#Robert and Cora always seemed to be fighting in some way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dream-of-ragtime · 2 years ago

Text

And I hope I can be everything for a while yet

*MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR DOWNTON ABBEY: A NEW ERA”

Evidently, I have been haunted by THAT scene ever since I first saw it. This is my first attempt at writing Cobert fan fiction so any feedback is very welcome:)

There’s both original text by none other that our holy master Julian Fellowes and I wrote additionally what I imagined to be their thoughts and fears when they were faced with the possibility of losing each other.

“I know it’s late, but could we go for a walk?”

Although Cora had known for a long time that she would someday be obliged to discuss the matter with Robert, being confronted with that very situation made her feel nauseous. This was something she was used to by now, as it took her often all the willpower she had left to get down a few bites during dinner, but she knew that this time it was not predominantly the illness that made her feel this way. It was the thought of looking into Robert’s unknowing features that scared her the most.

The Marquis de Montmirail and Robert exchanged some final words, but Cora didn’t really understand much of any of it, as behind her still and smiling façade she was fighting an indecisive battle on how she should best deliver the words she was bound to pronounce.

Only after Robert had slipped his arms underneath her own did she once again notice the surroundings clearly. The villa was enlightened by the sparkling party that pulsated around the beautifully decorated walls and for a second, she caught a glimpse of Tom and Lucy swaying in each other’s arms. Another wave of grief suddenly struck her. Robert had also requested earlier that night to share a dance to the cheerful music, just like the two of them had done so many times.

Dancing together had always been one of their passions. Not only because Cora was convinced that she had earned Robert’s love during one of their most memorable dances, but because they would always forget everything and everyone surrounding them when the two of them whirled around the dance floor intertwined in each other’s arms.

However, this evening Cora had to decline. She knew all too well that her constant dizziness would never allow her to spin around. Her muscles, weak as they had become in the past months, could never muster the quick beats she would have to follow along.

Robert had glanced at her somewhat irritated, given the fact that it had not rarely been his wife who had urged him so desperately to share a dance with her. The decline did seem rather unusual.

Luckily, Robert slowly strayed away from the dazzling party, turning into a much calmer corner of the property. Only delicately could the two of them hear the band playing a slow and melancholic ballad.

Staring at the velvet fabric of her dress, Cora still had not made up her mind how she would deliver the news. She knew precisely that Robert was still so agitated due to the possibility that he may have never been the rightful heir to Downton that it felt harsh to confront him with another unsolvable problem. Because yes, it was indeed unsolvable.

Robert must have understood that Cora walked peculiarly silent next to him, as it felt odd to him that she didn’t carelessly start to talk. He had found himself often confused by the way Cora would always find a topic to discuss, no matter how irrelevant it may have appeared to him. Although their arms were tightly intertwined, Robert felt as if thousands of kilometers were in between his wife and himself. In order to break the uncomfortable silence, he asked the first question that came to his mind, even though he did not really care for the answer, as he was still so preoccupied with the unsuspected turn this journey down to the south of France had taken.

“Have you enjoyed our trip, dear?”

Oh, it was too much. The words instantly evoked a feeling of deep hopelessness and Cora felt the panic bubble up inside her chest. She felt as if all the blood inside her head had sacked down at once, leaving her with a strong lightheadedness. She could no longer rationally control her thoughts and so the words just spilled out surprisingly cold and unfiltered.

“I think I’ve got cancer, Robert”

She had stopped her steps and let go of his arm, just staring into the open night and the Mediterranean expanding into the unknown horizon in front of them.

There was a long and heavy silence.

Neither of them dared to breathe and it seemed as if the concept of time had been destroyed all together as they were standing still side by side.

“Cora, what are you saying? What do you mean?”

Robert knew very well what the concept of cancer signified but it was a sort of perplexed denial that tried to keep up his strength.

“I- I’ve had some…”

Cora’s voice cracked slightly as she tried to pronounce the words. She finally turned to face her husband, standing there with his fists tightly clenched together. His eyes sparkled dangerously, even though his mouth was pressed tightly together to keep up the image of a somewhat steady posture.

“I’ve had some- some symptoms for quite a while, you see, some very evident symptoms and there is no use in denying that”

Cora was once again surprised how rational she made all of this sound. Inside, she could barely keep herself from falling apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?!”

“I was going to and then suddenly we were coming here”

Robert’s heartbeat sped up and he as well fell victim of a panic rising inside him. To keep himself from succumbing to the overwhelming emotions, he chose a feeling he could handle much more easily. Anger.

“But you should never have come here! We have to get you to a proper doctor. And I don’t mean some cackling Marseilles!”

Now it was Cora’s turn to feel enraged. She didn’t particularly know why, but it made her feel safer and she liked the sensation of feeling more in control of her feelings, so she answered with a much steadier voice:

“Doctor Clarkson is more than capable of coming up with a diagnosis”

Robert on the other hand felt the panic leak through every fiber of his being. He felt hot and cold, his head throbbed and his hands started to sweat heavily. But didn’t he need to reassure his wife? He was the strong one, wasn’t he?

More to soothe himself than anything else, he said with a stutter:

“We’ll go to London. We’ll- We’ll go to America if we have to”

There was no question that he stumbled and fell down the slippery slope of a deep-rooted fear: He was going to lose Cora. The one person he could not live without.

Cora knew all too well that there was no use in all of this. The symptoms were evident. Gastric cancer. No doctor, whether in London or America, could alter that.

“We’ll discuss it when we know more”

Was there more to know, though? Beside an exact diagnosis, which didn’t leave much room for interpretation at this point, there was not much to discover. Nothing pleasant, anyway.

The tranquility in Cora’s voice triggered a sudden reaction in Robert and he could not help himself but shout.

“You should have told me!”

His face was bright read. The grass underneath his feet felt as if it had started to move and he could not recall having ever felt so lonely. His wife stood there opposite him, but it seemed as if he was trapped in an overwhelming loneliness.

Robert’s outburst started another reaction. This time it was Cora who lost control over her emotions.

“With the chance of a last treat before illness to cover our lives?!”

Her voice lost all of its strength and by the end of the sentence it had almost vanished completely.

“It can’t be as bad as that”

“Robert, I’ve run the hospital for years! Do you think I just sat there with my ears blocked?!”

Like a dam that had been opened abruptly, all that had been building up inside Robert’s chest suddenly burst out. He rarely was a man to openly display his emotions, but now no strength on earth could hold back his genuine fear.

Seeing him like that immediately made Cora feel guilty. This was exactly the reason why she had evaded the topic for so long. Nothing to her was more painful than to watch her loved ones suffer. To be herself the cause of such great sadness seemed unbearable and so she took on the role she had learned to play ever since her first daughter was born: The caring mother.

“Oh no, no no no. No. No”

She started towards her husband, embracing his shaking figure between her arms, trying to reassure him with her warmth and proximity. Although Robert was almost a head taller than his wife, he appeared to be much frailer beside her. Tears fell down the side of his cheeks and his head turned numerous directions in order to evade the face of his love. He could not bear to look at her.

“That’s not what I wanted at all”, she said. “We’re not sad people! My being ill now doesn’t make us sad!”

The words seemed completely ridiculous and she knew so as well, but she wanted to end this moment so desperately that she could not think of another way of reassuring her husband. While his head constantly turned away from her gaze, she tried to catch his glimpse. Looking into each other eyes had always been their biggest comfort after a disagreement and it appeared to her to be the most sensible thing to do now. How could she possibly ease his pain?

Robert chocked up some word fragments she could not quite understand as they were so heavily drenched with his sobs.

“To lose my mother, and my name. Must I lose you too?! I can’t bear it”

His fingers delicately traced her shoulders down her back. Never until know had it appeared to him how slender her frame had gotten. She always had been very slim, but know as he touched her, the narrow shoulders almost seemed to give in under the very subtle pressure of his hands.

Finally, their eyes met. Oh, his beautiful blue eyes. Him loosing her? She had never thought of it that way. She always felt as if she would be the one to lose him. It was her who had always wanted him. Always. So much so, that she had accepted the possibility to live in his company without reciprocated love when she married him. There was no one on this earth that she cared for more, ever since she had first laid eyes upon him in a stuffy London ballroom. If anyone had the harder burden to carry, it was her.

“If I can bear it, you can. Remember, I’ve loved you from the start! I loved you before you loved me!”

Those words hurt him deeply, but Robert knew they weren’t intended as an insult, but simply a mere stating of a fact.

How he hated himself for having been so blind. He had been fond of Cora from very early on, did recognize her kindness and her warm nature, but he was so caught up in the whole “Save-Downton-No-Matter-What-Business” that he didn’t pay enough attention to the actual soul behind the solution to his problem. The shameful feeling of having wasted almost an entire year beside the love of his life would haunt him to his grave.

“I’ve always been ashamed of that”

“Don’t be. I had money. You needed it”

There she was again, the pragmatic wife who, more often than not, had been the calming guide to Robert. Although society might have been convinced that an American heiress may never have control over her emotions, there was no doubt that the English Earl had been dependent on his wife’s matter-of-fact statements more than once.

Cora’s hand brushed over Robert shoulder, feeling his tensed muscles.

“And then love came. And we have been happy, haven’t we?”

In that moment, even though the sentence only lasted for a mere second, their whole life story flashed before their eyes.

The way Robert had awkwardly introduced himself the first time to her, while Cora couldn’t help but giggle.

The moment she had told him that she was pregnant for the first time and the way he didn’t let anyone get too close to her after that, in order to make sure she could not be hurt in any way.

The day Sybil spilled the whole pot of coffee in the library and although Carson had been furious, the two parents burst into laughter.

Their ups and downs. Their most cheerful memories and their most heart-wrenching moments. It was all there, hovering in between them.

“Oh Darling!”

In desperate need of each other they brought their faces together and exchanged a kiss. But it wasn’t just like any other goodnight kiss they had been sharing for more than thirty years of marriage. They clung onto each other as if it would mean they could never touch again were they to separate. Cora tasted the salt of Robert’s tears on her lips, which led her to initiate another kiss before the previous one came to an end. Even though their bodies were as close as they could possibly manage, Cora wanted to be even nearer to her husband, so she let her hands grasp the silvery strands of Robert’s hair and pulled herself even more into the passionate embrace.

After all, she didn’t know how many times life would allow her to feel her husband that way.

A slight sob escaped her lips as they separated once again.

Robert took in the beautiful features of his wife. The moonlight reflected on her pale skin, her eyes sparkling even more due to many tears that gathered on her long, dark lashes. How beautiful she was. How beautiful she always had been.

“You have been everything to me. Everything!”

Oh, and he was to her, indeed. He always had been. But Cora felt her heart relax at the statement. She knew her husband adored her, but it always brought a smile to her face when he reassured her with such a confirmation.

And so it did now, even though the two of them found themselves in such a desperate environment. Their life, laid out in front of them, in pieces. Nevertheless, her smile couldn’t have been more genuine.

“And I hope I can be everything for a while yet”

#cora crawley #robert crawley #downton abbey #downton abbey: a new era #elizabeth mcgovern #hugh bonneville #they are the death of me #cobert fanfiction #fanfiction

72 notes · View notes

zaharadessert · 3 years ago

Text

A Dream of Home (4/12)

Summary: Life with the Gold Pack has never been smooth sailing for Emma Swan, and things are getting worse now the pack leader's son has decided he wants her for his mate. Nothing she says or does seems to deter him, or deter his parents from encouraging the match. Emma's only hope is a promise someone made her seventeen years ago; a promise she's forgotten about in all but the deepest recesses of her dreams.

Rating: Explicit (non-con, graphic violence, minor-ish character death) Couple of minor-ish character deaths.

Notes: Here’s chapter four! I am so excited about this chapter, you have no idea! There are some amazing reveals in this one and some reunions too. I hope you’re all as psyched about it as I am!

I would like to thank Tori ( @resident-of-storybrooke ) once again for the amazing beta job, and also to the beautiful Masha ( @mariakov81 ), for the absolutely gorgeous art for this chapter, it’s so cute! And sorry to Killian, who’s only featured through his younger self.

Taglist: @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @kmomof4 @wefoundloveunderthelight @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @teamhook @jonesfandomfanatic @tiganasummertree @onceratheart18 @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @itsfabianadocarmo @ouatpost @primary2blog @cssns

As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics, or if this one isn’t your thing! :)

Read on AO3

- - - - -

Killian had encouraged Emma to get some sleep once they were on the highway. It was a partly selfish desire, but neither of them could deny that she needed it. She’d confessed to having next to no sleep before Neal had burst into her room, and he’d offered her his jacket to use as a blanket. She’d needed some reassurance on their destination, and he’d been happy to give it. They were going to meet up with everyone else, and Graham had told them to do everything they could to get Lily and August to go with them. She’d given him a long hard look, and he’d let her watch him as he drove, only glancing across occasionally until she nodded and settled against the passenger door.

He could hear her heartbeat evening out in time with her breathing as she fell asleep. It was easier now, with her asleep for him to really assess the feelings burning through him with an intensity he’d never expected. From the moment he’d held her baby blanket in his hands that night when he’d met Graham and been told she was alive; he’d felt something long dormant stirring within him. At first, he’d thought it was guilt at not having done more and a desire to make up for that, but when he’d burst into her room and seen Neal on top of her as she screamed and fought him.

Even now he had to fight back a growl and his hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He took a deep breath and relaxed his grip, keeping his eyes firmly on the road in front of him as he conveyed the precious cargo curled in the passenger seat home.

Because he was taking her home, the place that should have been her home for the last seventeen years. His outright anger had faded in the light of other moments they’d shared while making their escape. The way his body had responded to hers, the way her scent had seemed to call out to him, drawing him in especially when they’d hidden in that alcove, the way she’d drawn out Alpha tendencies he’d gotten so used to suppressing.

She mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and he glanced across at her as she slept, and he felt that protective, almost possessive urge come over him.

He was, in a word, fucked.

He’d missed Emma’s entire life, and she didn’t know who he was. When she looked at him, she was looking at a stranger. He was no longer the boy she’d clung to in terror as her mother and grandmother had faced off against three other werewolves.

But she’d trusted him, she’d given up her only weapon during their escape so that Liam could kill Robert Gold. She’d saved him by pulling him out of Cora’s path, reminded him they had to get out of there. She’d taken a place at his side and told her packs Alpha where to stick it and had faced off against Regina who was possibly the most terrifying bitch in the entire country save her own mother.

Was that enough that he dared to hope it was possible that she might come to feel for him the same way he’d realised he was feeling about her?

They were about twenty minutes from home when Killian heard her heart rate increase, felt her shift to an almost cowering position against the door. She started to mumble, her breathing quicker and shallower, and clearly in distress.

“Mama!” she cried suddenly, and Killian felt despair clawing at his chest, he could more than smell her fear, he could taste it and knew exactly what she was dreaming about. He pulled over, put the truck in park.

“Emma, Emma wake up, love!”

He undid his seatbelt and shifted to face her. He reached out to touch her and she started screaming, but instead of flinching she grabbed hold of his hand in both of hers, holding on for dear life.

Killian shouted her name louder, and louder, trying to get her to wake up, gently shaking her shoulder with his other hand.

- - - - -

She’d been dreaming of him, of how his hand had felt in hers, how he’d towered over her when she’d pulled him into that alcove, how she’d drawn from his strength as she’d stood up to Regina and Mr Gold. The way he’d responded to her when she’d seen the opening in the fighting that they could get through that was obviously in the direction he’d been leading her in. The way he’d looked at her almost proudly every time she’d stood up for herself, and the way he’d looked at her after she’d hobbled Neal…

Neal…

She could feel his hands on her body, she shrank in on herself as she fought the images of what he’d done to her that night.

But then the scene changed. Suddenly everything around her was bigger, towering over her and she felt small and helpless, hiding behind Graham and Killian, her small hands clinging to the backs of their jackets.

Through the gap between them she could see Regina and Cora and another wolf she didn’t recognise, snarling and attacking her mother and grandmother. Suddenly Regina caught her mother on the side of the head and the younger woman crashed to the floor. Emma watched her head bounce sickeningly and was suddenly trying to claw her way past the boys.

“Mama!” she sobbed, and Killian held her back.

“Emma, Emma stay back,” he said urgently. She sobbed, clinging to him holding both his hands in hers. Her grandmother fought harder, and if she didn’t know the woman’s truly kind nature, she’d have been truly scared of her.

“Get the boy to Robert,” Cora snarled, and the unknown wolf fought his way round to the group of children.

Hindered as he was by Emma’s clinging hands Killian’s resistance didn’t last long.

“Graham, take her, don’t let go!” he shouted.

She was screaming, clinging to Killian’s hand, even as Graham was pulling her back behind Ruth.

“It’s okay, Emma, I’ll come back for you!” he promised, trying to wriggle his fingers out of her grip before she ended up getting hurt. She shook her head, but she couldn’t hold on any longer.

“Killian!” she screamed.

“Emma, you have to wake up, please,”

“KILLIAN!”

“Emma!”

His voice called to her through the chaotic nightmare she’d found herself trapped in.

Her eyes snapped open, and she could barely see him through the tears in the dark cab of the truck.

“You promised you’d come back,” she sobbed, looking up at him and she could see the moment that he realised she remembered what had happened that night, that she knew who he was. His bright blue eyes showed disappointment, and guilt in his eyes.

“Aye, Love, I’m sorry I’m so late,” his voice was heavy with emotion as he reached out and swept the tears off her face.

She could smell him all around her, and all she wanted was his arms around her too, to really feel that he was there, that he’d finally come to fulfil the promise he’d made her all those years ago. She needed him in that moment more than she needed air. She practically threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face on his shoulder.

“Better late than never,” she managed to choke out.

He moved, pulling her into him, and holding her tight. She could smell the salt in his tears as well as her own. Relief flooded her body, finally understanding why she’d never felt like part of the Gold Pack. Because she had a pack, she had a home, and a family who wanted her, some of whom had risked their lives to defend her.

Her shoulders shook and her chest hurt with the anguish of the knowledge of what had been taken from her. She hated Robert Gold and everything he and his pack stood for. She wept for how much of her life she’d missed with people that would have cared for her and wouldn’t ever have demanded anything in return.

It took a while, but the tears dried up and she pulled back, Killian used the end of his sleeve to dry her cheeks with a tender smile on his face.

“We need to get going,” Killian said gently.

Emma sniffed and sat up straighter, retreating back along the bench seat. She felt like she was folding back in on herself.

Killian settled himself back in front of the wheel, shifted into drive and once they were back on their way he laid his arm along the back of the seat.

“You don’t have to hide all the way over there you know,” he said quietly, and as she looked back at him, she could see the tentative hope in his blue eyes.

Something told her it was for him as much as for her. She could feel the tension radiating out of him, like he needed to comfort her, needed to know she was safe without having to seek her out. She hesitated long enough that disappointed understanding settled in his features and his gaze moved back to the road in front of them.

Emma took a deep breath, she wanted to feel the comfort of his arm around her, to know that he cared enough about her to risk his life to get her back to her family. She wanted to feel safe. She tucked her arms into his jacket to make sure she didn’t get cold and shifted up the bench to sit next to him.

She watched the smile creep onto his face, felt his arm shift around her shoulders and she smiled too, leaning into him.

A few minutes later, with her head on his shoulder, the question that had been building in her chest from the moment she’d been able to process everything she’d remembered tumbled out of her mouth.

“What happened to my Mom?” she asked quietly.

Killian squeezed her shoulder.

“Hopefully, she’ll be waiting for you when we get there,” he said gently.

Emma felt a weight lift off her chest, the last memory she had of her mother was her lying on the floor bleeding from a cut on her head.

- - - - -

Emma was still wearing Killian’s jacket as she walked into the room, his hand resting in the small of her back. She was glad of it in the room full of strange people. Everyone looked up as they walked in, and Emma recognised the man who’d cut off Gold’s head. He was looking at Killian, and she watched as relief flooded his features and he crossed the room with long, purposeful strides and hugged him.

“Killian, thank God,” he said, and Emma could feel the emotion in it, even without knowing him very well. She still had that feeling in the back of her head that she should know this man, but she couldn’t place him. He released his brother and then his gaze, like everyone else’s was turned on her. “Thanks for the assist back there, Emma,” he said, holding out his hand.

She looked up at him and kind blue eyes, different from Killian’s in shade but they were a similar shape, twinkled at her with the same energy as his smile, she found herself smiling back and shaking his hand.

“You’re welcome,” she managed to reply, her voice quiet, showing her uncertainty more obviously than she’d have liked. Having been released from his brother’s arms, Killian’s hand was back on her back.

“Liam?” a voice from behind Liam spoke, it wasn’t as deep as the man apparently called Liam’s was, it was less gravelly, but held no less gravitas than his or Killian’s. “Did you say, Emma?” it sounded almost choked with uncertain hopefulness.

“David, we…” Killian shot him a look and Emma looked between them curiously, deciding that was something she’d unpack later. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he shifted out of Emma’s line of sight and she could finally properly take in some of the other people in the room. But all she managed to see were the two people at the other end of the long table Liam had practically forced aside to get to his brother. “Losing her nearly broke you, I couldn’t let you go through that again if we failed.”

The woman had longer hair than she remembered, than she’d seen in the memory that had only just surfaced. It was no longer a short pixie bob, but just longer than her shoulders, layered and curly, and her large eyes held a stunned wonder as she looked at her with slightly parted lips. The man with his hand on her waist was well built, blonde with a chiselled jaw. He wasn’t in the memory that had just surfaced, he had been elsewhere that night, but she had no doubt in her mind who this man was.

“Mom?” she managed to choke, as tears built in her eyes. “Dad?” Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt like she was about to explode with the amount of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her.

“Emma?!” David and Snow moved as one, in that weird single unit way that Alpha’s and their mates manage to do without even thinking about it.

Killian gave her a gentle push, and she found herself moving away from the safety of the known element and into the arms of her parents for the first time in seventeen years.

Snow, a little shorter than her, wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist as David’s circled round both Snow and Emma’s shoulders and Emma could feel his hand cradling the back of her head. There was a familiarity in it, like there might be a ghost of a memory of him doing this in her head somewhere that she couldn’t quite recall.

She could feel Snow’s tears mingling with hers on her cheek as their faces pressed together, and felt David’s tears falling into her hair. She was sobbing again, almost as hard as she did in the truck, but this is mostly joy. It was uncertain, and she could feel the absence of Killian’s hand on her back, even as she clung to her parents like she never wanted to let go. She was choking on the emotions and struggling to breathe and filled with an overwhelming sense of home. It was not all there, there was something… not right but she knew without a doubt that she belonged here, with these people.

Eventually, she managed to pull back, it’s clear Snow doesn’t want to let go of her daughter, but David managed to tug her back enough that she was just holding Emma’s hand in both of hers now, her eyes glistening with tears. Every few moments Emma could feel her mother’s gaze on the side of her face like she couldn’t quite believe she was here.

Emma couldn’t believe it either.

“Where’s Graham?” she finally managed to ask. “You said it was him that…”

The look on Liam’s face said it all, regret and grief.

“Cora ripped his heart out,” David said quietly. Emma looked at Killian, who looked guiltier than she’d seen him all night.

“I should have helped him,” he muttered bitterly.

Liam’s hand was on his brother’s shoulder in a heartbeat.

“Your job was to make sure that if Graham couldn’t, that you made that happen,” he gestured towards David, Emma and Snow. “You brought Emma home, and you know that was his priority too.”

Killian swallowed and nodded, but Emma felt like the world was crumbling around her.

Graham was dead, he’d died so that she could get away from Neal and the Gold Pack. But even with Gold dead… Neal wasn’t going to give up so easily.

She couldn’t breathe, there was no air in the room…

The one person who’d always been there, the one person who’d seen her struggling with life, who’d always known what to say, who’d loved her so much he’d risked his life and died for her…

Why would he do that?

She could never thank him. She’d never see him laugh at or with her again. He’d never look at her with resigned longing, she’d never feel the comfort of him caring no matter what.

It was too much. Neal, Marco, Gold, remembering, her parents, now Graham…

Graham was gone.

She felt her field of vision narrowing as panic set in, overwhelmed as her hands started to shake, still struggling to breathe.

“No,” the grief-stricken whisper was all she managed in response to the news. She felt like she was drowning, and her mother’s hands weren’t cutting it for something to anchor herself to.

Her gaze flicked around the room, suddenly needing to not be there, needing a way out. She found Killian’s eyes, and was met with sorrow and grief, but more importantly – understanding.

“Who else?” she whispered.

Killian moved, rounding the table to stand in front of her. His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb gently ghosting over her skin.

“Emma, no, don’t do this to yourself,” his voice was low, meant for her, but even then she pushed back mentally. She needed to know.

“Who else died because of me?!” she pressed, looking up at him, imploringly. She felt Snow squeezing her hand, trying to comfort her.

“We didn’t kill many of them, that’s not why we went in… Gold was… an exception,” Liam ground out. “August and Lily came with us when we offered it, he mentioned his father but I’m assuming from what I heard that the man Regina killed…?”

“Was Marco, yes,” Emma managed to grind out. She was still looking at Killian, at the blue eyes boring into hers offering reassurance and understanding.

“We’ve got injuries, and Eric was touch and go, but it looks like he’ll pull through,” Liam offered, and Emma barely heard him.

“Enough,” Killian said gently, but Emma felt it like an Alpha command. “She can’t take any more,” he pulled his gaze from hers, looking across at Liam and then at David. “We have time, Neal will need to get control over his pack, and he’ll possibly have a fight to get Regina and Cora to follow him, and if any of the others decide to back them, we’ll have even more time,” he looked back at Emma. “A nap in the truck, interrupted by remembering the night they took you is not enough sleep to be able to deal with this,” he spoke quieter, and if they weren’t all werewolves, she might have believed that he was speaking only to her, but she knew he knew that everyone else needed to be considerate of what she’d been through that night. She was grateful, but she had a stubborn streak that wanted to fight him on it all the same.

She opened her mouth to protest and he smiled, a challenging sparkle in his eyes. He’d been expecting it. Her eyes narrowed a little and he grinned. In spite of everything, of the grief and joy and pain… he got it.

Emma nodded and slipped her hand into his.

- - - - -

He could feel the eyes of the entire room on him as he moved. They hadn’t expected him to be the one to know how to comfort her, he suspected, but he did. They didn’t know what had happened in the compound, or the truck, but he did. She was, somehow just as she had been as a toddler, an open book to him. He didn’t care about anyone else, there could be an all-out pack war going on behind him in that moment and all he would care about was her.

She was not going to blame herself for any of this if he could help it. None of this was her fault. Not the generations-old blood feud that Gold and his father had brought upon the Werewolf Packs across the country. This wasn’t about Emma, at least… it hadn’t been. If Neal stepped up it certainly might be, but he was a selfish vindictive bastard without an iota of the ‘vision’ Gold and Pan had. Killian wasn’t going to let him lay a hand on Emma ever again.

She insisted on knowing who else was hurt, and he thought that was a bad idea, but as it turned out they got possibly the best answer they could have. Her friends were okay, and no one else had died. Injuries were part and parcel of life. Finally, he had to put a stop to it. She’d been through so much tonight, and he couldn’t watch her try to shoulder any more. He knew she wouldn’t like being told what to do, especially not when so much choice had already been ripped from her tonight. He hated to do it, but he knew how to say it, so that she’d listen to it as a suggestion, that was the idea anyway.

He couldn’t help the amusement in his eyes when she opened her mouth, and he knew she’d seen it when she half glared at him. He grinned, seeing in that moment the stubborn toddler who’d insisted that she could climb just as well as he could with just an indignant stamp of her tiny feet and marching up to the tree.

What he hadn’t expected was for her hand to find his as she nodded in agreement.

He’d expected her to want to go with her parents, but then… maybe that was too much. They’d gotten a certain amount of messy emotion out of the way already, going with her parents would mean meeting Leo. Not that Emma knew about Leo…

And they hadn’t exactly talked about where Emma would be staying anyway. Like he and Liam also hadn’t dared to hope that they’d make it this far.

He glanced across at Liam and then back at David and Snow.

“We didn’t really plan this far ahead, but my spare room has clean sheets and an en-suite…” he offered. She could have her own little autonomous bubble if she wanted it. He��d respect her space in a way that he wasn’t sure Snow and David could manage right now. She hadn’t lived under her parents’ roof as she grew up, and that could cause friction that maybe none of them would be able to deal with.

This entire block of flats belonged to the group of them. They all had their own apartments, as a way of creating a sense of both community and boundaries. There were communal areas on the ground floor, which was what they were currently using. They could get together and eat as a larger pack or eat alone if they felt like it. It was a strange way for Werewolves to live, but it worked for them.

For a moment, Emma looked unsure, glancing across at her parents and then looking back at him. He could feel his heart pounding with nerves, feeling like maybe he’d overstepped in his offer. She looked back at Snow and David.

“Is that okay?”

David looked tense, and not exactly happy, but he seemed to understand.

“Of… Of course, sweetheart, whatever you need,” David managed to push out, looking at Killian, giving him a look that, were Emma not David’s daughter, would have sparked a furious reaction in him. He nodded, resolutely. David knew Killian would never disrespect Emma or him in that manner.

Snow squeezed Emma’s hand and then stepped back into David’s side.

“Take all the time you need, we’re here when you’re ready, Emma,” she said quietly. Killian could tell it hurt her to do it, but Emma needed the space.

“Come on, lass,” he said, gently, giving her hand a squeeze.

He couldn’t help but notice the way she tucked herself into his side as they moved, but there was nothing weak about it. She had her head up straight, her footsteps confident and steady, like she’d decided to allow him to lead rather than following because she didn’t have a choice. He knew if she hadn’t wanted a break from everyone by sleeping in his spare room, she wouldn’t have taken it, she’d have insisted on sleeping somewhere else. But like in the cab of his truck earlier, maybe they both needed to know the other wasn’t far away.

Would she have trusted him like this if he wasn’t the one to pull Neal off her earlier? He couldn’t be sure, but she had and apparently unlocking her suppressed memories had only made her trust him more.

He needed to not read anything more into her decision. She’d just escaped the unwelcome advances of one man, she wasn’t about to be accepting of his and he wasn’t going to betray her trust by trying it on. He wasn’t going to trick her or manipulate her, just treat her the way she’d always deserved to be treated.

He showed her into her room, and on a sudden whim, he darted into his own to collect the baby blanket Graham had used as his proof of who they were. She’d taken it with trembling hands, accepting his apology on both his and Graham’s behalf when she’d hugged it to her chest and whispered that she’d thought she’d lost it. He’d have hugged her, but he could tell that would be too much, and he didn’t want her to shut him out because he was being an overprotective idiot. After getting her assurances that she didn’t need anything else he left her to her own devices.

Hours later he woke up, and after a moment he realised he could hear her crying across the hall. He was in the hallway and about to knock on her door when he remembered he’d promised her that she’d have her own space. He needed to let her grieve and work through this without his interference. He took a deep breath and stepped back from her door.

“I’m here if you need me, Emma,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she replied with a choked whisper, but when she didn’t emerge from her room or say anything else Killian sighed and went back to bed.

As he lay looking up at his ceiling, one hand behind his head, staring into the darkness and listening to Emma cry herself to sleep he felt his heart breaking for her. All he wanted to do was hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, but she needed to go through this at her own pace. In the end, he didn’t fall asleep until well after her sobs had faded into the steady breath of sleep.

#cs ff #cssns 2021 #A Dream of Home #ZaharaDessert Writes #art by mariakov81 #Captain Swan #werewolf au #abo au #chapter four

48 notes · View notes

bella-caecilia · 3 years ago

Note

#12 – power, please? 😊

Thank you for the prompt <3 I hope you like what I made of it (I only realised when I had already finished it that Robert basically isn’t in it but it does contain little hints of Cobert so I decided to go with it anyway). This is set in s1e1. Parts of the dialogue belong to JF.

Black – Power

The sun was high up in the sky and spent its heat with all its might. The brim of her hat gave Cora some protection from the burning light but it didn��t really make up for the stuffiness that was trapped under all the layers of heavy dark garments she was wrapped in. She hurried to take the few steps to the motor that waited patiently in front of the Abbey’s stately entrance.

Cora was on her way to her mother-in-law. Even in the summer’s heat, it was better to pay the Dowager Countess a visit instead of having her over and having her inviting herself for dinner when she was already there for tea. Mama might be an ally in the whole Mary business, from the entail to finding appropriate suitors, but the amount of time Cora could bear to be in her company until her snappiness bothered her too much was still limited. So, driving by the Dower House in her heavy mourning attire was without question the way to go.

Cora settled in the backseat of the motor and gathered her skirts around her legs before Thomas closed the door and the chauffeur started the engine. Her gloved hands ran over the extent of black material. Yes, they were in mourning because of James’ and Patrick’s unexpected death but Cora thought to make the best of the obligatory dress code. Today’s attire was very obviously one of complete mourning. Her gown and coat were high-closed, all she wore on her body was pitch black even the feather on her hat, there weren’t any coquettish accessories. But she somehow liked it and she had no problem posing confidently and gracefully in it. Her daughters didn’t share her attitude towards the mourning’s dressing. Edith was fully convinced that going into full mourning like that was the least they could do but Cora didn’t think her middle daughter enjoyed wearing black. Mary didn’t hide her aversion, and Sybil didn’t protest but as the sweet little sunshine she was, black wasn’t right for her either.

Cora didn’t despise the mourning’s black as the girls did, Mary especially. There was no question in wearing it the next months, and she wasn’t counting the days until the colours could return to her daily closet. Cora even liked how she looked in black. There were striking black gowns that did perfectly well on all kinds of dinner occasions, and they pulled Robert’s gaze to her exposed shoulders, arms, and cleavage in a slightly different way than her lighter gowns did. The effect of black was strong, and sometimes it felt to Cora as if this strength was something she absorbed when Robert watched her in her black dresses. When she had been much younger, she had thought at first (and maybe it had been like this in the very first years) that black made her – or any young woman for that matter – unapproachable; if it was mourning’s black or not. Though, it sometimes managed to give the wearer a strong appearance most often it was perceived as not very welcoming. Robert also had to learn that this hadn’t had to be the case. It certainly wasn’t anymore.

Now when she wore black evening gowns, she felt less like the young inferior bride but nearly like an equal to the men with might. Her power, though, was a wholly different one than the power of these men. But she liked being a bit more at eye’s level with the gentlemen and making Robert aware of the power she had over him and in their marriage.

When her thoughts started wandering into fields less grave and too pleasurable for times of mourning, the motor neared its destination and Cora tried to shake off the memories that intensified the heat under her high-neck gown.

Clouds covered the sky and the short moment of the real summer sun was gone already as she arrived in front of the Dower House.

Cora had asked her mother-in-law for an invitation because there was a letter she had received and wanted to discuss with the older lady. The letter had excited her but because it was a rather delicate matter, she had decided to approach her ally, her partner in crime, to make a real decision about it.

As soon as she walked up the way towards the front door the Dowager’s butler opened it and greeted her as obligingly as ever. With a small nod and a smile, Cora appreciated his silent effort to take care of her coat. The quietly muttered “Milady” was less talking than a necessary addition to moving around her busily, acknowledging her presence. When Cora touched her hat a little to make sure it was still in place, the knocking sound of the cane announced Mama’s arrival.

“It is nice of you to come, my dear,” she greeted. The form of endearment towards Cora was something she had used nearly since the beginning of Robert’s and her marriage but it never had anything affectionate about it primarily. It sometimes could be a way of showing a bit of empathy but that wasn’t the norm.

The Dowager Countess was in one of her all-black gowns as well. Mourning and all that came with it was something she knew better than anyone living at the Abbey. She didn't bother how it made her look as long as everything about the gown was proper. Cora thought the black attire perhaps made her mother-in-law look even more intimidating.

Cora followed her into the sitting room. She sat down slightly sideways on the armchair the Dowager offered with a rather impatient gesture of her right hand. Cora tried to adjust her skirts a little that strained slightly in the position the seat forced her to adopt. Violet repeated the nervous shake of her hand towards the butler.

“The tea,” she muttered before sitting down as well. Cora slipped her gloved hand between the folds of her skirts and brought out the reason for her visit. She handed the letter to Mama.

“Here, this arrived yesterday with the afternoon mail. Have a look at it.”

Violet grabbed her reading glasses from the small table next to her. As she unfolded the paper, she sent a short gauging look at Cora over the rim of her small glasses. All the while Violet skimmed the letter and the butler brought the tea, Cora tried to make herself a bit more comfortable on the antique seat. She was still warm in her clothes. For a moment she thought about slipping off her gloves but she wouldn’t stay long anyway. So, she just leaned back as much as possible (more would also have been improper) and held on to the cushion at her left. She enjoyed the slightest of breezes that brushed through the curls at her neck when the butler opened the door to serve the tea.

“So, the young Duke of Crowborough is asking himself to stay.” Mama had finished reading the letter.

“And we know why,” Cora inserted instantly, opening the conversation to the topic that had defined all their latest talks.

Mama provided her with a wary expression. “You hope you know why. That is not at all the same. You realise the Duke thinks Mary’s prospects have altered.” She took off her glasses and emphasised her statement by pointing to the letter with the folded pair of glasses.

“I suppose so,” Cora admitted. She had hoped Mama wouldn’t come to the same conclusion. It would all be much easier if the Duke was interested in Mary no matter what. But Cora knew best that this wasn’t how marriage and courting worked in the English aristocracy. When would a gentleman be interested in a lady just for herself first before securing his family and estate could benefit from her? Was it really always the same? No matter how rosy she managed to have made things work with her dear husband she was aware of the brutal and heartless business of marrying off one’s children, particularly daughters. She wanted her three girls to have good prospects for the lives ahead of them and apparently this meant she had to play this game of matchmaking the best she could. She would always do the best she could for her daughters even if this meant engaging in customs of the peerage that went against her beliefs. Her girls would be dependent on husbands that could and would secure them a safe and happy future. Safety and happiness were closely tied to position according to English nobility, and Cora knew that sadly there was a kernel of truth to it in this society.

“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it,” the Dowager countered with a short shake of her head. “Of course, this is exactly the sort of opportunity that will come to Mary if we can only get things settled in her favour.” She threw another short glance at the lines on the letter before she asked, “Is Robert coming round?” with a circling gesture of her hand.

“Not yet. To him, the risk is we succeed in saving my money but not the estate. He feels he’d be betraying his duty if Downton were lost because of him,” Cora explained calmly. The matter of the entail has bothered Mama, Robert, and her continuously over the last weeks, and Cora knew it wouldn’t help anyone if it was discussed with overbearing emotions.

“Well, I’m going to write to Murray.” Violet’s answer was resolute. She had made a plan with Cora and was determined to make it happen.

“He won’t say anything different.” Cora shook her head. It seemed like there were treading water and everything that had been decided for them – for her (years ago when she had to sign this stupid contract) – was out of reach to change.

“Well, we have to start somewhere. Our duty is to Mary.”

Cora was slightly baffled at her mother-in-law’s resilience. She had never thought that there was someone who would fight more for her daughters than Cora herself. Robert was very close but as became apparent once again (and Cora didn’t hold it against him) Downton was a very high concurrence to the girls. Violet, however, had a determination as fuelled as Cora’s when it came to securing what was right for Mary.

The Dowager Countess sighed, “Well, give him a date for when Mary is out of mourning.” She handed the letter back to Cora who took it with a smile. When Mama was thinking there was still something to fight for, Cora would certainly go with it. She really hoped there were good prospects for Mary. Maybe Mama and she could really achieve something if they continued putting their abilities together for good use. Cora had never thought she would be so powerful with Mama by her side when she had been the young bride she once was. That Mama and she were such a great team ironically was only one of the nice surprises the years had brought.

“No one wants to kiss a girl in black,” Mama said slightly theatrically before they started sipping their teas. Their conversation left them both with a lot to think and so they were mostly silent while drinking the warm tea. Cora was happy Violet seemed to have no other topics she wanted to discuss. She was glad to make her way home again and think about what could still be done about Mary’s situation. Dear strong Mary who shouldn’t be restricted in all her great abilities to form a promising future herself. Things didn’t seem right that way, to rob a girl of what could very well belong to her and could assure her great conditions for her future life. It just didn’t seem fair.

Cora sighed as the door of the Dower House closed behind her not much later. The challenge Mama and she had taken on wasn’t easy but Cora was sure if there was someone at the moment who could achieve something on that score it was the ally she and Mama had formed.

She walked back to the motor. The sun still hid behind a cloud but it was warm nevertheless. Cora moved sparsely therefore and gave a short nod to the chauffeur who held the car door open for her. She had power; she knew it. Strange only that out of all Mama was the one to remind her of that.

On the slightly bumpy road back to the Abbey Cora remembered a particular thing Mama had said earlier.

No one wants to kiss a girl in black.

Even if she shouldn’t, Cora had to smile remembering Mama’s words. She knew someone who didn’t object to kissing a certain girl in black. A girl that has already been kissed in black quite a lot of times.

#cobert fanfiction #cobert drabble #cobert #cora crawley #violet crawley #s1 #downton abbey fanfiction

27 notes · View notes

mercurygray · 3 years ago

Note

Fandom ships for... Downton Abbey! Juno xx

I just finished watching the movie on Christmas Day, so I have all kinds of thoughts.

otp: Edith + self discovery. Edith's journey from sour-faced spinster who hated to see anyone else happy to self-actualized media mogul is a thing of beauty. Still angry Michael Gregson never got a chance to make an honest woman out of her - I love Bertie, but I think that could have been a really great marriage.

favourite canon pairing: I like the stability of Robert and Cora. I like that they fight and get petty and somehow always still come back to each other.

worst pairing ever: Mary and Henry. Get it out of here. It is contrived, it lacks chemistry, and I fail to see why or how Lady Mary Crawley, social climber from way back, would settle for a man who doesn't seem to appreciate the best parts of herself, after having been married to someone who absolutely did.

guilty pleasure pairing: I loved Tom and Sybil, do not mistake me, and I don't care if they're feeding it to me on a spoon, but I really like Tom and Lucy. Some of the women this guy has had to put up with over the last couple of seasons have been real nopes and she's so sweet!

a pairing character you want to see more: I wanted to see more done with Moseley that didn't make him into the clown that made it into the movie. I really liked the storyline where he talked about how he was going to become a teacher.

that pairing everyone likes but you’re like “lol no” : I like them, but I'm sort of over Anna/Bates as a thing.

favorite non-romantic pair: I love Mary and Tom as friends. I think they work great together, they each bring out the best in the other, and the way this got characterized in the movie was great.

#fandom ships ask meme #asked and answered #junojelli

8 notes · View notes

moonlessmondays · 5 years ago

Text

Sailing Close to the Wind || Cora x Robert | Alternate Universe

This was supposed to be part of CobertWeek 2017, but things got lost in translation and it took me almost 3 years to even type this up and post it. Anyhoo, enjoy! Let me know what you think!

The prompt is: Pretend relationship.

______________________________________________________________

Cora Levinson feels her heart knock inside her chest as she walks the long hallway leading to the office of her boss. She’s not entirely sure how this meeting is about to pan out, not really sure how it’s going to go. Gwen, her boss’ assistant, had called her from the office line and had politely told her that her boss had asked to see her.

She’d bit down on her lip in anxiety, but she knew. She knew what it was for.

It is, after all, a very clear cut what’s about to happen, or at least, it's a very clear cut to her what needs to be done, or not be done anyway.

It’s a waiting game at this point.

Honestly, it’s all a very stupid mistake, after all. She’d not been paying attention, absorbed as she had been with the new project. As an architect, she had wanted to be hands-on. She hadn’t wanted her design to be butchered by the hands of an engineer who did not consult her or didn’t bother to consult her.

She takes pride in her work, on being hands on and available for her clients. If anything, she’s reliable and competent, knows the in and out of her own design. She likes to see it first hand as it is built, having a say on how it is built. She’s also known for being on time, on driving hard to get to finish projects on her given deadline.

And that is exactly what’s gotten her in this mess in the first place.

It appears she is able to keep with her deadlines on all of her projects, but not in other things in her life - the ones that make it possible for her to even have projects.

Sighing, she halts her steps once she reaches the office. The door is closed, a heavy, dark brown surface - cherry wood, beautiful, she’s always thought so. She isn’t exactly excited about this particular conversation she’s about to have, and is in fact dreading it. She raises her fist and knocks on the door lightly.

“Come in,” she hears a muffled voice from the other side. Slowly, she opens the door and peers into the room, finding herself face to face with her boss. Rosamund Painswick is the Chief Operations Officer, an Architect by profession, with an MBA from Oxford. She ran the business with other members of her family - a brother, if Cora remembered correctly.

Cora noticed another strange face that is almost familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it in her head. They were sitting on the couch on the other end of the room.

“Hello, Miss Levinson,” Rosamund greeted with a terse smile.

Cora tried to read the room. Tense, that’s all she can think about. She swallows and urges herself to come in, telling her feet to their part and move. Her legs are shaking but she tries really hard to notice, or let it give in.

"Uh, hello," Cora greets although it sounds more like a question than a greeting, and she fights a grimace as she pushes herself forward.

She watches her boss, and notes that the way her red hair glows in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window makes her beautiful, but decidedly scarier.

Relax, Cora, she tells herself. You are not here to be executed.

"Have a seat," Rosamund invites politely, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Rosamund's blue eyes are trained on her form, and they are icy as they are warm, and Cora has had first hand experience of the ruthlessness of the woman, as well as her generosity. Rosamund is known for her designs as well as her stance in the boardrooms.

Rosamund is only a couple of years older than Cora, but has already accomplished so much more than Cora could ever imagine. Rosamund Painswick is formidable and more than capable, of course, but she is also a member of one of the wealthiest and well-known families around.

Their family - Crawley - owns the biggest firm in town. They've built many skyscrapers around Grantham, which parts of had been - from what Cora has heard - owned by their ancestors in the early days. A good number of infrastructure in London had been designed and built by them as well, spanning decades and generations of Crawleys.

When Cora had moved to London to study Architecture - much to her mother's consternation and her father's concern - she had planned to move back to New York and work her way up in some other architectural firm there. She had been hopeful, given how well she'd been performing her school and the series of internships she'd managed to get - it all looked very well in her portfolio. But then, she'd fallen in love with Grantham, one of the busiest, most beautiful places just outside London, when she'd managed to get an internship with Downton Designs.

They had offered her a position just before she finished her internship and before she graduated from her degree. The visa process had also been quick and easy, sponsored by Downton Designs themselves, and she'd worked for them right out of University - almost two years ago now. Going back home to New York with such a wonderful prospect in one hand had become such a far away dream, and it fell down on the list of her priorities.

After all, Grantham is just like New York, almost, with the added bonus of being thousands of miles away from her mother.

It's been a win-win situation for her.

Cora reminds herself that it's not going to be as bad as she fears. She already has a couple of contingency plans in place.

She hears Rosamund clear her throat, effectively waking Cora up from her reverie. Cora looks up with wide, apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up and straightening in her chair. She swallows the lump in her throat.

Rosamund nods and folds her hands on top of the desk daintily. "We seem to have a problem," she murmurs, and boy, oh boy, don't they. "What happened?"

Cora is certain her boss already knows exactly what happened, but launches into an explanation of her current predicament anyway.

It's a stupid thing really. A colossal mistake. An oversight on Cora's part. She had been so absorbed with her new project - the first really big one after almost two years in the company. She had, of course, worked on many projects before - big ones where she's the junior, or smaller ones where she's lead or working solo - but this is the first one she had worked on a really big one where she's the lead. She had wanted it to go so well and so smoothly, to produce great results. She'd been tied in meetings left and right, that she had forgotten the deadline for her visa application. Her best friend and roommate, Phyllis, had reminded her of course, but she still had forgotten. She had missed the extension as well, and had only realized with such a sense of dread, when she'd received the letter telling her that her failure to submit required documents and complete her application had now subjected her for reapplication, which means she has to go back home to New York.

It's a right mess.

Cora breathes deeply as she finishes her story and looks up at her boss. The other woman's face is unreadable, and Cora feels her heart sink further into her stomach. She licks her lips and turns her gaze to the other man in the room. His lips are pulled down in a frown, and his brows are furrowed. He looks just about as readable as Rosamund Painswick is.

She turns her attention to her boss and watches her nod. "Alright we'll get back to you, Miss Levinson."

And with that, Cora is dismissed.

15 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 5 years ago

Text

An American Haunting (2/2)

Emma Swan does not believe in ghosts. She simply talks about them on tourist-filled walking tours at Colonial Williamsburg.

It’s a belief she’s certain she’ll always hold, until, one summer she starts hearing a voice, asking her for help. And, suddenly, every certainty Emma Swan has ever had starts to shake just a bit, a hint of history and a past that’s far more extensive than she could have imagined.

—-

Rating: Still teen. Still kind of unexpectedly freaky. AN: Hey, thanks for reading this incredibly self indulgent nonsense, internet. It was and is very nice. One time we went to Colonial Williamsburg and my sister, Justin and I kept mentioning the end of the Revolution, but it was supposed to be 1779 that day. So, we were two years early and a reenactor told my sister that she should go to the mental hospital. Because she was clearly a future-telling witch. Anyway, here’s more ghost story.

|| Part One here and the rest on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. ||

—-

They picked quarter of midnight.

Something about giving them a cushion, which felt a little ridiculous, but then Emma was standing in front of the Wythe house with her hand wrapped up in Killian’s and her stomach in her throat and— “I can practically hear you thinking, love.” She glanced at him, lips curling up and a spark in his eye that might have been ninety-six percent of the reason Emma was sure this was going to be alright. “What do I have to think about? A ghost is begging me for help about who knows what and—” “—Tell me a lesser known Revolutionary War fact.”

“Oh, you think you’re very charming, don’t you?” “I know I am,” Killian promised, tugging her hand up to kiss the bend of her knuckles.

“I had a crush on Lafayette when I was a kid.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that. Emma grinned triumphantly. “Have you ever seen a portrait of the Marquis, love?” “No, no, I know,” Emma muttered. “And it’s definitely a weird thing, although not the weirdest thing about me, I guess and—I just...I don’t know. Growing up the way I did and bouncing around houses and cities, I guess it was just appealing. Fighting for an ideal. Joining a cause that wasn’t necessarily yours, but was, at least, kind of good. There’s a certain romanticism to it, isn’t there?” “Revolutions are always a little romantic for those who win them.” “That was philosophical.”

Killian chuckled, lips still on Emma’s skin and she yelped when his teeth nipped at her fingers. “You’re not going to do anything ridiculous tonight are you?” “Aside from the seance?” “I think it’s only a seance if there are candles involved.” “Ah, right, right. Then, no. I’m not.”

“Alright, so, basically, we just have to...wait.”

Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, David’s instructions lacking any real instruction. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted to happen, couldn’t really even see anything that was happening because at some point they’d decided not to turn the lights on and that felt like a bad move, but— The clock behind Emma’s head ticked.

Midnight.

Killian’s hand, the same one that hadn’t ever left hers, tightened, thumb brushing over the back of her palm like a metronome. She counted swipes — one, two, three…

Clack, clack, clack.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathed. The sound got louder, moving up the stairs opposite them, but there wasn’t any body and she seriously could not see, just bits of moonlight peeking through wooden blinds and stretching across historically accurate area rugs.

The noise stopped.

Only to be replaced by the tell-tale sound of a door hinge and more footsteps and Emma’s whole body convulsed as soon as she heard it, barely keeping her balance. Her head dropped back, colliding with Killian’s collarbone and he must have been muttering words in her ear because she could hear something, but it didn’t sound particularly like him and— She was moving.

Emma took the stars two at a time, David and Killian’s matching cries echoing in the air behind her. She didn’t stop. She didn’t slow down. She raced down the narrow hall, the door to the corner room wide open and a shadowy figure staring out the only window.

“You have to help. He’s getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” Emma said. She wrapped her arms around her middle, fighting off the chill that crept under her skin. “Who? How is he getting stronger?” The woman turned, the same dress and disheveled hair and Emma had no idea how she knew. That was also a frustrating theme.

“You’re repeating the same thing over and over again, aren’t you? The night you ran out of the Palace, that’s—” “—I didn’t run out of the Palace.” “The gardens, then?”

She nodded, Emma trying to piece together a puzzle with far too many pieces. “Ok, ok, so you were here when Rochambeau got word to Washington, right? To come back to the Chesapeake? That’s—did you not want that?”

Emma had never put much stock in the idea of time travel before, but she was also talking to a ghost on the reg now, so she figured maybe she could work with that as well. And immediately use it to retract her question.

Because the woman still didn’t look all that solid, but her eyes flared, a spark of anger that made the hair on the back of Emma’s neck stand up. She could dimly hear grunting from the bottom of the stairs. “Want that?” the woman sneered. “That’s all I wanted. That’s exactly what we’d been working towards, trying desperately to end it. But he was...he was stronger than even I realized, a demon. He thrived on the chaos, stoked the rumors and he—if he’d had his way, the war never would have ended at all.” “Who?” “Robert Gold.” Emma’s hand flew to the doorframe, trying desperately to keep her balance and her sanity. She wasn’t sure she could get both. “Robert Gold. He wasn’t...was he not human?” The entire house shook. Possibly the entire world.

Emma’s knees rattled, what felt like her actual brain bouncing around her skull and she wasn’t sure she’d ever made that noise. The pain that bloomed behind her left eye was excruciating, as if she were being split right down the middle. She grit her teeth, trying to breathe evenly, but it failed spectacularly and the taste of blood in her own mouth made her retch.

She dropped down, barely able to keep her eyes open as the shadow in front of her flickered, smoke on the water and breath on a window pane, a soft laugh in her ear that made every inch of Emma recoil.

The footsteps behind her were impossibly loud.

“Emma, Emma! God, fuck, Emma, are you ok?” Her right knee was bleeding, the pain in her head ebbing slightly as soon as Killian pulled her against his chest, and Emma wasn’t sure when she’d started crying. It felt like she was choking on her tears, panting with the effort to contain emotion that absolutely was not hers.

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Killian said, over and over, as if repeating it would make it true. His hands brushed over her hair and the back of her neck, tracing over the curve of her shoulders and Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him that pale before.

David was visibly shaking behind him.

“What just happened?” “I don’t know,” Emma whispered. “But I don’t think we’re dealing with fun ghost stories anymore.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Regina asked archly, sitting behind a massive desk with picture frames and even more stacks of paper. She looked more tired than she had two days earlier. “A demon? Be serious, Emma.” “I am,” Emma promised. “This is—Regina, you’ve got to tell me if I’m losing it.” “Honestly?” “Ok, c’mon.” Regina waved both hands in the air, impatience in the movement and the ringtone of more than one phone. “I don’t have time for this. And don’t think my husband an I aren’t going to have a serious conversation about him letting the three of you into the Wythe house after hours. You could have done serious damage, you could have—” “—Have you ever heard the name Robert Gold before?”

It was as if all the oxygen had been forcibly removed from the room. Regina’s lips practically disappeared, a flicker of recognition that Emma was going to cling to.

For her sanity.

“How did you hear that name?” “Is that a yes?” “Emma,” Regina hissed. “This is important. Where did you hear that name?”

“The ghost in the Wythe house told me last night.”

Regina slumped in her chair — a move that was nearly more ridiculous than any of the incredibly ridiculous things Emma had encountered in the last seventy-two hours. “What happened last night?” Emma explained the whole thing. The voice, the dress, the shoe. She told her about the woman’s pleas to help and how much stronger he was getting and every bit of information seemed to personally offend Regina. Her tongue kept darting between her lips, breathing through her mouth with her eyes darting towards her office door like she was fully expecting the demon to arrive at any moment.

“So,” Emma said, voice a little scratchy. “You know more about this place than any of us combined, Regina. Your family’s been here for hundreds of years and—” “—Yes.” “Wait, what?” Regina ran an exhausted hand over her face, not bothering to adjust her posture. “Yes,” she repeated. “Or, at least in theory.” “Explain that better.” “I don’t know the exact number of greats, but however many it was, my grandmother, her name was Cora. She was old money. The kind of money that could buy influence and decisions in several courts across Europe. Only she, well...rumors swirled, mutterings of virtue and eighteenth-century mindsets and that led to a rather quick betrothal to a man without much else to his name except the letters it was made of. They sailed for the colonies shortly after they were wed.” “And?” “And they lived here,” Regina said. “The man—his name was Henry. He owned the coffee shop near the Capitol, but that’s a far cry from what Cora was used to and, if my family’s legends are to be believed, she started cavorting with… a very particular crowd.” “Did you just use the word cavorting in real life?” “Witches. Magical folk. There’s plenty of documentation of that in the Tidewater region, going back even to Jamestown. So Cora starts working with magic, looking for something to better her own standing and, maybe, get back to the continent and then, wouldn’t you know, shots are fired at Lexington and Concord.”

“And I’m sure she wasn’t the rebels biggest fan?” Emma guessed.

Regina shook her head. “Didn’t speak about it, obviously. Especially with Henry’s business and his own political leanings, but, again, this is all just hearsay, passed down through generations.”

“What are you hearing?” “That Cora wanted out. Of the colony, of her marriage, away from anything even remotely American. But her options were limited and her magic, if she even had any, was basic at best. So she had to seek out some help.” Emma’s insides froze. It was gross. It felt gross. And cold. And uncomfortable.

She was certain she was forgetting to ask something.

Something big. “There are letters,” Regina continued, “between Cora Mills and Robert Gold starting in October 1775, shortly after the Continental Congress instructed the construction of a naval fleet. No going back after that.”

“And Robert Gold had magic?” Regina made a noncommittal noise. “Honestly? Fuck if I know, Emma. But that was the rumor. He was said to be an immensely powerful man, although it could never be found what side he was on. He seemed to dance that line in almost perfect rhythm. No abject support for the colonists or the British, just for himself.” “That’s what she said,” Emma muttered. “The ghost. She said that he thrived on the chaos of the war. Makes sense for a demon, doesn’t it?” “You’re talking in the hypothetical now.” “No, I’m—I saw something last night Regina. Something that was...I know it sounds crazy, but it happened and it’s not going to stop.” “You know that for sure?” Emma’s lungs hurt. “Killian said we’re close to the beginning of the siege of Yorktown. That’s not...I mean, it’s not an important anniversary.”

It took, by Emma’s admittedly shaky count, exactly four seconds and one knocked over picture frame for Regina to jump up, eyes wide and fingers fluttering at her side. “Two-hundred and thirty-eight years.” “What?” “Add up those numbers.” Emma shook her head, but her mind was already calculating and it wasn’t really hard and—”Oh shit,” she breathed. “Thirteen?” “Pretty magical number, right?” “You tell me. You’re the one with a history of witches in your family.”

Regina didn’t look impressed. “What I can’t figure out is why this woman came to you. That’s...it doesn’t make any sense.” “Well, add that to the list of questions with seemingly no answer. What do we do now?” “You want me to repeat myself?”

Emma clicked her tongue. “I guess.” “Fuck if I know.”

There were no ghosts for the next three days. No words or whispers, but a few pointed glances from Killian and neither he nor Emma had said anything about feeling her.

That felt like a very large leap in a relationship that was still without any qualifiers.

And she did look some things up when she felt so inclined, but demon sightings in the Hampton Roads area was kind of a broad search.

Emma didn’t really want to find anything anyway.

So she worked at Tarpley’s and ignored Ruby and Mary Margaret’s whispers that abruptly ended as soon as she walked into any room or how often David kept trying to force feed her ginger cookies and she didn’t notice the brick sitting outside her door until Thursday night.

She wasn’t sure if that was important.

“What the hell,” Emma mumbled, ducking down to pick up the thing and it was heavier than she expected. “Oh, shit, God, that—”

Eventually she would have loved to finish some of her sentences.

As it was, the words and expletives kept getting stuck and Emma barely got her phone out of her pocket before she was dialing.

He answered on the second ring. “Swan?” “What do the bricks look like in the garden?” Killian blinked. She couldn’t see him. She knew anyway. “Elaborate on that for me.” “Are there people buried back there?” It sounded like he dropped the phone. Emma glanced towards the sky. She couldn’t bring herself to go in her apartment. That also probably wasn’t important. “Swan, where are you?” Killian asked, an edge to his voice that she knew wasn’t directed at her. “What the hell are you talking about?” “There is a brick in my hand.” “Love, I can’t read your mind if you’re not in front of me.” “I came home and there was a brick here,” Emma explained. “That hadn’t been here, I don’t know—at least last week. And I think...it looks like the wall to the palace gardens. That’s got to be a sign, right?” “Of what, exactly?” “What are you doing right now?” “Emma.” “That’s not an answer.” “You cannot go back there,” Killian said. She could hear the crunch of seashells under his feet. He was outside the Randolph house. That felt oddly appropriate.

“Someone left this here for me. That’s—the woman said he wouldn’t stop and I...Regina was right, there’s got to be a reason that I could do this.” Silence.

Emma grimaced. “You talked to Regina about this?” Killian whispered, and Emma knew the wind around her was just that. She hoped so, at least.

“You told David I was hearing voices!” “Ok, that is not the same thing and I was—” “—Worried. I know, I know, but...ok, Regina thinks Robert Gold was a bad guy who, possibly, was involved in some serious magic-type shit and the ghost told me he never wanted the war to end. Someone had to tell Rochambeau about Cornwallis’ plans, right? Yes, the answer is yes. And we thought it would be this Gold guy, but what if it..”

Emma licked her lips, a step back from the door that was suddenly rattling in front of her. That couldn't have been good.

“What if it was the woman?” she asked. “It’s not totally unheard of at the time. Women turning spy and moving information. If she thought her husband was the good guy he was pretending to be, it’d make sense he was there too. Only he wasn’t a good guy. He was a fucking demon, playing both sides and teaching magic to angry loyalists and—”

Emma dropped the phone that time.

Because the noise on the other end left her gasping, tears pricking her vision and knees threatening to buckle again. It wasn’t a scream. It was...worse than that. It left Emma shivering, darkness wrapping around her like that was even possible, until she was certain she’d never be warm again, a hollowness in her chest and emptiness in her soul.

She squeezed her eyes closed, clenching her jaw until the pain moved there as well and there was a voice coming from her phone.

“Oh, Savior! It’s time to come out and play.”

She must have run there because there was a stitch in Emma’s side by the time she skidded to a stop under the archway leading to the palace gardens, but she genuinely could not remember a single moment of it.

As if she’d blinked and willed herself to the spot.

The darkness stretched in front of her there as well, impenetrable and a little intimidating, but she had no idea where Killian was or what Savior meant and she’d left the brick behind.

“C’mon, Swan,” Emma mumbled, and talking to herself was a sure-fire sign of impending insanity. She took a step forward.

It had been years since she’d been back there at night, but Emma didn’t remember the whole thing being quite so creepy, oversized hedges and flowers that looked colorless under a dim moon. Emma walked slowly, every move measured so as not to make too much noise or draw attention from an enemy she couldn’t see.

And it absolutely, positively did not matter when she heard him yelling.

Emma sprinted. Loudly. Quickly. Sticks and stones under her feet and lungs feeling as if they were actually collapsing in her chest, winding through the maze behind the palace because of course they were in the maze behind the palace. “Killian! Killian, where are you?” She jerked her head around, looking for something she did not want to find, but there wasn’t anything just that same laugh she’d heard in the Wythe house, low and maniacal, like it believed it had already won.

Emma stopped short, a silhouette in front of her.

He wasn’t that tall, might have been slouched slightly, leaning against a cane, and Emma knew he wasn’t right. Like, on a fundamental level. His jacket was very clearly late eighteenth-century. The collar was always the tell.

“Are you Robert Gold?” she asked, another step forward with far more confidence than she actually had.

He nodded.

And moved into the bit of moonlight between them.

Emma gasped.

She hated that. It wasn’t particularly heroic or powerful, was nothing more than scared, but it had nothing on the whimper she let out as soon as Gold snapped his fingers, Killian landing in a lump at her feet.

There were bruises on his face, blood caked to his cheek and she’d never been particularly worried about the prosthetic at the end of his left arm, but that was gone now, skin a nasty gray color with more than a few open gashes.

“Killian,” Emma cried, but any attempt to lean forward proved fruitless when Gold tilted his head, as if there were an invisible barricade in front of them.

“No, no, no, my dear, we’re not doing that quite yet,” Gold said. “We’ve got to get a few things cleared up first. I’ve heard you’ve been talking to my wife.”

Emma’s eyes flickered to her right, a shadow appearing there suddenly and she only had one shoe on. She was crying again. Or, maybe hadn’t ever stopped.

That was understandable.

“You see, my wife, she doesn’t understand what power is,” Gold continued, “What it’s like to be rife with it. To hold the potential of nations in the palm of your hand. She wanted me to give that up. For an ideal. For the future of a few thousand rabble-rousers.” Emma did not want to laugh. She didn’t. And yet. The sound tumbled out of her, soft and skeptical and—”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard the phrase rabble-rousers used in real life. That was unexpected. Also, just, like, FYI, you’re not a god, so...controlling countries is—” “—My right,” Gold roared. “Humans never do understand, but you always wanted to be like them didn’t you, Savior?” “I don’t know what you're talking about!” Gold hummed, mouth twisted. “I’m sure you don’t. Well, let’s fix that, shall we?” He snapped his fingers once more, the rush of something colliding with Emma’s stomach making her breath soar out of her and the memories slammed into her. Like punches. Or cannonballs. In a water-based siege.

She remembered dresses and meetings, quiet discussions at candlelit tables, a voice in her ear and a smile that she thought about as soon as he was gone. She remembered secrets and promises, guarantees to come back and light at the ends of her fingers.

She remembered a woman, angry and evil, looking for something to change her fate, but unwilling to accept her own faults. She remembered letters, plans that could change everything, end it and secure a future with opportunity and possibility and— “It was us,” Emma whispered, Gold’s lips twitching. It wasn’t pleasant to look at. He wasn’t entirely opaque.

“Eh, that’s where it gets a bit confusing,” Gold argued. “Not so much you as...it was...your spirit. Past lives are common in those with power and you, Ms. Swan, have been nothing short of powerful since your very first life. That had an impact on the people you love.”

He nodded in Killian’s direction.

The tears that landed on Emma’s cheeks were questionably warm.

“Shall I continue?” Gold quipped. “You don’t have to answer. I was planning on it. You, Ms. Swan are very powerful. A talent that the world was waiting for from the start of it all. Only, you’ve been tasked with this pesky thing called good will and you want to bring that to everyone around you. Including those rebels. Oh, yes, a rather soft spot for them—I’d imagine, mostly because of him.” He pointed at Killian. “Indentured servitude does do wonders for inspiring a rather strong hatred of the crown. So, Captain Jones served in the Continental Army. Fought and believed until his talents took him elsewhere.” “Spying,” Emma breathed, Gold humming in agreement. “Precisely. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he was quite good at it. Executed it perfectly even under my nose and—” “—Because you were playing both sides,” Killian growled, Emma dropping down to him and he actually had the gall to try and smirk at her. “That’s what it was, love. What we were saying, all those ups and downs, both sides unable to get an edge. He did it. God, did you—was Benedict Arnold you too?”

“That’s my knowledge to have now, isn’t it, Captain. Where was I?” “She helped, didn’t she?” Emma asked, glancing at the woman and she wished she knew her name. It felt disrespectful not to.

“Oh, yes, quite the little patriot, my Belle. And she also had some support I didn't initially know about. I think you received part of his grave marker?” “What?” “William,” Belle said. “He was...he worked with Captain Jones. Served under him and he—” “—He was the one who found out about Rochambeau, Swan,” Killian said. “I...I can remember that. God, that’s weird.” Emma let out a strangled sound. “That’s the weird part?” “You all are ruining the flow of my story,” Gold complained. “Yes, that Scarlet bastard was quite a thorn in my side and he did effectively ruin my plan at the time, that’s why…” Emma shuddered when another memory slammed into her, the scene playing out like she was watching it in front of her.

“General Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette will make their way from New York here,” Will explained, standing at a map-covered table and Emma could barely make out the hint of a smile on his face. “Rochambeau is already making preparations to blockade Cornwallis in the Chesapeake, just outside of Yorktown. If all goes to plan, we’d have nearly double the troops the Redcoats do and we’ll be able to cut them off completely. No one in, no one out.” “The end of the war,” Emma whispered. “It’d all be over.”

Will nodded. “The ink on the treaty should be dry before the leaves start falling.” “Optimistic,” Killian mused. His thumb brushed over the back of Emma’s hand.

“Honest. I’ve already sent word to the General and I think —”

He didn’t say anything else, a swipe of a sword and flashes of red and Emma didn’t think before she reacted, a burst of light and surge of heat that moved from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair.

Robert Gold laughed.

At her.

And her inability to realize magic when she saw it.

And both Killian and Will were laying at her feet.

“No, no, no,” she whispered, more magic and none of it worked, bouncing against barricades she couldn’t see and Emma would eventually regret the next four and a half minutes. She waved her right hand, tying Will to the land, a rather pitiful attempt to keep his soul on this plane. And she couldn't hear Killian breathing, blood staining his uniform and a distinct lack of anything at the end of his left arm.

Emma shook her head, mouth moving with unspoken words. He smiled at her. The ass.

“It’s ok, Swan. It’s — if it ends, it will all be worth it.”

She shook her head, footsteps receding and Robert Gold must have left and she didn’t care, couldn't care, not when this was happening and — ”No,” Emma objected. “That’s...I’ll see you again, I know it.” “I hope so, love.” The white flag came on October 19, 1781. With the leaves changing.

Emma shook her head, eyes springing open and Gold chuckling in front of her. She waved her hand, certainty and confidence and a power she’d forgotten until that very moment. He stumbled backwards.

“That was impressive, Savior,” he muttered. “But it’s not going to make a difference.” “How are you here? You’re...you look dead.” “Not dead. Simply without a vessel. Belle is dead.” “Did you kill her?” “Oh, yes. In that house you lot were all in earlier. Only she managed to do a bit of damage to me as well, a dagger that helps me harness my power and it did sting quite a bit when she stabbed me. That left me, as I said, without a vessel for quite some time, but now—” His smile widened, too many teeth and unspoken threat. “Well, you’re here. Come back to work in this place in another life with that.” He kicked at Killian, the toe of his boot colliding with ribs and Emma hadn’t realized he’d moved closer while he was talking.

“But I don’t—what is your game here, exactly?” Emma asked. “Because I hate to tell you this, but the Revolutionary War ended. Like years ago and—” “—And did humans suddenly decide to stop hating each other?” Gold interrupted. “That’s what brought Cora Mills to my doorstep to begin with. Someday I’ll have to thank her. She did inspire me to get involved in that little revolution. The Captain was right. I toyed with both sides, and it would have lasted forever if it hadn’t been for your meddling. Trying to save everyone, give them the opportunity to thrive.

So, I ask you Savior? Did any of it make a difference? Did the human race evolve into something better? A horde I couldn’t persuade to follow me, no matter what I was saying? See, that’s your problem. You believe these things...that they can be better. They can’t. They will hate and they will fight and they will kill each other. And that will only make me more powerful. It’s what brought me back now. And, by extension, both you and the Captain.” “And Will?” “Oh, still here. Also dead, though. The palace gardens are haunted, aren’t they?” Emma exhaled, oxygen and more tears and the blood from Killian’s arm was starting to stain the edge of her shirt. And she was sure, maybe in her third life, she’d start thinking before she reacted, but in that moment, with a demon laughing at her and a man she’d loved even longer than she remembered bleeding out at her feet, she simply...was.

The light around her was bright, dancing off leaves and the branches of trees, casting Robert Gold in a glow that made the shadows around him disappear.

Killian reached up towards her, fingers cold, but determined and Emma didn’t gasp when they curled around hers. She smiled. “It’s me,” she said, not a question, but the absolute certainty that she was right. “The only thing that can stop you because you don’t exist in this world and I do. In both of them. I’ve got—oh, you know what? I am more powerful than you!”

Gold tripped over his own feet, trying to move away from her and back into the darkness. Emma nodded, a soft laugh that was really more triumph than humor.

“I am,” she continued. “That’s why I turned down Cora Mills when she tried to find me first. And that’s why this will work. Because I wasn’t the only thing that came back to fight you.” Emma crouched down, ignoring Killian’s objection because this could not have been proper military tactics, but she had a hunch and—well, more than a hunch.

She looked directly at him, a mix of past and present, and God, she hoped, the future and his lips parted underneath Emma’s as soon as she touched him.

It wasn’t particularly dignified, couldn't be when they were twisted at such awkward angles, but Emma swore she could feel it in every inch of her, a softness to it that was almost tender and still, somehow, greedy, making up for lost time and could have beens and—

“I love you,” Emma whispered.

It was like the goddamn sun and the moon and something, Emma was sure, about the rocket’s red glare, just to drive home the patriotic point, but that was a different war and none of it mattered when Gold screamed.

The sound echoed off those same trees, Emma jerking her head up with narrow eyes and a thrum of energy under her skin. She didn’t pull her gaze away or blink, staring at Gold and focusing on that one, particular shadow behind him. He fell backwards.

And the shadow wrapped around him, like rope and something about a hangman’s noose. It curled around his shoulders and twisted around his elbows, pinning his hands to his side and moving towards his mouth, blocking any sound or any screams and Emma was thankful for that.

She didn’t want to hear what the shadow did to him.

Watching was bad enough.

It engulfed Gold, moving slowly so that Emma saw every inch of him disappear, but Killian’s hand didn’t leave hers and the wisp that was Belle looked like it was getting more and more corporal. It felt like it lasted forever and not nearly long enough. Until. There was nothing there.

No Gold. No shadow. Just a tree and a breeze, bits of light hanging from the tips of Emma’s fingers.

Killian wasn’t bleeding anymore.

Emma kissed the end of his arm.

“Belle?” The voice at the other end of the clearing was almost bursting with hope, the emotion hanging off all five letters and they needed to stop gasping.

Maybe after the emotional reunions.

Will Scarlet was still wearing his army-issued uniform, but his hair wasn’t matted to his forehead anymore, a brightness to his eyes and the tilt of his lips. He took a shaky step forward, hand grips the hilt of his sword and— “Are you wearing only one shoe?” Belle let out a watery laugh, hand flying to her mouth, but then she might have been flying, arms around Will’s neck and both feet off the ground and it was all romance and feeling and alive, sort of, at least.

They lingered in each other’s space for a moment, oblivious to anything else, but then Will jerked his head towards Emma, eyes going wide. “Did you do this? Me here, I mean?” “Did you leave a brick on my doorstep?” “I wasn’t sure it would work. I’m kind of...stuck in this area, you know.” “I’m sorry about that.” “Don’t be. I...I didn’t want to leave.” “I think I can help with that, actually.” The hope returned. In spades.

Emma nodded once, a quick inhale and sharp exhale, focusing on a different path and the corner of the maze and the tiny pinpricks of light leading towards something that was far bigger than she could process in the moment.

“Thank you,” Belle said. “For all of it.”

She didn’t respond. Again. Still. But Belle didn’t seem to mind, just smiled softly and laced her fingers through Will’s, his curt nod the last thing Emma saw before they both disappeared around the corner.

They went back to Killian’s apartment. It wasn’t not so much a decision as it was the only acceptable possibility, far too much... everything to go back to at Emma’s and— “You want to move in together?” she asked, curled against his side with his shirt on and eventually they’d have to talk about past lives. If only because she wasn’t sure if that meant he’d always be able to feel her magic.

Emma figured that’s what had happened.

“Yeah.” “Yeah? Just like that?” “I love you too,” Killian said. “I didn’t say that before, that was ridiculous.” “You were kind of busy.” “Avoiding death, yeah.” Emma rolled her eyes. He smirked. The ass. Again. “Which you saved me from. More than once, it seems.” “And that’s not freaking you out?” “Oh, yeah, absolutely. But only in a fear for my own mortality kind of way. I’m not sure my soul is quite prepared to move on at this point.” Emma quirked an eyebrow. “That so?” “Nah, lots of things I had planned. Both times around. The schedule’s been a little hectic, though. So I’d very much like to start crossing things off the to-do-list, as it were.” He moved as he spoke, hovering over her until Emma’s shoulders pressed into the corner of the couch and she had to hook her leg around his in an attempt not to fall on the floor. Killian groaned. “That’s your own doing,” she mumbled, already working her fingers under his shirt. “Take this off.” “I think we’re very much on the same page, love.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” His mouth dropped towards hers, all want and need and she was never going to stop thinking about his tongue. No matter how many times they did this. It swiped across her lips, Emma sighing against him and she was going to brag about whatever sound he made as soon as she canted her hips up for, like, at least the next few weeks.

She tilted her head, trying to crowd into his space more, or possibly just take up some room in his soul and she got the distinct impression it wouldn’t be that hard. Killian’s hand moved under her back, palm flat on her skin and goosebumps there and for a moment it was all heady rhythm and tongues and teeth, slightly squished noises and panted breaths.

And then— “I would have followed you anywhere, you know that?” Emma stilled. She’d closed her eyes at some point. Idiotic. Particularly when he was staring at her like that, several jokes about the sun and North Stars and—“Let’s not make a habit of it, ok?” “Deal. I love you.” “That’s twice now.” “Consider it an attempt to reach an overdue quota.” She laughed, fingers trailing over the stubble on his jaw. “You want to sleep? I haven’t—it’s been kind of hard to do that recently. I mean I’m all for the to-do-list, but…” “The rest of our lives, right?” “I hope so.” “Deal,” Killian repeated, and his arm found its way back around Emma’s middle as soon as they dropped onto his bed.

They didn’t stop working the extra ghost tour shifts.

And they didn’t ever say anything about magic or past lives or anything, although Emma had a fairly strong suspicion that Regina had her own suspicions. If only because she let Emma stop wearing that one particular hoops skirt when it got especially warm.

And Killian kept working the audience in every crowd, the groups getting a little bigger every few weeks, gasping on cue at stories and hauntings and— “Isn’t that right, Mistress Jones?” he asked, a summer later in the middle of a historic heatwave, and Emma couldn’t stop her answering smile if she tried. She didn’t really try.

“Oh, yes, absolutely. Very haunted here in the capital city. Now, uh, if you’d all like to follow me, we’ll move on to the next location, just up the street and you may want to double check for anything in those photos you just took.”

Emma glanced Killian’s direction when the reactions came, one side of his mouth tugging up and a bit of light glinting off the ring on his right hand.

He took a step forward, a quick kiss to her cheek that only a few tourists noticed, far too preoccupied with their photos and possibility and— “I’ll see you at home, love,” he muttered.

“Liar.” Killian hummed, squeezing her hand and he was waiting outside the staff room when Emma finished, an upturned palm and the undeniable spark of magic in the air around them.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #colonial williamsburg fic #i am the one who had a crush on lafayette #if that wasn't just...blatantly obvious

66 notes · View notes

shiftyskip · 5 years ago

Text

Robert Van Klinken

The real Robert Van Klinken

While he is a really minor character in the show, he’s still a part of Easy. Everyone’s important to remember, especially the boys who didn’t come home.

Robert Van Klinken was born October 31, 1919 in Loomis, Washington to Walter and Cora. His grandfather immigrated from Holland to the USA in the late 1880s. It is reported that he still spoke a bit of Dutch, even overseas. His family moved from their town in Loomis to a town called Twisp in the early 1920s. He had a sister named Susan, called Susie. She was a bit younger than he was. When Robert was around 15 years old, his mother had another son, Gene.

Robert was a country boy, who loved hunting and fishing. His parents became tenant apple orchardists. They never owned their own farm because they were very poor. Even though they were very poor, they never went without food. His sister was also described as spoiled. She even had her own horse. But even when she was spoiled, her and Robert never fought.

Robert graduated from Liberty Bell High School in 1939. His sister graduated the next year and almost immediately got married to Robert’s good friend Johnny Klinkert. They had a son together, named Walter (called Walt). After graduation, Robert began work as a diesel mechanic. He also worked some in logging. Robert was said to be “a good natured young man who dated a lot and dreamed of getting married someday.”

When the war started, Robert was in his mid twenties. He believed that he was too old to go to war. at the time, he was working with a defense industry company in Alaska. The job would’ve kept him out of the war. Robert was registered for the draft on July 1, 1941 and was drafted soon. Robert wrote, saying “Uncle Sam sure played a dirty truck on me when he put me in the army. I signed a contract with Deims Drake Company for 1 year to work as a mechanic in Kodiak Alaska at $450 a month. I bought a ticket for $87 on the steamship Yukon and $40 of clothes and was all ready to sail. Just about 15 hours before I was to leave, the Army called. If I’d got to Kodiak they would have given me a deferment as it was an air base for the Navy.”

(I HAVE NO VAN KLINKEN GIFS FIGHT ME)

Robert sent many letters home to his parents, Susie and her husband Johnny. In his first letter to Johnny, he stated he was trying out ot be a paratrooper. He got in, and became a member of Easy Company. A month later, Robert wrote to him in September of 1942, from Camp Toccoa. Which he wrote, “Toccoa has a reputation for making Supermen, and it’s not wrong.” In another letter to his parents, he wrote, “This is the best and toughest outfit in the army. It beats the regular army and the navy. It’s like the Marine parachute troops. The definition of a paratrooper is a soldier who lands in hell in a parachute and runs the devil away with his own fork.”

The harsh training under lovely, lovely Sobel didn’t seem to bother Robert. HE ACTUALLY ENJOYED THE WORK OUTS. He wrote, “Boy I sure feel swell. Nothing to worry about, and got a swell bunch of fellows in our barracks.” Winters wrote that along with Pat Christenson, Lipton, Carson, and Rainer, Robert scored among the highest in the physical competition.

Robert, as previously stated, really, really liked dating. So in one letter, he wrote, “All the girls want to do is sit at home or go to church. I had a home cooked meal last Sunday at my girlfriend’s place. Boy it sure was good.” In another letter to his sister’s family and his dog (Sleepy), he wrote, “What do you think of the snapshot of my lady friend? She is going to be madder than hell at me because I didn’t go to see her and go to church. I sho cain’t figure out these Southern folks. All they want to do is go to church.” He later wrote to Susie and Johnny about a girlfriend he was serious about, “I am going to my girlfriend’s house in New Orleans. I might get married, but I won’t say for sure...We haven’t made up our minds yet, we might wait till after I get out of the Army. I figure it’s better that way...There’s also a darned good chance of me not coming back.” (cue me ugly crying)

He signed most of his letters : “So long, Bob”.

Robert made his last jump Christmas Day. He states that after getting their wings, they were going to have a feast. Robert enjoyed all of his jumps. He said that 80% of jumping is guts.

Robert was head over heels in love with his girlfriend, Joyce. (Trust me, I don’t know if all these women are the same women...) He wrote, “I am the happiest man in the U.S. The little lady is going to wait for me to get out of the Army. She is a girl any man could be proud of...maybe you think I am a damned fool for going with a girl that has been married. I don’t care what you or any of my relatives think about it. Al that matters is that we have each other....We both cried when I got in the plane in Oklahoma City...When I got over the camp...I jumped out and said, “Joyce, this one is for you.”...I am so darned happy that nothing can hurt me.”

(Source: @alexpenkala, thank you for sending me this photo and the link with it!! Here is the link: https://ww2gravestone.com/people/van-klinken-robert/amp/)

Sadly, Robert’s happiness wouldn’t last long. Walter, Robert’s father, died in early 1943. Robert received an furlough back home. He got an extension to stay a bit longer with his family.

Apparently Robert liked guitars. He wrote in one letter, “I bought another guitar the other day...It sure is a honey.” He even signed this letter with a nickname, Rip.

He wrote in February, after arriving back with Easy, “How did Sleepy act when I left? Hope he didn’t feel too lonesome. The poor little rascal. Walt is sure a sweet little guy. I sure wish I was back home and had a cute little fellow like him to take care of....I have to write on to my “old lady” tonight. She only wrote 11 letters to me while I was on furlough.”

1943 was not a good year for Robert. By the time April came around, Joyce had broken up with him. She had met another guy and left Robert for him. But even with all this, Bob’s letters were always happy. He wrote this about the break-up, “Well it looks like I got “outranked” by a 1st lieutenant from Fort Sill, Oklahoma. She figures the duration is too long to wait. Anyways, it’s all over and it makes no difference. As Johnnie Rogers says, “I can get more women than a passenger train can haul.”

There were a few occasions that Robert wrote about him and his fellow Easy Company members went out and had wild drinking parties. One time, he and all of first platoon got drunk. They all received punishment for their drunken actions and had to sleep outside. Another time he claims that after he and Skinny Sisk came out of the hospital together, they were drunk for three days. He also got into a bar fight. Some civilian pulled a knife on a “one of the boys”, so Robert and a few men from the 506th and 505th Airborne “cleaned out the joint.” Robert was punished with a fine of $20 and 3 weeks restrictions, with K.P. duty. He also had to buy a new shirt after ruining his.

Robert has health problems in late 1943. He was up for a medical discharge, but received a 10-day furlough that he spent hitch hiking. After the furlough, he continued going to the hospital everyday. When his health cleared up, he was reinstated to Easy.

Soon after, they were headed across the sea to England. Sobel wrote to Johnny, with the famous letter:

(THIS IS NOT THE REAL LETTER. This is from Marcus Brotherton’s quoting Sobel’s letter. AGAIN NOT THE ORIGINAL I AM JUST LAZY)

Aldbourne and training left no time to write letters for Robert.

Robert jumped on D-Day, June 6, 1944. He and other Easy men eat the cookies and cake sent by his family right before they entered the planes. He survived the jump but was injured some point after the jump. He got a piece of shrapnel stuck in his arm, what he called “a flesh wound”, and was sent back to England to recover. He wrote that being in the hospital was worse than fighting. “You get to thinking about your buddies you lost over there and you can’t do anything about it.”

Still interested in the women, Robert wrote home about Phyllis, a woman from home. But he stated it didn’t matter that he hadn’t heard from her in a while, since he had too much to worry about over there. He also said “there will be lots of girls left in the states when I get back.” That was his last letter home.

(This is the transcribed version of Robert’s letter. Again: NOT ORIGINAL)

Ten days after this letter was written, Robert jumped into Holland.

Robert fought to Nuenen on September 20, 1944. In most accounts, once in Nuenen, he was hit by a machine gun burst as he tried to run forward to attack the Germans with a bazooka. He was killed instantly.

But according to Pat Christenson, after Robert’s death, Robert didn’t die that way. Pat writes, “The last house had an open field next to it. I parted the foliage of the hedge that separated the field from the house. I just have been spotted by a German machine gunner. Before he could fire, I pushed through the hedge and dropped into a ditch just on the other side. Robert Van Klinken, one of my riflemen, was following me closely. [Van Klinken] must’ve peered through the same opening as I had, just as the German machine gunner depressed the trigger. Van Klinken was hit with three bullets.”

Christenson grabbed Robert and pulled him through the hedge. Robert was still alive, but he was dying. Robert had been hit in the groin and twice in the chest. The men had to temporarily leave him behind to take cover from a German tank, they retreated behind the house. Christenson attempted to get Robert back to the safety of the house, but the Germans fired upon them every time they made a move towards Van Klinken. Finally, Private Longo, the medic of first platoon, walked over to Robert “as if the war had ceased”, picked him up, and carried him. Robert was still alive, but his face was ashen and Christenson knew he’d be dead soon.

Robert’s death would have a lasting affect on Christenson.

The telegraph home to Johnny on October 9, 1944 (19 days after Robert had been killed), read: “The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret that your brother-in-law Pvt. Robert Van Klinken was killer in action of the 20th of September in Holland. Letter following. Ulio-adj. General”

October 11, the letter arrived, still addressed to Johnny. It restated the facts that Robert had been killed, with no further details. It ended with: “I know the sorrow this message has brought you, and it is my hope that I’m the time of knowledge of his heroic service to his country, even unto death, may be sustaining comfort to you. I extend to you my deepest sympathy.”

A telegram was also sent to Robert’s uncle Herbert that informed Herbert to tell Robert’s mother. The telegraph, not the letter, to his mother. A letter was sent to Robert’s father, but his father had passed away already, informing him that Robert had been awarded the Purple Heart posthumously for his actions.

On April 13, 1945 Captain Himes, a chaplain with the 506th PIR, wrote to Cora, Robert’s mother. The letter read: “I believe I can answer some of your questions...Robert was killed while voluntarily acting as a scout locating enemy positions during an attack. He was given a Christian burial in Holland. You asked for some names of his friends. I can give you these, Sgt. Denver Randleman, Pvt. William Wingett...He was a fine soldier, and an expert rifle shot, and was aggressive and brave in action.”

One final letter was sent to his mother, four years later to tell her that Robert’s remains had been interred at the US Military Cemetery in Holland. To this day, that’s where he remains.

Robert did not have an official funeral back in the USA. His grave marker in Twisp says the wrong year, marking his death as 1943 instead of 1944.

Susie took his death hard for several years. She felt a lot of resentment for 45 years after his death. One day her daughter Cora found Susie crying, worried, she asked her what was wrong. Susie replied, “Today is the day I finally have forgiveness in my heart.”

Susie always wanted to visit her brother’s grave. Sadly, Susie never did. But her granddaughter Gariann and a friend backpacked across Europe. Gariann asked her Grandma if there’s anything she wanted her to do in Europe. Susie told her, “Tell him we love him and haven’t forgotten.”

A neighbor, a young boy at the time, of Robert’s family was affected by Robert’s death, his name was Chuck Borg. He later joined the army. Years later, he was in Holland when he stumbled upon the cross bearing Robert’s name. When Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose was published, he saw the name again. He was later adopted into the Van Klinken family after reaching out to them. When he returned to Twisp, he created the Robert Van Klinken Memorial Scholarshop at Liberty Bell High School in Twisp, Robert’s school. The scholarship rewards hardworking, adventurous country boys like Robert with college money.

Robert’s grand-grand-nephew J.R. Matkins even got to attend an Easy Company reunion along with his family.

Gariann says, “...our family will always love him. He’ll always be very much alive in our hearts.”

#profiles #band of brothers #real life band of brothers #real band of brothers #Robert Van Klinken

34 notes · View notes

eddycurrents · 6 years ago

Photo

The Crooked Man & Others: “The Crooked Man”

Words: Mike Mignola | Art: Richard Corben | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy: The Crooked Man #1-3 | July-September 2008

Collected in Hellboy - Volume 10: The Crooked Man & Others | Hellboy Library Edition - Volume 4 | Hellboy: Complete Short Stories - Volume 1

Plot Summary:

In 1958, Hellboy travels to the Appalachian Mountains where he and Tom Farrell try to weather a storm of witches to bury Farrell’s father on consecrated grounds and beat the devil.

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination is solely in reference to the story itself and is not indicative of anything found within the issues or collections.)

pg. 1 - I love that during this period of Hellboy stories, where Duncan Fegredo became Mignola’s stand-in for the tales set in the present, the main visuals for the past tales was Richard Corben. Corben is a master of horror and weird tales himself and the collaborations with Mignola, Dave Stewart, and Clem Robins on Hellboy legends were gorgeous. Here in the opening, he and Stewart wonderfully set the rich detail of the nature in this story.

pg. 3 - It’s kind of interesting as to how simple the set up is to get Hellboy into the story. Just checking in on a poor girl who’s been hexed.

pg. 5 - Tom Farrell is mostly a stand-in for Manly Wade Wellman’s character Silver John, a veteran with knowledge of the supernatural, albeit without lugging around a guitar. The little bits and pieces Mignola throws in of Hellboy’s past in passing conversation is nice.

pg. 6 - Chekhov’s church being set up here.

pg. 7 - More witch balls confirms their suspicions. I think these ones are pretty interesting, looking more like sea urchins.

pg. 9 - The empty skin sure is creepy.

pg. 10 - I love the silence before Hellboy goes into asking Tom a question about his past.

pg. 11 - Never trust the naked girl luring you to the devil. Never. Though, to be fair, it’s interesting the parallels to Eve’s temptation of Adam, if Adam were a lustful fifteen year old boy. Sometimes, I wish, though, that they didn’t necessarily trade off a woman’s sexuality as a taboo.

pg. 13 - Corben’s design for the Crooked Man is amazing. Just creepy and frightening all in one. It’s also neat how Mignola weaves in some backstory for the area, building up the lore of the Appalachians by telling another tall tale within this narrative.

pg. 10-15 - I quite like how these flashbacks are presented. Other than the panels with the Crooked Man’s death, there’s really only a minor softening to the colours, but the indication of a flashback is through a simple rounding of the panel border’s corners.

pg. 16 - This raccoon is adorable. Sure, I know it’s Cora Fisher as an animal crawling back into her vacant skin, but adorable little raccoon.

pg. 17 - The death of her husband and her kids does at least make her sympathetic.

pg. 19 - Effie Kolb, on the other hand, just seems nasty.

pg. 22 - The bridle turning Tom’s father into a horse is a pretty neat trick. Horrifying, yeah, and debilitating for Tom to see him that way, but it’s a kind of evil of these witches and the devil that you didn’t necessarily expect. A way to drive a needle into Tom’s side in an unexpected fashion.

pg. 23 - A good set up for the quest up the mountain, and Hellboy’s inclusion.

pg. 24 - I like Tom’s intent on getting Cora free from her deal with the devil. These pretty much never work out, but it’s at least a nice sentiment.

pg. 25 - Tom’s father as a burden that he must carry himself is representative of one of the themes that often appear in these kinds of Americana tales, in that you have to own your own foibles and face the consequences. Lest things turn worse for you.

pg. 29 - This mixture of American folktale, history, and what I believe is largely Mignola’s own invention to give us another little side story is wonderful. It’s always impressive to see him embellish little details into the broader narrative. Also, Corben’s designs for these witches are terrifying.

pg. 30 - That they’re calling Cora by name just adds to the creep factor.

pg. 31 - That the passage of time seems to be affected by the presence of the devil and the evil that’s seeped into the land is interesting as well. That their presence could essentially fix darkness at noon is kind of neat.

pg. 33 - There’s a bit here that you can’t outrun fate, that you still have to pay for the evil that you’ve done.

pg. 35 - Hellboy versus these frogs and bugs makes my skin crawl, just showing how effective the storytelling is. Corben is a master at drawing these creepy crawlers.

pg. 38 - That’s some nightmare fuel. The vision overall, reinforcing the idea that the devil can’t set foot in a church put forth in the first part of the story, again seems to foreshadow something that might occur.

pg. 39 - Clem Robins’ font for Effie’s laughter has a nice haunting effect.

pg. 40 - Even with what they’ve faced so far, I love the feeling of dread that Corben and Stewart instill through the art, just through a simple moon shot.

pg. 42 - This is at least a little comfort. Despite her death, Cora still escaped the clutches of the devil.

pg. 44 - I think it’s interesting in a lot of horror and fantasy fiction that treats witches almost as though they’re a different class of being. That whatever it is that they become, they’re not quite human. At least, not any more. I suppose it could be a way to essentially other them, to make it all right when the heroes in the stories ultimately kill, burn, and/or destroy them utterly during the course of a story. Rather than thinking that someone can be redeemed of their wicked ways.

pg. 45 - Two neat things here: first, Corben’s designs for the witches are nice. Love the variety and detail among them. Second, I like the question of faith and belief in regards to whether or not magic will or will not work.

pg. 47 - The Crooked Man come to collect his due is an amazing visual.

pg. 48 - Wonderful little cut away on how to make a witch ball. This is both hilarious and frightening when you look at that cat closely.

pg. 49 - Just as there’s the idea common in folklore that the devil always tells the truth, there’s a certain logic and fairness to what the Crooked Man is saying. A deal was made, services were rendered, and now he’s here to collect on his end of the bargain. It is ultimately weighted unfairly in his favour, given that the immortal soul is a real quantity in Hellboy, but there’s the idea that he’s not really wrong planted here.

pg. 50 - The idea of a witch siege of a church is different.

pg. 52 - The witches essentially punking Hellboy is funny.

pg. 53 - The reverend not taking any guff from the Crooked Man is one hell of a mood. Also, trying to bribe him in order to get Tom out of the church and off the consecrated ground is really a tell.

pg. 55 - There’s a nice parallel to Job in the reverend’s temptation and acceptance of his tribulations.

pg. 56 - Taking a different approach of raising the dead within the consecrated ground is something new. The Crooked Man and the witches can’t seem to cross, but their magic does seem to still be able to cause things to manifest and change. Which kind of makes you wonder why they don’t just whip up some kind of spell that whisks Tom off to their clutches. You get the impression that maybe he has to willingly give up.

pg. 57-60 - I like that through this we still get an almost standard Hellboy fight sequence. It’s weird with the raised corpses from the church graveyard, but it looks great.

pg. 61 - Cute little young Hellboy. Also, the Crooked Man trying to get to Hellboy through his destiny is definitely going to wind up in a backlash.

pg. 63 - Consecrating a holy shovel sure does beat all.

pg. 65 - Defeating the devil with a shovel, that sure is something. I love how this panel of the strike basically just goes all white.

pg. 67 - Gorgeous panels from Corben and Stewart. Also, time appears to be working again.

pg. 68 - Interesting that despite fulfilling the quest of burying Tom’s father, they realize that their job’s not done and they still have to really kill the Crooked Man.

Also, that Cora is still there is somewhat sad. You would hope that she’d have moved on.

pg. 69 - The appearance of a stately mansion in the middle of the Appalachians is weird. It just reinforces the idea that the Crooked Man, in life, lived one of opulence and extravagance.

pg. 70 - And his “true” appearance, hoarding his gold, is both pathetic and creepy.

pg. 72 - A humorous and fitting end to Effie Kolb.

Final Thoughts:

In part it was due to giving a lot of lead time to Duncan Fegredo in order to wrap up the present-day Arthurian trilogy in The Storm and The Fury without too incredibly long breaks in between issues, but I quite liked the somewhat parallel approach to the final three volumes of the original Hellboy series and the Plague of Frogs narrative cycle for BPRD. Both features two volumes that focused on the past before diving into the grand finales.

As per his introductory statements to this story, Mike Mignola wears the influence of Manly Wade Wellman on his sleeve. Not just through the feel of the Silver John stories, but the overall feel of his down home weird Americana within the Appalachians. More so than similar stories from Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ambrose Bierce, and Robert E Howard, Wellman’s stories exhibited a kind of matter-of-factness that’s missing from the others. The supernatural and oddities in the world are almost accepted as a given, something as normal as the sun rising, which carries over well into Hellboy stories since Mignola has developed a similar aesthetic. So witches running around as raccoons and devils who appear as a dead, greedy landowner that used to cause problems for the area.

d. emerson eddy has danced with the devil in the pale of the moonlight.

#Give 'em Hellboy #Hellboy #The Crooked Man & Others #Mike Mignola #Richard Corben #RaisingHellboy #123

20 notes · View notes

thisisamadhouse · 6 years ago

Text

The Tale of Robin & Regina

For @oqmovieweek, a little something inspired by the Tale of Aragorn & Arwen from the Lord of the Rings. AO3 link

I did it , Robin thinks as he glances out the high window towards the people milling down below, some working on the final touches for his coronation, others already gathering to see their new King. After all those years of hardships, battles, and sacrifices, he is finally about to assume Earnur’s crown and reunite the realms of Men under his banner.

It should be a day of rejoicing, the beginning of a new Age for Middle-earth, but Robin’s heart is heavy with the memories of those who can’t be here by his side, family and friends lost to him forever. Most of all, Robin misses her more than any other, the one to whom he has given his heart and soul: Regina, the fairest of the High Elves still living on this side of the shore.

Lightly touching the pendant she gifted him the last time he saw her, he wonders if she has already left Middle-earth, if her mother, Cora, has finally convinced her to give up on him and seek refuge and everlasting peace in Valinor. Cora Half-Elven, the Lady of Rivendell, is powerful, respected and feared in equal measure among the Elves. A distant relative to Robin, she had chosen to embrace immortality as an Elf rather than the mortal condition of his ancestors. She reluctantly took in Robin and his mother after his father’s death, recognizing that the last heir of the thrones of the North and the South could prove valuable in the fight against the Dark Lord. She never foresaw that he would capture the heart of her greatest treasure.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It was a strange day for Robin. At barely twenty years of age, and almost all of those spent in Rivendell, he had finally found out the truth about his origins: the last heir of Isildur, he was the only one still able to claim the thrones of Arnor and Gondor, but the path was full of obstacles, with the Dark Lord’s Shadow growing everyday.

He was walking in the woods, pondering his fate, recalling the stories of old, tales of bravery and glory, and imagining if his name would one day appear alongside those of revered heroes. Singing one of his favourite ballads, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks at the vision standing in the clearing before him. He must have fallen asleep, he thought, or all those evenings spent sitting at the Minstrels’ foot had granted him new abilities he had been unaware of until then, for he had been intoning the Lay of Luthien Tinuviel, the most beautiful of all beings, mortal or immortal, that ever was, whose love for a Man had once inspired the world and moved even the Judge of the Dead, and surely there she was, conjured up from his words.

Barefoot in the green grass, she wore a pale blue gown, with short sleeves just off her shoulders, revealing a smooth, sun-kissed skin, her long, dark brown, silky, wavy hair fell down to the small of her back, the light filtering through the high trees caught highlights of copper in them, and Robin was mesmerized, the desire to run his fingers through the soft strands overwhelming.

Stepping closer, he called out “Tinuviel, Tinuviel”, as his forefather had once done, but when she turned, startled to find him here, she seemed confused and arched an eyebrow, asking him why he would use that name. It took him a long moment to answer, he had been struck speechless at the sight of her. All his years in Rivendell, amongst the grandest and most refined creatures in Middle-earth, could not have prepared him for how utterly enchanting this Lady was. She seemed young, but then most Elves did, one of the many blessings granted to them, her chestnut eyes were intense, appraising him, her face was as flawless and unblemished as the rest of her, only a scar marked her upper lip, but it took nothing away from her beauty, only added mystery and made him more curious. She was petite but held her head high, her bearing was regal, and looking closely he could link her features and manners to the Lady of Rivendell herself, and he wondered if they were related.

As he studied her, she tilted her head, still waiting for an answer, and he stammered a response, telling her of how he had been singing about Tinuviel and thought he had made her appear out of thin air.

“I am not Luthien, though I have been told that I look like her. I am Regina, daughter of Cora, Lady of Rivendell, and I think I know who you are: Robin, son of Robert, the heir of Isildur, my mother’s ward and our distant cousin,” she told him, and he couldn’t hide his surprise at hearing this, for he had never known that Cora had a daughter.

“I spent the past few years with my father’s kin in Lothlorien, I have just returned to Imladris, and I wanted to walk through the woods the way I used to do… before,” and though she looked away, he couldn’t possibly miss the sorrowful expression that swept over her face, even the sunlight seemed to dim, a dark cloud obscuring it.

He had heard about the fate of Cora’s husband, Henry, once a mighty Elf Lord, who was attacked by Orques and wounded beyond any hope of healing in Middle-earth.

“I did not mean to cause you pain, Milady, please forgive my tactlessness.”

She shook her head, dismissing the memories and the shadow, the clearing bathed in sunbeams once more. Robin could see that she was about to take her leave, and he couldn’t bear the thought, so he spoke up once more.

“I must admit I have not yet trailed far from Rivendell, would you tell me about Lothlorien, whose splendour, I have been told, is without equal on this side of the Sea?”

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip in thoughts, but then his sincere eagerness seemed to persuade her, and she sat down, beckoning him to join her.

Robin had been smitten at the mere sight of her, but after hearing her talk about the beauty of her father’s land, evoking images, sounds and smells so precise that he felt like he had already been there, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life by her side, listening with rapt attention to anything she deemed him worthy enough to share with.

That first encounter sealed their destiny: though she only seemed amused by him in the beginning, after weeks of finding him always close by, never overbearing, only willing to listen, or distract her, or simply sit in silence, she started seeing him in a different light, and it confused her.

“I never thought that Luthien’s fate was to be envied,” Regina told him once. “All those sufferings, trials and tribulations, and in the end they were given so little time together. Was it really worth it?”

He clasped one of her hand gently, giving her time to withdraw it if she so wished, and squeezed when she didn’t. “I’m sure they thought it was, to have the chance to live their love in any way possible.”

“But to give up everything she had, to renounce her gifts, leave her family behind, forsaking the chance to ever see them again?” She trailed off, looking away, and Robin felt a pang when realization hit him. He cursed himself for his selfishness and his thoughtlessness, he had been so spellbound that he had failed to understand what their attachment could mean for her. She had eternity to look forward to, thousands of years to see all the wonders of the world, and what did he have to offer?

She noticed his grave mood, and offered him a small smile. “You are so young,” she said. “You know nothing of the world. Once you leave here, you will forget all about me.”

“I doubt I would ever forget meeting you,” was his reply, but she only smiled indulgently, as if humoring a child.

“Maybe you should.”

It was only a matter of time before Cora got wind of their close friendship, and she was not pleased with him. She had him summoned to remind him of his mission, of the very reason she had harboured him in the first place: to prepare him for the War to come.

“You are not worthy of her hand, Robin, son of Robert,” she told him coldly. “You should not trouble yourself with an infatuation, but should get ready for the fight waiting for you beyond the borders of this land,” and so with clenched fists and gritted teeth, Robin bowed to her and left the room.

Knowing that he could not risk losing the Lady’s benevolence, he tried to avoid Regina after this, thinking that severing their bond would be less painful. It wasn’t though, and his heart was bleeding. She found him in the stables, less than a week later, on the eve of his departure, as he brushed his horse, readying it for the long journey ahead. She was silent at first, gently stroking the stallion’s head, feeding it an apple, as she softly spoke in Elvish.

"My mother does not speak for me,” Regina whispered, covering his hand and stopping the movement of the brush. He turned his head towards her, holding her gaze as she stepped closer to him and cupped his jaw. She brushed her lips against his. He barely felt the pressure before she leaned back, closely watching his reaction, and he would be damned if that was the first time he saw her unsure of anything. He crashed his lips to hers, trying to convey all the passion and love he felt into his kiss. If she was surprised, she hid it well, instead returning his embrace fiercely until they had no choice but to part to breathe.

“She is right though,” Robin murmured against her hair, after a long moment of peaceful silence. “I am no one while I stay hidden here, a mere title does not a King make. If ever I am to be the one who redeem my ancestor’s weakness, I can’t do it from the safety of Imladris.”

She looked at him with eyes full of such intense sorrow that he was tempted to pretend he had never spoken a word. “The world out there is dangerous, you may not return. So many have already been taken, and countless more will follow before the end.” The tears falling along her cheeks were like daggers stabbing him in the heart.

“I am not afraid, Milady. The Dark Lord himself could not stop me from finding my way back to you,” he swore.

He left the next day, watching back to keep her in sight until she was too far away to distinguish, and then he launched his horse into the gallop, wanting to put as much distance between him and his love as possible before his resolve failed him.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Every single moment spent with her was so clear and sharp in his mind. He hung onto them during the hardest moments of their separation. More than twenty years passed before he saw her again, in Lothlorien this time. The Lord and Lady had let him through, offering him to rest for a while.

He had changed, had become a Man, a soldier, a leader, he was broader in stature, and more somber in spirit, with the weight of his fate sometimes stifling him, but when he set eyes on her, he felt all of twenty again, the smile splitting his face wider than it ever had before. He didn’t spare a thought for the curious eyes on him, or the decorum of the graceful Elves around them, he couldn’t have stopped himself from running to her and pick her up to hug her against him if he had tried. And she, who mere moments before had seemed forlorn and lost, was now clutching his brand new tunic tightly in her little fists, suppressing a sob as he murmured how much he had missed her, how many times the thought of her had given him strength before battle.

The Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, Regina’s grandparents, are more indulgent than her mother. Her grandmother is wise, only wishing for Regina’s happiness, and she knew that their hearts were true. She blessed their union, though she reminded Robin that triumph was his only prospect, Cora would never accept that her daughter renounced her immortality for anyone less than the greatest King.

Once more Regina and Robin had to say goodbye, but this time she would not let him go without a promise, a promise that she would bind her fate to his, that she believed in him and his victory. She had made her peace with what it meant, that she could never follow her kin to Valinor, that she would never see her father again, but her father would understand, he would want her to follow her heart. She gifted him her pendant, a jewel reflecting the light of the brightest star in the night sky who had once belonged to her grandmother.

“Your mother will accuse me of stealing it away,” he managed to lightly tease, the emotion of the moment nearly choking him.

“You can’t steal something that has been given to you,” she replied, and he knew she wasn’t just talking about the necklace.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Robin shakes himself from his memories, they have spent more time apart than together, his stays in Rivendell and Lorien few and far between as the Enemy grew stronger. She had her own responsibilities, her talents required to help protect the realms of the Elves. She is fierce his Regina, a skillful warrior who trained herself hard after her father was brought down by the Orques, and who inherited great gifts from both sides of her family. More than once, he thought that together they would be unstoppable, but never would he have wanted to put in harm’s way. He doubts that he will have the chance to find out now. A knock at the door and Will, his friend and long-time companion, enters the room to bring him outside, the time has come.

The joy of the crowd gathered is infectious, and he lets it fill his heart as the crown is placed on his head, and as he stands back up and walks among his people, accepting their love and gratitude, he feels Will stop and gasp by his side. Turning his head he sees people part, letting through a company amid which he recognizes many familiar faces: the Elves have come, and Robin feels his hope returning.

The Lord and Lady of Lorien grin widely at him, and even the Lady of Rivendell give him a faint smile. She stops his progress and seems to steel herself for what she is about to say.

“My judgement may have been hasty, but remember that she is my greatest treasure, I could not entrust her to just anyone.”

And Robin nods, understanding, because he is not sure he would have reacted any differently had he been in her stead. Cora moves away, and there she is, more radiant than ever, Regina, his Regina wearing the same gown than the first time he saw her, and almost a lifetime has passed since that fateful moment. He has to touch her, to make sure she is real, and his hand meets hers, bringing it to his chest and brushing his lips against it.

“You did not think I would miss this day,Thief?” She asks, her hand pressing against his heart, the tips of her fingers covering their pendant.

“Not for one second,” he says, and as she laughs, for he was never able to lie to her, he embraces her tightly, twirling her around as they kiss, everyone clapping and rejoicing.

This is the beginning of a New Age, and he wouldn’t want anyone else by his side to share it with.

#outlaw queen #regina mills #robin hood #oqmovieweek #lotr au

17 notes · View notes

juliasdowntonstuff · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 53

Forgot to post it yesterday, so this is Chapter 53 - out now (also on ao3)

this chapter not only has some Rosamund-Cora-Robert content, but also some Edith-Mary interaction since I did not have the heart to properly separate those two quite different discussions into two chapters. One long one it is :)

As usual, there's a sneak peek under the cut — this time from two different sections of the chapter

"I know I asked you this once before, but seeing as the circumstances have changed since then, I thought I might just as well ask again."

"Yes?"

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had no clue what would follow, but she sensed that it would not be an easy question if her sister was so careful with her words.

Hesitantly, Edith drew in a breath and then continued: "Will we be seeing more of Mister Barber in the future? It's just that you two seemed to get along so well together when they were all here to shoot the film last year, and I know that you thought he was more than just easy to look at. We all did, honestly. I had not seen you so at ease around anyone since -" Edith stopped for a second, worriedly looking Mary over. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her. "Well, since Matthew. I certainly never saw you like this around Henry."

Mary had expected anything. Anything at all. Just not this, and her surprise must have shown on her face, for Edith quickly added: "It is alright, you needn't answer. It's quite insensitive and impertinent to ask, I know."

////////////////////////

"Rosamund?"

The redhead seemed to be trapped in some sort of panicked trance, the way she stood there and stared into nothingness where her niece had previously been. However, when her sister-in-law gently reached out, she snapped out of it and stared directly into Cora's eyes. It almost seemed to Cora that she was staring right through her as if she had seen a ghost.

Rosamund's rapid breathing began to slow down, steadily normalising again under both of their watchful eyes. Suddenly stifling a sob, she swiftly turned around to face the stone, her eyes reading the name engraved once more.

Her voice was quiet when she eventually began to talk slowly, and it sounded much more vulnerable than her brother ever recalled hearing her speak. "Marmaduke and I, we always wanted children. We tried for a long time after we got married, but it never happened for us and we had made our peace with the fact that maybe having children was just not in the cards for us. However, after years, our prayers were finally heard and I got pregnant. It was a tumultuous year, with you volunteering to go fight in the Boer War, Marmaduke deciding to follow you, and then Papa dying unexpectedly just after you had left. I was fortunate enough that mourning clothes were not flattering, so nobody suspected anything at the funeral. And if they did, they were too preoccupied otherwise to pay me any mind or give it a second thought. Once everything was taken care of here, I went and hid away in London. I was missing him terribly, and it made me sick. I was worried sick day in and day out, hoping he would come home to me."

"You were pregnant, Rosamund?" Cora asked, trying to carefully dig deeper as she stepped up to Rosamund. She, too, looked at the memorial on the ground again, reading the inscription while the knot in her stomach tightened. She knew the answer. It was there, written in stone at their feet, but the spoken confirmation did not quite want to register with her.

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #cobert #my dearest darling

6 notes · View notes

adoracora-elizabeth · 1 year ago

Text

The truth always comes out, chapter 17

"Mama?" Sybil’s voice sounded through the phone. "How are you doing?"

Cora had curled herself up in one of Rosamund’s comfortable chairs. Yesterday she went to a doctor in London, the coughing seemed to worsen. She got some different medication to help loosen the mucus in her lungs and the order to make daily walks to activate her lungs. This way, the mucus would be easier to cough up. "Not much better, but I hope that the new medication is going to work." She told Sybil everything about her doctor’s visit and the advice she got. Cora knew how interested Sybil was in everything medical. "How are things at home?"

It stayed silent for a second, Cora heard Sybil breathe in. "You are missed." She said.

Cora felt her heart ache. She could imagine how Robert was feeling and behaving. Was he eating? She suddenly thought, and was he able to sleep? The last part was hard on her end, too. Every night, images of Robert and Jane haunted her.

"Mama?" Sybil said cautiously. "Why did you leave Papa?"

Cora swallowed. She could have known, Sybil would figure out, that it was not just for her health that she went to Rosamund. "I did not leave your Papa sweetheart."

"Is it because of Tom and me?" Sybil continued.

"What? Oh no, no, no, no. It is not that sweety." Cora wished she could wrap her arms around her little girl. "Your Papa and I are not fighting because of who you love. Darling, do not worry, Papa will get used to having Tom in our lives."

"If it is not that, why are you not coming home?" Sybil's voice cracked.

Cora felt a tear rolling down her cheek. "Darling, I need a bit more time before I can come back." She paused for a second. "You know what, why are you not coming here for the weekend?"

She could hear Sybil cheer up. "That is a wonderful idea, I will tell Papa and pack my bag immediately."

"And Rosamund will pick you up from the station, just let us know when you will arrive."

"Can Mary and Edith come too? We will make a girls weekend out of it."

Cora chuckled, "If they want to." She could not see Mary going on a trip together with Edith, but who knew.

"Are you ready for a walk?" Rosamund popped her head around the corner. She spooked Cora. "Look at you, you cannot go for a walk all wrapped up in a blanket." Rosamund continued.

"Sybil, darling, let us know when you arrive, and we will be there, I need to hang up. My drill master is urging me outside." Cora joked and gave Rosamund a smile. "See you in three days."

Sybil’s voice sounded serious. "But that advice of the doctor is very good. You need to listen and go for that walk. You will feel better, I promise."

"Doctors orders, come on." Rosamund insisted.

+++

"Are you all going to London tomorrow?" Robert said surprised, they were all sitting at the dinner table. Violet had come to join them.

"Not me, Papa." Mary said. "I do not have time, Mama can decide to leave this house, but we have so much work for the next events left."

"Mama is in London for her health, Mary you know that this is not fair." Edith said defensive.

"We are not all, that stupidly naïf as you are, Edith." Mary sneered back.

"Well, well, girls. Watch your manners." Violet said. She turned to Robert. "Cora is in London to recover, is she not?"

Robert nodded. "She is." He could not say more without his voice breaking. What if Cora wanted a divorce? How was he going to deal with the girls. Where would the girls go, were they going to stay here, or follow Cora? And where would Cora go? All her family lived in America. He almost gasped. What if she left for America. He would never see her again. His mother noticed his shock.

"Girls, you can go through, your Papa, and I will follow." Violet said, urging the girls out of the dining room.

"But we have not had desert yet." Edith complained.

"You can eat that in the drawing room, now chop chop."

Once Mary and Edith left the room, Violet turned towards Robert. "And now you are going to tell me what is wrong."

Robert did not look up. He twirled the wine that was still in his glass. "Cora's lungs are not improving. Rosamund told me that they went to a doctor to get her checked out again."

"Robert, if Cora’s health was that bad, you would be there with her. No, there is something else."

Robert sighed.

"I noticed that you did not eat much, and you drink a lot. Now, I know you long enough to know something is wrong. The girls are in a different room, there is no staff around. You can tell me."

He could tell her. How, he could not even tell Cora. Let alone his mother. There was a small chance that Violet would support him, because she still treated Cora as if she did not know how to run this household.

"I am waiting." Violet said.

Robert looked up. "Cora and I have to figure some things out, and it was better for us that she would be away from here for a while."

"So, you two are lying about her health towards your children and me?"

"Oh, no, Mama." Robert raised his eyebrows in shock. "I wish her lungs were better, but unfortunately, they are not."

"She could have stayed here. Our doctors are good, especially Dr. Clarkson."

"Mama, it was better for her to go to London. We are it discussing this any further."

"As you wish, you would rather talk about Tom?"

+++

Rosamund padded Cora’s back while she was leaning with her hand against a wall to steady herself. "The doctor was right. Walking helps loosen the crap in your lungs." She offered Cora a tissue.

Cora used it gratefully and asked for a second one to blow her nose.

"As long as it is coming back every time, it does not help, does it?" Cora said, slightly annoyed. "Can we please start walking back? This is our second walk today, and I am exhausted."

Rosamund hooked her arm in Cora’s and bumped her shoulder softly against Cora’s. "But it is keeping your mind of things, is it not?"

Cora had to admit. She had so many coughing fits during their walks that there was no time to mull over Robert’s escapades, and in the evening, she was now so tired that she fell asleep instantly.

Tomorrow Sybil and Edith would come. She had hoped to feel better and do something fun with them. She rarely did something with just her girls these days. They were growing up so fast. Sybil would soon leave their house. Once Mary would start dating Matthew, she would also leave soon. The only one who would stay was Edith, she thought, poor Edith, she always struggled with everything in life. Cora worried if she had given her enough attention in her younger years.

First, she had Mary, a first born is always difficult when Edith came, things were easier. Edith had been an easy baby who did not ask much, and it happened a lot that Cora’s attention went to Mary instead of Edith. Mary asked a lot of her time. Then came Sybil, her darling cuddly baby. She had loved soaking up her warmth, her small body wrapped around her chest. It took Robert and her quite some time before they finally held a healthy baby in their arms again. They never had a boy, Robert’s biggest wish. Her last pregnancy was unexpected, but more than welcome. Unfortunately, the little boy did not survive the hard stumble she made, stepping out of the bathtub.

Cora felt Rosamund grip strengthen on her arm. "Let's have another coughing fit, it will stop your worrying."

Both ladies laughed so hard that Cora ended up in an actual coughing fit. https://verhalenvantraan.wordpress.com/2023/07/14/the-truth-always-comes-out-chapter-17/

#cora crawley #robert crawley #downton abbey #fanfiction #downton #cobert

5 notes · View notes

theonceoverthinker · 6 years ago

Text

OUAT 2X22 - And Straight On ‘Til Morning

Despite all the mourning from the last episode, we’re gonna go straight on ‘til we finish off this season.

...Wanted to make my last pun of the season classy. Now you know what to do.

Press Release The inhabitants of Storybrooke brace themselves for the end when Greg and Tamara detonate the trigger Regina had placed within the curse, with the annihilation of the town and its residents imminent; and Mr. Gold mourns the loss of his son, Bae/Neal. Meanwhile, back in Neverland of the past, Hook discovers his connection to a young Bae after he rescues him from the sea and soon realizes that the Lost Boys are in hot pursuit of the boy. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past I really struggled with how I felt about the past segment. Something about this flashback has always rubbed me the wrong way (Or at least, as much as the two times I’ve watched it can do) and I spent the lesser part of two days wondering why. And I think I finally figured it out.

The actions and broad strokes of this storyline are great, as is admittedly much of the dialogue. I like the bond that forms between Killian and Bae and I like how Killian’s framed. The dialogue is for the most part pretty good and I love all the time we get to spend on the Jolly Roger. However, the thematically heavy lines like “being alone” and “caring only about yourself” are honestly so distracting because Killian’s is blatantly committing revenge on Milah’s behalf and he has a whole crew with him.

Now on one hand, I get it. Especially given Killian’s decision at the end of the flashback, one can argue that Killian’s revenge and the decisions stemming from it are more for his sake than Milah’s. It’s similar to what Regina was doing with Snow and her subjects, where she claimed that after she killed Snow, she’d show them love. On the other hand, as I said before, it’s honestly so distracting and I feel like if the above were the case, there would’ve been more to paint it that way.

Okay, so now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, just remember: The segment is good, but dialogue choices like that separate good from great. The drama between Killian and Bae is one of the most important parts of Killian’s redemption and their bonding provides serious insight into who Killian is as a character. Present First off, I love the way Neal’s “death” was handled. First, let’s talk about the acting. Robert Carlyle continues to be flawless. He shows how Rumple’s overcome with sadness and regret immediately upon hearing the news. Second, I love how he’s paralleled against Henry. While Henry has his mother to lean on and hold (A great if not tragic Swan Believer moment in and of itself), despite being told the news by two people, Rumple’s in the shot where he first takes it in alone and only comforted from a distance. Third, it gets Rumple questioning his own philosophy and is one of the biggest cases of “all magic has a price” being turned on him. It’s nothing short of a spiral and the way he pulls everyone down with him fits the character so well.

I got so many Spongebob Musical feels as I was thinking about the main story here. XD I’m going to explain it when I get to arcs, but I think that the main story does a good job bringing together Emma, Regina, Henry, Snow, and David’s stories. Every emotion here hits and the main story, which seemed to rightly get the most focus, was handled well.

Keep that in mind when I go off here.

”I did it [Kill Cora] because it was easy. It was a mistake.” FUCK THAT NOISE! NO! IT WASN’T EASY! IT WAS ACTUALLY BOTH DIFFICULT IN EXECUTION AND IN ITS AFTER EFFECTS! It was cruel, sure. And I get the guilt, but honestly, it was Cora (An uncontrollable monster) or Rumple (Someone who had been persuaded to do good in the past and could in the future AND had two morality pets to keep him on the straight and narrow). Fuck the noise where this was a wrong decision and that GOD this is the last instance where Snow says something like that! “There were other paths -- harder paths.” AND THEY WOULD’VE RESULTED IN MASS MURDERS ALL AROUND. FUCK! The ONLY good thing about that shitty flashback in “The Cricket Game” was that you supposedly learned that this idea was bullshit and you just threw that idea out like a dirty diaper! FUCK THIS SET OF LINES! It’s especially infuriating because it comes in the middle of a GREAT Snow scene where her optimism and leadership are so well shown!

Finally, What’s interesting to me is how Killian immediately dismisses Emma’s speech about being alone and being part of something by asking “Why are you really doing this?” Bae, being dead and Henry no longer having a father, is the spark that becomes the flame of his redemption. I’m with @sab031794 with the idea that Bae is definitely his turning point, while Emma’s words further the point, something he appreciates. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -Was there ever a concrete answer as to who drew the Milah drawing? Was it Killian? Milah herself? Like one of the people at theme park who paints people? -SMEE!! So by this point, is Smee Killian’s first mate or is he still just a regular crew member? Also, got to hand it to Smee for his faith in Killian. Smee’s a scared dude, so to see him with so much resolve in his voice as he tells Killian that they’ll avenge Milah, it’s so much bigger of a moment! -I didn’t realize how closely this episode borders on child trafficking until now! Dark. -I’ll never quite be over the way Bae’s eyes pop when he tells someone what happened to his father. Powerful! -It’s great seeing Killian piece together the puzzle that’s this new boy and immediately making a plan upon realizing just who he is. -It’s so creepy seeing how having only Lacey to depend on as a morality chain can corrupt Rumple so much. Hurting Henry to save himself at the very least was a point he was torn on when he first found Neal and learned the truth about his and Henry’s relation. But as he sees Henry on the swing, he’s so close to giving in and killing Henry. (Okay, someone write a dark ass fic where this happens. Henry dies and Emma goes crazy trying to figure out if his death was an accident or not. Can you IMAGINE the final confrontation there?!) Also, I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence that it’s David that snaps him out of it. Sheep Bros to the rescue! -Colin acts that last scene in the mine so freakin’ well! Like, less than three minutes later, that’s gonna turn out to be horseshit, but he sells that so believably! -I will say, while I don’t like a lot of platitudes this season, I’m cool with Henry’s “work together” schtick. -David, that was an amazing punch! XD -WHAT AN EXCELLENT REGAL BELIEVER SCENE! Once again, Regina apologizes to Henry and it’s very sincere. She’s not blaming anyone and is saying that it’s she who failed to live up to his standards. And Henry’s reaction does not absolve her, but lets her know that he loves her. THAT is GOOD! -”The things we do for our children.” This is kind of a weird line. -I love how it’s so obvious that this Pan is “him” and they are doing every backflip to make this a killer twist. -Oh My God! Felix is trying to be so menacing and it is just the HAMMIEST thing ever! XD I love it! It’s not appropriate at all to the mood they’re setting, but fuck it! I love it! -Grumpy, that is the best cup I have ever seen! I can’t even blame you for taking it back for Sneezy (And then maybe channel your inner-Stealthy and take it for yourself)! -I’ve been trying to do a count of the number of men in KIllian’s crew. So far, I’ve seen at most six pirates (Killian and Smee included). Does anyone have a better count? -Left is port, right is starboard. I don’t know why, but I always forget it. Hopefully, Captain Hook will be able to help me remember! -It’s interesting to me how Killian, even when he was just using Bae, used a real and vulnerable part of his life to relate to him. It’s great insight into Killian’s life and a subtle nudge in the direction of Killian coming to care for Bae even before the truly touching moment on the scene hits. -I do have to wonder, why does Killian want to live so badly? During “The Outsider,” Killian was more than willing to die so that he could return to Milah, but he wouldn’t have even killed Rumple then (though one could argue that he’d at least leave a black mark on Rumple and Belle’s relationship). Here, he’d be killing Rumple and there’s no sign he care about saving anyone else. -”I’m not your mate.” Give it a season, Davey! -Emma and Regina work brilliantly together here. There’s such a softness to Regina sacrifice and the way Emma tries to fight against what looks to be the inevitable. It’s a great testament to their dynamic. -Wow! The CG for the destruction of Storybrooke is awful! XD -Farewell, Lacey. I hardly knew ye. -Snow, that is not all of Storybrooke. That’s not even a quarter of Storybrooke. There should be a giant ass crowd of people, not just your besties! -The moment when Bae is told the truth of his mother by Killian is so powerful! There’s so much rage, passion, and love, all of it left on on the floor in the scene. -”I’ll track them down in Hell if I have to.” Granted it’s not regarding the same character, but give it a few seasons, Emma! -”There’s no way. I spent a lifetime trying to cross worlds to find my son.” Hindsight makes that line utterly hysterical! -Rumple! Let Belle help! Get some other stooge to cast the protection spell! Belle’s such a good tracker! -Why is this goodbye making me flashforward to Belle’s death?! *bawls* -GOLDEN HOOK WORKING TOGETHER!!! That look they exchange as they understand the map’s destination! YES! I’M FILLED WITH THE POWER OF YESSSSSS! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - Regina’s redemption was handled masterfully in this episode. The focus of it was put on Henry. As the inevitability of the end hits her, all she can and does focus on is keeping Henry alive. But that’s not all. Her acceptance of ehr bad reputation being her own fault goes a long way towards washing away the exasperation from the last few episodes away. Her sacrifice works on every level, reinfusing sympathy into Regina without it feeling out of character because of the sharp focus on Henry. Rumple’s Redemption - So like usual, Rumple takes one step back and one step forward, and I felt that it mostly worked. I say mostly because I don’t really get how Lacey attempting to use Bae’s shawl is the turning point for Rumple using the memory potion on Lacey. It’s not like Lacey used the shawl maliciously and she even apologized for it. Was it so she could help him grieve? If so, I wish it came across better. That said, I like the effect that Lacey has been corrupting Rumple, but he realizes that he both needs Belle in her real state and that his thoughts of murdering Henry are awful and need to be shunted. At the same time, he’s not willing to lend a finger to help with the end of the world. Killian’s Redemption - What’s interesting to me is how early on in this episode, Killian is pointed at for not believing in something by Tamara, and when he does turn, Killian himself is one of the most belief-heavy people on the show! Additionally, in the flashback, Killian is so belief-heavy, believing that he can get his revenge on the Dark One and later that he and Bae can fill the empty holes in their hearts. But aside from that, Killian’s turn around is actually pretty simply set up for a sympathetic character. First, it comes through in the decision to go to the heroes to help stop the diamond, knowing they’re more effective. Second, it’s of course the decision to turn his ship around. It represents Killian’s decision to start caring again, allowing himself in a way to be reborn. Emma Accepting Her Parents - “Mom...Dad…” ...Do I even need to say any more? ...Well, apart from the fact that it’s a great closing out of the arc in the beginning of the season, it’s also a PHENOMENAL setup for the events of Season 3. Greg and Tamara - Greg and Tamara kind of get stupid in this finale upon revealing that they don’t know who runs the home office and all the deflectation that takes place when Killian questions them. Really? A group of people who supposedly value science over magic wouldn’t ask who their boss is? Favorite Dynamic Emma and Regina - Emma and Regina are amazing to watch. The episode doesn’t pretend that they’re friends or even that they like each other all that much, but that their bond over Henry is powerful enough that they can overcome those facts and at least start in that direction. For the first time, I feel these two come together as real mothers. They act in Henry’s best interests and that includes saving the other, being honest to Henry, and portraying the other in a good light. Darker Elements (TW: Mention of Child Trafficking) I’ve seen it be said that Killian’s decision to abandon Baelfire was the most evil moment of his life. While I’m not sure how much I believe that, I must point out how this is as close to child trafficking as OUAT can ever get without outright saying it, and that is fucking dark. While trying to examine my own feelings on the issue, I think in terms of the show, because of the fantastical distance of the child trafficking being conducted in an equally fantastical way by a pirate with a hook for a hand and a set of children in cloaks putting a boy in a dinghy to take him to Peter Pan, it’s different than other instances of Darker Elements that I’ve already touched on. If a woman is assaulted or someone is raped by deception, the resonance with the treatment of women and the realities of sexual assault, especially in our modern political climate, makes it difficult to cloud with fantastical elements. And I’m not saying trafficking isn’t, but it’s not something a large portion of OUAT’s audience sees on a constant basis.

Writer A&E are as usual in charge of the finale, and honestly, while well delivered, I expected better. So much of the dialogue works, and that makes the fact that some of the crucial dialogue doesn’t hurt so badly. I feel like they were trying to make square pegs fit in round holes when they talk about things like Killian choosing to be alone and how kiling Cora was easy and and how Rumple decides to turn back Belle because Lacey accidentally used Bae’s shawl as a napkin. it almost overshadows the genuinely good dialogue in other places and I feel like with another draft, those problems would either be minimized or non existent. It pains me how this episode reminds me in a lot of respects more of “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter” (My current least favorite episode of the series) than some of their better episodes like “Broken.” Rating 8/10. I’ve been torn on ratings before, but never quite like this. So much of the Season 2 finale does work, but it does have failings and they chip away. However, I’ve gone on about some of the dialogue choices enough. Let’s talk about the good stuff. This episode is a good culmination point for so many of the arcs started and presents a good jumping off point for them to be furthered in the next season. It’s entertaining to watch emotionally resonates where it counts. It’s dark, but optimistic and has that Once-y feel! Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Swan Fire - We get to see some pretty sad and yet hopeful Swan Fire stuff. Emma is barely able to mourn Neal’s loss, but when she tells Henry and Killian the truth, you really feel the grief she’s going through. And then Neal’s alive! Swan Queen - It was so great seeing Emma and Regina working together! You really feel for the emotional bond they’ve formed as they fight off the diamond and it’s gotta be said that there’s a serious weight to the fact that the two of them together managed to fight off something that neither thought possible. Captain Swan - I feel like Emma and Killian really get their deserved start here. Emma not only tries to get her bean back, but tries to invite him to the hero squad with as much effort as she can given all else on her plate. And while it initially doesn’t work, Emma’s speech does find its resonance with Killian through remembering of his love for Bae. Rumbelle - My thoughts on how Rumple decided to use the potion aside, the moment where Belle comes back and they kiss is beautiful and heartwarming, as is their goodbye at the docks. Grumpy Beauty - Grumpy went out of his way as they were all gonna die to get another memory potion to restore Belle! That is so cute!!! I love this ship!!! There’s also such a real feeling of sacrifice as Rumple sees Belle off before his trip to Neverland. ()()()()()()()()() Oh My God! Season 2 is completed!!! Well, sort of! Like last season, I’m going to do my overview where I talk about everything from the quality of the season itself to the best dynamics to who was the best writer! I hope you’ll join me for it because it’s gonna be a lot of fun!

Thank you all for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales! Couldn’t have done it without you!

See you next time!

Season 2 Tally (194/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (58/60)* Jane Espenson (44/50)* Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (40/50)* David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (24/30)* Christine Boylan (26/30)* Kalinda Vazquez (28/30)* Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x22 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #tw: mentions of child trafficking

21 notes · View notes