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[countrymusiclover]

39 - To Saving My Husband

Part 40

His Golden Princess

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @dragonixfrye @lover-of-books-and-tea

“Sharing a dark heart isn’t all it is cracked up to be is it, golden princess. You shall join the dark side soon enough.” Gripping his shoulders my eyes fell closed where he lowered me to the floor calling my name.

Shooting upright I gasped sharply for air feeling my heart beating rapidly where it felt like it might jump out of my chest. My hair gets tousled around the front of my face with me gripping the wooden floor with my nails. Footsteps quickly approached to my side where I finally noticed it was Rumple. “Astrid!”

“Rumple!” I stumbled up onto my knees doing my best to catch his body when he collapsed down in front of me. “Rumple what…what happened…how long was I out?”

He clutched his chest over his heart looking me in the eye. “I…I tried to free myself from the hat but your sister…she stopped me. I don’t have much longer, dear! It's my heart. The last human fleck of red... Is disappearing.”

“Your ability to love.” I shuttered under my breath gently gripping his shoulders in my fingers.

His chest kept heaving up and down with his hair falling in front of his face. I could see the terror in his facial expression. He had that same look when we we’re dying from the poison from Neverland. “At least, in the end... I get one last taste. We were happy. We were in love.”

“Don’t talk like you’re already dead. I won’t let you die here. I refuse to raise this child without his father.” Grasping his left hand in my right I gripped it tightly in mine kissing the ring he wore on his finger. “I am giving up on you, do you hear me. You regret what happened with Neal and I know you are terrified you will fail this one but you won’t. Fight for me Rumple…fight for this child.”

He rested a hand to my cheek where I leaned into it putting my other hand over his. “Oh Astrid…I love you. I love you…and I’m sorry for all the dangers I have…put you through.” He rested his forehead agape mine sniffing through some tears alongside me until my eyes landed on his dagger.

“If you want me to give into your power so much then save him….save him you Dark Ones!” I angrily picked up the blade in my right hand frustration boiling through my veins. The vision of the evil side of Rumple was causing him this pain and they could stop it. If they wanted me then they had to save his life.

Rumple weakly put his hand over my wrist holding onto the blade with me struggling to keep himself alive. “Go far away. When the man is gone... Only the Dark One remains. And that is more... That's more dangerous than... You can ever imagi... Aah!”

“Rumple! Rumple!” He collapsed causing me to drop the dagger cursing under my breath running as fast as I could to Granny’s needing someone else to help. Hook, Emma and our parents had brought in an old man claiming to be an apprentice with magic that could help with the purple hat he had.

Hook stood by my sister. “He tried to use the hat to free himself from the dagger.”

The Apprentice bent down picking up the purple hat that I had gotten from the safe behind the painting with the safe handing it to him. “This is not unlike that. We're pulling the darkness from him and containing it.”

“Does that mean that his heart will be healed?” I questioned him, grabbing my hands in Rumple’s left staying on my knees sniffing through some tears praying that he could actually save him.

The old man looked down at me and then to the others. “Perhaps... If the strength is there. This is more dark power than the hat has ever been asked to contain.”

“Do what you need to do.” My sister replied, moving to rest a hand on my shoulder.

The Apprentice reached into my husband’s heart pulling out his heart showing the others that it was black as the clothes Regina used to wear before the first curse was broken. He then picked up the magic hat mumbling some words from an ancient spell. "Purest evil, blackest bloom, darkness, too, can find its doom. Never dying, but contained, bound inside the falcon's chamber, shorn of anger, thornless danger, there forever to remain." The hat turned his heart completely white before he pushed it into his chest. “Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One for centuries. His return to the man he used to be will not be easy. This will preserve him until we discern if we can help him.”

Closing my eyes I put my fingers on his neck feeling a weak pulse until the tiny box started shaking right with the darkness bursting outside and straight inside the older man. My sister launched her light magic into his chest knocking the darkness out where it broke through the door of the shop going outside. “Mom, dad! Go after it! Go! I'll be right there. Help me make him comfortable.What was that?” My sister spoke up.

Our parents and the others left the shop with me and Emma lifted the older man up and then laid him down on the cot in the back room with him struggling to stay awake. “Long before... Your stories began... The sorcerer battled the darkness. He was able to keep it from consuming the realms. He tethered it to a human soul that could be controlled with a dagger.”

“The Dark One.” My sister and I both declared together softly.

He mumbled out. “The sorcerer is the only one with the power to destroy the darkness once and for all before it destroys everything.”

“Where is he? Who is he?” My sister asked while I glanced over my shoulder seeing my husband laying on the wooden floor.

The Apprentice closed his eyes before my sister rushed outside. “He's far, far from here. Find him. His name is... Merlin. You must... Stop... The darkness. Find... Merlin.” Snatching the dagger up from the wooden floor I bursted through the red door seeing Hook and our parents just standing in the middle of the street.

Mom looked around frantically standing beside our father. “It just disappeared into the night.”

“The Dark One... It's no longer tethered to the Crocodile.” The pirate replied with me clutching the dagger in my hands.

Regina and Robin Hood walked up to us confused at what was going on. “What?! Where the hell is it?”

“It hasn't gone anywhere. The darkness... It's surrounding us.” Emma glanced around while I ran up to her being able to sense it surrounding us. The wind blows my hair in my face with a harsh kick to my stomach from the baby.

Regina glanced up to the night sky getting surrounded by a web of darkness with it trying to claim her as the new Dark One. ““Regina! What's it doing?!” Robin shouted, taking a step backwards.

“What darkness does... Snuffing out the light.” My sister held her hands up knowing that she had to do something.

“I'm not gonna let it.” Robin attempts to run forward but the darkness throws him back.

My sister turns towards him with me feeling some pain go to my head like it had a few hours ago. The dagger in my hand started shaking where I death gripped it in fear that it would launch away. “That's not gonna work on this thing! The Apprentice told me we have to do what the sorcerer did! We have to tether it to a person to contain it!”

“Emma!” Mom shouted seeing my twin running up to the former evil queen.

Regina shook her head no with the darkness still around her. “No! There has to be another way!”

“There isn't. You've worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed.” My sister paused knowing that she needed to do something.

Our father reached out with his freehand. “No!

“You figured out how to take the darkness out of me once. You need to do it again... As heroes.” My sister turned slightly towards our parents seeing that I was holding onto the dagger in my hand. She ran forward reaching out for it begging me. “Astrid give me the dagger. I will take the darkness before it takes control of her.”

Shaking my head I hug the blade closer to my chest moving my gaze back over to Regina. I couldn’t resist the visions that I had seen. I was attracted to Rumple before I saw he was good too. “I can’t do that, Emma. I have seen a vision where I became the Dark One…I have to do this.”

“I am your sister. I can take it so you don’t have to.” She reached forward again but I raised my hand, freezing everyone in place so they couldn’t stop me.

Blinking my eyes for a second the vision of the enchanted Rumple appeared in front of where Regina was still dealing with the darkness. “Excellent dearie. Now take that dagger and become who you are supposed to be.”

“This isn’t my destiny, Dark One. I am doing this to save my husband and my family. And mark my words I will find Merlin and destroy you!” Running forward I shoved the end of the dagger into the cloud of darkness hearing a lightning snap. The darkness surrounded me where I grunted seeing that everyone was unfrozen before the darkness swept me and into the air disappearing. Seconds after the dagger fell onto the ground with the name Astrid Swan-Gold engraved across it.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[jordanstrophe]

Going Once, Going Twice, part 3

CW: Whump, Auction Whump, Pet Whump, Trafficking, Slavery, Restraints, Cages, Manhandling, Gag, Trauma, A Pet being “chipped” through the wrist

((Overall, Peter just kinda having a rough night. Fluff will strike eventually.))

Masterlist

The room was distant, his body felt numb. He couldn’t feel the tears staining his face, or his feet being drug across the floor. He could only feel the hands wrapped around him, pulling him along, but even they felt unreal. 

In an instant, it felt like someone slammed his body against a wall. His vision jostled and his body ached. He opened his eyes, and realized he was laying on his side, he had been tossed in a large metal bar cage. He was too shaken and dizzy to try and sit up to look around. He was just tired. Tired, and hungry, and cold... And apparently, sold.

“Oh have mercy...” Winola crumpled into a seat backstage. She buried her face within her trembling hands. When she opened her eyes, there was a glass of water hovering in her vision. 

“Thanks Neal...” She muttered, taking the glass from his hand. “So... He did it.” Neal shrugged.

“Yeah, He did it. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to ask that of him, but the Baron...” She shuttered.

“Ma’am, pardon me, but you shouldn’t have gotten involved in that.” Neal tsked.

“Quiet now, I know what I’m doing. And besides, Rob owed me a favor.” 

“Winola!” Robert rasped, trying not to raise his voice, speed-walking past the workers backstage, who all had eyes on him. The man who had fought the Baron, and won.

“Ah! And there’s our lucky winner now. Congratulations, sir.” She smiled. 

“Is an explanation free? or do I have to pay millions for that as well.” Robert sassed.

“Oh hush you, now come on over.” She waved, pulling him over into her room. Neal guarded the door from the outside, as Winola slowly draped herself in a old rocking chair with a groan. Robert leaned his shoulder against a wall with his arms crossed expectantly.

“We both know what the Baron is known for. Buys a pet, they mysteriously “run away”, never to be seen again. He gets taken in for allegations of Pet abuse, pays his way out, everyone forgets, repeat.” She muttered.

“I’m aware. Everyone is aware, and as sick as it is, there’s really nothing we can do about it.” Robert sighed.

“Yes there is. We just did. You saved that boy's life.” She pointed.

“But now what? I own a human being, what am I supposed to do with him?"

“Take him home. Feed him, care for him, love him.” She shrugged. “Okay, I’m being half serious here. I needed someone with the money who could outbid the Baron. If you really don’t want him that badly, I’ll look for some nice owner who can take him off your hands, just give me a week.” 

“So I spent five million to rent a boy for a week? Do you realize how insane this is?” Robert argued.

 “Don’t raise your voice at an old woman, young man. I didn’t ask you to bid five million, you didn’t have to bid anything. Besides, you have money, because you literally don’t spend any of it. I’ll get you paid back as much as I can, but I wasn’t expecting you to drop five million.” She waved. Robert took a deep breath, with his fingertips rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. I’ll care for him for a week, but please try and find someone who will take good care of him, this week.” Robert begged.

“Good, do be patient with him, he’s going to be very frightened. But if anything happens, or you need help, bring him in. I wouldn’t mind seeing him again, he’s a sweetie.” She smiled.

“Hey, I’m frightened too, where’s my hug-” “-Oh shut it.” She snapped, chuckling at him. 

“You bonded with him. Didn’t you?” Robert sighed. She quickly struggled to her feet, shooing him out the door “Go on now and collect your prize.” She waved, shutting the door in his face while chuckling. “Give those two a week and he’s going to bond with him too.” She giggled to herself.

<><>Later<><>

A loud clattering sound woke him. His vision was flipped from laying on the floor, but the could make out a man opening his cage, and was standing at it’s entrance. Reality struck, as arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him to his feet. All he could do was whimper as he placed in a hard metal chair. He gasped as it felt like dozens of hands grabbed him at every side, strapping his arms, legs, chest and waist down. One of his arms was specifically strapped out further, twisted upwards. He panicked, but before he could even cry out, his jaw was wrenched open as a wooden bar was shoved between his teeth. 

“Don’t move.” A voice growled. His sight was blurry with tears, but he could see someone looming over him, with something cold pressing hard into his wrist.

 “W--Wai-AAAAA!” He screamed, his arm shooting with sharp pain. It felt like someone had just impaled his wrists with a sharp spike. He bit down on the wooden bit hard, desperately trying to rip his wrists away, biting back the rest of his cries. His wrist was then gently wrapped with a white bandage and he was given a rough pat on the cheek. His breath shuttered, as he sobbed, his cries muffled.

“Sir! He’s all ready for you.” The man set down the chipping gun, waving Robert over who was just now showing up. Robert shot a glance at the young man who now apparently belonged to him, restrained, sobbing, twitching, hyperventilating. His wrist slightly bleeding through a fresh new bandage.  

‘’He’s just been chipped, and I see here he’s been fully paid for. Must have really wanted this one, huh?” The man chuckled. “If you need any help getting him to your car, we have a transport team that can take him, if you have a cage or a trunk set up in the vehicle.” The man said.

“I-I.. That won’t be necessary. I think I’ll handle him on my own, thank you.” Robert shuttered.

“Oh! Well that’s new... In that case, do you have a muzzle and restraints? Perhaps you would like him sedated?” The man asked, quite casually.

“What? No! None of those, I’ll walk him, if that’s fine.” Robert argued.

The man broke down laughing hysterically, Robert would have felt flattered if he had said something funny, which he hadn’t. 

“You uh... You didn’t come very prepared, did ya?” The man laughed, wiping away a tear. “Pets who have just been sold are always shaken up, so they tend to be stubborn, sometimes even aggressive. I highly suggest at least a muzzle and straps, sir.” The man huffed.

As convenient as that would be, Robert liked to think he was a decent man. He didn’t want to manhandle a traumatized boy, he just looked so scared... He just needed some time and space, and he would come around when he was ready... Goodness what was he doing. He was already planning strategies on how to handle him when he got home. It was only going to be a week at most.

“I’ve got it, really.” He said, as Peter was unstrapped from the chair, wooden bit pulled from his teeth, but the cuffs stayed, with a firm hand holding him down. “In that case, keep the cuffs. You paid enough already. Besides, something tells me you might need them.” The man chuckled.

 Robert bent down in front of Peter and put a gentle hand on his knee. “Hi there.” He smiled. Peter was gasping for air, trembling, holding his wrist tightly with his bound hand. It was around three AM, he was exhausted, slightly nodding off, but still in shock. “I’m just going to pick you up okay?” Robert asked. 

Peter looked up at him, was this the man who owned him now? He couldn’t see him in the darkness of the crowd, but he recognized his voice. The same voice shouting millions in his name. He yelped when he was picked up in the man’s arms, the pain in his wrists, fear and adrenaline combined kicked his defensive instincts hard, and before he could even stop himself, he bit the man’s shoulder.

Hard.

“Sir! This is why we use the muzzle!’’ The man yelled, running over to help.

“No!” Robert yelled, not giving the man a chance to touch him. “It’s-It’s fine... He’s not hurting me, he just has a latch on my coat...’’ Robert grunted.

Peter’s could feel the vibrations in the man’s neck as he spoke. He wanted so badly to just let go and crumble at the man’s feet, apologize and beg for mercy. But he couldn’t move. The shock kept him frozen, being carried bridal style, bound wrists gripping the man’s coat collar, teeth biting into his shoulder and mouth full of material.

“It’s alright...” Robert whispered to him, readjusting his grip around his trembling figure. He carried him through the parking lot, it was pitch black out, with only the streetlights luminating the vehicles around. He could make out distant scenes of other buyers loading their new Pets, some being thrown in a trunk, while some vehicles had entire cages in the pickup. The air was frozen, he could feel the man shaking uncontrollably in his grasp. He could only pull him in close to his chest, hopping that provided some warmth. 

He opened the back of his pickup truck and climbed in. He laid the man down in the backseat, who still had a death grip on his coat shoulder.  He placed a hand on his tear-soaked cheek. 

“I’m letting you go now, so can you let go for me too?” He soothed, the man’s eyes looked up at him pitifully, almost apologetically. Robert sighed as he unbuttoned his coat, and shuffled it off his shoulders. The man came off him along with his coat, as he laid him down and tucked the rest of his coat around him. He climbed into the driver's seat and glanced back. He still had his jaw locked onto the coat, but his eyes were half closed. 

“It’s okay. Just try and get some sleep, everything’s alright.” Robert soothed, turning up the heat in the car, as he was also shivering. He hoped the man would be tired enough he wouldn’t cause too much trouble for the first night. 

(press X to doubt)

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @yet-another-heathen @sillypizzazineoperator @freefallingup13 @alien-octopus

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ *:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (4/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Four

She curses him under her breath a half dozen times before she starts yelling obscenities in the middle of the living room.

He was right and she's not incredibly surprised by it, but she is still stubbornly frustrated regardless.

She stumbles to the couch and clutches at her leg.

The crack had been loud and out of nowhere. 

She'd been in the middle of getting back from the laundry line, having finished folding and putting everything back, intending on finding a new home for the clothes pins. And then it happened, sending her to the floor in an instant.

She's a little surprised the kid hasn't caught on to her distress. Henry is currently lying in his bundle of pillows dressed in a cloth diaper fashioned from one of Killian's shirts.

Emma whines. She's fairly certain she's re-fractured the break and now he's going to come back and have to reset it. Damn him.

The thing about her leg being broken is that it really, really shouldn't be. The old fashioned ship was an insane choice for a family cruise to begin with, and Emma getting flung like she was from her spot on the upper deck was an act of insanity, if not impossible.

She grits her teeth and struggles to lie down, biting her lip and cursing more. A part of her hopes he comes back because of the noise, but the other part of her wants him to never come back.

The door opens up, squealing on its way. It's a dramatic buildup, Killian walking into the room, and once he reaches her, he tilts his head.

He's standing there, all dashing and stupid, and she thinks he's savoring this moment.

"Shut up," she growls.

He smirks. "Do you need my help?"

Emma scowls, but then the pain makes her angry again. "Screw you."

He chuckles darkly. His eyes are alight with amusement. "I don't think now would be the time for that, love."

She rolls her eyes so hard she thinks they'll fall out of her head. "How charming. Just do it, you ass."

He slides her up the couch a little so she doesn't hit Henry, and just like last time, he doesn't warn her, and she screams. Emma growls at him when he backs off.

He stares at her for a second. "Better not get up for a while if you want it to heal properly, yeah?"

"And just how am I going to take care of Henry if I can't feed him or change him?"

He looks over at the lump by her feet and sighs. "Teamwork. I'll deliver your materials when he requires them and you'll do the work."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Fine. Whatever." Killian takes a step back. "What time is it?"

"Late."

He turns around and she watches him as he leaves the living room to go into the kitchen.

She scoffs, closing her eyes and draping her arm over her forehead as she lays back, settling into the cushions of the raggedy sofa. Henry fusses at her feet a moment later and she groans.

"Henry," she sighs. "Just for five minutes, can you not need something?"

It isn't fair that she's being tasked to take care of a kid that doesn't even belong to her. It isn't fair that she broke her leg and has had to get it reset twice.

It isn't fair that she's stranded on an island with this man who seems to believe that women are only good for cooking and cleaning.

She just wants to go home, to wrap herself up in a blanket and sit between her parents on their couch, watching some old movies while they discuss mundane crap. She misses talking about mundane crap. Who would've known?

Emma winces as she sits up, her thoughts of home weighing heavily on her chest, settling into the pit of her stomach anxiously. 

She misses home and she misses her family and friends. She misses Neal, of all people, and he isn't even someone she likes that much right now.

Somehow she manages to adjust so that Henry is cradled against her and she sighs. "Hey! Captain Hook! Get back here."

The boots clatter loudly against the floors and she hears him moving things in the kitchen. "Where the bloody hell did you put the bottles?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Top shelf next to the sink."

She hears him yanking the door open and then he puts together the bottle noisily. The man has a nasty habit of being over-the-top loud and it annoys her so much, especially with a crying baby roaring in her ear.

"Hurry up, damn it!"

"I hear him!" the man yells, clearly just as perturbed as she is. "I bloody well hear him! Bloody woman!"

She sighs as she rocks Henry a bit to get him to calm down. He doesn't.

By the time the idiot comes back into the room, she has no patience for anything and yanks the bottle from him hastily. He goes storming off immediately and she hears the front door squeaking open and slamming shut, making her roll her eyes again.

"Yeah, thanks for the help, you jerk."

Emma turns her attention to Henry and successfully gets him to eat and fall back asleep within a matter of twenty minutes. She leaves the bottle on the floor and curls up on the couch as much as she can, closing her eyes and listening to the world move around her.

It’s raining.

She hears the steady threshing of the rain against the roof and a dribbling sound from somewhere she's sure she'll discover in the morning. The night is dark and when it starts to thunder, she's instantly reminded again of the night she was tossed from the ship.

It's chilly in the house so she tugs at her blanket to trap the body heat closer. Maybe she would feel better if she and Killian weren't so horrifically opposed to one another. Maybe she could let herself rest and get comfortable.

But instead, she dwells on the fact that he is a man with his own set of ideas and plans, plans that she interrupted when she washed up on his island.

It isn't her fault that the ocean brought her to him. It isn't her fault that the ocean brought them both this child to take care of.

She wonders briefly what she'll do with him when she gets back to Maine. If she gets rid of him, he'll get sent into the system and-

Emma sighs, shaking her head. She'll find him a home with someone. Maybe her parents would want him. They couldn't have children. This could be a second opportunity for them.

With a little hope blossoming in her chest, Emma turns her thoughts to Neal, to the complete asshole that he is, and tries to justify her answer to him.

He says he's sorry for what he'd done when she was younger. It had been a mess. She'd gone to jail for him. She can't trust anyone, especially Neal. But it's not like she can push him away. He's trying and that's something at least.

A short while later, the front door opens and shutters closed.

She hears Killian huffing and wiping his feet on the rug, then she thinks he takes his boots off, because he comes walking into the living room quietly. He's dripping wet when he squats down in front of the sofa, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

Beside him, he has a wooden something- what she isn't sure.

"I wanted to apologize," he tells her softly.

She can tell he's telling her the truth; his eyes are steady and unmoving and his words don't tremble in the way they might if he were lying. He's cold, clearly, and soaked, which explains the small chatter in his teeth and the wavering in his tone.

He takes a deep breath before he continues, "I've treated you poorly since you've woken and it isn't at all how you should be treated."

Emma blinks at him. She doesn't know what to say, if she's supposed to say anything at all. He's actually being… sweet and it confuses the hell out of her.

"Thank you for cleaning this place. I, um, I've let it fall to pieces a bit and I appreciate what you've done to bring it back to livable standards."

Her heart rate quickens at his words and an unfamiliar feeling of gratitude befalls her. She is appreciated. She is wanted. Her actions have not gone unnoticed.

"You're welcome," she manages quietly.

He smiles softly. "Perhaps we should agree to be civil, yeah? Four weeks is quite a bit of time if we're going to treat each other like we have been."

Emma laughs breathily, drawing his smile up a little.

"And if I'm anything, I'm a gentleman, so I want you and Henry to take my bedroom. I've made Henry a cradle so he doesn't have to be buried in pillows any longer. I'll sleep on the couch."

Emma opens her mouth. "What? No, it's fine. I'm-"

He sets his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Emma, I've treated you poorly and I'm trying to make it right. Allow me this, at the very least. You'll only be here four weeks and I've got the rest of my life to live in that bed."

Emma frowns a little at that, but accepts with hesitancy, sitting up and taking his arm when he offers it to her. They move slowly to the bedroom and he helps her into the bed, covering her with blankets. He sets a fire in the fireplace and then brings the wooden something into the room.

It's a cradle, she realizes, and it makes her heart melt.

Killian stares at the cradle for a moment and she can tell he's thinking deeply about something, but he shakes it off and goes to get the child.

She knows it's not his specialty, carrying and caring for Henry, she knows because he'd been practically yelling at the little boy when she'd first discovered him. So to see him carrying Henry makes her heart warm because she knows he doesn't want this.

Maybe it's his fear of dropping him; a purely male instinct. Maybe it's because he has a hook for a hand. Maybe it's something else entirely, but to see him trying is something she thinks is a rare sight and she takes it in for all it's worth.

Emma helps him settle Henry down on the bed with his bundle of blankets and pillows, holding him in her arms while Killian lowers the little boy into the new cradle.

He's pleasantly asleep; blissfully unaware of anything that's transpired.

"Sleep well, Emma," he says. "I'll be in to help when he stirs."

"Thank you," she says, voice laced with more than just a thank you for helping with Henry.

He stares at her for a moment, then nods once, lips pressing into a line.

He leaves her room with a softened pace, shoulders set in a less angry way, and she releases a sigh, closing her eyes.

It's as if her silent prayers were answered. The man takes a walk in the rain and comes back a renewed person.

She's thankful for whatever it is that got into him, though, and presses her nose against his pillow, breathing in the scent of sea and a little bit of cinnamon, something she supposes must be ingrained in the sheets, because it's his smell and she just washed these today.

He smells okay, she guesses.

/

Killian feels something heavy in his chest. Change.

As he walks through his living room, Killian goes to the bookshelf in the wall and his fingers dance over the leather binding of his favorites. He considers reading because he knows he won't be able to sleep through the night on the sofa, but he decides against the novels.

His attention goes to the television against the wall and he grimaces, taking his fingers through his hair.

In that moment, he recalls Emma telling him about the shortages of food and he finds himself just curious enough to go investigate. Not to his surprise, he discovers the pantry re-organized, tidied, and cleaned.

"There's not enough," he murmurs to himself on a grimace. "Bloody hell, there's not going to be enough."

There's a small stash in the lighthouse, but considering he spends a good deal of time picking those food items off when he hides out in the lighthouse, he figures there's not half as much as there was at the start.

It is in this moment, as he's standing in the pantry studying the shelves of canned food, that Killian resolves to go hungry in order to keep Emma and Henry alive.

[kmomof4]

So I saw this prompt on Tumblr and decided to run with it.

Character A tilting Character B’s chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by B’s mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, B’s heart skips a nervous beat as A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained.

“Who did this to you?”

Aaaaaaaaaand I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaack! With another prompt for you! Hope you enjoy! 

Trope: Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Best Friends to Lovers

Rated M for violence and smut

Trigger warning for physical abuse

Thank you to @winterbaby89 for beta duties and to the CSSNS discord ladies for the insults between Neal and Killian.

ao3 link  under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

“If you come anywhere near her again, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Killian snarled at the sniveling and cowering man at his feet. He spit a stream of bloody saliva out the side of his mouth before turning on his heel and leaving the douchebag on the floor where he belonged.

As he walked away from the ex boyfriend of his best friend, his thoughts turned to her and what he found when he arrived at her apartment this afternoon to hang out.

Killian entered his best friend’s apartment for their weekly hangout date before the craziness of the week descended on them. Between their often conflicting work schedules, they established a Sunday afternoon hangout years ago, just to make sure that they’d be able to see each other at least once a week instead of maintaining their relationship through texts and phone calls.

“Swan,” he called, setting down the takeout bag on the bar separating the living room and kitchen. “I’m here bearing gifts of greasy and gooey goodness from Granny’s.” When she still hadn’t appeared nor could he hear anything from deeper in the apartment, he went looking for her.

He cracked the door to her bedroom wondering if she might be in the bathroom or even still asleep. It wasn’t completely unheard of for her to sleep past noon if she’d been out late the night before chasing a skip. When he saw her empty bed, sounds from the bathroom reached his ears. Running water and something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He poked his head in the slightly open door and went very still when his mind registered what his eyes were seeing.

His best friend, Emma Swan, the strongest and most badass woman he knew, stood before the mirror with one eye almost swollen shut, tear tracks down her face, and a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes widened as they caught his in the mirror as he stepped into the room. The harsh lighting of the bathroom made the bruises that much more ugly against her pale skin. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

He tilted her chin up toward his to get a better look at her face as his thumb delicately wiped away the streak of blood trickling down her chin. He could feel his blood boiling but he knew that he needed to keep a tight lid on it if he wanted to help and not hurt her further. After what felt like an eternity of cataloguing each cut and bruise that littered her face, he looked her dead in the eyes.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered. He was proud of the steadiness of his voice, even if it was quiet and tense.

“Neal,” she whispered right back, her eyes falling from his.

“No,” he barked, “Don’t you do that. You have nothing to fear or be embarrassed about. Not with me,” he asserted, tenderly. He was gonna hurt the man. He was gonna rip his balls off with his bare hands and stuff them down his fucking throat. But that was for later. Right now, his focus needed to be on her. His other hand cupped the other side of her face and his fingers began tracing the apple of her cheek as he waited for her to look at him again. When she did, he asked, “Why?”

“He wanted me to move in with him. We’ve been together six months, he thought it was time. When I told him I wasn’t ready for that, he grabbed me and started going off about you and us and how I’m always more interested in spending time with you instead of him. When he started spewing all sorts of nonsense about how I belonged to him, not you, and he was going to keep me away from you, I slapped him. That was when he really lost it.”

“How did you get away from him, darling?” he asked.

She shot him a self satisfied smirk, that against the backdrop of her swollen and beat up face, was even more beautiful to behold. “I grabbed his junk. Gave it a good twist.” A loud guffaw broke out from Killian’s throat as he threw his head back in delight. Oh my fierce and beautiful Swan. Well done my love, he thought, meeting her eyes again. “Well done, Swan,” he said out loud. “I’m gonna go get some Neosporin to put on your cuts and an ice pack for the eye and cheek bone. Be right back.”

He released her and made his way back to the kitchen where he got the ice pack and Neosporin. He grabbed the takeout bag as well on his way out of the kitchen. Entering the bathroom again, he saw she had finished wiping off the rest of the blood staining her skin. She turned to him with a small smile as she took the ice pack and he removed the cap from the ointment.

As gently as he could, he dabbed it on the largest of the cuts on her cheekbone that was an ugly purple and extended upwards to her eye and in towards her nose as well. “You might want to get that x-rayed, Swan,” he murmured.

“Pfft,” she brushed him off. “I’ve had a broken cheekbone before, I know what it feels like. This may be ugly, but it’s not broken.” She grabbed his hand after he finished dressing the other small cuts and led him out of the bathroom. She laid down on her side on the bed and pulled him to her so that his front was flush against her back. She pulled his arm around her and held it around her middle before she spoke again. “Could you just hold me? Just for a little while? I just… just don’t want to feel alone right now,” she stammered.

“Of course, Swan,” he murmured into her hair. The privilege of holding the woman he loved like this was a rare occurrence. He planned to enjoy every moment she allowed him. He’d been in love with her for years. But as much as he desired for her to see him differently, she never gave him any indication that her feelings were anything other than the love of a friend. And at this point, he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that friendship, even if it broke his heart a little bit every time he saw her.

When her breathing evened out and he knew she slept, his thoughts turned to Neal. Stealthily extracting himself from her, he left her apartment and broke more than a few traffic laws driving over to the son of a bitch’s place. The door opened and he didn’t say a word before his fist collided with Neal’s jaw.

The scumbag stumbled back holding his rapidly bruising jaw. “What the hell, man,” he exclaimed. Killian advanced on him again, this time striking him on the cheekbone where the asshole had hit Emma. “You can’t just come in here and start hitting me, you dick!”

“Oh yeah?” he growled, “Watch me.” Killian dropped into a fighting stance as Neal finally took a swing at him, just grazing his lip, but enough that the coppery tang of blood could be tasted on his tongue. “Do you really want to take on a cop, Neal? Do you? Think about this for a minute. Because if you do, I’m not gonna hold back,” he cautioned. At that, fear flooded the man’s eyes, as he took a step back. But that fear was quickly shuttered as rage took over instead. Neal’s attack was vicious as he started spewing the same type of venom at Killian that he had earlier spewed at Emma.

“You’ll never have her, you bastard,” he bellowed, as he advanced swinging. “You think I don’t see how you look at each other? You think you’re both being so secretive? No one has a best friend of the opposite sex. I know you want her as much as she wants you. And I’m here to tell you that you’ll get her over my dead body.” He was obviously thinking too hard about his next words instead of the fight because his swings were wild and easily avoided. And it was a very good thing too. Once Neal’s words sank in and Killian realized what he said, he dropped his fists.

“What did you say?”

“When?” the imbecile asked, bewildered at the sudden cessation of hostilities.

“Just now. That she wants me as much as I want her?” He couldn’t quite keep the confusion he felt out of his voice.

“Oh, please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You think I’m not on to you? I know that nothing has happened between you because I know Emma wouldn’t cheat on me. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way by keeping her away from you, you fuckwit.” Neal put his fists up again.

The thoughts swirling through his mind of the implications of Neal’s statements nearly made him miss the dipshit’s swing. But he saw red when he realized that behind Neal’s words was an attitude that made Emma a possession instead of a person. And that was entirely unacceptable. He advanced with deadly purpose on the man. “She is not yours. She has never been yours. And she never will be yours, you asshat.” Every statement was accentuated by a punch to the face or a kick to the ribs once he fell to the ground. “If you come anywhere near her again, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Killian snarled, before he left the man where he lay.

~*~*~

Emma woke realizing that where she’d been nice and cozy when she fell asleep, she was now cold. Looking around, bleary eyed, she saw that she was alone in the room. A broken sigh escaped her. Falling asleep with the arms of the man she loved around her was just as she’d always imagined it. He didn’t hold her like that very often, and she had never fallen asleep when he did. And she had to admit, waking up without that physical presence left her feeling bereft. Just then, she heard the front door open. Moments later, Killian appeared in her doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Where were you?” she asked. “And what happened?” she cried, noticing his swollen lip.

He scratched behind his ear in a move that was so quintessentially Killian, she had to bite back her grin at his obvious embarrassment.

“I, uh, had words with Neal,” he admitted. “Well, actually, more than just words.”

“You what?” she nearly screeched, “Killian! Why would you do that? I took care of him! I don’t think he’s gonna be back around after that.”

“Well, he won’t now, that’s for sure,” he acknowledged, smirking at her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I told him if he came near you again, I’d put him in the hospital. As it is, he won’t be moving anywhere very fast for the next week or so.”

“Oh, Killian,” she choked out, “You didn’t have to do that.” She got up off the bed and led him to the bathroom. “Let me look at that lip.” Once she got him under the light, she could see that there really wasn’t anything she could do for it. There was a tiny cut on the inside of his bottom lip. Honestly, the swelling was the worst of it.

“Really, Swan, don’t trouble yourself,” he pleaded, “It doesn’t even hurt.” After a brief pause, he scratched behind his ear again. “Uh, Neal said something…” he trailed away, refusing to look at her.

“What, Killian?” she asked. “What did he say?” She could tell that something was really bothering him about whatever it was. She could only hope that whatever Neal had said to him, it wouldn’t make him look at her any differently. She had told him most of what he had said to her, but there was one other thing that she couldn’t bring herself to utter. It was too big to hope for.

“He said…” he looked up at her, and she was stunned to see love and desire swirling in his eyes. “He said that you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. “He said the same thing to me.” She shrugged. “Well, almost. He said that you loved me and he was going to keep me away from you because I belonged to him.”

“That’s about what he said to me,” Killian admitted, nodding, “and that was when I really lost it,” he whispered, echoing her earlier words. She felt like if her eyes got any bigger, her eyeballs would fall out of their sockets.

Her heart thundered in her chest, but she had to know. “And do you?” she asked, “Love me, I mean?” His eyes bored into hers until they reached the bottom of her soul and found a home there.

“Emma, I’ve loved you for years,” he confessed. “But I’ve always thought that you only saw me as a friend. And I would never do anything to jeopardize that. I’ll take you any way I can have you, as a best friend or a lover.” He reached up and curled a tendril of her hair around his finger and tucked it behind her ear.

She shrugged as she looked back up at him. “Well, I guess lover it is then.” She smirked at him before launching herself into his arms. He stumbled back, unprepared as he was for her leap. It only took him a moment however before he steadied himself as she locked her ankles in the small of his back. She nuzzled into his neck, pressing gentle kisses into his skin, mindful of her cut lip. He carried her out of the bathroom and laid her on the bed. His eyes were dark with desire as he popped the button on her jeans and slowly peeled them off her legs. Once they were discarded, he crawled up to join her on the bed.

“I love you too, Killian,” she whispered. “I have for a long time. But I thought all you wanted from me was friendship too.”

“Oh, my love,” he murmured into her ear, before nipping at her lobe, sending chills down her spine and settling into her core. “Words cannot express how happy I am right now. I’ve wanted this for so long, I’m going to take my time enjoying you, my darling one.”

“Ohhh,” she gasped as his hand reached under her top and stroked her breast. He rose up from her and pulled her tank top off revealing her lace clad breasts to his sight.

“Magnificent, my love,” he murmured. His sensual assault continued as he murmured praise into her skin, sending her to new heights with every touch, every flick of his tongue. “You are a feast for the senses, Emma. Beautiful to my eyes. Your moans, gasps, and sighs are a symphony that I’ll never tire of listening to. Not as long as I live. Your skin is the softest and smoothest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to touch. Your scent…” he inhaled deeply, “I can smell your arousal. And your taste... “ his eyes locked on hers as she nearly quivered in anticipation, “I’ve yet to enjoy. May I, my love?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his as his fingers grasped the edge of her panties and drew them down her long legs. As soon as she was bared before him, he inhaled deeply again before diving in to taste her essence. She thought she would die of pleasure as he lapped at her juices like a man dying of thirst. She soared higher and higher, until his tongue left her opening and she felt it caress her swollen nub, making her shatter into a million pieces.

When she came back to herself, she opened her eyes to find the brilliant blue eyes of the man she loved looking down at her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him down to her for a tender kiss, still mindful of their sore lips. He lined himself up and took her with one smooth thrust. They moaned in stereo at the feeling of rightness, of being complete, in their unity. As Killian began slow, measured thrusts, Emma could feel a second orgasm start to coil in her belly. She grasped him to her as she met him thrust for thrust. He buried his head into her neck as he murmured his regret at not being able to last any longer as his thrusts became sloppy. “Come for me one more time, Emma,” he pleaded, flicking her clit. She felt her walls start to flutter along his length before, with a strangled cry of ecstasy, she plunged into the abyss, dragging him after her into the throes of euphoria.

~*~*~

Killian rolled off of Emma after finally getting his breath back after the best sex of his life. He lay beside the woman he loved and realized that he didn’t want to live his life without her. She was his home. He knew that she’d need some time to get used to the idea, but he wanted her to know that he would always be by her side, if she would have him. So before he could chicken out, he laid it all on the line. Turning to look at the love of his life, he spoke. “Emma, I want you to know something.”

She turned to look at him. “What Killian?”

“I know that this is fast, and that you’ll need time, and that’s okay,” he hurried to add, as he watched her eyes get big and round, “but I love you. And I know you love me. Someday, hopefully sooner rather than later, I’m going to have a very important question to ask you. A question about forever. And I hope that when I ask it, you’ll say yes. Because if there is one thing I want you to know Emma, it’s that I will always be by your side.”

His heart was pounding wildly as he searched her green eyes. “Ask me,” she said.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Ask me,” she repeated.

“Really?” he asked, incredulously.

“You said yourself that you love me and that I love you. Why wait? Haven’t we waited long enough already?”

The grin that split his face felt big enough that he could fit a banana in it sideways. “Yes, we have, Emma,” he agreed, pulling her close and resting his forehead on hers. “Will you marry me Emma Swan?”

“Yes,” she whispered, before he captured her lips with his own, promising forever.

Fin

  Tagging the usuals @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @kymbersmith-90 @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke @thisonesatellite @snowbellewells @stahlop @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @ultraluckycatnd @seriouslyhooked @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @shireness-says @darkcolinodonorgasm

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

[klynn-stormz]

Legally Swan Chapter 2

All right ya’ll, here is the second chapter to my fanfic “Legally Swan” It took me forever to get it on here, but chapter three will be coming here and to AO3 this sunday! Let me know what you think!

AO3: 1 l 2

Chapter 3

Her counselor stared at her in disbelief. “Harvard, you want to go to Harvard?”

“Not Just Harvard, Harvard Law.” Emma corrected smiling.

“Okay, you want to go to Harvard Law. One of the most prestigious universities in the nation. That Harvard Law.”

Emma nodded brightly. This was going to work.

“You realize it is one of the hardest places to get into.” The counselor asked concerned.

Emma stared at her; did she not think Emma knew what she was doing? “I know, I have a 4.0 GPA.”

“Yeah, in Fashion Merchandising. This is Harvard.” She paused and took a deep breath. “What are your backups?”

“I don’t have any backups. I’m going to Harvard.” Emma replied firmly. Her face was determined.

Sighing the counselor knew she was in for a ride with this student. “Okay, you will need excellent recommendations from your professors, an absolutely fantastic admissions essay, and at least a 175 on your LSAT.”

Emma’s heart squeezed; she could feel the excitement bubbling through. “No problem.”

She was ready to study till her eyes fell out. First stop, the library.

---

Once upon a time Emma had been all alone. She didn’t know what family was, what friends were, or what love was. Moving from foster home to foster home had taken a toll on her ability to trust, to let people in and show them her true self. It had taken a few years before she had even given Ingrid that opportunity. When people looked at her the first thing they saw was her hair, they assumed she was easy to manipulate; she knew every blonde joke anyone could come up with, and so she decided to play into that stereotype. People didn’t need to know that she was smart, that she had feelings and a hard life, she only wanted them to see what she wanted them to see, it made it easier to keep them at arm’s length.

Ingrid had changed a lot of that. She had seen through Emma’s act almost immediately, and didn’t any of Emma’s crap. It had thrown her for a pretty big loop, to have someone all the sudden caring about her, and Ingrid loved her. With Ingrid she learned how to love, though she still struggled sometimes with letting people in. Hell, even Neal only saw her as a pretty dumb blonde obsessed with designer things and playing her way through college. She supposed that had been her mistake, letting him only see that side of her for so long. But not all of it was a lie. As a foster kid, one doesn’t have many personal belongings, especially if they’re moved around a lot. So they learned to hang on to what they had with dear life.

Her stuff was not something that Emma took for granted, though she now lived in wealth she didn’t cast things aside. She found that she loved clothes, shoes, accessories, anything she could wear really. Her favorite item was her designer red leather jacket, she took it everywhere with her. Anything she viewed as sentimental she held onto like a dog with a bone. Occasionally it would be time to do some cleaning and clear out her horde of items, she always made sure to donate them to foster homes. Everyone deserved beautiful things. Her mom had taught her about fashion, helped her find her style. And when Emma had balked at the color pink at first, she had insisted that anyone could like pink, you didn’t have to dress drab to be serious.

“Really Emma, you’re judging again, anyone can wear anything they want. If you want to wear pink then I am going to buy you the damn shirt, it won’t affect your snark, I promise.” Ingrid had seen Emma eyeing a pink blouse with white flowers on it, but when she had suggested she try it on, Emma had sneered. Trying the shirt on Emma had felt beautiful.

So, Emma took to fashion and clothes faster than anything else. It was one of the biggest factors in her decision for her major. For a long time, Emma had wanted to be in law enforcement. When she was 8 years old, she had lived with a foster family who seemed nice enough, but they had left her at a park when taking the rest of their family on a picnic. Emma had only gotten there a week prior and didn’t know how to get back, so she sat on the swings and watched as it got darker and darker. Then, out of the blue, a nice lady had approached her and asked her if she was lost and where her family was. In the way of children, she explained that she didn’t have a family, but the one she was living with had left her there. The officer pulled out her badge to show Emma, and helped her find her way home. She had told Emma fun stories of being a police officer, Emma had never forgot it. She wanted to be like the officer and help people who needed it.

However, as graduation got closer and Ingrid’s and her relationship developed, Emma wanted to make her mom proud. Deep down she was sure that Ingrid wouldn’t have cared what her major was as long as Emma was happy, but she still had that fear of being cast aside, so she chose what had bonded her and her mom the most. Clothes.

---

Pulling up to her home she thought about her first time pulling through the gates. A lot of the foster homes she had been in hadn’t been well off, in fact quiet a few had just been fostering for the small stipend the government gave them to take care of the children. Seeing the large looming house, with a long winding driveway and the biggest yard she had ever seen. The house was at least 3 stories, a beautiful pristine white with navy blue shutters on each window. A garden wrapped around the entire house and even the edge of the property. Emma had thought it was something out of a fairytale at the time, and there was no way she believed that Ingrid would keep her. But she did, and became Emma’s closest confidant and her mother.

“Mom, I’m home.” Emma called from the foyer, one of the cleaning ladies let her know that Ingrid was out by the pool. She ran to her room and grabbed a swimsuit to join her, might as well keep her mom at ease while having this conversation.

“Emma!” Ingrid cried. “I’m so happy you’re home for the weekend, it is for the weekend right? We have so much to catch up on.”

Emma smiled at her mom, “Yep, home for the weekend. We haven’t had much time since the semester started.”

“And since that dolt Neal happened.” Ingrid added, she had never liked Neal. “I do hope you dump him before you graduate, he is the worst kind of person and doesn’t appreciate you enough.”

Emma winced, might as well dive right into it. “Neal broke up with me.”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “When? Darling are you okay, I know you cared for him.” The sharp turn from annoyance to concern lightened Emma’s heart a little.

“I’m okay, he- he broke up with me because he’s going to law school.” Emma paused, trying not to choke up at remembering the conversation. “Told me he needs someone serious, smart, with a good family.”

“He did WHAT?!” Ingrid shouted; her face turned red. “How dare that ignorant moron tell YOU he needs someone smart. The man needs someone to do is laundry for heavens sake! And he has the gall to talk about…” Ingrid couldn’t even finish. She had leaped from her deck chair and began pacing around the pool muttering.

“I’m going to ruin him!” She declared. “If that idiot thinks he can insult my daughter and get away with it he has another thing coming.”

Emma decided she should probably interrupt now before her mom started planning Neal’s murder.

“I’ve decided to go to Harvard.” She blurted. That gave Ingrid pause, she turned to look at her daughter curiously.

“What?”

“I’m going to Harvard; I’m going to become a lawyer.” She said with more conviction.

“Why?”

Emma blinked. “Why?”

“Why did you decide this?” Ingrid asked.

“Well, I-I wanted to go.” Emma shuffled. “It’s a perfectly respectable career, and you know I’ve always wanted to do something to help people.”

“But why now? Emma, I know that you chose Fashion Merchandising because you thought it would make me happy, I had hoped eventually you would be comfortable enough to do what you wanted. But I can’t help but fear that this is a reaction to Neal breaking up with you and him going to Harvard. You know I can see right through you, tell me the truth.” Ingrid’s eyes pierced into her.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re right, I want to prove to him that I am worthy.” Before her mom could interrupt she hurried on. “I want to prove that I am good enough for him. Mom he doesn’t think that I’m smart, or serious. This will be my way to show him that I am. And then maybe, maybe he’ll take me back, he’ll realize he made a mistake.” When she was finished Ingrid walked over and hugged Emma tight.

“I’ll support you.” Emma started; she hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “But not for him, I believe in you Emma, I’ve always known that you were meant for greater things that just fashion, and you are going to show him what he missed. But you know what?”

“What?”

“You’re not going to take him back, you are going to realize that you are to good for him, that you deserve someone who loves you for you, not because you changed. You’re going to find yourself at Harvard, and finally see that you are worth more than Neal could ever understand.” Ingrid meant every word; her daughter was going to see herself how Ingrid saw her. Emma wasn’t sure how to react, relief had swept through her at Ingrid’s support, but she wasn’t sure how to convince her of Neal. It would have to wait, she decided, she had plenty of time to deal with that later.

“Now, how can I help?” Ingrid asked. Emma began to explain to her all the requirements her counselor said she would need.

---

Emma hired a tutor to help her study for the LSAT’s. She skipped sorority parties, dances, most every social event over the next few months in favor of studying. While her sorority sisters didn’t fully understand why she would want to do that, they supported her. There helped time her during their workouts, they helped her focus when she was distracted. She had never thought she would have such a group of support, and she didn’t know what she would have done if she hadn’t had it. When the time came for the exam, she was so nervous she was sick that morning. Her sisters helped her clean up, get ready and Ana and Rapunzel waited outside the building while she took the test.

Since she wouldn’t know her score for at least three weeks, Emma decided to focus on her admissions essay. At first, she had no idea what to do, she knew she needed to stand out from other applicants. She talked to her mother about it and got the idea to do a video for it. Her mother hired a professional videographer, her sisters helped choose outfits and write the script. She had even googled was made a good admissions essay. She felt a little ridiculous making the video, but her mom and sisters had convinced her it would be fantastic.

Video:

“Hi, my name is Emma Swan and for my admissions essay I am going to tell you why I am going to be an amazing lawyer.” Emma stood in her favorite red leather jacket, white blouse, and slacks.

“As part of a sorority I am skilled in group settings as well as working on my own. I am skilled at commanding a room, fighting for change, and good reasoning.” The video cuts to a sorority meeting Emma leads about the change they want for curtains. One shot briefly showed Emma punching a guy in the face for peeking through the windows of the sorority, before going back to the meeting.

“It’s come to my attention that the drapes in the front room are see through at night we have enough to deal with without adding in creeps coming around, all those opposed to peepers say ‘aye’.” The whole room agreed and the next shot showed the drapes being changed.

“I have a fantastic memory.” The screen now shows her the grass with a friend sunbathing.

“Emma, do you remember what happened on the Good Place last season?” The video pans out as Emma explained the season finale.

“I am comfortable using legal jargon in everyday life. I enjoy challenging others on their views.” There was a wolf whistle in the background and Emma turned to confront the man.

“In conclusion, I believe in helping everyone, I want to make a change in the world. As a foster child most of my life, I learned that everyone deserves a chance. My mom took a chance on me, taking me in. Now I ask you to take a chance on me too. Because I can guarantee that I will be an amazing asset to Harvard, and an amazing future lawyer.”

---

Emma still wasn’t too sure about the video, the more she watched it the more ridiculous she felt. Would they even take her seriously? She voiced her concerns to her mother, who responded. “It’s not about taking you seriously, they’ll see that in your grades and your score, this is about showing them who you are and setting you apart from the rest of the applicants.” After that talk she calmed down.

Then her score for the LSATs came. She had been at the sorority home most of the day, studying, exercising and trying to distract herself. A scream came from the front of the house, causing her to rush to see what the commotion was about. When she saw Ana waving an envelope frantically in the air while squealing and jumping up and down, hear heart stopped for just a moment. This was it. Emma rushed down the stairs and shakily tore open the envelope. The girls who were in the house had surrounded her, chattering excitedly. Taking a deep breath, Emma pulled out the letter and stared, then she screamed.

“179!!”

The rest of the girls screamed and cried. Everyone congratulated her and they began to plan a party right away to celebrate.

With her score in hand and her admissions video edited, she submitted her Harvard application as quickly as possible. Now she just had to pray that the board would see that she was meant for this.

---

In a room in Harvard the board sat quietly. They had just watched Emma’s video and weren’t quiet sure what to do.

“It’s different than anything we’ve had before.” One of the members put it.

“She has a 4.0 GPA and a 179 on the LSAT.” Another chimed in.

“But she’s a fashion major.” Another argued.

“We’re always looking for diversity.” The first responded.

“Her charity work and extra curriculars are impressive.” One admitted.

“I think we should take a chance on her.” The last in the room spoke up.

The head of the board turned to the screen, a still of Emma smiling confidently at all of them.

“Emma Swan, welcome to Harvard.”

[wellhellotragic]

CSJJ Day 23: A Rather Common Name (1/2)

Whoaaaaa. What’s that? I made words? Trust me, I know, and I’m just as shocked as you all are. It’s been months since I’ve written anything (my poor little book included) but I’m back and hopefully words will continue to come.

I have to send out a huge shout out to everyone at @csjanuaryjoy. Thanks to the mods for hosting this year and bringing everyone together. It’s been so much fun hearing about all of the fics that everyone’s been working on. Now that this is done I’m about to dive into all of them with my greedy little reader eyes. Also a huge shout out to all of the fam in the discord channel. It’s been such a privilege and so much fun to get to know you guys. You all make me laugh daily with the complete randomness. And thank you all for letting me bounce ideas off of you! Also, much love to the wonderful @profdanglaisstuff for chopping this up with her red marker of death (and surprisingly there’s no sarcasm there at all). You’re fantastic for helping me out! <-- See that? No past perfect! 😂

With that super long thank you out of the way, this is a two parter. The back half is coming in a few days on the 28th.

In case AO3 is more your jam

Summary:

She hated him. Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but he was a dick when they met. So why did she tell him about the apartment for rent in her building? And why did she let him in? Let him climb her walls? Why did she let herself trust him when every man she'd ever been with had betrayed her? Why did she think he'd be different?

And why, despite it all, did she still love him?

The hustle and bustle of Christmas had come and gone in the Nolans’ Boston apartment. The tree had been taken down the day after Santa had delivered his presents, yet the lights remained, strewn up in the living room to keep the festive spirit alive. Mary Margaret was insistent that the lights could be recycled into New Year’s Eve decorations. The only concession given to David’s objections was the removal of the brightly colored bulbs wrapped around the railing of their balcony. Apparently red and green didn’t exactly scream New Year’s.

Instead, they were swapped out for some of the trendier hanging lights that she’d seen in all of the design magazines. The same magazines that usually covered Mary Margaret’s coffee table, something to be left up year round. But on that night, they’d only be admired from the living room. When the invitations went out, Mary Margaret had clearly not expected the massive nor'easter coming through. The news said that five inches had already been dumped on the city with no end in sight.

Mary Margaret had always been the perennial mother hen of the group, throwing all of the holiday parties. Christmas and Thanksgiving had come later, after they’d graduated and decided to become adults, but the New Year’s eve tradition had started back in college, right around the same time that David had appeared. Emma hadn’t missed the connection between her best friend throwing her first ever party, and the fact that said party was for a holiday that traditionally included kissing at midnight.

Not coincidental at all.

At the time, Emma had rolled her eyes, never understanding the build up. Always wondering why everyone bought into the idea that starting the year kissing a drunk loser was supposed to set some amazing standard for the next 365 days. Of course, that had been before Killian. He’d blown into her life like a torrential whirlwind, systematically setting her world on fire even as she felt like she was drowning in the sea.

Emma didn’t date. It was a promise she’d made to herself after Walsh. Twice burned, but never again.

Never let people in and you won’t get hurt.

But Killian, he’d snuck his way in while she wasn’t looking, and for the first time in years, she was ready to take a risk. Ready to open the door to her heart. But that’s the problem with opening doors in the storm. Sometimes the wind is so strong that you get blown away in the process.

There’s been an accident.

With one phone call, her entire world was rocked. The storm around her raged as she stood there at the door, rooted to her spot in sheer agonizing fear. Crippling paralyzing fear. The open shutters an invitation for her desolation. The ground shook, knocking her from where she stood. Windows shattered, shards of glass strewn on the floor around her. One piece aside, her heart stabbed clean through.

New Year’s Eve: 2 Years Earlier

“Emma, it’s only twenty minutes to midnight. Surely you’ve picked out someone by now?”

There was a sickeningly sweet tone to Mary Margaret’s voice as she said it. Some odd notion that happily ever after was achievable to anyone if you only had hope. Normally Emma would let it roll off her shoulders like water off a duck’s back, but having just collected her pay for bringing in another cheating runaway embezzler, Emma’s faith in love and hope was at an all time low. There was absolutely nothing appealing about kissing a stranger, not that she was necessarily opposed to doing other things with strangers on any other night. Something about New Year’s Eve was clichéd though, raising expectations.

Emma scanned the room. Most of the guests included the usual suspects. Graham, David’s partner at the precinct, who by all accounts was actually a stand up guy, but he was already off limits. He’d been in love with Ruby for years, pining away for her in secret. A secret kept from Ruby alone. He wasn’t Ruby’s type though, and she’d never once considered him in that way, never noticed the way his eyes stayed glued to her from across the room. Never noticed the way he always made sure to have a full glass in front of her before she could finish her beverage. How he was always bringing extra tapenade hummus to their get togethers knowing that it was her favorite. Instead she’d always picked party boys. The love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

Talking animatedly next to Graham was David, who was ‘out’ for obvious reasons. Beside them though was a man Emma had never seen before. Brooding heavily. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he chugged back the rest of the drink in his cup. But before she could get a better look at him, her attention was dragged back to Mary Margaret.

“If you haven't picked anyone out yet, then I have this guy in mind for you. He teaches with me at the school and he’s so sweet. His name is Jefferson and-”

“Whoa, are you talking about that guy that always wears those crazy different hats around town?”

Emma hadn’t even noticed Ruby approaching.

“Yes, and I think he’d be wonderful for Emma.”

“Uh, Mags. That guy is certifiably crazy. You know that right?”

“Ruby, he’s not crazy, and that’s not even a politically correct word to use anymore. Yes, he may be a bit eccentric, but all of the kids love him.”

“Listen to me. Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m not kissing anyone tonight.” Emma watched as Mary Margaret tried to interrupt, but stopped her before she could argue. “The only man that’s going to be touching my lips tonight is Mr. Jose Cuervo.”

With that, Emma grabbed the half empty bottle off the kitchen counter and made her way through the crowd, sneaking out onto the empty balcony. The streets below them were nearly empty. A rare sight on a Saturday night in Boston. She stood there, watching the lights change from emerald to amber, then scarlet. Over and over, no cars ever crossing the intersection. The calm should have relaxed her, but instead it did the opposite. Only further reminding her of how alone she was. Of how everyone else in the city had somewhere to be. Someone to be with. Of how Neal was out in the world somewhere probably conning some other stupid naive girl. Of how Walsh was probably in bed with the redhead he’d been screwing for the last three months of their relationship.

She’d never have that, and while it had been her choice to swear off men for anything more than a one night stand, on nights like that, she couldn’t help but long for the comfort of a man’s embrace. For something more that just ships passing in the night.

“Not that your delectable arse doesn’t make a stunning sight, love, but it’s hardly the view I’d come out here for.”

Emma jumped, nearly throwing the bottle of tequila over the rails as she attempted to clutch her chest.

“Jesus Christ! Lurk much?”

He let out a throaty laugh, lifting his head just enough to catch the glint from Mary Margaret’s bulb decorations. Even in the dim lighting, she could see the blueness of his eyes.

“It’s hardly lurking when I was here first.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was here, minding my own business, taking in the scenery. Then you appeared. Not lurking. Just easily overlooked apparently.”

“And you waited to announce yourself, because?”

“Well if the lady Nolan is anything like her excitable husband I assumed you needed a few minutes of respite to collect yourself.”

She nodded, unable to argue his point. Both of her friends were well meaning but overeager and overbearing when they thought they were right.

“Fair point.”

He laughed again, a little less humor tinting it that time as his hand gestured to the empty space next to him on the bench. Neither spoke for a few minutes, instead basking in the last remaining moments of silence before the midnight countdown began. Eventually her curiosity broke through though.

“Okay. I have to ask. How do you know David?”

Their friendship group had always been a fairly small tight knit crew, and she was certain that she’d have remembered the man next to her. Even in her foul mood she’d be an idiot not to acknowledge how handsome he was with that light smattering of scruff covering the lower half of his face. The perfect mixture of rugged and kempt. The way his bicep felt quite firm as he shifted and brushed his arm against hers.

“Ah. The inquisition portion of the evening.” He took a long tug from a flask he’d hidden on the ground next to his right foot.

He had walls. Something Emma understood intimately. The immediate need to deflect or defend with sarcastic remarks and witty banter. Anything to distract from people from getting too close.

“Not an inquisition. Just call it curiosity. And by the way,” she started as she took another swipe from her own bottle. “Who talks like that?”

Perhaps she’d had enough of the tequila.

“Like what exactly?”

She leveled him with her best glare.

“Fair point,” he mimicked her words from earlier. “The name is Killian, and to say that I know Nolan would be a bit of an overstatement. I just transferred over to his precinct earlier this week from across town and when he discovered that my plans for New Year’s involved take out and pay per view he insisted I come here. Apparently rubbing elbows with complete strangers with hardly any personality is a more appropriate use of my time. And as far as the ‘talking’ goes, you can blame that on the British educational system. For some reason they really tend to stress the whole education bit unlike the schools here in America.”

He stood as the party blowers began to scream, hardly bothering to excuse himself as he left Emma sitting alone, jaw hanging open at the verbal onslaught he’d just bestowed upon her.

She could hear the cheers inside signaling that another year had passed in glorious fashion.

Disaster.

Not that she should have expected anything less. The year before last she’d lost her mind and kissed Walsh. Another one of Mary Margaret’s infamous set up attempts. A year later she’d kissed him again, on another midnight . Unfortunately she’d found him kissing another woman just two days later and that was that, having set an impossibly high standard for that year to live up to.

Seven weeks into that new year Emma had come back from a night of friendly neighborhood research (stalking) to find that her beloved bug had been stolen. Only further emphasising her back luck, David had pointed out to her that she couldn’t file a report on it without implicating herself in a crime. Apparently cops tended to judge a person when they reported the car they stole as stolen, even if that person had gotten her shit together in the intervening years.

And then there had been the bank incident. Her beloved coffee shop had been closed for remodeling and she’d been forced to grab something at one of those trendy chain shops that charged a month’s rent for a single cup of cocoa. Usually that would have been hyperbole, except that particular cup had cost her everything in her checking account. The shop adamantly denied it, but one of the employees had clearly skimmed her card and gone on quite the shopping spree, draining away the money she’d been saving since college.

And if life hadn’t yet kicked her hard enough, she’d been evicted from her apartment, although evicted hadn’t been exactly the wording used on the letter explaining that her building was going co-op. But with her account fraud still under investigation and her money not yet returned, she couldn’t afford the down payment. The bank had all but laughed outright at her when she’d asked them for a loan.

The year hadn’t all been bad though. It had led to her living only one floor up from Mary Margaret and David. It was nice coming home from a midnight booking to find her fridge full of homemade meals in perfectly sized tupperware. Her newer car was a slightly less conspicuous than the bright yellow bug and she’d increased the number of skips she’d tracked down because of it. And ya, the new apartment was a little more expensive in rent that her old one had been, but it was a fresh start. Something she desperately needed. The rest of the year had actually gone pretty smoothly too, until she met Killian Jones.

He’d gotten under her skin somehow, something she thought about him considerably over the next few days. It wasn’t so much what he’d said, as much as the tone in which he’d sneered it out. She’d been called prickly in the past, but she’d never had someone act so callously towards her before, even in her foster care days. She thought about it as she went to bed in a foul mood. She thought about it as Mary Margaret tried pushing Jefferson on her again at lunch the next weekend. She even thought about it a dinner a few nights later, which is probably why she didn’t see the bread plate hurtling at her face.

She’d thought she had him, some lowlife who had hit his girlfriend one too many times. She should have expected it, been prepared for it. She had been, but then the dark haired guy at the bar beside her had said something in an accent and she let her mind wander for the briefest of seconds, just long enough for the scumball to toss a plate right in her face before trying to run out of the restaurant. He’d tripped on the stairs by the entrance though, smashing his face and breaking his nose. If Emma Swan had ever believed in karma, it was in that moment.

Luckily for both of their sakes, they’d only been a few blocks over from David’s station house. If she’d had to spend any more time with the man, his nose likely wouldn’t have been the only thing broken that night.

Granted, it was after nine on a Tuesday night, meaning David was long gone, but Emma was friendly enough with the night guys that none of them would have given her a second glance if she had roughed him up just a bit more than usual.

With the ring of a door bell, Emma found herself shoving the guy through a side door where Mullins was waiting for her just inside the bullpen after buzzing her in. He’d been the cop that had trained David during his rookie days. Mullins had taken a bullet during a robbery during David’s third year with the force, and even though he’d fully recovered physically he’d never returned to the field, too worried about leaving his wife and kids alone.

“Well, well, what do we have -” The concern was evident in his eyes as he took her in. “Jesus Christ, Emma.”

She felt herself holding back a snicker as Mullins pulled a little more forcefully than usual on the guy’s shoulder. After gruffly ordering her skip to sit down and changing out her cuffs for official department ones, Mullins returned his attention to Emma.

“You’re gonna have a pretty good shiner there, ya know that kid?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure you have, but if Nolan finds out I let you leave here without checking you over he’ll have my hide.”

She chuckled to herself. David’s protective streak was his defining character trait.

“You know you outrank him, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Jones!” His bellow took Emma off guard, startling her slightly. “Grab a first aid kit and get Emma here cleaned up a bit.”

Mullins pointed at a desk near the back of the bullpen and told her to go wait. Most of the desks had a few pictures littering the area. They were a mashup of people as the day officers and night officers shared spaces, but the one in the back had only one photo on it. Belle looked stunning in her white dress holding onto Lance’s arm in what was possibly the tightest tux she’d ever seen on a man. They were so happy together. But there was nothing else. Nothing in the way of personal effects from anyone else.

“Alright, love, I’ve got-” His words seemed to fall away when she turned around. The last person she’d expected or wanted to see was standing before her in a dark navy blue police uniform. In the artificial lighting she could see that there was a smattering of ginger in his beard. His inky black hair stuck up in places. But it was his eyes that she lingered on. They were possibly the bluest she’d ever seen.

“You.” Not her most eloquent of greetings, but she was still fuming over what he’d said to her on New Year’s.

“Aye, me.” His fingers fiddled with the latch on the first aid kit, but he made no move to open it.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” she mumbled to herself

He at least had the presence of mind to look chagrined.

“Please, love. Take a seat and I’ll get you cleaned up and on your way.”

“Emma.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s Emma. Emma Swan. I’m not your love.”

He nodded and looked at the ground as he came to lean against the desk. His desk.

“My apologies. For calling you love, but mostly for the other night. You have every right to be cross with me. I’d had far more libations than food and I treated you poorly. I’d like to think I’m usually more of a gentleman than that.”

She studied him for a while, watching to see if his eyes shifted or if he fidgeted. Tells that she’d learned over the years to see if someone was lying. Little pieces of body language that could give away everything. He didn’t do anything to convince her that he was anything but sorry.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t but she felt the call of Ben and Jerry’s and a Netflix marathon pulling at her. As well as a much needed icepack. “I probably wasn’t in the most festive mood either so we’ll call it even.”

He had her sit on his desktop so she’d be at eye level with him. Killian - Killian Jones apparently - grabbed her chin and tilted her face to get a better look. Frowning, he lightly brushed her forehead with his fingers causing her to hiss in pain. She knew the plate had caught her pretty squarely in the face, but it hadn’t hurt until just then.

He apologized for causing her pain and set to work on cleaning her up, informing her that on top of the beginnings of a black eye there was a pretty large gash as well. She winced as he dabbed the wound with an alcohol swab. She also protested when he suggested she go to the emergency room for stitches. She’d had worse and just wanted to go home and forget the entire night.

Well, most of the night. As he set about to applying butterfly strips, she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over his face, over the pale pink scar on his right cheek. The slight point of his ears. But mostly over how well his form filled out his uniform. Boston’s finest indeed . Shaking away the thought, she heard him apologize once more,thinking he’d hurt her again.

“Uh, no. I’m just tired.” Not a complete lie at least.

Her exit from the precinct was awkward at best. After Mullins returned with her paperwork so she could collect her money, she hadn’t been sure what to say. Or if she even needed to say anything. They’d only met at a party once for three minutes after all. After mentally debating it, she’d given him a very simple thank you, then humiliated herself by almost poking herself in the eye as she pointed to her face. Not the most graceful exit, but she’d at least managed to make it out of the building without falling over in her heels so she called it a win.

She’d barely made it through the front door of her building before Mary Margaret and David had come barreling out down the stairwell, coddling her like parents, insisting that she come back up to their apartment to eat something. Clearly Mullins had called them to check on her. By the time she made it back to her own apartment she was far too tired to do anything other than crawl into bed and pass out.

The rest of the week, however, was practically a staycation as she hibernated in her apartment, not wanting to see people’s pitying looks on the sidewalk as they misjudged the situation. The first day her head throbbed and her eye was nearly swollen shut. She slept that day away, not even wanting to get up to search for painkillers or to make an ice pack. The second day was slightly better. The swelling had gone down on her eye, replaced by a deep purple bruising. It was still too sore to cover with concealer so she stayed shut up in her apartment scarfing down the ice cream she’d been craving before.

Before she realized it, she’d watched an entire season of The Great British Bake Off, and completely lost track of the time. The sun had long since fallen below the skyline and her stomach was beginning to turn on her for having forgotten to feed it something more substantial than frozen milk all day. Just as she was getting up to check her fridge, she heard a knock at her door.

Curious, she checked the peephole, not expecting anyone. Her downstairs neighbors had a key, and while it was supposed to be for emergencies that had never stopped them from using it for everyday use too.

It was hard to tell through the dirty glass of the peephole, but it appeared to be a man carrying a large bag of food from what looked like the Chinese place around the corner. It was probably a mix-up with the delivery guy. August down the hall had an even more irregular sleep schedule than her and ordered food at all hours of the night.

There was another knock, reminding Emma that the man on the other side of the door was in fact an actual human being and that she should probably open the door and redirect him to August.

“Hey, I think you have the wrong apartment. Booth is three doors down on the right.”

She was already closing the door when she heard him.

“Emma Swan?”

“Ya.”

“Well, then this is for you.”

She tried to explain that she hadn’t ordered anything. That he either had the wrong apartment or that it was a prank. The food had already been paid for though and the tip taken care of. Cautiously she had accepted the bag, setting it on her coffee table as she eyed it, as if it were somehow booby trapped, like a peanut can that once opened launched snakes at its poor unsuspecting victim.

Once she’d felt thoroughly convinced that the bag was safe, she began pulling out enough containers of food to feed a small army. She wondered once more if it had been a mistake, if some poor family of four was starving somewhere in the building, but as she pulled out the last carton of spring rolls, she found a note. His handwriting was a bit more flowery than she’d expected, not that she’d actually thought on it until just then.

Swan,

Now we’re even.

-KJ

Simple and to the point, making Emma smile in spite of herself and her lingering hostility towards him. She had to give him credit. He’d nailed all of her favorites, making her wonder if he’d just guessed well or if he’d had a little insight into her food preferences. Although, she doubted that he’d bother asking David and they didn’t share any other acquaintances.

That night she ate to her heart’s content, almost too much. Putting away the remaining food, she returned to her bed and quickly fell asleep thanks to her overstuffed stomach. The next morning brought a bit of relief with it. Her black eye was finally in the icky green healing stage and the gash on her forehead looked much better than the first night.

Feeling as if she’d rested enough, she called her employer to claim her next case. It was a small time drug dealer. By all accounts, he seemed to be privileged kid rebelling against his parents. He’d dropped out of school his junior year of college and started selling weed out of his car. His latest arrest had been for trying to deal to a cop. His parents had foolishly bailed him out, yet again, and he’d missed his court date, yet again .

The only foreseeable issue was that the kid had nearly unlimited funds to hide with, though he hadn’t exactly been good at evading the law before. As Emma searched through his social media accounts, it quickly became apparent that what he had in money, he more than made up for in lack of brains. It only took her an hour of research to learn that he’d been staying with an old friend from prep school in the center of the city.

Not bothering to go through the effort of a honey trap, Emma dressed in comfortable leggings, a long sleeved sweater and red leather jacket. She did her best to conceal the remaining wounds on her face and set out, grabbing a few snacks for what she hoped would be a very short stakeout.

It hadn’t been. In fact it had taken fourteen hours of sitting in her four year old Mini Cooper.. She’d been ready to call it a night when he finally emerged from the brownstone wearing a black hoodie and jeans. He’d clearly watched one too many movies on standard criminal dress codes.

As usual, he hadn’t seen her coming. She got the jump on him just as she’d done countless times before, and in near record time she had him back down at David’s station ready for booking. She wasn’t really sure why she’d gone there, passing another police station along the way. One that she’d used plenty of times before.

Yet for some reason, she’d felt compelled, trying to reason that it was just because David’s station was closer to her own apartment. That it would be a shorter ride home after. It had absolutely nothing to do with the attractive man that had invaded her dreams the night before.

Of course, when he saw her bringing in her barely legal skip and had come over to say hello, she was as annoyed as she might have expected. In fact, he was in a much more jovial mood that night, and when one of the other cops made a comment about how they preferred her other ‘work’ outfits, he just smiled and mumbled something about how they weren’t wrong under his breath. Then she watched as his cheeks pinkened and his finger began to scratch at a spot just behind his ear.

She hadn’t known how to take it. She hadn’t known how to take him. Not after New Year’s and the Chinese food. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, moody and brooding one moment, blissfully charming the next. He perplexed her. Or at least that what she told herself as thoughts of him continued to invade her mind over the next three weeks. Unable to get a read on him.

The harshness of January gave way to February. Snow still lingered on the sidewalks, but no more had fallen. She’d delivered two more skips to the same department over that time, even though one of them she’d picked up clear on the other side of town. Killian’s mood had soured dramatically by the second drop off. So much so that he’d barely even spoken more than a disgruntled hello that final time. Barely acknowledged that she was there.

It shouldn’t have hurt her. It wasn’t like she really needed him to leer at her chest in her skintight minidress like the other cops usually did. Especially the married ones. She’d always felt a little cheap when it happened, but something about his dismissal of her felt worse. Like she was no one. A sensation she hadn’t experienced since she was eighteen, just after Neal. That’s when she’d found out that she’d been accepted to Boston University with a substantial financial aid package. Gone were the days of not being seen by her foster parents or social workers. She’d become someone, and yet at twenty seven, she may as well have been that young girl all over again as he groused about paperwork, waving her off in the process.

A few nights later Emma wore that same red dress to pick up her latest skip, promising herself a well deserved break after his delivery. Catching him was easy. A little batting of the eyes, a throaty laugh as she pressed her hand into his chest. He melted into the her, dropping his guard long enough for her to cuff him to the barstool. She didn’t bother taking him to David’s station that time, choosing to instead call someone out from the precinct around the corner. The skip really should have been smarter than to agree to meet her at a notorious cop bar.

Once again the dress had done its job, and though she felt a slight bit of gratification knowing that at least one guy in Boston still found her attractive, the garment was shed the moment she walked into her apartment. Unlike the skin tight material, the day lingered on, tight in her muscles, and she hoped that a hot shower would ease her body.

It wasn’t meant to be though, as a sharp set of knocks sounded out on her door. Knocks that she recognized. Calling out to wait a minute, Emma scrambled to get dressed, tugging on some leggings and a sweatshirt. She didn’t even bother to check herself over in the mirror before opening the door.

She’d met him about two months in from moving into her new apartment. There had been noises, loud ones. Breaking glass, thumping on the walls. It was enough that she could hear it from her closed apartment three doors down. She’d been worried that someone was in trouble. With her gun in tow, she’d crept down the hall, stopping to listen at the door. There had been muffled yells, a man’s voice cursing. The door had been unlocked, and while she’d known it to be a bad idea at the time, walking into a stranger’s apartment uninvented and armed, her concern outweighed her need for self preservation.

He was a writer. A self indulgent prick with a complex. A man trying to write the next great novel and failing at it. The yells had been him screaming at his computer, at his words for being unremarkable. Oddly enough, Emma hadn’t been as put off by him as she should have been, and somehow they became friends of sorts.

“Thought you might be up for a goodbye party.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation, pushing past her to unpack the food he’d brought with him.

“Goodbye? I didn’t know I was going anywhere.”

August laughed, standing only long enough to grab some beers from her fridge.

He was leaving. To some place in Thailand, or near Thailand. Something about needing to disconnect from technology and distractions. About needing to live a story worth telling. She gave him three months before he partied himself into a ditch, or whatever type of landforms they had in Phuket. They ate and drank and promised to stay in touch, both knowing it was a lie. He left that night for the last time and Emma felt just the slightest bit empty.

She’d lost her confidant. The one person she could tell things to that wouldn’t judge her thanks to his own litany of crap. The ‘break’ she’d promised herself was short lived. The hollow feeling eating away at her. She needed something to distract herself. It wasn’t hard to track her down. A fake account on Grindr, a quick meet up for a drink first.

The only problem had been that the restaurant was only a few blocks away from her apartment, meaning only a few blocks down from the last precinct she wanted to visit again. She thought about driving to another one, but the girl had been mouthy after Emma had cuffed her and she just wanted her gone. She could only pray that he was out patrolling for once.

She had never been particularly lucky. Mullins was out sick and the only free officer to take her skip was him . He looked like shit, a small satisfaction in her book. Dark circles under his eyes, mused hair, wrinkled uniform.

He was moody. Not exactly harsh with the skip, but not showing any real kindness either. Not that she’d expected him to. She’d only seen him a handful of times and he’d been cranky more often than cheerful. If she hadn’t needed him to sign off on the paperwork, she wouldn’t have even bothered to stay. But when he mumbled something about being too busy and her bringing in a skip being an inconvenience she’d had enough.

She tossed the paperwork at him, telling him to just sign the damn papers so she could be on her way. Telling him that she hadn’t exactly been expecting to spend her entire night at the station. That he was the inconvenience. She barely let him finish scrawling out his name on the last piece of paper before she ripped it out from under his pen, storming off towards the side door.

“Shit. Swan, wait.”

She turned around just long enough to give him her fiercest glare before turning and heading for the door again. His hand loosely grabbed her wrist as he chased after her.

“Please.”

She stopped, not quite facing him, but not shutting him out completely.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, not again, but I shouldn’t have taken my piss poor mood out of you. I’m sorry.”

There was a pleading in his tired eyes that she didn’t understand. Yet she felt helpless to hear him out anyway.

“No you don’t, and no, you shouldn’t have.”

His head dropped in resignation.

“Why have you been in such a horrible mood anyway?”

He told her the story. It wasn’t the whole story. She knew he was leaving something out, but it wasn’t her place to ask. It wasn’t her place to want to know. But he gave her enough. He’d been staying in a hotel since he changed precincts nearly two months ago, stuck on the night shift. Apartment hunting had been a nightmare. His schedule only left him a small window of opportunity to see listings in person, and the places were either death traps or rented out before he’d got a chance to even view them. Then some ‘lot of bloody children’ had moved into the the room next to him. They spent most mornings running around making noise and he’d been unable to get a decent night’s sleep.

She felt for him, something deep within her seeing something in him. A lost boy. He was all alone just trying to survive. He’d been thrown overboard and was too proud to ask for help or to let anyone know he was drowning. She hated herself for what she was about to do.

“I have a friend.”

“Okay?”

“I mean, I have a friend who’s moving out of his apartment. He’s subleasing it himself until his lease is up in a few months and then you could transfer over the lease to your name after, if you wanted to stay there that is.”

His eyes shifted, more alert but still guarded. But something lighter filtered through as he watched her. Hope.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not the dick here.” She flourished her hand between the two of them. “The only catch is that it’s in David’s building. I’m not sure if you’d want to see him at both work and your off time.”

His head tilted. “Thank you, but perhaps I shouldn’t then. If Dave chose not to tell me about the apartment, it probably means he doesn’t want me there.”

“He doesn’t know about it. The guy that lives there now is on a different floor and keeps odd hours. I’m not sure if he and David have actually ever even spoken to each other.”

She gave him August’s contact info, telling him that he was likely awake if he wanted to call about it on his break, leaving him with a warning.

“Don’t make me regret this, Jones.”

He moved in the next week, bringing only a few boxes. August had decided to leave most of his furniture, choosing instead to relinquish the creature comforts he’d become accustomed to. Believing that an artist was more creative when struggling. The furniture didn’t seem to match Killian’s personality, but he said it was fine.

He was still unpacking when two large pizzas arrived at her door. Already paid for just like the Chinese food. A thank you gift for getting him out of his hell hotel. He’d waved to her from his doorway, box in hand as she’d accepted the pizza, before ducking back inside. She’d thanked the delivery guy, adding on an extra tip. It was a lot of pizza. Too much really.

At least, that’s what she told herself as she grabbed a six pack of beer from her fridge door along with the pizza boxes before heading over to his place. The door had been left open from his constant trips back and forth between his car and the trash chute.

“Knock, knock. Welcoming party.”

He called back out, telling her to come in, laughing when she told him that someone had sent her an obscene amount of food. They talked a little that night. Superficial things. He was originally from London but had moved to the States for college. He had a brother, still serving in the Royal Navy. They usually only saw each other once a year around Christmas time. Emma was only doing bail bonds long enough to save up enough money for law school. It was strangely nice, despite her missing August.

It wasn’t the man that she missed as much as the bond she’d formed. She’d told him everything. Or at least almost everything. Now a near stranger sat in his place, and she felt alone all over again.

The strange thing though, was that he wasn’t a stranger. Not a complete one anyway. She knew him in a way. Knew that he’d been hurt. That he was just as alone as she was. Just as defensive. As broken as her. He was a kindred spirit.

They parted that night on better terms than ever before, leaving Emma to wonder just who Killian Jones was. What the missing part of his story was. She considered asking Mary Margaret the next day at lunch, but she wasn’t able to think of a natural segueway. One that wouldn’t make her look like a young schoolgirl with a crush.

The checks were on the table when she was finally and inadvertently given her chance. Ruby was the one to ask. She’d delivered some coffee and donuts to Graham and David who’d both been up early that morning working on a case. Killian had still been there, causing Emma to wonder why he’d been working so late. She’d even worried a little, but then Ruby asked about him, and all of Emma’s focus went to that.

To why Ruby was asking about him. To the way she toyed with the locket around her neck. The wolfish grin as she mentioned how good his ass looked in those pants. To the way Ruby asked if he was single.

Emma had to hold back a growl as her friend basically spoke of how she’d love to devour the man, and it frightened her. Frightened her that she was jealous over a man she barely knew, that she refused to let herself think of in that way. Jealous that Ruby could be so casual with men she saw on a daily basis. That she was so open with her sexuality. But mostly it frightened her that Ruby Lucas had never had a man turn her down.

The thought of Ruby writhing on the same sheets Emma had helped him tug over his mattress the night before made her sick for some reason. One she absolutely refused to think about . Instead she pushed it down, listening to Mary Margaret explain that she didn’t really know all that much about him. Just that he seemed nice enough the few times she’d met him. She didn’t even seem to realize that he’d moved into the building.

“Hey Mags, I have a great idea. Why don’t you invite him over to dinner Friday to properly introduce us. You know how you love setting people up.”

“He’s working.”

Two pairs of eyes snapped towards her. The words were out of her mouth before she’d even realized it. She wasn’t sure of he was really working or not, but it seemed likely enough. She’d seen him there on a Friday night before.

“I mean, I think he is. The last time I brought in a weekend skip he was there.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Ruby pouted. “Shit, is that the time? Crap, I have to run, but Mags, next time you see him, do you think you could talk me up?”

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. You’re the best!”

Mary Margaret barely spared Ruby a second glance as she ran out of the cafe, instead focusing her eyes on Emma. Speculation written all over her face.

“What was that all about?”

“Oh you know Ruby,” Emma tried for nonchalance. “She’s always been man hungry.”

“That’s not what I was talking about and you know it.” Her friend had clearly picked up some lie detecting tricks from David. “You were upset.”

“No I wasn’t. I was just trying to be helpful.” “If that’s true, then please explain to me why the heels of your palms have fingernail imprints in them?” Emma squirmed under her gaze, trying not to give an inch lest her friend take a mile.

“I just feel bad for Graham, you know.” Not a total lie. She was getting good at that. “He’s been in love with her for so long and I just thought it might be really awkward for him having to work with a guy that Ruby’s been with.”

“Good try. And yes, it would be if I thought Killian had any interest in her at all.”

“And what does that mean?”

Emma felt her heart surge with the tiniest bit of hope as Mary Margaret went on to explain that she’d already tried to introduce the two of them on New Year’s but Killian hadn’t been as amiable. So maybe amiable wasn’t the word Mary Margaret used, but it sounded like something Killian would say and for some reason that’s how Emma heard it. Her friend further explained that Killian had actually seemed really put out by the notion of a set up even after he’d seen Ruby’s chest nearly falling out of her dress as she danced around the apartment.

It wasn’t until later that day that Emma took offense. Her friend had tried to set Ruby up with Killian, while she’d tried setting up Emma with the mad hatter. She didn’t want Killian, really, she didn’t.

Yes, keep lying to yourself. That’s healthy.

But she’d still been offended that Mary Margaret had thought she’d be more compatible with a guy that talked in riddles and dressed up to go to the Boston tea house. It was a place only small children went to feel fancy in their dress up princess clothes. Not a place for a grown ass man to live out some weird fantasy. A part of her wondered if there wasn’t something slightly more sinister going on there.

She begged off from their planned dinner the next night. Something she did with them every Friday night, work permitting, but her ire with Mary Margaret had only grown and she didn’t want to see the woman, afraid she may say something regrettable. Unfortunately, it meant that her friend left nothing in her fridge to eat. She contemplated getting something delivered, but she didn’t want to be home if the Charmings from downstairs came up to check on her or to call her bluff about being busy.

The little pub around the corner was busier than she’d expected. Nearly every table was full and the bar had a crowd two deep. Emma turned around, set to leave when she saw him, sitting at a table in the corner all by himself.

“Is this seat taken?”

It was a cheesy line, and she hadn’t meant to sound so throaty as she said it, but she hoped that she come off more as joking than flirty. It didn’t matter though. He was too gone to really even notice her. She could have been wearing a shark onesie and he likely wouldn’t have been fazed. He shouldn’t even be served any more, yet when the waitress walked over with her tray, she had another glass of amber liquid ready for him.

“I’ll take that. Can he get some water?”

The waitress looked disappointed, but smiled and nodded, returning soon after with a large glass. Emma took a moment longer to order some food, asking for it in a to-go bag. As she waited on it to be ready, she tried to force Killian to drink as much of the water as possible.

The walk back to the apartment was a bit of a struggle. Killian was wobbly on his feet and she nearly dropped him trying to open the door to their building, but somehow she made it to the elevator without hurting him. It took a minute of digging around in his jacket pocket to find his own apartment keys.

The place was surprisingly immaculate. She’d never seen it in such a condition before. August had always been a bit sloppy. Emma set Killian down on the couch and pulled the food out of the to-go bag she’d been given, insisting that he eat it all to soak up the booze in his stomach. By the end of the meal, he was looking far more sober than when she’d found him at the pub.

His eyes still had a glaze over them though, a haunted look, and although she tried not to worry, she couldn’t help asking him what had caused him to get shit-faced. He was evasive, or tried to be, but Emma refused to let him bottle it up. She shouldn’t pry. Not when his inhibitions were so low. She knew that. She would be furious if the tables were turned, but when he said something about a ‘her’ Emma’s concern morphed into something else. A new feeling that left her stomach in angry knots.

It was the the same old story of heartbreak. Her name was Milah. They’d dated for two years and suddenly she’d just decided to end things. To walk away from everything they’d built, including the townhouse they’d purchased. Or almost purchased. Something about it being in escrow.

But that’s when the tale turned. Her husband had caught wind of her plans to purchase a new home with her lover and told her she needed to choose between his money or her man candy. Ya, the husband had been news to him too. A blatant reminder that no matter how long you’ve been with someone, you never really know them.

The money had won out.

So he’d packed up. Boxed up the few items that didn’t remind him of her, and asked for a transfer. She felt sick. It was such a vivid reminder of Neal and Walsh. Of how they’d both fooled her into thinking that they loved her, but when it came down to it, neither had. Both had chosen something else over her. Her heart stung for him.

She’d been in the society section of the newspaper that morning, promoting a new little boutique uptown. She’d looked happy, really happy, and it had sent Kilian over the edge of misery knowing that she didn’t even miss him. That their breakup was nothing to her.

“So, Emma Swan,” he slurred slightly. “You now know my deepest darkest secret. What’s yours?”

She didn’t tell him. A mixture between wouldn't and couldn’t. That secret was locked far too deep inside. She’d never told anyone. Not Mary Margaret or David. Not Ruby. Not even August who’d known more about her than anyone.

Instead, she lied, telling him about Neal. About how she’d given her virginity to a man a decade older than her. A man that had immersed her in a life of petty theft and crime. How he’d tried to pin something on her, but she’d found out before he could do anything and turned him over to the police. He’d fled before they could arrest him, and she’d been let off with a strong warning. It was the only time being a foster kid had worked in her favor. The judge had taken pity and given her community service in exchange for a dismissal of the charges the DA had tried to hit her with.

It wasn’t her deepest secret, but it was still a dark one that she didn’t enjoy discussing. Mary Margaret had just looked at her with pity when she’d told her. That had been the start of her obsession when fixing Emma up with the perfect guy. Ruby’s first question had been to ask if Neal was good in bed. Unfortunately, his age and experience had done little for him. Something Emma didn’t realize until later after she’d had a few more partners.

But Killian, he just thanked her, his head still lolling back resting against the edge of the couch.

Something shifted between them that night. It started slowly, but they didn’t just talk when they ran into each other for work anymore. They both went out of their way to hang out, binging shows on their days off. Getting meals together. Walking together to Mary Margaret’s Friends’ Friday dinners. And if Emma had made an extra effort to ensure that he sat next to her instead of Ruby, well that was nobody’s business.

When Emma sprained her ankle chasing a skip in the rain, it was Killian who wrapped and iced her ankle. His fingers that brushed against her skin creating sparks along the way. It was Killian who told her she didn’t have to go to the emergency room if she didn’t want to, even though all of her other friends were insisting she get it x-rayed. He somehow just knew that what she needed most was to stay in bed. He was also the one that brought her bear claws from Granny’s on his way home from work in the mornings. He stayed up long enough to make her coffee just the way she liked it and brought it to her before going to his own apartment to crash.

He had become her everything in that year since their meeting. Somehow a mashup of the relationships she shared with August and Mary Margaret. He was her doting friend that had also become her closest confidant. He was the one she went to when she saw Walsh in the jewelry store buying a ring. The one that told her she wasn’t as stupid as she felt. That the mistake of opening up her heart to someone wasn’t hers, but his for betraying her trust the way he had.

He went to her when he was struggling with work. With his new captain who was just a huge dick and how he was always getting crumbs in his stupid black beard. With a case where the evidence just didn’t add up. Even when he was pissed at Dave for interfering in his personal life. She was the first person to hear about is promotion to detective, and his subsequent change to the day shift.

They were everything to each other.

And that was the problem. She hadn’t realized it. Not at first. But over that year she’d come to rely on him like a crutch in a way. She craved his approval. Wanted to see him smile. To be the one that made him smile. She loved the way that his arm lingered on her shoulders protectively when they went out to the pub for Ruby’s birthday. The way his hand stroked up and down her arm, his thumb drawing circles across her clavicle. The way his fingers always tangled in the ends of her hair.

She wanted him. She wanted him in the way that love stories were written about. She wanted him to hold her as they fell asleep at night after a passionate night of lovemaking. She wanted him to wipe away her tears and then kiss her senseless until all of the bad thoughts were banished. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her. Emma wanted him to be her last New Year’s Kiss. She wanted everything with him.

She just didn’t know it.

Not until Mary Margaret pointed it out while they were taking down the old Christmas decorations. The holiday had passed by in steller fashion. Killian hadn’t been there, instead meeting his brother in New York. The Boston airport had been all but shut down and many of the flights had been rerouted due to weather. Killian had told her that he couldn’t stand the thought of Liam spending the holiday alone in a strange city, so he left early, trying to beat the storm as it raged across the north east coastline.

She’d been worried about him driving in such horrible weather, even offering to go with him. But he’d insisted that she stay, not wanting to ruin her holiday as well. She felt empty and alone, despite being surrounded with people. He’d called her when he’d gotten there the night before, as promised to let her know he was ok. Liam was already passed out in the bed next to him so he couldn’t talk for long, but he’d wished her a Merry Christmas Eve before he hung up.

The storm had only worsened overnight and the Jones brothers were trapped in the city, unable to get home until the snow had stopped falling and the streets had been cleared. So they spent the morning on Facetime celebrating the holiday the best way possible. Mary Margaret opened the presents he’d left for them and laughed at the NYPD Rookie newborn onesie he’d bought them. Mary Margaret still had a few months to go, but David had already decided that his son was going to wear it one his ride home from the hospital. He tried to get Emma to open the present he’d left for her as well, but she refused, telling him that she’d wait until he was back so they could exchange gifts together.

It took four days before Killian finally made it back to Boston. At one point she’d been certain that he was going to miss Mary Margaret’s now infamous New Year’s Eve party, and while it would have sucked for him to miss it, a part of her was secretly glad. Ruby was still insistent that Mary Margaret set the two of them up. That they should forget to take down some of the mistletoe. There was an exaggerated wink that followed and the idea of it had just left a heavy weight on her shoulders, a gnawing in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain.

She pushed that thought out of her brain when he returned though. The feeling of his chest pressed against hers as they hugged in greeting was a balm to her soul. One she didn’t know that she needed, and that was enough for her to forget the dread she’d felt.

She couldn’t believe that he’d remembered based on a random story she’d told him months before. He’d given her a magic eight-ball. As a kid she’d been naive and fallen for the story her mother had told her when she’d handed her the box on her 6th birthday. That she’d thought it was an actual lie detector test and she’d carried it everywhere with her, thinking it gave her a superpower, until a bully in one of her group homes had grabbed it from her, tossing it onto the sidewalk from a second story window. Shattering the ball and the last bit of hope she’d had in the world. And while none of her friends had understood the significance of the gift Killian had bestowed upon her, she cherished it.

She’d bought him a captain’s hat, telling him that if a man as idiotic as Edward Teach could make captain, than so could he. He’d smiled and kissed her cheek telling her “Thank you for the gift, love.”

She wasn’t really sure when he’d started calling her love again, just that it didn’t bother her anymore. In fact, it usually left her with a flutter. Not that she ever dwelled on that.

But then Mary Margaret had pointed it out. The way she lit up when Killian was around. That he did the same. The casual affectionate touches that they shared. The fact that they had more inside jokes together than she had with the rest of the group combined. The way they spent all of their free time together.

They were dating and neither of them knew it. Or at least Emma hadn’t known it. She couldn’t say for sure. She’d even gone so far as to deny it, but then she’d been reminded of the elevator incident.

They had come back from watching a Boston Celtics game. A skip had offered her his family tickets for her to let him go. She’d taken the tickets and cuffed him anyway. Perhaps it wasn’t the most upstanding thing to do, but they’d go to waste otherwise. So they’d gone, had beer and popcorn. It had been fun. It had been long. The metro line had been jam packed and they all regretted not driving to the stadium. The arm she would have paid for parking almost would have been worth it.

By the time they made it back to their building, they’d all been exhausted, and the elevator ride seemed slower than usual. David and Mary Margaret had both been leaning against the opposite wall of the elevator, but Emma had leaned back into Killian, allowing him to hold her up. Maybe she’d been too tired to notice the way his hand had settled on her hips, his thumb brushing dangerously low under the waistline of her jeans. Then again, maybe she just hadn’t cared.

It had seemed so natural for him to touch her so intimately. Anyone else would have received an elbow to the ribs or a kick in the groin, but with Killian, it was just normal. Mary Margaret had disembarked on her floor, giving Emma an odd look on the way out as David told them good night. Emma had been too tired to care what the look had meant though. When the elevator had opened on their floor, they hadn't discussed it. They’d just instinctively gone to Emma’s apartment and plopped down on her couch to watch Netflix. They’d woken the next morning spooning each other and neither of them had thought it unusual.

So ya, they were dating, and honestly, Emma wasn’t sure what to make of it. Especially when she didn’t know if Killian felt the same way. If he had butterflies when she rubbed his shoulders after a long day. If he felt a rush of heat when he saw her in her in one of her honeytrap dresses.

She spent all of New Year’s Eve thinking about it. Debating if she should say anything or not, but he’d winked at her in the hallway as he was getting in from work, and that moment, had solidified her resolve. She was going to find him at midnight and kiss the ever-loving hell out of him. To start the year off right. Maybe she’d even take him back to her apartment after for something more than movie watching.

There was a new dress. One she’d been saving for a special occasion. Something more meaningful than a skip. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, her makeup removed and reapplied twice. She even managed to find matching heels. The weather had cleared up enough that they’d even be able to go out on the balcony again, where it had all begun. Everything was perfect. She’d also severely underestimated how long it would take her to get ready though, and by the time she got down to her friends’ apartment, there were less than fifteen minutes until midnight. With the apartment full of people it was hard to move around, and even harder to find the man she was looking for. With five minutes left, she finally spotted Graham, slipping out of the restroom. She stopped him, grabbing his wrist to ask him if he’d seen Killian.

There were tears forming in his eyes though. Something had happened. Something with Ruby, and as much as she wanted her grand dramatic gesture, she needed to comfort her friend more. She had no idea that soon she was the one that would need comforting.

He’d been looking for Ruby, thought he’d seen her head into the bathroom. She’d been in there a while so he knocked, trying to make sure she was alright. No one had answered, but he’d heard moaning noises. Thinking that she was in trouble, he’d slipped into the bathroom and caught an eyeful of dark hair fucking Ruby with his mouth. Emma had had enough. She loved Ruby dearly, and would never judge her for her choices, but Graham was hurting and it was time that Ruby took responsibility for her actions. She stood to make her way to the bathroom but he stopped her.

“Emma, you don’t want to do that.”

Like hell she didn’t.

“I mean it. You really don’t want to go in there.”

He was pleading, a fresh wave of tears staining his cheeks and Emma felt every muscle in her body seize up.

“And why don’t I want to go in there?” There was a quiver to her voice. She felt so small and weak and hated herself.

“Please.”

She knew. Before she knew, she knew . As she stepped to the door, hand in the air ready to knock, she heard a scream. One final yell of ecstasy fell from Ruby’s lips, and she knew.

“Jones! ”

[vatrixsta]

How Long Will I Love You (1/2)

PRESTO! @the-corsair-and-her-quill IT IS I, YOUR SECRET SANTA!  It was so, so fun stalking  getting to know you over the last few weeks! Because you do not love Christmas in a traditional, cheesy way, I have written you an angsty CS AU Emma who is having trouble with her husband. Yes, it’s very cheery :D Hopefully I’ve read the room right when it comes to your tastes and preferences and I REALLY REALLY hope you enjoy it!!

I’ve tried to leave the first part in an okay place, but I’m hoping to finish it off for you by the weekend at the latest. Yes, it’s the gift that unfortunately keeps on giving! 

Man, I really thought I could write this little angst bomb as a one shot, but I very much underestimated my own desire to torture poor Emma. This will be up on AO3 after I’ve... slept. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

How Long Will I Love you (1/2)

xxx

Emma Swan-Jones was absolutely positive of one thing: her husband was hiding something.

Killian was not the secretive type. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve as long as she’d known him, something that had caused them both a great deal of frustration early on in their courtship. Emma had been jaded single mother just trying to keep her and Henry’s head above water and Killian… well, he’d just been so steadfast, so sure right from the start that it had freaked her out a little. The fact that he was Henry’s favorite author? That had definitely made his job of winning her heart a hell of a lot harder.

So yes, she’d been the one pulling away, doubting, constantly testing him for the first few months of their relationship, something she felt bad about later but honestly couldn’t imagine any other way. Her walls had been sky high after, you know, her whole fucking life, being abandoned, foster care, all the people who made it clear they never wanted her and no one ever really would - then fucking Neal and prison and Henry was the only good thing she got out of all that - no way would she get a charming British rogue who spent his free time writing children’s stories about a skewed take on Peter Pan. No, that was not for her, no matter how much he tried to convince her that she and Henry were all he wanted.

Except… he had. They built a life together. They got married. They moved around for a long time, three nomads looking for a place to plant roots as Emma’s work took her wherever the leads did and Henry was all too happy to continue home study and Killian could write from anywhere. He let her read his first drafts and she let him read over her shoulder when she was researching her skips. He was constantly challenging her and annoying her and being the best stepdad to Henry and just… he wasn’t perfect, but he also kind of was? She could barely remember what life was like before their twosome became three; didn’t really want to remember. It felt like they’d always been together, the three of them, with Killian in charge of steering the ship, emotionally speaking.

Maybe that was the real problem. Emma had gotten used Killian always being the grown up in the relationship and now that he was taking up the part of the sullen, moody teenager who lied to her face when she asked him what was wrong, she didn’t know how to deal with it.

Hadn’t he read the contract between them? She was the moody teenager in the relationship, at least for a few more years, before Henry turned into an actual moody teenager.

This had to stop. She was going to stop it. Be the bigger person. Not fall back on decades of rejection and shitty emotional behavior and lose the nerve to force him to talk to her.

….

So yeah, she totally lost the nerve. Killian was sitting in the office, broodily staring at a blank computer screen and she tried to use the perfect opening.

“Hey. Are the pages not cooperating?”

It was smooth. She actually thought about it before she said it, not at all typical Emma behavior. She’d asked him about his writing before, when it seemed like he was in a bit of a funk and he’d always use the opportunity to escape for awhile, maybe take Henry to a movie or, if they were near water, to look at the boats by the harbor. Sometimes he’d compliment her - all, your boy’s a marvel, Swan, nothing like a trip to the pier with the little spitfire to knock a spot of writer’s block into the dust. Over time, it became our boy and her heart clenched with how easily the word rolled off his tongue and hers.

So his response today was somewhat underwhelming.

“What?” he asked, distracted, moody, dare she say - a bit twitchy.

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Every hackle she has was rising. But this was her husband. She trusted him. She loved him, completely. So he was having an off week. She’d had her share of them and he bore them with grace. She was not going to interrogate him like a suspect.

“Let’s go out to dinner,” she said, trying to be positive. Henry was at a sleepover and maybe he was feeling like she was - a little out of sorts without their favorite playmate. She would ignore the fact that this behavior had been going on for weeks, pretty much, she realized, since they’d settled down in Boston. “Somewhere nice, with tablecloths where you can get handsy while we overpay for whatever’s labeled market price.”

Seafood and groping - two of her husband’s favorite treats. But when his eyes flickered, it wasn’t with the normal interest and good humor she expected. If she had to name the emotion that flashed behind those blue, blue eyes of his, a split second before his whole face shuttered to a neutral expression, she’d call it guilt. Maybe even a pinch of despair.

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he said, definitely looking sorry, but not in a way she liked, “I should really keep plugging away at this.” He gestured at the keyboard with his prosthetic hand, the right scratching at the back of his neck like he had a rash.

“Yeah. Me too. I’ll make us some pasta then,” she mumbled, tucking down how much his rejection and the fact that he was lying to her hurt.

She fled to the kitchen and threw together a simple dinner neither of them really touched. He escaped back to his office as soon as he could and she went to bed early, wondering what the hell was going on with the man she married.

~~~

Henry returned from his sleepover late the next day and since it was Sunday, he reminded Killian they were supposed to check out the docks, an activity they hadn’t had time for since they moved to town. Boston was both big and small and getting to specific parts of the city sometimes took a huge chunk of time unless you were on foot. That was why they’d splurged on an apartment that was pricey but perfect and if you squinted, just within their budget - Killian had a great nest egg from the book sales and would receive an advance as soon as he’d finished the first three chapters of his next book. Emma had been saving from the moment she graduated from waiting tables to bail bonds and their combined good financial habits had secured them three bedrooms, a top floor and a glorious view of the water.

“It’ll be perfect, Swan,” Killian had said while they were still living from rental to rental. “Our first little hideaway by the sea until you retire and we can live somewhere much quieter, with fewer bail jumpers needing your always pertinent attention.”

That was back when he was still sweet talking her like usual. God, she hoped his outing with Henry would help him settle. He was always calmer by the water and the view aside, she knew he wasn’t satisfied until he’d gotten a good lungful of salt air.

She bided her time while they were out by doing laundry. Every time she passed the office - they shared it, but since his work dictated a quiet space a lot more than hers did, it was mostly Killian’s domain - she had to fight off the knee jerk urge she had to go snooping on his computer for answers. The doubt that was beginning to live in her breastbone was making it hard to remember how much she trusted Killian, like she’d never trusted anyone in her life.

The urge to snoop was definitely going to get the better of her if she stayed in the apartment, so Emma quickly bundled up and grabbed her wallet and keys. They were out of eggs and a few other essentials. Besides, it was six weeks ‘til Christmas and with all the moving drama she hadn’t bought anything for Henry or Killian. She could at least do some in person recon before she came home and ordered them stuff online.

She was putting away groceries when the apartment door banged shut.

“Hey Kid,” she greeted Henry, noticing the lack of anyone else behind him. “Where’s Killian?”

“He said he had an errand,” Henry huffed into the kitchen and noted Killian’s behavior with his usual tact and charm. “What crawled up his butt?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “We were having a good time, we got ice cream and he was telling me about ships and Liam and it reminded me about my ancestry project for school. I asked him about his parents and he reminded me - as if I didn’t know - that he isn’t my biological father. We kind of… had a fight. He was trying to talk to me about him.”

Emma paused with the Eggos halfway to the freezer. Him. That was how Henry had referred to Neal since he was old enough to understand their history. Emma had no idea why Killian was suddenly bringing the subject up - as far as she knew, his feelings about Neal mirrored her own: if she ever ran into him in a dark alley, she’d at least bloody her knuckles on some part of his face.

“Maybe Killian was just trying to make sure you didn’t want to talk about him,” Emma offered. “I haven’t exactly done the best job of keeping you a neutral third party where he’s concerned. It would be… normal… if you were curious about your dad.” The words were like ash on her tongue, but she forced them out, mentally awarding herself ten points for Gryffindor.

Henry made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “After what he did to you? I don’t care about him. He’s not my dad. Killian’s…” He looked down and Emma was horrified to see tears in his eyes. “I thought Killian… I guess I was wrong.”

“Hey.” Emma put her hand on Henry’s chin and pulled his head up to meet her eyes. “Killian would take a bullet for you, kid. Whatever is going on with him - it is not about you and it is not about how much he loves you. Got it?”

“Got it,” Henry mumbled, eyes still downcast. “Can I play Xbox until dinner?”

Sighing, Emma forced her stiff little boy into an embrace and kissed his forehead soundly. “Yeah. Play something nice and violent.”

He nodded against her side then trudged into his room. Emma pursed her lips.

Fuck it. She was snooping on his computer. Henry was upset by whatever the hell was wrong with him and she was done being the mature adult. Ten points from Gryffindor - maybe she’d always belonged in Slytherin after all.

xxx

All Emma got out of snooping through Killian’s laptop was a recipe for buttered rum and a knot of guilt in her stomach. His browser history was weeks old, like he hadn’t searched for anything; she even tried all the tricks she knew to find hidden tracks on a laptop - he’d really done nothing on it since before they’d moved to Boston and that included working on the new book.

Maybe his odd behavior really was as simple as an intense case of writer’s block. Maybe he was afraid to tell her, because they’d gotten this fancy apartment and with the bail bonds trade usually drying up a bit after the holidays, they’d be counting on his advance once he delivered his publisher the detailed synopsis.  

Abandoning her shitty, mistrustful wife plan, Emma headed back to the kitchen (it was possible she’d left the ice cream out to melt) but stopped when she heard not the sounds of violent bloody gore, but quiet voices coming from Henry’s bedroom.

“It’s fine,” Henry was saying in a tone that clearly indicated it was anything but.

“It’s really not,” Killian said and Emma leaned against the wall that kept her out of their line of sight but made eavesdropping on Henry’s room much easier. Hey, the view wasn’t the only reason she’d been eager for this apartment.

“I just… I guess I thought… we were a family,” Henry said, sounding so vulnerable Emma wanted to hug him and hurt Killian a little for making him sound that way.

“Henry… lad.” Then Killian sounded just as lost, just as broken, and Emma just wanted to wrap her arms around them both. “The love I have for you and your mother outweighs all the grains of sand in this or any other realm. Never doubt that.”

“Then why did you bring him up?” Henry asked. “I don’t want to do my ancestry project about him. I can’t ask Mom, because she doesn’t know who her parents are. I know yours are gone, but you knew them at least. I still want to do my project about my family.”

Killian took a deep breath. She knew well the sound of air filling his lungs from a thousand nights falling asleep with her ear pressed to his chest, a thousand moments sat across from him as he prepared himself to say something sappy or meaningful or cheeky.

“My father’s name was Brennan and my mother’s name was Alice. They married young -- too young, it turns out. He was a bastard and she would have adored spoiling you, her first grandchild, young master Henry.”

Emma bit her lip hard to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. Her boys kept speaking to one another, Henry asking questions, then telling Killian to wait, he had to write this down, and Killian detailing as much of his history as he could - the small English village he was born into, the Jones line before him (he’d never known his grandparents and unfortunately couldn’t be of much help further back, but he did delight Henry by informing him they were rumored to be descended from the Davey Jones) and any other detail that came to mind. Emma was pretty sure he was making at least some of it up, but it was a fifth grade ancestry project and she’d punch any teacher who gave Henry less than an A for the yarn he was about to spin.

Deciding she’d had enough of this emotional roller coaster, Emma spent some time researching a skip - he was slippery and she might have to go out of town for a few days to nab him. With Killian and Henry on an even keel, she felt a lot better about the prospect.

A solid hour of research confirmed her suspicion - Travis the douchebag had fled to Rhode Island and was stupid enough to still be using his own credit cards. He had also already set up a new Tinder profile. Emma would drive the Bug to the most recent hit she had on his card and let the tight red dress on her Tinder profile do the rest of the location job for her.

She’d leave in the morning. She wanted to spend the night with her boys first.

They were still in Henry’s room, though ancestry talk had morphed into the video game Killian hated playing the least, something with knights and quests. They were spread out on Henry’s small full bed and Emma took a flying leap between them, forcing them to either dive out of the way and lose a life or accept her full weight.

Naturally they both took the hit, their characters living to fight another day.

“Oi! Swan,” Killian complained.

“Jesus, Mom,” Henry added, sounding much more parental than she ever did.

“Third controller,” she demanded.

Henry hooked the wire with his foot and launched it at her. She caught it easily and entered the game when it let her. Every time she did something Killian or Henry couldn’t, she elbowed them until Killian finally called for a mutiny. He and Henry ganged up on her, assaulting her with tickling fingers and raspberries, the game abandoned and Emma feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

xxx

“I have to go to Rhode Island tomorrow,” Emma said later that night after they’d settled into bed. Killian seemed to be keeping a little more distance between them than was customary and he was also wearing his prosthetic to bed, which he never did.

“Hmm?” Killian responded, irking her because apparently he wasn’t even listening to her.

“I’m going away tomorrow,” she repeated, turning on her side to face him. He was staring at the ceiling, the black t-shirt he wore getting in the way of her favorite pillow, his chest hair. Come to think of it, he’d been withholding her favorite pillow for awhile now. She’d been so exhausted by the move that she’d basically fallen asleep as soon as her head hit an actual pillow.

He finally turned to face her. “Where are you going?”

“Rhode Island,” she repeated. “I’ve got a hit on a skip. It’ll be a nice payday for the holidays.”

“That’s good,” he said, nodding a bit, mostly to himself, it seemed.

“I’ll be gone a few days, most likely,” she added, frowning when he just nodded again. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said sarcastically, before turning her back on him, half curling into a ball of confused anger and sadness.

“Swan,” he muttered.

“Save it,” she said. “If you’re not going to tell me the truth, I don’t want to hear it.”

Several moments passed, so many that she really thought he was going to remain silent. Then, so quietly she might have missed it if she hadn’t been listening so carefully, he spoke.

“Have you ever woken up one morning and felt like an utter fraud?” he asked.

Her frown deepened. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked. “Is this about the book?”

“I wish it were about the bloody book, Swan,” he muttered, his his breath close enough that she could feel it puffing against the bare skin of her shoulder. “Just go to sleep.”

“Killian--”

“You’re leaving in the morning, in that deathtrap of yours - I’d like you to be rested before you get on the road. It’s an icy drive this time of year.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against him and she rested her head against his other arm. He was still keeping her at a distance, but she could feel his concern, his affection, even through such a strange distance. Her mind replayed his declaration to Henry, the passion and conviction in his voice as he’d vowed his love for them both. He hadn’t been lying.

Why the hell would her husband think he was a fraud?

xxx

Emma debated bailing on the trip, but forcing Killian to talk when he clearly wasn’t ready to had never lead anywhere good. So she kissed him and Henry both on the forehead, made them promise to text her updates while she was gone and headed out. Killian had gotten up earlier than she had to make sure the snow chains were on the Bug’s tires and he’d filled the tank up with gas, something she routinely forgot to do until she was already on the road.

Her first night in Rhode Island, Emma logged onto her fake Tinder profile, the one that let her breasts and a tight red dress do all the advertising necessary to pick up any creep in a fifty mile radius. It only took about a hundred left swipes for her mark to pop up and she reluctantly swiped right.

Henry’s text (a picture of the breakfast Killian made him and a row of sad face emojis) interrupted her briefly; she replied that egg whites and salmon were good for a growing boy. Killian’s text (a simple “The boy’s been fed well and sent off to school; come home safe, Swan”) intensified that ache in her chest and she fired off a quick heart emoji in reply. If she started actually texting words, she was afraid word vomit would soon follow and she needed to concentrate on nabbing this dirtbag.

Her skip was laughingly easy to lure but not so seamless to capture. They scuffled outside the restaurant, Emma tackling and handcuffing the guy after a graceless fall sent them both to the icy ground. It was only after she’d handed him off to local law enforcement that she noticed how badly she scraped up her wrist. She rinsed it off in the motel bathroom, but immediately changed into traveling clothes. It was late, but there wouldn’t be traffic at this hour and she’d be home, in bed with her husband, in less than ninety minutes.

Unfortunately, being alone with her thoughts on a long drive and no case to think about meant Emma had little to do but consider Killian’s odd behavior.

When she added it all up - attempting to remind Henry they weren’t actually father and son, the guilt in his eyes, the disinterest in sex, feeling like a fraud - her stomach clenched at the most obvious conclusion: Killian was cheating on her.

Maybe it wasn’t physical. Maybe it was only one time and he didn’t know how to confess. Maybe he had fallen in love with someone else and felt guilty about wanting to leave them. Leave her. Maybe he was only staying for Henry. Maybe he just didn’t know how to tell her he’d made a mistake by marrying her, the same mistake her first foster family had made by wanting to adopt her, only to send her back when she was three.

Emma’s wrist was starting to ache as much as it stung and she worried it might be sprained on top of the scraping. Her vision was also getting blurry, which meant she was probably crying and that always pissed her off, so she used her injured hand to angrily wipe her eyes clear.

If Killian had decided she wasn’t enough, that he wanted something else - that was fine. It would hurt Henry, but they could survive. They were just fine when it was the two of them and they could be a family of two again.

Something hollow started forming in her chest at the thought of no more Killian - no more sullen hours trying to get the words right only to emerge victorious and tumble her into bed to celebrate, no more healthy breakfasts to send them off for the day with ‘vim and vigor,’ no more grown up in the house, no more feeling safe with someone, no more forgetting what it felt like to be a lonely, unwanted little ugly duckling again.

Fucking tears. She was going to get into an accident if she didn’t get a grip on her emotions, but it was impossible when it felt like her whole world was caving in on itself. Killian didn’t lie to her. If he was lying now, it meant… it had to mean something bad, given how long it had gone on, given all the other signs. She wouldn’t be able to make it another night wondering about this. As soon as she got home, she was ripping off the Band-Aid - even if it took several layers of skin with it.

She made a lot of noise coming in the front door, kicking her boots off and leaving them in a messy, wet heap just inside, the way Killian hated. She draped her coat over a chair and caught a look at herself in the mirror by the door - her makeup had run due to all the crying (waterproof my ass) and her hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, which just made her face look even more gaunt.

“You’re home early.” Killian’s soft voice drifted from the living room and her shoulders hunched in on themselves at the sound of it. The sound of his feet encased in those warm, fuzzy socks Henry loved brought him closer. “Did you get your man?”

Emma turned to look at him and wanted to cry even harder. He was wearing a soft black sweater, one of the many new items they’d purchased for the frigid Boston weather. The dark color made his eyes look even bluer, or maybe that was all the lights she’d just noticed he and Henry must have hung up while she was gone, their whole apartment transformed into a cozy winter wonderland. Like a real family lived here. Like he was planning to stick around until Christmas.

She felt fucking crazy.

“You're hurt,” he said, eyes obviously ticking over her to figure out what was causing her mental breakdown. He moved quickly, his right hand pushing a piece of hair that had escaped her punishing ponytail back behind her ear, thumb skimming over her cheek to trace the black tear track that made it all the more obvious she’d been crying. His eyes were still moving over her face furiously and when he realized she hadn’t been punched or visibly concussed (wouldn’t be the first time) he started scanning the rest of her.

His ex-naval captain’s eagle eye narrowed in on her wrist in a snap and her hand was soon cradled between his right and his prosthetic. He made a tsking sound (chastising her for using water as a disinfectant again) and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, the way he always did when she was hurting. The tears came again but she didn’t try to fight them. He made soft shushing sounds and cradled her hand against his chest protectively, letting her cry it out for a few minutes before gently ushering her into the bathroom.

Emma sat on the sink so he wouldn’t have to crouch and Killian pulled the Neosporin out of the medicine cabinet. He used his teeth to open the bottle then curled her hand over his prosthetic to hold her still. Carefully, he applied the disinfectant, knowing how prone she was to kicking when something stung her. Once he’d gotten a good, thick layer applied, he reached for the gauze.

“Do you think it’s sprained as well?” he asked.

She nodded, unable to make her vocal cords worked and he fetched an ace bandage from the emergency room drawer as well.

“You should get an X-Ray,” he said.

“Maybe,” she agreed, her voice sounding like she’d been crying over a half broken heart for the last hour.

They both knew she wasn’t going to get an X-Ray, but she really, really loved him for worrying about her.

“This is how we met,” she said quietly as he leaned forward, using his teeth to hold one end of the gauze so his right hand could smooth it down.

His gaze snapped up to hers, a wary look in them, and her eyebrows scrunched together. “Remember? My timeless grace?”

If he didn’t even remember how they met, he wouldn’t have to leave her - she was going to kill him.

Killian blinked and nodded slowly, as if the memory was replaying in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “You were carrying drinks for you and Henry. Slipped on a patch of ice. Tore your palm up.”

“You bandaged it with your scarf and tied one end with your mouth. Very ballsy for a total stranger,” she added with an affectionate nudge to his hip with her knee.

“I’m nothing if not bold,” he agreed.

“I never even saw you coming,” she confided. “All those walls and that cynicism and keeping everyone out and I never even saw you coming. I wanted to run so far and so fast from you and I still wanted to jump your bones.”

He scoffed. “You thought I was annoying. And possibly a stalker.”

“I still wanted to jump your bones,” she said. They shared a laugh, but she sobered fast. “I know I did run away after that. I know I… didn’t make it easy.”

Was that it? Was she still more difficult than she thought? Emma thought she’d gotten better at letting him in, that she’d let him all the way in, but maybe… maybe he just got tired of it. Of her. Everyone did eventually, everyone but Henry.

“Emma… I don’t like easy,” he said with that grave tone he sometimes got when he wanted to make sure she understood him. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. You have always been worth the fight of my life, darling. Always.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, a soft, reverent thing that made her cry again. He brought her bandaged hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, her palm, her wrist, the patch of skin on her forearm left bare from his first aid work.

“Do… do I need to fight for you?” she asked, the quiet, scared question nothing like the rage she’d planned to unleash on him during her drive. Funny how Killian being Killian could disarm her in the blink of an eye.

“Oh, luv,” Killian muttered, pressing his forehead to hers. “I have been yours from the moment we met. It just took me a little while to realize it. You’ve done nothing wrong, Emma. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been… I’ll be better.”

“I don’t need you to be better. I need you to be you. I need you to want to be here.”

“I do,” he vowed and that was exactly what it was: a vow. “There is nowhere else for me but by your side, Swan.”

“You’re confusing me,” she whispered, like it was a secret.

“I’m confusing me,” he assured her. “Please just… give me a little time? To figure a few things out?”

Emma sighed. It wasn’t the resolution she wanted, but she felt oddly lighter. They hadn’t talked about anything specific, but already her earlier fears felt ridiculous. Most of them, anyway. At least he wasn’t pretending things were fine - he’d given her months of space to realize she was in love with him in the beginning. She could give him a few weeks now, to figure out whatever was going on in that ridiculously attractive head of his.

“You’ve got four weeks ‘til Christmas,” she grumbled. “I want my husband front and center by then, got it, buddy?”

So she wasn’t nearly as patient or understanding as he was. He knew what he was getting into.

His grin at her words indicated that he did and that he still found her rather charming.

She could live with that. For now.

[capnjay21]

the importance of being idle, 12/12

A/N: aloha! I posted this on AO3 a little while ago, but it has yet to make it onto tumblr. I wanted to say thank you so much to everybody who stuck along for the ride, it wouldn’t have been anymore than a oneshot without you! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but here it is.

Rating: M

Catch up on: AO3 | tumblr

the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

Neither the fragrant dispensable hand soap, the superior quality of microwavable goods nor the silent as smoke bathroom door could make living in the Blackbeard’s Revenge tour bus a salvageable experience.

  Admittedly, she’d only been there for just over twenty-four hours.

  But it still fucking sucked.

  After watching the Jolly Rogers drive away, she’d had little else to do except move her camera equipment and her small suitcase onto the other bus. Of course, the only free bunk happened to be right next to Blackbeard’s, but at least she wasn’t ousting any back-line equipment. If she was going to be here for the next month and a half, she would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, collect her money and go.

  And try not to think too hard about the band that had driven away.

  She spent the entire day in her bunk, alternating between attempting to read and adjusting settings needlessly on her camera, ignoring any offhand remarks sent her way. Blackbeard’s Revenge clearly had their own rhythm, the radio flipped onto some postseason baseball game while they alternated between relaxing and trying to coax a rise out of Emma. There were only so many ‘and how goes our forlorn freelancer, darling?’ she could take before she took a leaf out of Tina and Killian’s book and socked one of them in the jaw, but their every jibe strengthened her resolve. The only small mercy she could think of was the lack of Neal, since he had his own car he’d been using for that leg of the tour.

 Eventually, the men dozed off and Emma was left in peace, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t text Killian. Her immediate instinct was to wait and see if he texted her first, but remembered too late that they never actually got to a point where they’d exchanged numbers — she only had his because of the note he’d left in her apartment that very first night. Along with his shirt.

 (The shirt she had, in a moment of weakness, decided to throw on.

 She’d brought it on the tour under the pretext of giving it back to him, and it had sat at the bottom of her suitcase until she could find the right moment — which now, of course, had obviously passed her by. It felt oddly symbolic of her entire relationship with Killian, to her chagrin.)

 August had messaged her a string of salsa dancing women emojis, assuring her she’d pull through the other side. In response, she’d merely sent him a tired looking selfie with the book she’d secretly swiped from his bunk; Pinocchio. His reply was scandalised.

 I knew there was a reason you said no to my fairytales. ‘Finding your own destiny’ my ass.

<b>that’s not v gentlemanly </b>

  They’d bantered for a few minutes before she let the phone lie, a dull ache settling in the centre of her chest. She missed him. She missed all of them.

 And before she let the rattling of the bus on the highway lull her into an afternoon nap, she couldn’t stop feeling the phantom scratch of stubble against her temple as a kiss was laid there, a murmur of sweet dreams, Emma, carrying her away.

 ***

 BR had managed to recruit some local band last minute to open for them that night in New York, a city where no shortage of musicians lurked waiting for a chance like that to come along. They’d been okay, the style leaning a little too far into pop-punk for Emma’s liking, but dutifully she took photos and acted much the same as she had on every other night. It was a job, now. Nothing more. Take photos, go to bed. No lingering backstage, no welcome distractions, no banter as the venue was set up — all she cared about was her finger over the shutter release and the thought of getting back to her bunk, Killian’s shirt folded neatly underneath her pillow.

 She’d gone back to the bus immediately after the gig. Even with that vestige of him surrounding her, it had been a restless night’s sleep.

 They were performing just one more show in New York, and the next morning Emma couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to the fact that it would be the last time she worked with Neal. If it weren’t for the fact that it left her alone with Blackbeard’s Revenge she would’ve been more relieved, but as it stood Neal was both a buffer and an inconvenience. They both knew it in their unspoken, mutual agreement; this would be the last time they saw each other. There was no use prolonging their association — the past was firmly in the past, Emma had closure. She didn’t know what Neal had, but it sure as fuck wasn’t anything that concerned her, and there was something decidedly liberating about finally setting fire to that chapter of her life, and letting it go up in smoke.

 While most of her freedom to decide had been taken from her over the past day, it felt good to still be able to make some choices.

 As the hours ticked by into the early afternoon, Emma was flicking through the photos she’d already taken from the last month or so, Blackbeard and Isaac playing cards in the seating area, with Pan listening to music as he lay back in his bunk. Jefferson had disappeared a few hours ago. It was a bitch to get into the city from the parking lot they’d been assigned near Newark, but the bassist seemed to be the only one interested in giving it a try. Emma couldn’t bring herself to give it a go, and it was highly likely the other three had already been before. The precarious peace, however, didn’t last long.

 The door at the back of the bus swung open, sunlight beaming through and making Emma blink against the sudden brightness. Assuming it would be Jefferson returning, Emma didn’t spare it a glance — he was easily the most tolerable of the lot of them, but that didn’t make him any less complicit in the reason she was there.

 “Ah,” Blackbeard greeted loudly, and Emma reached for her headphones. The least she could do was drown him out. “Jones. You’re late.”

 Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked.

 To her utter disbelief, Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorframe.

 It took mere milliseconds for his eyes to find hers, a vivid blue like the glow of a lighthouse scattered on the waves. Although rationally she knew it had scarcely been a day and a half, it felt like far too long since she’d seen him, and she wrenched her gaze away to try and take in the rest of him — somewhat dishevelled in appearance and, if she wasn’t mistaken, wearing the same rumpled clothes as the day before. With his raven hair sticking up at odd angles on the back of his head, he looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

 “Apologies,” Killian was saying to Blackbeard, “this place isn’t exactly convenient to reach.” Blackbeard waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his game.

 Before Emma could even fire off a query about why he was there, Killian cut her off.

 “Pack your stuff, Swan,” he said, “we’re going.”

 She didn’t move.

 “What’re you doing here?”

 Killian let out an exaggerated huff. “What does it look like? I’m attempting a dashing rescue.”

 “And they say romance is dead,” Isaac hummed in amusement from his spot on the sofa opposite Blackbeard. Emma ignored him.

 She didn’t get why everyone was being so goddamn calm.

 As if sensing her hesitation, Blackbeard quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re welcome to stay, Miss Swan, if you so desire.” The look he gave her could be described as leery at best. “But he has come all this way, and even I don’t advocate for that sort of cruelty.”

 “Time is rather of the essence, love. Cab’s out front.”

 Killian was watching her earnestly, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. He was nervous, by now she could read his posture like a map, and something about it suggested to her that his sense of urgency had little to do with a taxi fare.

 What the hell was going on?

 Cautiously, she reached for her bag, gaze darting between the man in the doorway and those sprawled on the sofas. “You’re saying I’m allowed to just walk out of here?”

 Blackbeard spread his hands. “Of course.”

 “No invoices in the post?”

 “Not even for your pilfering of my vastly expensive soap.”

 Emma wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds.

 She gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, shoving any loose items around the bunk back into her suitcase before carefully disassembling her camera and safely packing away all of the components. After she descended the ladder and made a quick check of the sheets for anything she hadn’t seen, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the three members of Blackbeard’s Revenge. Malcolm was still lying on his bed, eyes closed with his headphones on, not having even acknowledged the turn of events. Isaac and Charles’ attentions had returned to their game.

 Emma opened her mouth to try and check one final time that she was in the clear.

 “Call,” Charles said mildly, “you really do have the worst luck, Heller.”

 “I’m sure my luck will improve once you stop using those two extra aces.”

 They weren’t even the slightest bit interested, and she owed them nothing. So, after throwing them the proverbial middle finger, she merely stepped out of the bus and into the early afternoon sun. Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the parking lot where two cabs were already waiting. From their brief distance, she could see August, Robin and Smee in one, Tina in the other, with piles of their equipment stuffed in between.

 “Killian —?” she started.

 “Sorry to press you, love,” he smiled widely at her, before throwing a furtive look back at the bus, “I’m merely eager not to tempt fate.”

 “What the hell is going on?”

 “You’re going home,” he said firmly, and the heat from his hand just erred on the side of scorching through her sweater. “That’s all that matters.”

 “But how —?”

 They’d reached the taxis, and all too suddenly the door had swung open to the first and she realised there was an empty seat beside August. Killian brushed a hand over her hip just briefly before he retreated to the other, dropping into the backseat beside Tina. Emma, entirely baffled but not too fond of questioning her good fortune just yet, saw she had no other choice but to buckle in. When she entered the cab it was to a few scattered cheers and August squeezing her hand affectionately.

 She may have no goddamn clue what was happening, but it felt good to be back.

 ***

 The Jolly Rogers were going to get signed.

 The moment the door to the cab had shut, August, Smee and Robin were practically tripping over each other in order to relay the good news, an energy thrumming through them that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Apparently, they’d had some incredibly busy twenty-four hours.

 From Jefferson’s mansion in Connecticut, it had taken around eight hours of straight driving to get them back to Storybrooke, Merida testing the speed limit at any moment she could — it was a race against time, they’d decided, to see if they could make something of the exposure from the national tour before the news that Blackbeard’s Revenge had dropped them hit the press. There was no telling just how Gold Records would spin the news, and just how much of an effect it might have on any potential labels interested in signing them.

 As it turned out, somebody had been waiting for them. Eric Triton had never been the bitter sort, he had confessed to them, but if his time with Blackbeard’s Revenge had taught him anything it was that he far favoured the reward that came with nurturing a band who actually cared about music to playing whatever it took to top the charts. After his departure from Blackbeard and company he had turned his attention to producing, eventually partnering up with the Poseidon Music Group after a providential meeting with the CEO’s daughter on a beach, and had made it his business to constantly be scouting for new talent ever since.

 Apparently he had attended their gig at Warehouse 4, the one Emma herself had skipped what felt like a hundred years ago, and he was one of the calls that had Smee’s phone vibrating for days afterwards. You could imagine his exasperation when Blackbeard’s Revenge got to them first.

 It was why, he’d told them, he almost felt glad that they’d been dropped from the tour — it gave him a second shot. The moment one of his contacts had alerted him to the disagreement at Jefferson’s mansion he had started camping as near as he dared to the town line, predicting correctly that they would be racing back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. He accosted them as they stormed into town, and the next thing they knew they had an invitation to play before Poseidon himself next week. Which was only a formality, of course. The deal was as good as done.

 “Have you guys slept at all?” Emma gaped, and the dark rings around their eyes spoke volumes.

 All three of them were giddy, exhausted but exhilarated, and constantly iterating just how glad they were that she was able to share in their good news, but not one of them would say a second word on just how they managed to wrangle her out from Blackbeard’s grasp, insisting that it wasn’t their story to tell. Emma had an inkling of just whose it was, but her curiosity only compounded the longer she sat sandwiched between August and the door of the cab.

 It was a couple hundred bucks for the fare, something she insisted on covering once her cheque from Blackbeard’s Revenge came through, but mercifully they wouldn’t be paying for all the way back to Maine. The taxis dropped them off in New Haven, at a trucker stop they'd agreed to meet Merida and her coach at. The driver was offering the trip pro bono out of something she denied was affection, but it did mean they had to work around her schedule — hence why they were cramming most of their equipment between them in the taxis.

 “We don’t have anywhere to live,” Robin had pointed out, “and we didn’t have time to find a motel. We haven’t stopped moving since we left you!”

 It was here that Emma was finally able to approach Killian. While the others milled around outside, perched atop amps and keeping an eye on the flow of traffic for Merida’s coach in the early evening, Emma watched him slip away and head into a diner, not wholly unlike the one they were abandoned at all those weeks before.

 A fluorescent green light blinked in and out of life overhead, and a buzzer went off somewhere behind the counter as she entered — loud enough to draw Killian’s gaze instinctively. He had just finished buying sustenance by the look of it, and once his eyes landed on her a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a paper bag towards her.

 “Onion ring?”

 Emma took one of the proffered items. “I thought you hated onion rings.”

 “You don’t,” he pointed out.

 For a moment they chewed in silence, her on an onion ring and he on what looked like a carrot stick, before wordlessly moving back outside. Behind them, the neon light from inside the diner shimmered, casting fluorescent shadows against the crunch of gravel underfoot. From twenty or so feet away Emma watched August stand, take ten paces in one direction, then turn and walk back. Everybody was waiting for something, some new start. Anticipation tickled through the air.

 “I heard about your record deal,” she found herself saying, “congratulations.” Although a little stilted in its delivery, the sentiment was earnest. She was still wrapping her head around things but she couldn’t be more proud of the Jolly Rogers.

 “Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” Killian demurred, but she could see the pleased flush working its way up from his collar. “We were just lucky to come across the one person in the industry who might hate Blackbeard more than we do.”

 Lord knew Eric had every reason, if what Emma had heard was true.

 “Still, it’s exciting.”

 “It is,” he agreed.

 A few pregnant seconds passed, and Emma waited for him to volunteer the information he must know she was eager to find out — just how the hell she was there, and not back in a tiny bunk on Blackbeard’s bus resigned to another evening of ignoring their jibes as best she could.

 “Killian…” she began.

 “Carrot stick?”

 Emma waved the bag away, along with his futile attempt to divert attention. “How is it that I just walked out of there?”

 Killian shrugged, making every effort to appear nonchalant. He almost succeeded. “Does it matter?”

 “Of course it does,” she insisted. His and the others’ reluctance to discuss it only had her anxiety climbing higher and higher, wondering just what stipulations Blackbeard had latched onto her release. “If you’ve traded your soul to Hades for me then I want to know about it so I can —”

Thank you? Knock the living daylights out of you?

 “—make it right.”

 The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upwards, the static light of the diner casting his eyes in an electric blue. Alive, aware. Watching her as closely as he always had. “You’d climb down to hell for me, would you, Swan?”

 “If I had to,” she replied neutrally. A fierce truth rang with every word.

 “Well, you needn’t worry,” Killian continued brazenly. He finished his final carrot stick as she waited for a response, crumpling up the packet in his palm and letting it drop into the trash can beside them. “My soul is safe and sound. We merely offered to cover the cost of your termination fee and Blackbeard was amenable.”

 The declaration caught her off guard; the termination fee was five thousand dollars, that had been non-negotiable. If the Jolly Rogers had that sort of money lying around they would have already offered to foot the bill — she may not have known them long, but she knew that much. They were great people who cared about her wellbeing, and she couldn’t imagine August at the very least permitting the act of driving away from her if they had the means to release her. It was why she spoke her next words with a cautious, amused confidence.

 “You guys couldn’t string enough cents for a cardboard box, no less five thousand dollars.”

 “That’s the thing about commerce, darling. Money is easy enough to acquire if you have something of value to trade for it.”

 He had his guitar, of that she was certain — by the edge of the curb she could see Robin leaning against the familiar case. Killian was avoiding looking at her, reaching a finger behind to scratch at the shell of his ear. Emma’s heart steadily began to beat a rhythm against her ribcage. To her spinning mind, it sounded a lot like Lavender Rose.

 “And what was that?”

 “Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

 For a moment Emma blinked, lips parted, not entirely sure what he was referring to. For a petrifying fraction of a second she imagined Blackbeard had insisted the band break up for her to be let go, but belatedly shook the thought when she remembered Eric Triton and the record deal that supposedly awaited them in Storybrooke.

 His gaze dropped and she followed it, before suddenly realising the silver chain she could usually see peeking through the collar of his shirt had vanished.

This, here, is the Jolly Roger.

 His watch.

 Killian was still speaking, but her eyes were fixed on the absence of the accessory.

 “Did I forget to mention the casing was overlain with sterling silver? An ivory clock face, seventeen jewels — and all natural sapphires, not synthetic, mind. Fetches about eight thousand dollars at retail. One of only fifty novelty Peter Pan watches made in 1955, I believe.”

 Emma didn’t care about that, not about sapphires or rubies or silver.

 He’d said, he’d told her; that watch was the last thing he owned of his father’s.

 “Cruella Feinberg gave me a fair price back in Storybrooke when I went to her. I could’ve probably gotten more if I hadn’t rushed it, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to track the BR bus after New York.”

 He seemed to notice that she hadn’t so much as murmured a response, and squeaked out the remainder of his explanation. “I, ehm… I was in something of a rush.”

 Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it. This sodding impossible man had found time in between trying to negotiate a deal that would decide the future of his entire career to trade away his most valuable possession, for a girl who had barely been able to tell him that she liked the song he wrote. For her. She was stunned. Fucking mortified. Beyond moved.

 Despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you.

 Thank you, she had said, when he’d first shown her the watch. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough now.

 She became more aware of the way he was angled towards her, hanging on her every breath. Fuck, she had to say something. She had to say something.

 “You sold your watch for me?”

 She thought he might turn away, cower from everything she was asking of him — that after all that, she needed to be sure. She needed to hear it, just one more time. She wanted the beat of Lavender Rose thumping through her, the scent of rusted strings on his shirt. He’d already done so much, but she couldn’t let him get away without saying it, not with her heels slammed into the earth the way they were.

 Tell me, she begged.

 Killian’s vibrant blue gaze met her head on, like he knew — he probably did.

 “Aye,” he said.

 Emma wasn’t sure which of them moved first — she thought it was her, she hoped it was her — but after several long seconds her hands wound their way around his shoulders and he was dipping his head to meet her. When their lips connected, she sighed; at once familiar, she knew these lips by now. She knew the way he kissed, as he undoubtedly knew hers, she knew the way his hand would curl at her waist to scratch against the leather of her jacket. She knew the way his mouth would part, the way he would breathe unevenly through his nose against the skin of her cheek to avoid breaking away.

 She knew his heart.

 He would let her pull away, if she wanted to. After everything he would let her let him go.

 Not that she would.

 Killian’s right hand rose to brush reverently against her cheek and at once they parted. A flicker of what she knew to be trepidation flashed in his eyes, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Something inside of her crumpled, and it felt like only really then that she understood just how many times she had let him down. Knowingly and unknowingly both.

 I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

 “I can’t believe you did that,” she said instead.

 Killian’s shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, his finger tracing a line behind her ear to wind its way around her hair.

 “I’m done dwelling on the past.”

 To his evident delight Emma tugged him back down to her, this time for longer than before. It was only when they broke apart to the whoops and crows of three other, equally delighted, people, that she realised just how not-alone she and Killian were. The other three Jolly Rogers watched from their spot at the side of the road with matching shit-eating grins.

 Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, whose arm had moved around to tuck her closer into his side. “I’ll never be able to get ten minutes alone with you, will I?”

 “I could do with a break.” At Emma’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. “What did I say about refraining from kissing me after you’ve had onion rings? I can barely stomach you.”

 Merida’s bus pulled into the parking lot to the chorus of Killian’s yelp, with Emma leaving him clutching at his side as she walked back over to the others.

 ***

 "Swan?"

 The hoarse whisper hovered just over the low rumbling of the bus, barely loud enough to rouse anybody from sleep —but then, Emma hadn't been sleeping. She had a feeling Killian hadn't been either.

 When his face popped up over the edge of her bunk, eyes bright in the dim light, it all but confirmed it. He looked abut as wired as she felt, and she met his gaze warmly. He beamed.

 "Mind if I —?" The guitarist gestured to the slim line of space between her and the railing at the edge of the bed, and in response Emma shuffled away to allow him a little more room. As quietly as he could, Killian hauled himself up the ladder and slid in beside her. "Christ," he muttered," these beds weren't made for two — ow." He knocked his head on the tip of the ladder and scowled, while Emma stifled a laugh.

 A glance at her watch informed her it was nearly two in the morning. It also made her stomach twist both pleasantly and anxiously all over again when she thought about watches. The accessory had played crucial roles in some of the worst and best moments of her life now.

 Killian, meanwhile, had righted himself as best he could, slinging his right arm over her hip and tugging her closer. Emma did not resist, and even nudged her leg between his.

 "Hello," Killian murmured, just before their lips met gently.

 Emma smoothed her hand up his chest, stopping once it reached the curve of his shoulder. "I'm sorry you sold the watch." She wanted to be a little more articulate than she had been when he'd first told her — it was important to her that he knew that.

 "I'm not," Killian replied with the barest shrug. At Emma's disbelieving look he carried on, rubbing a hand down her back. "Honestly, Emma. It was just a piece of jewellery."

 "You said it was the last thing you had left of your father."

 For a moment he was silent, eyes dropping down to her fingers tracing patterns into the front of his shirt. "My father was not always a decent man," he said finally, although it was clear the words had been difficult for him to get out. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see it go to a deserving cause." Before she could reply he hastened to continue, murmuring her name to cut her off.

 As she watched him expectantly, he breathed out an uncertain laugh. "I, erm… forgive me, I have to know. You're not going to get off this bus and change your mind, are you?"

 His hand had frozen on her lower back, almost frightful of her response. With his mouth twisted in a wince and his body tensing, he appeared so much like somebody bracing for an impact that she laughed and knocked her forehead into his chest.

 She could feel his smile into the crown of her head, but he worked on putting some space between them all the same. "I'm serious," he said, although the mirth in his eyes somewhat belied it, "I'm not sure I could make it through another of your unpredictable tides."

 After a moment the laughter subsided, she let herself watch him, truly take him in a way she hadn't done for some time. His eyes appeared a deep navy in the low light, his left eyebrow raised in that barest approximation of hope she had come to see there, lips parted just so like he was waiting for her permission to breathe. Emma touched a hand to his cheek and his eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the movement. He would let her back away, even now. Even with her in his arms he was offering her that one final chance, and she felt affection surge for him all the more because of it.

 "I'm not changing my mind," she promised.

 Killian's eyes flew open, watching her carefully.

 "I want to see where this thing goes. I'm not saying I'm not terrified, because I am." Like standing at the edge of this unknown precipice, a jump she'd come so close to so many times before with this man — but now she was ready. "I'm petrified."

 "I can feel you shaking," he hummed quietly, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulders. "Trust me."

 "I do," she murmured. "I want this future with you, and that's what scares me. Does that," she paused, pulling his face back up to meet her eyes, "does that sound crazy?"

 Killian shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly morphed into something more confident.

 "It sounds like music to this pirate's ears."

 Emma laughed, a loud, happy thing, and Killian did his best to hush her by drawing her into a kiss. For a few moments they just lay there, chuckling silently and trading affection, the slant of his lips against her own a welcome feeling. It was just as she felt his hand sliding lower across her back, sending a shot of excitement through as his eyes met hers, his intent clear, that she remembered exactly where they were.

 And that they weren't entirely alone.

 "Guys, that was adorable, but I swear to God if you have sex on this bus I will never forgive you."

 Tina's voice pierced the silence like bursting a balloon — Killian instinctively shot back from Emma, which only led to him smacking his head onto the railing behind him at the edge of the bunk. Emma immediately snorted with laughter, which only increased as he rubbed the back of his head and sent a reproachful look in her direction.

 "We'll turn you into Merida."

 Robin's voice, too, floated down from further up the bus. Emma was grateful for the dark as she felt her face begin to heat up — it was hard enough laying herself bare in front of Killian, let alone his three best friends. Because she was certain, as much as she could be, that August would also be awake. The damn guy didn't miss a thing.

 Tina made a noise of agreement. "Merida specifically said she wouldn't tolerate any funny business."

 "Yet somehow," Killian bit back, "she tolerates you lot just fine." After a moment he clearly has no interest in ending, he reluctantly sat up on her bunk and shuffled back towards the ladder. Emma's hand on his leg served as her only protest, and Killian lifted it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I guess I'll have to wait to finally show you a good time, Swan," he winked, "and have you remember it."

 Bizarrely, she found herself thinking of one of the post-its he had given her in Storybrooke so long ago. She'd very much like to know how it felt to hear him scream.

 "I guess you will," she replied, making her intent clear.

 She could tell Killian just resisted letting out a low whistle, before dropping down the ladder.

 "Much better," Robin assured them. "No 'good times' should be had on the bus. Only terrible, not good times."

 "August, stop reading," Tina urged, "I know you're doing it. Nobody can have fun on the bus!"

 A barely distinguishable rustle came across from August's bunk. "Don't bring me into this."

 As the teasing escalated into a sock skirmish (thus determined, claimed Robin, by August's tendency to use socks as missiles when disturbed) Emma forgot about her embarrassment. They were good at that, the Jolly Rogers. Helping her forget. Making her feel comfortable even when the only place she had ever felt safe was a hundred miles away. They had driven for hours through the night so that they could get to her, had defended her even when her opponent had been one of their closest friends, had cared for her. Without strings. Unashamedly. Wholly.

 Mary Margaret would always be her sister, or as close to a sister as Emma would ever get. But these guys?

 They were her family. The one she had chosen for herself.

 And the one she would continue to choose, every fucking chance she got.

 ***

 "You ready?" She had asked, a week later, as Killian wiped his palm on the edge of his jeans. To try and get rid of the sweat, she knew, it was practically rolling off of him in waves.

 "As we'll ever be."

 Emma squinted through the viewfinder on her camera, using Tina fiddling with the height of the microphone as her focus point. Beside her, Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety driving from him. At the other end of the room, Poseidon himself, his executive assistant and Eric Triton were just settling themselves into three large chairs. With their high backs and elaborate deorations around the arms, thrones was the first word that popped into Emma's head when she'd seen them. Imposing, powerful. Intimidating as hell.

 Part of the reason Killian was reminding himself to breathe in and out.

 "You heard what Eric said," she assured him, "this is just a formality. It's practically a done deal."

 Killian looked at her sharply. "Not if he doesn't like us."

 "He will."

 The activity in the room was slowly beginning to wind down, each party slowly running out of ways to delay the inevitable. Emma gave him a gentle shove.

 "Now get lost so I can take some decent photos, yeah?"

 This time when Killian smiled down at her, she could tell he meant it. It was one of those goofy, wide smiles she had found he couldn't keep back when she was around. It had a somewhat irritating habit of making her stomach drop pleasantly. He smoothed a hand down her back.

 "Such glowing words of encouragement," he mused, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

 "Why bother?" she smirked once he pulled away. "It's not like my lack of encouragement ever held you back."

 In response he patted his hand against her, and gave her one last amused glance over his shoulder before heading over to the others. His strat, perched primly against the wall, was soon lifted and slung over his shoulder, as he exchanged a few quiet words with Tina and August. Robin was settling himself down onto the stool behind his kit, and Tina then hummed a few quiet tests into the microphone.

 Emma, meanwhile, took a few preparatory shots. After deciding the look Killian had sent her was altogether too deliberate, she stretched her arm behind her back — true enough, her fingers grazed something stuck there. Tugging it free, she realised it was a post-it. Some things never changed.

 Wish me luck. 

—K x. 

 When their eyes met again, she shook her head with a smile. He didn't need luck.

 Soon enough, the low murmur of noise in the room slowly sunk into silence, Eric no longer murmuring into Poseidon's ear and the huge man instead surveying the group of musicians in front of him. Despite herself, Emma felt her pulse begin to thump a little bit quicker, glancing between the two sides of the room.

 The twang of August's bass lurched from one of the amps, before fizzling out into nothing as he rushed to still the string.

 Poseidon shifted in his seat. Emma's finger hovered over the shutter button. Killian cleared his throat.

 Robin lifted his drumsticks to eye-level, pausing before clacking them together —

 One, two —

 Three, four —

The shutter clicked. The room exploded with sound.

 And that was it.

And that’s it, folks! An epilogue will follow sometime in the near future because  there are a few loose ends I’d like to tie up and I will always love my jolly rogers. almost as much as I love all of you! thank you so so much for your endless support + patience with my gaps between updates, I’ve loved being able to tell this story in the way I always wanted to.I hope you all liked how it ended, and maybe I’ll see you next time on another project! 

peace & love / over & out!

-jay x

[helenrlee]

Sequence Project Final Reflection and Participation Stories

After the presentation and critique on Thursday, I am overall pleased with the results of my project. I think the overarching theme of it became not only to provoke a story or imagination, but to ask questions and further complicate a problem that I’ve set out for the viewers. My favorite questions were ones like “doesn’t this remind you of...” and “why did you choose...”.

The point was raised about the project as to how to present a future, similar, further work like this in the most effective way. Whether this being to reorganize the images in a different way to be viewed or to present the prompt for viewers in a specific way, I should consider these aspects in the future.

Last, but not least, here are the stories that were generated from the prompt I gave to a couple willing viewers. I appreciate their truly imaginative creations and the themes they instill, all from a couple of photographs.

Again, here was the prompt:

1)Background. For my project I was inspired by an children’s storybook illustrator and writer who I researched. People always asked him about what order his bookmaking came in: which came first the illustration or the story. And this wasn’t as interesting to me as when he described where he got inspiration for the storybooks. 2) My Project. For this project I’ve wanted to ask people for stories based from imagination of images I set in front of them. These pictures I’ve taken all feel like they have some sort of story you can imagine from them, but that’s just me. 3) Your part. I’m asking for a story of your own creation based from as few or as many of these images as you choose. It can be as long or as short as you wish. I originally intended for you to choose from within one of the 3 sets of 4 pictures, but if you happen to draw from each other, so be it. 

Story 1

It's January 29 and quickly turning into one of the worst winters ever.  The lack of snow is critical and the natives are panicking.  

"When will the snow come?"  

"We need snow now".

"It's not even cold enough to make snow".

These were the plaintive cries of the villagers.  President's day weekend was around the corner and the lack of snow was freaking people out....no snow means no skiers, no snowboarders.....no tourist dollars.  

Desperate times call for desperate measures. One by one the lift attendants and snowcat operators began leaving offerings to Ullr, the Norse god of snow. A  beautiful  and lovingly hand knit mohair scarf left on a piney alter,  a cozy hat, a boot; anything to leave oneself vulnerable to the elements and at the mercy of the gods. Ullr we give our most prized possessions to you....now bestow upon us SNOW

The End.

Story 2

One early morning, in a metropolitan area probably quite similar to yours, a boy left his two-story bungalow home, with the ultimate destination of Goodwill Inc. Over the past few years, he had accumulated quite a few clothing items, and was intent on donating his winter apparel to the less fortunate. However, this boy was not aware of how aggravating it would be to haul his outdated wardrobe the excessive distance (seven hundred fifty-three feet) all by himself. He decided to periodically lighten his load by dropping various garments along the way. Unfortunately, he dropped so many things, he did not have anything left to deliver. Despite this, he boy was not concerned.

Unaware of plate tectonics and planetary geology, he was sure that this was for the best, as the earth must get chilly during the winter. Comforted by knowing his good deed was still accomplished for the day, the boy awarded himself with an only slightly used candle from the same Goodwill he aimed to donate to. Thus, the earth was a bit warmer than it was before, and the boy’s room smelled like fresh linen for many days; this scent eventually gave way to another, as the candle was tipped over, burning his bungalow to the ground. Despite this, the boy was not concerned, as he enjoyed watching fire. It was calming.

Story 3

I know these footprints are hers. I know it. She’s leaving hints for me to come find her. Everyone, my friends and family, say I need to leave her alone, that she isn’t interested. But why would she distinctly leave footprints and...Oh! She even has left me a glove and another glove! What game is she playing with me? I will find her. I know she wants to be with me. Hmm...it’s odd though that I’ve never seen her wear these gloves or this hat, and the tree is an odd hiding place. But they seem so familiar, as if all winter as I walk this same path through the neighborhood I have seen them. The purple scarf! I know that scarf! It is her scarf!!!...oh wait..wait a minute..no I am such a fool. These garments are from the melted neighborhood snowman, not my love.

Story 4

One day, it was discovered where all of the missing socks had been going. For millennia humans have thought, "Where the hell did the matching sock to this go?" Or, "What happened to my other glove?" Then, then figured it out.

Deep in the government laboratories found in Area 51, they were experimenting. By leaving socks, gloves, and various items which have a tendency to wander away, out in the open for extended periods of time, they hoped to discover what was making them disappear. With cameras trained on all of the items, and massive sticky rat traps all over the floor, the scientists sat in wait of the creatures. They waited and waited, until one day, some six and a half years after the onset of the experiment, they discovered that they had caught something in the traps!

The head researcher was named Mr. Neal MacNealson, a portly man with a flowing red beard, merry disposition, Scottish brogue, and head as bald an egg. He came out first into the chamber, to investigate. Roughly twenty feet from the central table upon which the clothing articles rested was a small, green creature stuck to a rat trap. Mr. MacNealson went up to introduce himself and determine the identity of the intruder. He said, "Hello there, my name is Mr. MacNealson and this here is my laboratory (pronounced lah-bore-uh-tore-ee)."

The creature responded by saying, in a high, nasally voice and an interesting accent, almost like an Indian man who had inhaled far too much helium. "My name is ¥©π¶∆✓£ and I seem to be stuck. I was merely attempting to gather materials with which to construct my home." Sure enough, in the monster's hand was but a single pink, frilly sock with leopard spots. MacNealson said, "What kinda home do ya be buildin' with that ya wee beastie?" The creature said, "well I was planning on making ranch style home. There were going to be white shutters with a blue coat on the outside and the inside is going to be nautical themed.”

Story 5

There once was a girl named Elle. Elle was special, so special that she was born with purple hair that glowed at night. When she was little she used to love her purple hair. As she got older, her peers got meaner and some started to tease her for her long purple locks. She became ashamed and wanted nothing more than for her hair to look like everyone else's.

One day while Elle was crying because of her hair, her fairy godmother appeared. She asked, "what is wrong my dear, do you not like the magical hair I bestowed upon you as a child?" "I don't want it anymore, all I want is to be invisible," responded Elle. Her fairy godmother, looking surprised and rather hurt told her, "whatever you wish my dear," and with that, she made Elle invisible. Elle was so relieved to finally be freed from her purple hair. With that, she could walk around town free from judgemental eyes, but what she didn't realize is that while she was invisible, her clothes were not. People were beginning to stare at the floating ensemble of clothing and she had become again what she had feared most, a reason for people to stare. She began to run and frantically throw off her clothes, her scarf, her hat, her boots, her coat and her gloves until she was completely naked and all one could see is the footprints she left behind her. In her haste, Elle never realized how cold it was outside. When she slowed down, she started to freeze.

With doubts that she would ever make it home again, Elle dropped to her knees and started again to cry. With her tears, her fairy godmother came to and asked her, "Child, what is the matter? Did you not like what I did for you?" "No," she quipped back, "I hate it, I am cold, miserable, and more of a freak than I was before with my purple hair." The Godmother, losing her patients with the ungratefulness of the little girl, up and left, leaving Elle cold and invisible forever.

[reptilewranglers]

If you want to learn more about Stuffies/Minis, you’re going to want to go here: @minis-and-models

It wasn’t silent.

Noises of the creatures going about their lives in their habitats could be heard through the barrier - at first, Charlie hadn’t wanted a barrier because it felt too much like imprisoning them but after a welsh green dragon model (a northern variant due to the small tufts of fur that raced up it’s spine and down it’s tail and covered both joints and the delicate toes) had a traumatic encounter with a hawk that left Neal crippled and no longer able to fly Charlie had decided the barriers were for the best - even if the noises outside the barriers were muffled.

There was also Neal, whom taken to riding with him after the incident, whom had decided that his kin behind the barriers deserved enough of his attention to pull him from the nest he made in Charlie’s hair, head bobbing and letting out chirrups of greeting to the other welsh greens whom flocked to the barrier to gossip with Neal.

So it wasn’t silent, but…

Charlie’s fingers played with the button on his shirt cuffs - in, out. in, out. in, out. just like breathing. - and deliberately did not look at his silent companion, instead focusing on the Horntail, dubbed Lily, that Harry had gifted him.

Sensing his gaze, Lily’s head snapped up from where she had been roasting a cricket for dinner - his minis, as he called them, had a diet of shrunken animals that lived in their habitats with them and was supplemented by both live insects and raw meat he fed them - and she rose up on her hind legs, the horns of her hear shuttering and crackling like a rattle as she let loose a furious, shrieking hiss.

He looked away (in, out. in, out.) and ignored her crow of triumph to focus on Neal, who climbed his ear and used his nose as a foothold to gain his attention, letting loose a warbling chirp of concern. He hand - the free on not occupied with the in, out. of his button - rose so his index could trace the fur on Neal’s spine as comfort.

It still wasn’t silent.

Neal crooned, head dipping to nuzzle Charlie’s cheek with the fur on the back of his head before pull back and launching into the air. Charlie kept still as Neal’s wings snapped open to glide lower, tail swinging about to compensate for the crooked right wing that made the mini glide in a spiral, until the mini finally landed on the crook of his arm. Neal glanced back up at him, claws digging into Charlie’s shirt and tail waving as the mini let out a cheery chirrup as if to say see? it’s alright, i’m fine, there’s no need to worry. before scaling down his arm to his hand.

Charlie couldn’t help but smile as Neal proceeded to use his fingers as playthings, pouncing and wrestling with them, to keep him from worrying his button. He didn’t mean to glance at his human companion, but it’s what he did and it was a task to keep his smile from immediately wilting away when Charlie saw the other silently watching him instead of the minis.

“This is-…” Owen faltered as if at a loss for words and Neal gnawed on his thumb as the mini wrestled it. “This is amazing.” The man breathed then, excitedly and eyes shining, demanded, “Tell me everything.”

It wasn’t silent.

“Alright.” Charlie agreed, something in his chest easing.

Charlie was worrying bc he showed Owen smthn he cares about and Owen didn’t respond AT ALL for a long time which had Charlie think about muggle-borns’ initial reactions to models/Stuffies and how a muggle would react to it - especially the amount at Charlie’s age but Owen is just stunned and ‘holy shit MAGIC’ and needs a bit of time to process

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Camping Trip - Chapter 3

Fandom: OUAT

Relationships: Rumple & Neal, Rumple & Henry, Neal & Henry

Rating: T

Summary: Neal is determined to take Henry on a camping trip, and Rumplestiltskin is along for the ride. Neal just wants them to have a nice, normal, male-bonding-in-the-woods experience, but normal isn't exactly coded into the Stiltskin gene pool...

AO3

Chapter 3

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know why he didn’t expect these things to happen to him, honestly. He, a dark sorcerer, was on a camping trip with his magically-unaged son and his cursebreaker grandson, and there was no reason for this camping trip to be anything approaching normal. Still, when he left the campsite to walk about the woods and be absolutely certain there were no dangerous creatures waiting to pounce, he had fully expected to be able to make the circuit and return to his boys.

No such luck.

The gigantic gray wolf in his path growled, its teeth glistening in the moonlight, its ears flat against its head, its hackles raised. Rumplestiltskin held his hands up in surrender and carefully backed up a step, but the wolf snarled and took a step forward.

“Foolish human.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked and looked around before realizing that the guttural voice was coming from the wolf. He sighed. Of course it was a magical wolf. What else?

“Why do you hunt alone? Why do you leave your pack?”

“I’m not hunting,” Rumple insisted. “I’m merely...patrolling. My...pack is nearby; I wanted to be sure we were safe.”

The wolf growled again. “Never safe to hunt alone.”

“I’m not hunting.”

“You have a weapon.”

Rumple thought of the dagger sheathed and concealed in his boot and winced. “It’s not for hunting, it’s for protection. I never let it out of my sight.”

“You do not kill with this knife?”

“I never touch it if I can help it,” he snapped, and the wolf growled a warning.

“Mind your tone, human. I punish the foolish.”

“Papa? Papa!”

Rumplestiltskin whipped around to see Neal charging into the clearing, his crossbow at the ready. His eyes bugged at the sight of the wolf and he raised the bow higher, preparing to fire.

“No, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin said, raising one hand. “I’m alright.”

“Wolves?” Neal was incredulous. “There are rabbits and wolves in these woods and nothing else?”

“Amaroq is no ordinary wolf.”

The wolf’s stance relaxed a little, its ears pricking and its hackles lowering a little. “You know my name.”

More crashing footsteps and then, “Whoa! Did that wolf just talk?”

Neal huffed but didn’t take his eyes off the wolf. “Henry, I told you to stay at the camp.”

Amaroq shifted his eyes from the men to the boy. “You are teaching your young to hunt.”

“I...yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.” Neal lowered the bow an inch or so.

Meeting Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, Amaroq relaxed entirely. “You are truly not alone.”

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, rocked by sudden strong emotion. Neal stood by his side ready to protect him. Belle waited in Storybrooke to welcome him home. Henry was willing to spend time with him. “No,” he rasped. “No, I’m not alone.”

“Very well.” With a flick of his tail, Amaroq turned and dashed back into the woods, his enormous paws making almost no sound even in the dry undergrowth.

Neal let out his breath in a whoosh and lowered his bow all the way. “Holy crap, that was terrifying.”

With a small smile, Rumplestiltskin turned to his son. “This from the man who survived Neverland?”

“Neverland was filled with teenage boys. I know how they think. Giant wolves? No idea.”

“Amaroq is an Inuit creature that stalks and kills those who hunt alone at night.”

“Never heard of it.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Once he discovered I wasn’t alone, I was no longer in danger.”

“Right.” Neal glanced around uneasily. “All the same, we should probably get back to camp. What if there’s a giant porcupine out here that preys on groups of three?”

Henry laughed, and they headed back through the woods.

“Are you sure that pole goes there?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“‘Cause it looks a little weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s fine.”

“But it’s kind of sticking up in the middle and…”

“We’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“But what if…”

With a twang the tent pole, which he’d bent to create the proper dome shape, sprang free and caught Rumplestiltskin square in the eye. Letting loose with a string of Dwarvish curses, he stumbled away from the tent and sat on one of the logs, his hands pressed over his face.

“That sounded awesome!” Henry exclaimed. “Can you teach me…”

“Not on your life,” Neal muttered. He knelt next to his father and pulled at his hand. “Let me see, Papa.”

“‘m fine.”

“Will you let me look?”

“I said I’m fine. Finish pitching the tent.”

Neal rolled his eyes and tugged hard, finally prying Rumplestiltskin’s hand away and revealing a blooming yellow bruise. “Can you open your eye?”

His father complied, though he looked like he was in pain.

“Is anything blurry? Can you move it around?”

Rumplestiltskin looked from side to side, wincing, and Neal leaned in closely.

“I don’t see any scratches or anything. I think it missed actually hitting your eye.” He backed away a bit and grinned. “You’re gonna have one helluva shiner, though.”

“Fantastic,” his father muttered.

“We can tell ‘em all you were fighting off that huge wolf thing.”

“And what, the wolf punched me in the eye?” Rumplestiltskin scoffed.

“Like that’s the weirdest thing these people have ever heard. Flying monkeys, anyone?”

Neal regretted his flippant remark when his father’s face shuttered. “Yes, that was quite fantastical, wasn’t it. Now are you going to finish with the tent, or shall I…?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Neal rose and hurried back to the tent, guilt making his heart thump. For all he’d suffered sharing his father’s mind and body, he at least had not been the object of Zelena’s twisted desires. The things she’d done to Rumplestiltskin - the things she’d made him do - Neal still suffered nightmares, and he knew his father’s must be immeasurably worse. At least he’d been persuaded to see Archie now and again, sometimes alone, sometimes with Belle or Neal, and his eyes had that haunted, hunted look in them less often.

Until some idiot would make some stupid remark.

Henry helped him hammer the tent pegs into the earth, and they stood and surveyed their handiwork. Considering that he’d mostly lived in a cave in Neverland, he hadn’t done too bad a job pitching the tent. Sure, it leaned a little to one side and didn’t quite sit level on the ground, but it would keep them sheltered through the night. He helped Henry unfurl the sleeping bags inside the tent and turned to look at his father, who was staring into the flames.

Cautiously Henry walked over and sat next to his grandfather on the log, picking up a stick and poking at the fire. He kept glancing up at the sorcerer as if trying to read his mood. “So what now?” he asked after a while.

“It’s dark,” Neal said. “Shouldn’t we go to sleep?”

“I guess.” Henry shrugged. “I guess I thought there would be more to this than eating half-cold hot dogs and sleeping on the ground.”

“Your father taught you something about the stars on the way back from New York, didn’t he?” Rumplestiltskin asked quietly.

“Yeah, he said you had to navigate by them.”

“Did he tell you any of the stories associated with them?”

Neal smiled and sat on Henry’s other side. “No, I didn’t. We were pretty focused on getting you back here as fast as we could.”

“I know some of the constellations, but I didn’t know they were stories,” Henry said excitedly.

“Pick one.”

Henry tilted his head back and squinted up at the sky. “Orion.”

“Orion the hunter.” Rumplestiltskin took a stick and traced the shape of the constellation in the dirt. “The son of Neptune, god of the sea, and Euryale, queen of the Amazons.” He turned to grin at Henry. “Met her once. Charming woman, if I ignored the blade held to my throat.” Henry laughed, and his grandfather returned to his drawing. “He was the greatest hunter that ever lived. He had his mother’s strength and cunning, swift and silent and keen-eyed, able to fit an arrow into his bow and fire it into the heart of a creature before the beast even knew he was there.

“Unfortunately, he’d also taken after his father, and Neptune was never known for his self-restraint or his good humor. The more renowned Orion became, the more renown he sought, until he boasted that he could best any creature in the world. You know what they say about pride, of course, Henry.”

“Uh...it’s not good?”

“Pride goeth before a fall,” Neal said. His father smiled at him.

“Exactly. I suppose the animal world heard and resented his boast, because one day as he hunted a particularly large bear, a scorpion crept out of the grass and stung his foot. He died instantly.”

“How did he end up in the stars?” Henry asked.

“Some legends say he was Diana’s betrothed, and when he died she was so grieved that she placed him in the stars so that she could look upon him always.”

They were all silent for a moment, staring up at the heavens.

“My turn,” Neal said. “Tell him about Chiron.”

“Which one is Chiron?”

“The centaur,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “You know it better as Sagittarius.”

“That’s one of the astrology signs, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Chiron was a centaur, but he was also a teacher and healer and musician, the gentlest and kindest of the half-horse beasts, adored by all who knew him. His death was a tragic accident.” Rumplestiltskin tossed his stick onto the fire. “Hercules had slain the Hydra, chopping off the dominant head and thus completing one of his tasks, and he carried arrows dipped in the monster’s poison. Hercules visited the centaurs on another task, to obtain a bottle of Dionysus’ wine, highly prized by the centaurs, who tried to take it. There was a fight and, by accident, an arrow lodged in Chiron’s breast. As an immortal,” and Rumplestiltskin winced, “Chiron could not die, but he was in terrible agony. He wished to become mortal so that he could put himself out of his misery, but even in his quest for mortality Chiron proved his compassion and heroism. Prometheus, who had stolen fire from the gods to give to the mortals, was chained to a rock with an eagle feasting on his liver - the liver would grow back every day, and every day the eagle would return to eat it. Chiron begged to take Prometheus’ place - to become mortal, to be chained to the rock and allowed to die, to release Prometheus from what Chiron deemed a most unjust sentence. Jupiter, astounded by this half-human who had displayed more genuine goodness than many purely human mortals, honored his sacrifice by placing him among the stars.”

“Chiron was always my favorite,” Neal said softly into the silence that followed Rumplestiltskin’s tale.

“Why’s that?”

“Because he was a hero, but not the kind of hero most people think of. He wasn’t loud or bold, he didn’t run into danger and wave swords around. He just - did what he thought was right. Sometimes it’s harder to be that kind of hero.”

Henry tried to hide his yawn behind his hand, but Neal noticed.

“Okay, kiddo, time for bed.”

“But…”

“There’ll be more camping fun tomorrow. Go on in, we’ll be in soon.”

“Okay,” Henry sighed. “Night, Dad. Grandpa.”

When Henry was safely zipped into his sleeping bag, Neal sat on the ground, leaned against the log behind him, and looked at his father, whose bruise was now beginning to turn purple and red.

“If I had known you were in Neverland, none of this would have been necessary.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was so quiet Neal barely heard it.

“What wouldn’t have?”

“The curse. Teaching Regina dark magic. Sending Emma here.”

“There was no way you could have known.”

“I would’ve come for you in an instant. You know that, don’t you?” Neal was silent, his heart beating wildly. “Don’t you, Bae?” his father pleaded.

“Why did you let me go? Just tell me that. All these years, it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to know. I knew you couldn’t get to me. I knew you couldn’t find me. I never wondered why you didn’t come after me. I wondered why you let me go in the first place.”

Rumplestiltskin was silent for several moments. At last he said softly, “I didn’t want to. You’ve been in my head, now. You’ve heard the voices.”

He had. wretchedspinner,useless,worthless,patheticslaveofawitch,soiled,filthy,killyourself,bedone Or worse: yesyesyes,killthewench,killtheboy, freeyourself,loveisweakness,sickness,death,killthemkillthemall

“They told you to let me go.”

“Screamed it until I could scarcely hear my own thoughts. It’s not an excuse, I know that. I’m a coward and always have been, and I was scared not to listen, terrified of what would happen if I went through, of being without the power to protect you.”

“I didn’t need protecting.”

“I didn’t see it that way.” His father sighed. “You would do anything for Henry, and you’ve only known him a month or so. I had fourteen years of holding you, caring for you, keeping you safe. It was all I knew.” He ran a hand down his face. “I will never ask your forgiveness for that. I’ll never deserve it. But you wanted to know why, and the simple answer is that I was afraid.”

Neal sat silently for a few more minutes, staring up at the stars and remembering nights like this one, sat by the dim light of a fire and listening to his father weave tales of heroes and monsters and gods, somehow always featuring a brave little boy with curly hair and dark eyes. He remembered other nights, huddled in a cave and wishing with all his might on the brightest star he could see, but no fairies ever answered his call.

And through it all his father had been working, plotting, scheming, tearing apart worlds to get to the son he’d let go in a fit of fear and weakness. He’d never given up, even after hundreds of years when he had every reason to think Baelfire was dead and gone forever, even when his plans almost failed and he was trapped and in danger of losing his memories as well as his magic.

It mattered. Maybe it shouldn’t, but Rumplestiltskin’s sorrow and regret and desperation mattered . And while it was not okay, it would never, never be okay, Neal felt that in time he could stop being angry and hurt and begin to heal. Hell, maybe he could do with some one-on-one sessions with Archie himself.

He stood and, after a bit of hesitation, reached out and squeezed his father’s shoulder. “I’m gonna turn in. You coming?”

“In a minute. I’ll put the fire out.” He glanced up at his son and smiled very faintly. “Without magic.”

[mariequitecontrarie]

Passing Inspection: Part 2

The Fic: For my 1,000 Follower Tumblr Prompt-A-Thon, @leni-ba prompted: Neal isn't that impressed with his father's girlfriend (until something changes his mind?) Chapter Summary:  After Belle leaves the pawnshop upset, Neal keeps his promise to Rumple to make things right. Rating: T     Word Count: 1,652 A/N: I didn’t intend for this to be a thing, but several readers asked for the interaction between Neal and Belle. Thanks to @capricornhunter for the push and to @magnoliatattoo, my awesome beta.

{ON AO3}

Night was falling fast as Neal shuffled across the street and slipped into the library, easing the door shut behind him with a soft thud.

This was his first time inside the Storybrooke Library and his heart hammered with dread. He clutched the crystal vase filled with flowers that he’d brought from the pawnshop, grateful for something to do with his hands. In general he wasn’t a fan of libraries—books reminded him too much of his father’s thick magical texts, plaguing him with nightmares of the pain and destruction the Dark One’s curse had wrought.

But this library seemed different—imbued with hopeful expectation. It had been closed when he had first arrived in town—shuttered, dusty, and abandoned. This evening it was welcoming, bright, and clean, its leather-bound tomes gleaming like jewels in the warm light. The library didn’t boast a large collection, but it was well-cared for, and he sensed that the librarian took pride in the space. Belle. Belle French was the librarian. He kept forgetting that important fact.

It didn’t seem possible, but then again, Belle French was a completely different person from Lacey—the floozy he’d seen hanging on his father’s arm a few days ago. Or was it weeks ago? Time ran differently in Neverland, and he’d not yet become accustomed to keeping time. He had completely lost track of the days in Storybrooke.

The cheerful space was empty and silent, except for the sound of sniffling. He rounded the corner and Belle came into view, her petite profile illuminated by the desk lamp behind her.

Man, she was a pitiful sight. Her slender shoulders were bowed and shaking as though they carried the weight of the world. The defeated stance made her five-foot-one-inch frame appear even more diminutive, if that were possible.  She blew her nose, the harsh, discordant sound reminding him of a foghorn, then crumpled the tissue in her small fist. She flung the tissue to the floor and stomped on it with one tall, pointy heel. Chin wobbling, she began transferring hardcover books from the circulation counter onto a library cart at a punishing pace. Belle slammed book after book onto the cart, causing the old wooden shelves to creak and moan with the pressure.

Despite her rough treatment of them now, Neal had the distinct feeling that Belle rarely treated a book with disrespect.

Clearly, she was upset.

Wearing a mutinous expression he’d often seen on Emma’s face, she turned toward the front door. He winced, preparing to be lambasted—yeah, he was half-hoping she would hurl insults and begin the conversation for him—but she but didn’t notice him standing between the entrance and the reference desk.

Neal raked a hand through his hair. Crap. This wasn’t going to be easy.

He pivoted toward the exit. If he slithered out now, she would be none the wiser. But as he took that first half-step back toward the street, all he could see were two pairs of eyes: his father’s—brown, sad and pleading, and Belle’s—blue, wet and wounded.

Neal sighed and turned back around. He’d told Papa he was coming to the library to patch things up with Belle and now he had to follow through. It was his responsibility to make this right.

“Hey Belle,” he croaked.

The book she was holding careened to the floor with a thump.

"Oh! Neal! It's…it’s you.” She rubbed her index fingers over both tear-stained cheeks, leaving smudges of black mascara in their wake, then bent down to pick up the fallen book.

The reminder that he was the cause of her tears made his stomach clench. You can do this. Just apologize and ask her to dinner with you and Pop. How hard can it be?

He inched forward to set the vase of flowers on the desk, then took a book from the pile and deposited it gently on the cart’s lower shelf. “Uh...I hope I'm not interrupting you.”

As soon as the words left his lips he felt stupid. Ten minutes earlier she’d overheard him telling his father that she was a terrible influence on him, an ugly stain on the Dark One’s already tarnished soul. Now she was alone in her library, crying and shelving books like a Valkyrie. It wasn’t like she was in the middle of a funding meeting.

She stood in silence, clutching a book to her middle, waiting for him to continue.

“I feel bad about what happened.” He swallowed thickly. “Pop was right, you should never have heard…those things.”

She tilted her head. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Um…”

“Because it would have been perfectly reasonable to insult me if I hadn’t been present?” Her voice was crisp.

Crap. “No. No that’s not it.” He shook his head. “What I mean to say is I was wrong about you.”

“And what gave you that idea? That you were wrong?” She tossed the book she was holding at the cart and reached for another.

He frowned. “Could you maybe stop throwing books?”

“How about I aim the next one at your head?” She glared at him, holding a particularly large volume over her right shoulder.

“Ok, ok. It’s your library.” He held up his hands and chuckled nervously. Belle French was fierce. No wonder Papa was enamored with her. He’d only just met the woman, but she seemed to rival his father in stubbornness.

“You were about to explain why you were wrong,” Belle prompted.

“Well, now you’re…” At a loss, he gestured in the direction of her body, noting her modest blue blouse and pencil skirt.

Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Ah, I see. Because I look different.”

He gulped. It wasn’t a question.

“Not only that. It’s also…”

“I’m not proud of it, you know.” She bit down on her lower lip. “The things I said and did while I was…” She trailed off, casting her eyes toward the carpet.

“Lacey?”

She nodded, then glanced questioningly at the vase of cherry red chrysanthemums.

“From Papa,” he said, grateful to change the subject. Neal jerked his thumb back across the street to the pawnshop, where his father was probably pacing the floorboards. “He didn’t have a chance to give them to you.”

“That was sweet of him.” Belle’s eyes softened when he mentioned his father and her cheeks glowed with pleasure. The look on her face made him squirm and feel glad all at once. Belle loved Pop—that much was obvious.

“Yeah, but the Lacey thing wasn’t really your fault. Weren’t you, ya know? Cursed by Regina?”

Belle sighed and leaned against the circulation desk at her back, still not quite meeting his gaze. “That’s not an excuse for hurting people. Especially Rumple.”

He looked at her with new respect. “You take this heroism business pretty seriously, don’t you?”

She stiffened. “Why do you think that? Why does everyone think that? No, I take loving your father seriously. He counted on me to help him be a better man.” Her voice dropped to a miserable whisper. “I let him down. Abandoned him when he needed me most.”

“I don’t think you did, actually.”

Belle raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. The posture was defensive, but her face hid nothing—it was bathed in longing. She wanted to believe him, to hear someone say that she hadn’t hurt his father. Neal stared in amazement. Belle French cared about his opinion? Damn, women were strange creatures.

“He says you loved him when no one else would. That you make him stronger,” her heard himself say.

“Rumple…he told you that?”

Her eyes filled with tears again and for a moment he panicked, but they were the happy kind. Learning to read Emma’s face had taught him the difference.

“When?” she choked out.

“About fifteen minutes ago.” He couldn’t stop his grin at her open-mouthed expression.

A watery laugh bubbled up from her throat and she bent her head over the vase of flowers to caress the petals with loving reverence. “He’s such a wonderful man. I’m the lucky one, you know.”

She looked straight at him then, all the love she felt for his father shining in her eyes. True love. Was that what others witnessed when he looked at Emma, at Henry? The passion in those bottomless depths was so powerful  that he caught his breath, forced to looked away as though he were intruding on a moment of great intimacy.

And then the truth hit him like a ton of books: Belle and Papa’s love wasn’t about him. The woman standing before him wasn’t a replacement or a substitute for a long-lost son. No, the answer was simpler, yet more profound—Pop needed Belle and she needed him.

He mulled over his thoughts in silence as tears slipped down Belle’s cheeks.

After a moment, Neal cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he plucked a tissue from the box on the table and handed it to her. It was the sort of thing Papa knew to do without thinking. Despite his outward appearance of coldness, Pop was always comforting the people he cared about. “I’m sorry Belle. For everything. And I’d like to get to know you. The real you.”

“Why?” she asked, dabbing at her eyes.

“You’re important to Papa.” He reached out and gave her shoulder a clumsy pat. “He loves you. And that makes you important to me too.”

“So what do you suggest?” She pressed her lips together and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“Burgers at Granny’s? I haven’t had one yet, but reliable sources tell me they’re the best in town. Whaddaya think? We can pick Pop up on the way.” She smiled, the first genuine, happy smile he had seen cross her face since he’d met Belle French—the real one—on the docks that morning. “I’ll get my coat.”

###

Thanks for reading. Thoughts on an awkward Floof Family dinner at the diner?

[markcampbells]

White Collar

HERE FOLLOWS A LIST OF GRIEVANCES I HAVE BEEN SITTING ON FOR A LONG FUCKING TIME(tl;dr I used to make nice but enough years have passed that I no longer care about doing so and I am gonna revel in my salt mine)

A serious overhaul of the way the show wrote women. I have problems with how they wrote just about every woman, but there’s some I seriously don’t care about at all (Alex, Rebecca/Rachel) so I won’t talk about them. But the rest: okay, Elizabeth was generally handled pretty okay, and when I first started watching the show she was such a welcome change from the last procedural show I had watched: the first two seasons of Southland, where literally every single cop’s wife or female significant other was shrill, incompetent, or a nag. But there was at least one episode per season where she displayed egregiously icky, woman-written-by-a-man behavior: her literally laughing at the idea that another woman could find Peter attractive in 1x10, the line about how she’d rather Peter not work with female CIs in 2x07 (when she previously indicated in 1x01 she has zero problems with the coeds he works with), the utter shitshow that was 5x07… For the most part their relationship was presented as equitable in terms of the important stuff, but then every so often you’d get an indication of how the writers basically viewed her as superior and Peter as Not Good Enough, and that was super gross. And putting aside her relationship with Peter? El’s characterization was a mess. Burke Premiere Events was a thing, but we never really learned about what that entailed, and in general depiction of her career was super inconsistent. Give me more firm details, less instances of her veering between super accepting and ragingly jealous, and way fewer indications of how she’s so much better than her husband who just doesn’t like fancy stuff (and there ain’t no shame in that!).Sara. Dear God, Sara. So… we start out with her and Neal having a generally contentious relationship with “banter” and indications they could one day Be A Thing if they could both sort their own shit out. And then there’s 2x15, where, in the space of a forty-five minute episode, we get the infodump of Sara having a missing sister (never used to any worthwhile effect, and FYI, that one shred almost amounts to more backstory than we ever got for Peter, one of the two main characters of the show!!!)… and Neal and Sara abruptly ripping their clothes off and attempting to jump each other’s bones. What. To make matters worse, they basically entered a full-on relationship from that moment on. I could’ve maybe lived with the scenario if it was presented as, I don’t necessarily like you, but we have chemistry; let’s hatefuck every once in a while because we’re both adults. But no… I was expected to accept that Sara, a capable career-driven woman to whom Neal was little more than a mark, was just too weak in her lady parts to behave professionally when he was around. And then there was the “proposal” scene in her last-ever appearance, where I was expected to believe that Neal’s words were genuine and that in another life they’d be together for real. But that’s just the thing: in another life. Sara expressed frequently that she didn’t believe Neal could truly change. There was literally zero way they could be together unless she accepted the premise that he was capable of change. It isn’t okay to present a relationship as genuine that is premised on one person in the relationship not believing the other person is capable of being the better person they want to be. Nope. Gross. No.(Thoughts on Kate and Diana to follow below.)

Ditch Jones. Develop Diana more. Jones lifts right out; I’m sorry, but he does. He never had any meaningful impact on the plot and you could have so easily just folded his function on the team into Diana and focused on making Diana a stronger, more well-developed character rather than having two subordinates for Peter who basically did the same thing. As with the other women, Diana was a mess. Her relationship with Christie was bungled for no reason that I could determine and when they abruptly decided to make her a single mom, it came out of goddamn nowhere, and to boot led to some really fucking stupid behavior (sure, physically exert yourself beyond reason when you’re fucking full-term with a baby whose health you presumably care about; that makes sense). Diana is a great example of both a woman of color and a lesbian who doesn’t exist just to be either, but she could’ve been handled way better!

Mozzie had to fucking go. The thing that bugs me about this one? MATT WAS AWARE OF IT. Matt, as the person portraying Neal, was fully aware how the presence of Mozzie as a temptation was dragging Neal down as a character. Mozzie was a toxic presence who existed just to tempt Neal, and the show was trying to get us to believe that Neal was capable of change and that, moreover, he wanted to change. But because they wanted Willie around as the comic relief, they kept Mozzie on so far past his sell-by date. Mozzie was responsible for just about every repetitive backslide in Neal’s characterization. Matt said in a Season 6 interview that in order to Neal to truly change, Mozzie had to be out of his life, and the show never had the fucking balls to do it.My proposed fix for this situation? Kate. Kate was fridged. Kate served no purpose in the plot other than to be a source for Neal’s angst. Kate never loved Neal, but he loved her, saw a future with her, and would have done–and just about did–anything for her. If Kate had lived and served as the same source of temptation in Neal’s life as Mozzie did, I would have understood his loyalty to someone so clearly bad for him way more. His temptation to still run cons would be mixed with his temptation to remain in a romantic relationship that was unhealthy for him and didn’t benefit him–and it would’ve given Peter a good opportunity to be justifiably concerned about Neal’s welfare, wanting to help him out of it, whereas with Mozzie he probably always felt like it wasn’t his place. Peter knew Kate and would’ve been able to intervene in the unhealthy relationship in order to protect Neal, and I would’ve loved to see that.

[AARON BURR VOICE] LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR! … That fucking ending. As in, an ending that does not betray the entire point of the goddamn show. An ending that is not built on the idea that, in fact, Neal wasn’t capable of change the whole time! He just wanted to go back to doing what he did best, stealing shit and disappearing on Peter! An ending that is premised on Neal, yet again, gaslighting Peter and causing him intense grief and anguish–an ending that is totally at odds with the idea that Peter is the one, the only, person that Neal trusts, because if that were the case, he would’ve trusted the ironclad contract.I understand why Neal struggled to trust that his freedom would be truly without strings. I get it. But that ending was a fucking joke. For the most part, I cared about Neal. More often than not in the later seasons, I hated his actions and I hated what he was doing to Peter, but I cared about Neal. I wanted to see him explore what he was capable of–if he’d graduated high school, Neal could’ve been valedictorian; if he’d felt able to produce original art, Neal would’ve been a celebrated artist. Neal could’ve followed the example of Frank Abagnale, Jr., one of the inspirations for the show, and worked with the FBI as a consultant of his own volition. Neal could’ve taken adult education classes and put his genius to work to effect positive change in the world. Neal could’ve worked through his personal struggles and started creating amazing art. But what did Neal do? He fucked off to Paris to rob the Louvre. He ruined six to seven years of character growth and put himself and Peter right back where they started. Thanks, Eastin. It’s been fucking real.Also, please to not be reducing Elizabeth to an incubator for a replacement son for Peter once Neal fucked off; thanks.

[allbestnet]

Top 200 Books 2000-2010

The Kite Runner (2003) by Khaled Hosseini

The Hunger Games (2008) by Suzanne Collins

Cloud Atlas (2004) by David Mitchell

The Help (2009) by Kathryn Stockett

House of Leaves (2000) by Mark Z. Danielewski

American Gods (2001) by Neil Gaiman

World War Z (2006) by Max Brooks

Life of Pi (2001) by Yann Martel

The Kingkiller Chronicle (2007) by Patrick Rothfuss

The Heroes of Olympus (2010) by Rick Riordan

The Road (2006) by Cormac McCarthy

Looking for Alaska (2005) by John Green

The Book Thief (2006) by Markus Zusak

A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007) by Khaled Hosseini

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2003) by Lionel Shriver

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (2003) by Mark Haddon

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (2000) by Michael Chabon

The Time Traveler's Wife (2003) by Audrey Niffenegger

Atonement (2001) by Ian McEwan

No Country for Old Men (2005) by Cormac McCarthy

Middlesex (2002) by Jeffrey Eugenides

Percy Jackson & the Olympians (2005) by Rick Riordan

The Glass Castle (2005) by Jeannette Walls

People's History of the United States (2010) by Howard Zinn

Water for Elephants (2006) by Sara Gruen

Moneyball (2003) by Michael Lewis

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (2006) by John Boyne

Everything is Illuminated (2002) by Jonathon Safran Foer

The Host (2010) by Stephenie Meyer

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2005) by Jonathan Safran Foer

Fun Home (2006) by Alison Bechdel

The Shadow of the Wind (2001) by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Scott Pilgrim (2010) by Bryan O'Malley

Outliers (2008) by Malcolm Gladwell

Thirteen Reasons Why (2007) by Jay Asher

Shantaram (2003) by Gregory David Roberts

The Invention of Hugo Cabret (2007) by Brian Selznick

The Walking Dead (2003) by Robert Kirkman

Hush, Hush (2009) by Becca Fitzpatrick

Lovely Bones (2002) by Alice Seybold

Paper Towns (2008) by John Green

Under the Dome (2009) by Stephen King

The Blind Assassin (2000) by Margaret Atwood

The Graveyard Book (2008) by Neil Gaiman

The Omnivore's Dilemma (2006) by Michael Pollan

The Last Song (2009) by Nicholas Sparks

Unwind (2007) by Neal Shusterman

The Maze Runner (2009) by James Dashner

Kafka on the Shore (2002) by Haruki Murakami

The Other Boleyn Girl (2001) by Philippa Gregory

The Last Lecture (2008) by Randy Pausch

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007) by Sherman Alexie

Marley & Me (2005) by John Grogan

Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2007) by Jeff Kinney

My Sister's Keeper (2004) by Jodi Picoult

The God Delusion (2006) by Richard Dawkins

The Art of Racing in the Rain (2008) by Garth Stein

The Passage (2010) by Justin Cronin

The Dresden Files (2000) by Jim Butcher

A Short History of Nearly Everything (2003) by Bill Bryson

The Lucky One (2008) by Nicholas Sparks

Vampire Academy (2007) by Richelle Mead

Old Man's War (2005) by John Scalzi

Graceling (2008) by Kristin Cashore

The Devil in the White City (2003) by Erik Larson

Crank (2004) by Ellen Hopkins

The Five People You Meet in Heaven (2003) by Mitch Albom

Getting Things Done (2002) by David Allen

White Teeth (2000) by Zadie Smith

The Truth About Forever (2004) by Sarah Dessen

Coraline (2002) by Neil Gaiman

Freakonomics (2005) by Steven D. Levitt

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (2008) by Mary Ann Shaffer

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (2004) by Susanna Clarke

What Is the What (2006) by Dave Eggers

The Corrections (2001) by Jonathan Franzen

Fingersmith (2002) by Sarah Waters

Shutter Island (2003) by Dennis Lehane

Noughts & Crosses (2001) by Malorie Blackman

Cutting for Stone (2009) by Abraham Verghese

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan (2005) by Lisa See

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (2010) by Rebecca Skloot

The Zombie Survival Guide (2003) by Max Brooks

Room (2010) by Emma Donoghue

Nineteen Minutes (2007) by Jodi Picoult

John Adams (2001) by David G. McCullough

On Writing (2000) by Stephen King

Sarah's Key (2006) by Tatiana de Rosnay

Fablehaven (2010) by Brandon Mull

The Tipping Point (2000) by Malcolm Gladwell

The Hero with a Thousand Faces (2008) by Joseph Campbell

The Tale of Despereaux (2003) by Kate DiCamillo

An Abundance of Katherines (2006) by John Green

Abhorsen (2003) by Garth Nix

The 48 Laws of Power (2007) by Robert Greene

1Q84 (2009) by Haruki Murakami

The House of the Scorpion (2002) by Nancy Farmer

Blink (2005) by Malcolm Gladwell

Anathem (2008) by Neal Stephenson

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2005) by Stieg Larsson

The Namesake (2003) by Jhumpa Lahiri

City of Thieves (2008) by David Benioff

Skulduggery Pleasant (2007) by Derek Landy

Along for the Ride (2009) by Sarah Dessen

Civil War (2007) by Shelby Foote

The Mysterious Benedict Society (2007) by Trenton Lee Stewart

The Human Stain (2000) by Philip Roth

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (2006) by Kate DiCamillo

Me Talk Pretty One Day (2000) by David Sedaris

The Guardian (2003) by Nicholas Sparks

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (2007) by Junot Diaz

Kitchen Confidential (2000) by Anthony Bourdain

Columbine (2009) by Dave Cullen

Catching Fire (2009) by Suzanne Collins

Never Let Me Go (2005) by Kazuo Ishiguro

Bonesetter's Daughter (2001) by Amy Tan

Infidel (2006) by Ayaan Hirsi Ali

One Day (2009) by David Nicholls

Impulse (2007) by Ellen Hopkins

Peter and the Starcatchers (2004) by Dave Barry

Team of Rivals (2005) by Doris Kearns Goodwin

The Shock Doctrine (2007) by Naomi Klein

Just Kids (2010) by Patti Smith

Mountains Beyond Mountains (2003) by Tracy Kidder

Fallen (2009) by Lauren Kate

Mockingjay (2010) by Suzanne Collins

The Choice (2007) by Nicholas Sparks

Blankets (2003) by Craig Thompson

New Encyclopaedia Britannica (2010) by

Fast Food Nation (2002) by Eric Schlosser

Leviathan (2009) by Scott Westerfeld

When You Reach Me (2009) by Rebecca Stead

Mystic River (2001) by Dennis Lehane

Wolf Hall (2009) by Hilary Mantel

The History of Love (2005) by Nicole Krauss

Hex Hall (2010) by Rachel Hawkins

God Is Not Great (2007) by Christopher Hitchens

Porno (2002) by Irvine Welsh

The City of Ember (2003) by Jeanne DuPrau

Elantris (2005) by Brandon Sanderson

Half of a Yellow Sun (2007) by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Anansi Boys (2005) by Neil Gaiman

I Am Number Four (2010) by Pittacus Lore

Lock and Key (2008) by Sarah Dessen

Gilead (2004) by Marilynne Robinson

Inkheart (2003) by Cornelia Funke

Before I Fall (2010) by Lauren Oliver

Unaccustomed Earth (2008) by Jhumpa Lahiri

Under the Skin (2000) by Michel Faber

The 3 Mistakes of My Life (2008) by Chetan Bhagat

City of Bones (2007) by Cassandra Clare

Blue Like Jazz (2003) by Donald Miller

Year of Wonders (2001) by Geraldine Brooks

Because of Winn-Dixie (2000) by Kate DiCamillo

2666 (2004) by Roberto Bolano

Breaking Dawn (2008) by Stephenie Meyer

Rich Dad Poor Dad (2000) by Robert Kiyosaki

Under the Banner of Heaven (2003) by Jon Krakauer

Wintergirls (2009) by Laurie Halse Anderson

Stargirl (2000) by Jerry Spinelli

A Bend in the Road (2001) by Nicholas Sparks

Odd Thomas (2003) by Dean Koontz

Good to Great (2001) by James C. Collins

The White Tiger (2008) by Aravind Adiga

The Secret (2006) by Rhonda Byrne

Eat, Pray, Love (2006) by Elizabeth Gilbert

Burned (2007) by Ellen Hopkins

World Without End (2007) by Ken Follett

Matched (2010) by Ally Condie

Extremis (2006) by

Altered Carbon (2002) by Richard K. Morgan

A New Earth (2005) by Eckhart Tolle

When You Are Engulfed in Flames (2008) by David Sedaris

The Morganville Vampires (2006) by Rachel Caine

The Immortals of Meluha (2010) by Amish Tripathi

The Children of Hurin (2007) by J.R.R. Tolkien

John Dies at the End (2007) by Jason Pargin

For One More Day (2006) by Mitch Albom

Plain Truth (2001) by Jodi Picoult

The Thirteenth Tale (2006) by Diane Setterfield

Eragon (2003) by Christopher Paolini

Princess Academy (2005) by Shannon Hale

Eats, Shoots & Leaves (2003) by Lynne Truss

Bel Canto (2001) by Ann Patchett

The Girl Who Played with Fire (2009) by Stieg Larsson

The Wettest County in the World (2008) by Matt Bondurant

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet (2010) by David Mitchell

1776 (2005) by David McCullough

Little Brother (2008) by Cory Doctorow

Running with Scissors (2003) by Augusten Burroughs

Angels & Demons (2000) by Dan Brown

A Million Little Pieces (2003) by James Frey

On Beauty (2005) by Zadie Smith

The Lost Symbol (2009) by Dan Brown

Before I Die (2007) by Jenny Downham

Flags of Our Fathers (2000) by James Bradley

Sold (2006) by Patricia McCormick

Something Borrowed (2005) by Emily Giffin

Suite Francaise (2004) by Irene Nemirovsky

The World Is Flat (2005) by Thomas Friedman

[networkingdefinition]

Health Food Quotes

Official Website: Health Food Quotes

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• After examining some of the recent cases which the Postal Service has pursued, vigorous prosecution of, for example, a health food advocate. – Vin Weber • Being a vegan is pretty easy these days, as almost every town and city has health food stores and vegetarian-friendly restaurants. – Moby • Books are health food for your brain and dessert for your soul. Books are one of the few proven sources of mental exercise known to man. Reading is a workout for your mind. If your body needs thirty minutes of exercise a day, so does your thinker. – Pat Williams • Even in the old days, we’d make an effort. When I’d go out to score on Eighth Avenue, I’d get my junk and a chocolate doughnut. But I’d always also pick up one of those pita-pocket health food sandwiches. You know, something really good for me. – Steven Tyler

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Food', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '24', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_food').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_food img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Food movement organic food stores supplies health food products and facilitate with instrumental support in organic agriculture. – Tony Benn • Half the people I look who are health food addicts look sickly to me. Let’s start taxing health food. Somebody force a burger down some of these people’s jaw because they look a little pale and wan to me. – Dennis Miller • He was chugging brown pop from a can Jack had handed him while he stuffed nacho cheese Doritos in his face. I was glad to see he looked lots better, almost completely like himself, which proves Doritos and brown pop really are health foods. – P. C. Cast • Health food makes me sick. – Calvin Trillin • Health food may be good for the conscience but Oreos taste a hell of a lot better. – Robert Redford • Health food shops can make people feel very important; it’s like a brand new religion with people trying to convert you to quinoa. – Pippa Evans • Health food would seem healthier if the people that sold it looked less unhealthy. – Dov Davidoff • Health foods make promises that only the Second Coming could fulfill. – Mason Cooley • I believe we can create a truly humane, sustainable, and health food production system without killing any animals. I imagine a revolution in veganic agriculture in which small farmers grow a variety of vegetables, fruits, grains, and legumes, all fertilized with vegetable sources. – Gene Baur • I couldn’t get away with Halloween pranks ’cause my parents owned the health food store. So, it was so easy to bust me. I was the only kid on the block egging houses with those big ‘ole brown eggs. Like, you didn’t have to be a detective to figure it out. ‘Oh, I wonder who Tofuttied my mailbox. Is it the same evil genius who filled my bird bath with Rice Dream? – Arj Barker • I had a job at a movie theater for like a year and a half and then a job at a health food store for like two years. Those were the only two jobs I ever had. – Reggie Watts • I have to say that being a vegan in 1986 or whenever was a lot different than being a vegan in 2012. You’d go to health foods stores and basically your choice was between Mung beans and nutritional yeast, and that’s about it. – Moby • I took the stool next to him, raising an eyebrow at the coffee and cruller on the counter. “Thought you weren’t into internal pollution,” I said. Lately Ranger’d been on a health food thing. “Props,” Ranger told me. “Didn’t want to look out of place.” I didn’t want to burst his fantasy bubble, but the only time Ranger wouldn’t look out of place would be standing in a lineup between Rambo and Batman. – Janet Evanovich • I used to work at a health food store. I got fired for drinking straight Bosco on the job. – Steven Wright • I worked in a health food store once. A guy asked me, ‘If I melt dry ice, can I take a bath without getting wet? – Steven Wright • In my own life, I decided to leave meat off my plate in medical school, but was a bit slow to realise that dairy products and eggs are not health foods either. – Neal Barnard • Just because you take gluten out of something doesn’t make it a health food. – Chris Mohr • Most of the human body disease such as Obesity, Cancer, Heart disease are linked with our food which we eat in our day to day life. If people are eating health food than how come there be more than 50% death from heart and cancer disease alone in a developed nation such as USA? – Subodh Gupta • Older people shouldn’t eat health food, they need all the preservatives they can get. – Robert Orben • Organic Oreos are not a health food. When Coca-Cola begins selling organic Coke, as it surely will, the company will have struck a blow for the environment perhaps, but not for our health. Most consumers automatically assume that the word “organic” is synomymous with health, but it makes no difference to your insulin metabolism if the high-fructose corn syrup in your soda is organic. – Michael Pollan • People who shop in health food stores never look healthy. – Amy Sedaris • Saw a man in Whole Foods yelling at his son, What are you doing?! You know I don’t eat bread!! Is there such a thing as health food abuse? – Bob Saget • Some breakfast food manufacturer hit upon the simple notion of emptying out the leavings of carthorse nose bags, adding a few other things like unconsumed portions of chicken layer’s mash, and the sweepings of racing stables, packing the mixture in little bags and selling them in health food shops. – Frank Muir • The FDA and much, but not all, of the orthodox medical profession are actively hostile against vitamins and minerals… They are out to get the health food industry…And they are trying to do this out of active hostility and prejudice. – William Proxmire • The forces of safety are afoot in the land. I, for one, believe it is a conspiracy – a conspiracy of Safety Nazis shouting “Sieg Health” and seeking to trammel freedom, liberty, and large noisy parties. The Safety Nazis advocate gun control, vigorous exercise, and health foods. The result can only be a disarmed, exhausted, and half-starved population ready to acquiesce to dictatorship of some kind. – P. J. O’Rourke • The magazine at the health food store said, Stop Aging! Isn’t that what death is for? Trust me, we’re all gonna stop aging. – Dana Gould • The oat is the Horatio Alger of cereals, which progressed, if not from rags to riches, at least from weed to health food. – Waverley Root • The shops in High Street still have their metal grilles down, blank-eyed and sleeping. My name is scrawled across them all. I’m outside Ajay’s newsagent’s. I’m on the expensive shutters of the health food store. I’m massive on Handie’s furniture shop, King’s Chicken Joint and the Barbecue Cafe. I thread the pavement outside the bank and all the way to Mothercare. I’ve possessed the road and am a glistening circle at the roundabout. – Jenny Downham • There are so many health food nuts out there that eat nothing but natural foods but they don’t exercise and they look terrible. – Jack LaLanne • Yes, I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain. I’m not much into health food, I am into Champagne. – Rupert Holmes

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