasped. This must be a cathedral! he thought. Each side of the massive room was lined with exquisite stained glass windows. The room was dark, but the moonlight poured through the colorful windows, spilling colored light onto the carpeted floors. “I see why this is your special place,” he breathed.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Emma agreed, “but I have a special spot. Come on.”

And she was pulling him along again. Did Emma Swan ever slow down? Killian didn’t think so. She stopped at the end of a pew and plopped down on the carpeted floor, her back against the wood. She yanked Killian’s hand to sit down next to her. Just a foot in front of them was a beautiful scene in stained glass. It was a man (the same man who seemed to be in a lot of the glass pictures) seated on a rock, surrounded by children. The man’s face seemed gentle and kind, and the children looked at him with smiles on their faces. One little boy sat on his lap, and he had placed his hand on a little girl’s head. At the bottom of the window, in the stained glass, were the words, “Let the little children come unto me.”

“Who is that man?” Killian asked.

“Jesus,” Emma answered. “You’ll hear a lot about him in this place, trust me.”

“Is he a god of this realm?”

More giggling from Emma. “Realm? Yeah, they say he’s god.”

“So you worship this god?” Killian asked, trying to understand fully why this was her special place.

“No,” Emma sighed, “I mean, I don’t really know what to think about him. But the first night I came in here, we had just heard this story. Jesus was really important, so they tried to send the kids away, they thought he was too busy. But Jesus said the kids could come and actually told the grown-ups they ought to be more like the kids.”

“Really?” Killian asked, surprised. Liam was always telling him to grow up.

“Yeah, I know. And then I saw this window, and I don’t know, it’s just – the Bible teacher said Jesus meant that kids believe stuff real easy.” Emma pulled her knees up to her chest. “But I’m only seven, and it’s getting harder and harder to believe in stuff, you know?”

Killian thought of his mother. I believe in everything. What had happened to the little boy who would echo those words back to her? Killian sighed, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“And in this home, they keep going on and on about how Jesus cares for the orphans. And I want to believe that someone cares – anyone – but it’s just so hard. So when I come in here and look at this window, I imagine those children are orphans. And for one moment, I don’t know. I feel . . . I feel . . .”

“Hope?” Killian supplied.

Emma looked at him and smiled. “Yeah.” Then she took Killian completely by surprise and rested her head on his shoulder. They both gazed up at the window for a while in silence, and then he heard Emma softly snoring. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and suddenly felt very, very tired . . .

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

“Killian! Killian, wake up!”

Suddenly, Killian felt someone shaking him. He felt damp wood beneath him and smelled salty air. He groaned. His head felt full of cotton and his limbs felt heavy.

“Killian,” Liam spoke urgently, “we fell asleep, and now you’re burning up. I’ve got to get you back to bed.”

Liam began yanking Killian to his feet, and Killian didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Swan?” he asked. He was on his feet now. Liam tried to pick Killian up, but he wasn’t strong enough. Killian swayed and leaned into his brother.

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, little brother, now walk.”

“The – the swan. With golden hair. She was a little angel.”

Liam chuckled. “You’re fever is definitely back. You’re hallucinating. Besides, you said girls were a nuisance.”

“Not this one,” Killian mumbled as Liam helped him below and then into his hammock. “Bloody brilliant she was. Amazing.”

But Liam was right, his fever was back. Killian spent two more days in a feverish fog, and when he woke up he assumed the blonde angel and her strange realm had all been a dream. And as hundreds of years ground away at his heart and mind, even the dream faded almost into oblivion.

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

Killian and Emma knew that the other parents of Storybrooke were probably rolling their eyes at the idea of taking an 8 month old to a Valentine’s Day party. Although none of them should have been surprised. As orphans, they had missed out on so much. They were determined to give their little girl everything they had missed out on. Children’s events at the public library were one of them.

Belle had always been a natural at running the library, but after becoming a mother she took it to a whole other level. She convinced Regina to approve the addition of a children’s wing, and she kept said wing abuzz with activity. Storytime, laptime, babytime, summer reading programs, and countless special events were a welcome improvement over research to defeat monsters and secret war councils. In the peace that had descended on Storybrooke, the Jones family were Belle’s number one customers. They brought baby Elsa to babytime every Wednesday morning, alternating weeks. Belle had tried not to chuckle the first time Killian brought her. Elsa couldn’t even hold her head up yet, so when they sang the song about riding a pony to town, Killian couldn’t bounce her on his knee like he was supposed to. So really, was a Valentine’s Day party that crazy of an idea?

Granted, Elsa drooled, babbled, and squealed her way through storytime about two rabbits who try to outdo each other with declarations of love. Emma had basically done the craft for her after Elsa tried to eat the glue stick. And now Killian was trying to figure out how to balance a plate of food with his good hand while holding Elsa in his other arm. He was trying to grab Emma’s attention across the room where she was talking to Snow, but with no luck. Suddenly, Elsa made a grab for Killian’s plate, taking a heart shaped frosted cookie into both her chubby hands. She squished the cooked delightedly and then tried to cram the confection into her mouth with both fists.

“Oy, little pirate lass!” Killian pouted. “That was your Papa’s cookie!”

Killian heard a chuckle behind him. He turned to see Emma, holding another cookie out to him.

“Wanna split mine?”

And suddenly, just like that, they both remembered. They both gasped.

“It was you!” Emma exclaimed first.

“I thought it was a dream.”

“I thought you were an imaginary friend,” Emma laughed. She stepped forward and drew her thumb across the scar on his cheek. “Rum, huh? Figures.”

Killian grinned. His hands were full, so he gestured with his head to her wrist. “So that’s why you got the tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Emma said while rubbing her wrist, “the scar never did go away.”

They just stood there staring into one another’s eyes, both their hearts breaking for the little lost girl and the little lost boy.

“But how?” Emma asked, shaking her head.

“I don’t know,” Killian shrugged. “All I know is, I fell asleep asking the man in the moon a question. And the next thing I knew . . .”

“Seriously?” Emma rolled her eyes. “The man in the moon? What did you ask him?”

“If anyone would ever see me the way my mother did.”

Emma cocked her head to one side. “Mmhm, and how did she see you?”

“A boy who could be a hero one day.” Killian’s smile lit up his face as he leaned down to kiss his Swan. But before the kiss could get really good, two chubby hands patted Killian’s cheek, covering him in pink frosting. Killian pulled back, both he and Emma laughing. Emma reached up with a napkin to wipe the frosting out of Killian’s scruff.

“What happened to the duck?” Killian asked. “It didn’t earn a place in your memory box?”

Emma laughed. “You’ll never believe this. Another kid stole it.”

“Stole it?”

"Yeah, the same kid who stole your cookie.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Figures. We were truly made for each other Swan.” And he bent to kiss her again.