#also mari is meant to be a ghost. i ran out of costume ideas and had to google them..

[wisteriacat]

happy halloween!! 

[eisforeidolon]

Episode: Back and to the Future

I get why, thematically, they chose that song for the previouslies that kick off the final season. However, from my perspective I just do not think it actually works at all.  It is far too sedate for the action it’s recapping and the scene it cuts into.  The juxtaposition of such different paces is just ... odd.

I guess I'm supposed to feel all sad and shit from the lingering shots of dead!Jack's burned out eye holes?  Maybe if he'd had a personality other than being an amorphous shifting blob of unbelievable power and permanent intellectual infancy I was supposed to care about because of the number of times they had the other characters say he was their son/family/awesome.  As is?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I wish I could say I was surprised that the veritable army of animate corpses making a beeline for the Winchesters and Cas just … somehow … let them escape and run away.  I'd have been a lot more surprised if the writers had actually bothered to do the work to get the characters out of the corner the last finale put them into, at this point.  Then there's the bit where the writers shove some nonsense into Dean's mouth to try and make it seem like this whole thing with Chuck isn't a sudden random asspull to go for the most absurdly overpowered villain they could think of for the last season.  Totally believable, oh yeah.

Although the idea of a sewer running through a graveyard including right to the wall of a crypt does not exactly seem likely to me, I do actually give the writers points for having that not actually work as an escape route.  Also awarding some points for them remembering that as an angel, Castiel should be able to see demons.

As other people have already pointed out, considering what he did to the Novak family and how haphazardly he handled Claire, especially?  Him bitching about any other creature defiling somebody's corpse is pretty fucking hilarious.  Though I'd possibly be more sympathetic if demon!Jack didn't already show a 500% more interesting personality in thirty seconds than actual!Jack did in two seasons.  So far as I’ve been concerned, the only think Jack has really had going for him is Alex, so Alex as a different character, even a demon, I’m calling a win.

I honestly do not get the decision of trying garner fan nostalgia by bringing back ghosts from previous seasons if they're just going to arbitrarily make them kill anyone at random for kicks.  Would it have been that hard to have shown “Bloody Mary” killing one person who might have had a secret where someone died?  Because I could buy it for one of those teen girls, but not both.  Or limiting the “Woman in White” to attacking men along highways who might possibly be unfaithful?  Maybe we're supposed to believe that they're all just so pissed off at having spent all that time in hell that they have completely lost touch with what originally tied them to earth and drove them to kill in the first place?  I don't mind them no longer being tied to a physical location since they were banished and unnaturally returned, but to be so disconnected to what drove them to become angry spirits seems much more intrinsic to who and what they were.  I guess even the ghosts lose their personalities to become cardboard in the hands of Dabbernatural.  

Oh, look, mysteriously, big G God's tantrum opening up hell is not actually big enough to impact the whole planet – or even, you know, more than the literal next town over.  This is my surprised face.

Then we get to the bit where the Winchesters find an abandoned car with a bloody mess inside and are all, “Look at this Woman in White kill!  Obviously it was a Woman in White!  Totally the specific one we sent to hell!  Because … car!  And, uh, blood!  And, oh, because the fucking script says so.” REASONS, YO.

Aren't all garage doors required to have an emergency pull for if the power goes out?  Obviously the script required the pair of VotW end up stuck hiding in the garage, which, uh, a ghost can't find people hiding now?  Did I miss something in there that explained that silly convenience that makes the ghost even less spooky in an episode that really really fails on that count even more later on?

I guess maybe I should be happy that it's Castiel that gets hit with the dumb characterization stick to necessitate Sam & Dean not work together to clear out the town? Look, at this point, considering the way the writers have had him act as a constant disaster zone of idiotic choices and betrayals for several seasons now, my ability to sympathize with Cas is a wee bit limited.  To have him now sulk like a toddler and refuse to work with the demon to help the Winchesters save an entire town full of people and prevent the spread of angry hell ghosts to the world beyond that? Because oh noes it's wearing Jack's face and he was just sooooo attached?  Even though all of them supposedly thought of Jack as their kid?  He doesn't even try to offer up alternatives to working with the demon with the very convenient solution, just whines about it? 

So basically this billions of years old angel somehow has less fucking practicality than the Winchesters (despite how easily he killed the shit out of his fellow angels when it suited his plans).  Not to mention that by refusing, he's saddling Dean with having to work with demon!Jack. The human guy who was just recently convinced he had to kill Jack for the good of the world after Jack killed his mother, only to have a change of heart when he saw Jack’s understanding, only for Jack to end up killed anyway – you know, emotions a hell of a lot more conflicted about their supposed kid's than Castiel's?  Castiel is just fine with that!  What a self-centered dick.

I liked Dean's conversation with Rowena on the phone and his response to her presumable demand to ask more nicely.  I laughed at Sam accidentally shooting Cas and Cas' resultant reaction.  I thought it was curious that they had the demon bring up Dean's time as a torturer in hell, though I'd be pleasantly surprised if it was anything but a way to segue into the Cage getting opened.  One utterly wasted Michael storyline is apparently not enough for Dabb!  Maybe it's just supposed to be some kind of weird demon idea of flattery, but I did find their interactions interesting.  I would be intrigued by the weird flashes when Cas was trying to heal Sam (Another angel power that actually works for once?  Wow!) … if Dabb hadn't already yammered on about what it means in an interview.  That dude is absolutely allergic to leaving any kind of major storyline an open mystery or letting it retain any intrigue for fans to speculate about.  I was not impressed with Sam getting damsel-ed to be saved by Castiel at least twice.  Come on, show.

As I speculated before and said above, I’m fine with the Chuckified nature of their release meaning some rules don’t apply.  I could maybe even understand the thought process that them being out in the daytime, without being limited to darkness, was scarier? I just wish anyone behind the camera was awake enough to actually look at the aesthetics of what they did here and realize that no, it's really really not.  The whole thing just looked so embarrassingly mediocre - pantomime actors in bad bargain basement costumes silly.  I think it was @hippychick006 that suggested gifs of the whole end portion looked like they should be set to Yackety Sax?  The context of the episode does not in any way negate that. Just … wow.  Like with the wire fight, I am flabbergasted that this made it to air without somebody finding the brakes.

I'm not sure if the writers actually made a failed reference by having the Woman in White say Dean was the one who took her home when it was Sam, or if they meant to imply he and Sam together had been there/responsible and Dean was the one she was addressing.  Regardless, I'm not impressed with how all the ghosts Sam & Cas were being confronted by just … stood there to be shot one by one for a while.  And then … ran … literally ran … chasing them down the street instead of doing the whole ghost teleport thing.  There are way, way too many times in this episode where the guys get away or win a fight because reasons and there is absolutely no tension in that.  Even if it didn't also look ridiculous.  Dean’s part of the confrontation was a little less absurd in that respect, at least.  And the spell effects actually looked reasonably cool.

I'm a little annoyed at myself that the obligatory brother scene at the end of the episode kind of works on me.  Though I’m not particularly impressed with Sam's conclusion that God is totally going to leave them alone now.  Sure, Chuck has a long habit of leaving when he's bored, but he isn't leaving this world because he's bored.  You guys actively pissed him off!  Yet Sam treats it like a foregone conclusion Chuck will have buggered off instead of sticking around to watch his previously favorite but now uncooperative toys suffer and die first. Though I'm not sure if that's a writer issue, actually, or just a legit choice I don’t care for.  I could see Sam insisting on trying to sell a potential positive side with no room for doubt with as fatalistic as Dean is being.  I could also see it just being one of those things Sam convinces himself must be true because he's reasoned it out in his head and refuses to consider alternatives may exist.  Like how he was so convinced it could only be God planting visions in his head back in season 11.  Still, I like the callback and I can even see why Dean is the most immediately cynical and pissed off, so hey!  There was actually one whole entire scene I enjoyed in there!

[searchingwardrobes]

Hope is the Thing With Feathers: 5/5

Finally, I have finished a WIP! Whoop, whoop! I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. This fic stalled for me, and every time I wrote anything for it, I ended up deleting it. Thank you to my co-creator @hollyethecurious for saving this chapter. The idea of them binding their souls together was her idea, as well as Henry’s place in breaking the curse. If not for her, I might still be staring at a blank word doc! Krystal, I hope you enjoy the ending to your fic!

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the tiny, quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to get obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the mysterious, handsome man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon finds that both the castle and the man have secrets she could never have imagined. For @kmomof4 for her birthday.

Amazing banner created by @hollyethecurious

Rating: M

Trigger warnings: positive portrayal of past Millian

Words: About 5,000 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @thislassishooked @artistic-writer @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @xhookswenchx @shireness-says @gingerchangeling @nikkiemms @revanmeetra87

Chapter Five: Never Stops at All

There were a lot of ways Emma could have handled the bomb that Belle dropped on her in the library. She could have stayed and had a woman to woman chat about feelings. Nope, scratch that, it had never been Emma’s style. She could have gone to the loft for a hope speech and a cup of cocoa from Mary Margaret. Hell, Emma wouldn’t even have had to tell her anything and Mary Margaret would have offered some sort of motherly comfort. But school wasn’t out yet, which meant MM was still at Hopeful Elementary with her third grade class.

People in mature relationships probably would have gone to their significant other and had a meaningful conversation. Emma had been drawn to Killian’s side, that much was true, but the minute he opened the door, every word she had rehearsed in her drive there flew out of her head.

Instead, she had grabbed him and kissed him like her life depended on it. Every time he pulled back and tried to speak, she had silenced him with her lips against his. Killian had willingly gone where she led him, which was straight to his bed.

Again, probably not the best way to deal with her rampant feelings.

Now she lay in his arms, both of them sated and relaxed. Well, he was relaxed anyway, sighing against her hair. Did he know that ending his curse would allow him to move on? Did he even care about leaving her? Emma swallowed against the lump in her throat. The urge to run, to flee welled up inside of her.

Then she remembered his words on the hilltop and at Milah’s grave. She turned in his embrace, running her fingers along his jawline, tracing the scar on his cheek. He smiled tenderly at her.

She licked her lips. “What do you think will happen if we find a way to break your curse?”

Killian shrugged, tugging her closer to trail kisses down the column of her neck. “I’m hoping,” he mumbled against her skin, “to be able to take you and Henry sailing. Maybe even see this Disney World everyone goes on about.”

He chuckled against her collarbone, and Emma dug her fingers into his hair. She let out a long, sad breath. So Belle hadn’t told him, either.

“Killian,” she began, but got stuck on his name.

He pulled back from the distraction of her body to gaze into her eyes. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his face lined with concern. “Love, what is it? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

Emma closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his. She then wriggled closer until they were pressed against one another, slipping her arms beneath his and grasping his upper back. She turned her head to press her lips against his shoulder blade. It was easier to get the words out when she wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“All my life, I’ve been running, leaving everyone before they can leave me. Until you.” Emma swallowed down the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Killian . . . I can’t lose you.”

He pulled back to cup her face in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere, Emma.”

“Killian, think about it. You’re not supposed to still be alive. If we break the curse . . . “

She trailed off, biting on her lower lip. His face went slack as realization washed over him. Wordlessly, he pulled her close again and just held her, running his fingers through her hair. She clung to him as if she could keep him with her through force of will alone. But she couldn’t be that selfish, could she? If she truly cared about him, she wouldn’t want this kind of existence for him.

“Emma,” he whispered against her hair, “I will gladly stay cursed for the rest of eternity in exchange for spending just one lifetime with you.”

She let him kiss her, let him make love to her again, knowing it was his way of sealing his declaration. Apparently, she was that selfish.

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

Gold Manor was ready for the inaugural ghost tour on Halloween night. Tickets were being sold online and at all the local businesses. Granny’s Diner was catering the refreshments that would be served in the garden after the tour. The only thing left to do was prep the actors and rehearse for the actual tour.

Emma knew this. She also knew that Killian had reluctantly agreed to Belle’s insane idea that he play . . . himself. Of course, no one but the three of them knew he was the Killian Jones. To everyone else, it was just a happy coincidence. Jones, after all, was a common last name.

Yet, despite knowing Killian’s role in the ghost tour, she was not in the least bit prepared for the sight that met her three days before Halloween. She froze in the doorway of the manor and almost spilled her coffee.

“How do I look, Swan?” he asked, grasping the lapels of the almost floor length, black leather duster he wore. Emma struggled not to let her jaw drop as she searched for words. Beneath the duster, he wore a red leather vest over a honest-to-God black pirate shirt. It was buttoned even less than his shirts normally were, and his charm necklace resting against his exposed chest complemented the look. Then there were the leather pants - skin tight and leaving little to the imagination.

“Um . . . “ Speak, Emma! But all she could do was blink.

A grin spread slowly across his face, the bastard. He sauntered towards her, his head cocked to the side. He was wearing eyeliner too, which shouldn’t have been hot . . . only it was.

“Dashing, right? Devastatingly handsome?”

His teasing tone shook her out of her stupor, and she laughed as she set her coffee cup down on a nearby table. She ran her hands up his vest and grasped the lapels of his coat in a tight grip.

“It’s a good look on you, pirate.”

Belle cleared her throat, and Emma jumped back, her face flaming. She hadn’t even realized they weren’t alone. Next to Belle stood an auburn haired woman with a measuring tape around her neck. Her hair was pulled back in slim braids at the crown, the rest spilling down her back. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She grinned broadly at Emma’s assessment.

“Mission accomplished then.”

“Emma, this is Aurora. She’s the costume designer at the community theater,” Belle explained.

“Hopeful has community theater?” Emma asked incredulously, stepping out of Killian’s embrace.

“Not much of one,” Aurora chuckled as she put her sewing equipment away, “which is why I commute every day for my nine to five with the Portland Ballet.”

“Well, you are one of the best,” Belle assured her friend with a parting hug.

“Be careful when you take that off, Mr. Jones,” Aurora admonished as she headed out the door.

“I could help you with that,” Emma whispered in his ear, thrilling when it made his neck turn red.

“Emma, I’m glad you’re here,” Belle said, gathering up an armful of books, “there’s something I wanted to talk to both of you about.”

“I um, feel a little silly having a meeting in this get-up,” Killian said, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “I think I’ll head upstairs and change.”

Emma watched him go with intense appreciation, humming under her breath until he was out of sight.

“I heard that,” Belle laughed.

Emma shrugged as she turned to her new friend, not in the least bit embarrassed. “What can I say? He looks good in tight leather.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Belle whispered, her smile turning soft.

Emma bit her lower lip as she looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. It sounded crazy; they hadn’t known each other long. Yet from the moment they had first met, there had been a connection between them. Belle took her long silence as an answer.

“That’s why you got so upset when I explained breaking his curse,” she said softly, “you don’t want to lose him.”

All Emma could do was nod her head, her lips pressed together so she wouldn’t cry. Belle simply lowered her head, running a hand over one of the books she had brought.

“I think I may have found a way for the two of you to be together.”

Emma gasped and hurried to stand at Belle’s side. “You have?”

“This spell,” she explained, running her hand over the yellowed pages, “binds two souls together. They literally become one after it is cast. The only catch is that you have to be soulmates or it won’t work.”

Emma swallowed nervously. “It’s worth a shot though, right? I mean, is there any danger if we try and we’re not soulmates?”

“Not the binding, no, but the second part of the plan would be. You see, if Killian shares your soul, he may be able to stay here after the curse breaks.”

“But if we aren’t soulmates, it wouldn’t work?”

“It may not work at all,” Belle admitted, “but it should. In theory.”

“But like I said,” Emma argued, “it’s worth a shot.”

“Emma,” Belle said slowly, “what I mean is, you could both die.”

Emma felt the blood drain from her face as the words sunk in, and she shut her eyes tightly. She thought of Killian, how safe she felt in his arms, how right. She thought about his curse, how he’d lived a long, lonely existence for centuries. She knew, deep in her heart, what she had to do.

She opened her eyes and told Belle firmly, “Like I said, I have to try.”

“No.”

The two women startled at the deep voice coming from the foot of the stairs. They hadn’t noticed Killian descending as they talked.

“Killian!” Emma exclaimed upon seeing him.

“No,” he said again, shaking his head, “I won’t let you.”

Emma rushed across the room to him, taking his hands in hers. “But if there’s a chance to break your curse -”

“I won’t let you, Emma. I won’t risk the life of the woman I love. Neither will I risk leaving Henry an orphan.”

Emma’s heart sank as she slowly released his hands. What kind of mother was she?

“Henry,” she breathed. She hung her head in defeat. Killian was right.

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

“Okay, kid, what’ll it be for movie night this week? Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? Thor: Ragnarok? Or Return of the Jedi? The theme of course is conclusions of trilogies . . . “ Emma trailed off as she regarded her son’s pensive expression. “What? You didn’t expect me to throw in Captain America: Civil War did you? Because you know how I feel about that. It’s an Avengers movie, I don’t care what the MCU says.”

She poked Henry in the shoulder, then waved a Twizzler rope in front of his face. “Kid? Earth to Henry?”

“When are you going to tell me the truth?”

Emma’s eyes widened at her son’s angry expression. “The truth about what?”

“About Killian?”

Emma blinked. “Okay, I didn’t know you wanted the details, but . . . well, I love him, and -”

“Ew! I’m not talking about that!”

Emma shook her head. “Then I’m confused.”

“What is he? A ghost? What?”

Emma’s jaw dropped at his questions. “I . . . I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please,” Henry scoffed with a roll of his eyes, “I’m not stupid. He can’t leave the manor grounds, he talks like it’s the 17th century, and he knows a strange amount of stuff about Hopeful hundreds of years ago. And his name is even Killian Jones?”

“Henry, you can’t be serious -”

“Then there was this today in history class.” Henry shoved his schoolbook on Maine State History into Emma’s lap, and there on the open page was the same drawing of Killian that Belle had in her stack of research on Gold Manor. A box next to the picture told the story of the witch trial of Milah Gold and the legend of pirate captain Killian Jones. According to Henry’s textbook, most scholars believed the existence of the pirate to be a myth.

“What the hell!” Emma muttered, pulling the book closer. “I can’t believe this!”

“What, Mom?”

“This idiot scholar at The University of Maine says that the romantic imagery surrounding the supposed pirate in conjunction with Milah Gold’s possible madness leads one to believe that he was a figment of the woman’s imagination!” Emma shoved the book away in disgust. “Have you ever heard anything so sexist in your life? Assuming Milah made Killian up because she was crazy. Is it so hard to believe that a woman back then would want anything other than marriage to a wealthy man? Did they ever consider that it was her husband who had lost his mind, not her? Of all the pigheaded things -”

“Mom!”

Emma startled at her son’s voice, and sheepishly bit her lip to stop the flow of words. Henry arched his brows at her.

“So he is Killian Jones, the centuries old cursed pirate.”

He leaned back against the couch with a smug expression. Emma couldn’t help smiling and shaking her head.

“Only you would so easily believe it.”

“The evidence is pretty clear, Mom.” He sat up then, bouncing eagerly. “So how do we break his curse?”

“We don’t, unfortunately,” Emma told him sadly, “not without . . . losing him. He’s supposed to be dead by now, kid.”

“But there has to be a way! You said you love him, didn’t you? Can’t true love break curses and stuff?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Henry.”

Her son narrowed his eyes and studied her face, and Emma squirmed beneath his perceptive gaze.

“There is a way!”

Emma shook her head. “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“You just have to believe!”

“Henry,” Emma told him gently, cupping his face, “not if it means leaving you alone.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “Whatever it is, it will work, Mom! I’ve never seen you so happy. We both like it here. We have David and Mary Margaret, and we both have friends.”

“And great onion rings,” Emma teased.

Henry laughed, “Yeah, Granny’s is pretty awesome.”

Emma pulled him against her and kissed the top of his head. “You’re right, Hopeful’s been pretty great, and Killian is partly why.”

“Don’t you wish he could be here for movie night?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, “I do.”

“Do you love him for real? Like, a lot?”

“More than any one in the world, besides you, kid.”

“Then it will work, Mom, you just have to believe!”

It was crazy, but something in Henry’s expression steeled her resolve. She picked up the phone and dialed Belle’s number.

“Belle, what do I have to do for this soul binding thing?”

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

Emma clutched her purse tightly as she stood on Killian’s porch. Inside she had tucked what Belle said she needed to perform the soul binding. There was just one tiny little detail bothering her.

She was doing it without Killian’s permission.

Emma knew she was playing with fire, knew he might see it as a betrayal. After all, his will being taken from him was the crux of his misery. But ironically, Emma going against his will was the very thing that might give him his agency back. Besides, his concerns were all for and Henry anyway.

This was the twisted logic she had come up with to ease her conscious, at any rate.

She was afraid he would see right through her the minute he opened the door, but he simply greeted her with a beaming smile. He had a kitchen towel tossed over one shoulder, and he eagerly pulled her into the cabin, the delicious smells of whatever he was cooking filling the space. As they talked easily over the meal, Emma’s guilt abated. (The wine they were imbibing helped too.)

As the sun slipped below the horizon, Emma informed him with a sultry smile that Henry was staying the night with David and Mary Margaret. It would be the first time she had stayed with him all night, and he smiled like an eager school boy. That smile, so trusting, so devoted, made the guilt come back, pricking at her resolve. Then he was making love to her in that intense way of his, and the desire to have him with her always, in every sense of the word, made her more sure than ever of what she must do.

Emma waited until Killian’s breaths evened out, then she got up and opened the curtains partway, just enough so that the moonlight fell over his form. He shifted in his sleep, and Emma held her breath. She released it, and tiptoed to retrieve the needle from her purse. She crawled slowly back into bed and tucked herself into Killian’s side.

She took a deep breath before using the needle to prick the tip of her left finger. A dot of dark red blood welled up. Trembling, she took her finger and made the shape of a cross over the left side of Killian’s chest where his heart resided. There was barely enough blood to make the mark; most of it was soaked up by his chest hair. Hopefully, he wouldn’t even notice come morning.

She pressed her hand to the spot, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Anams ceangal a dheanamh.”

To be honest, Emma didn’t expect anything to happen. She had fully anticipated feeling slightly foolish as she wondered if it worked. The last thing she had ever imagined was the pulse of energy surging from Killian’s chest, up her arm, and through her entire body. It sent her tumbling backwards off the bed, and when she scrambled to her knees, Killian was sitting up, breathing hard, eyes wide, his hand to his chest.

“Emma?” he asked in a frantic voice.

“Killian,” she said slowly, “I had to -”

“What did you do?”

She flinched at the higher pitch of his voice. He rose from the bed slowly, looking slightly disoriented as he rubbed at his chest. His demeanor was more frightened than angry, and his voice held a hint of betrayal. She would rather he be angry. The moonlight spilled over his naked body as he came closer to her, and she wasn’t sure if it was the spell or just him, but he looked like some sort of Greek god, both ethereal and strong. When an almost overwhelming desire to make love to him again surged through her, she was positive it was the spell.

His chest heaved as he searched her with a lust-filled gaze. It seemed the spell was affecting him, too. He pressed his eyes shut and asked her again, jaw clenching, “What did you do?”

She stepped into his embrace, pressing her cheek to his chest.

“I think you know.”

His arms came around to hold her tight as if he could fight it no longer.

“I told you not to.”

“I never listen.”

His answer was a searing kiss. They were both left panting when he pulled away, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I feel . . .”

“Something’s different ,isn’t it?” she finished his thought.

“Aye, it is. I love you, Emma.”

For the first time in over ten years, those words didn’t scare her. Instead, a comforting warmth spread through her body.

“I love you too.”

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

They made love again after the spell worked, in a frantic, almost desperate way. They had fallen asleep, still entangled in each other’s arms. Emma feared when morning came, but she woke to a blissful Killian, happy that she was still there in his arms. They flirted and teased one another, laughing and smiling between light, morning-breath kisses. In short, they avoided the elephant in the room in favor of being ridiculously in love.

When Emma met up with Belle at the library later that day as planned, she dropped her purse on the circulation desk with a loud thud. She met the librarian’s gaze with a single-minded fire in her eyes.

“It worked. What’s next?”

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

Emma was a bundle of nervous energy. The Halloween event at the manor was in full swing. The cones and rope and ended up working just fine for parking, as well as the dozen or so volunteers in orange vests directing traffic. People were processed in the main room of the house where Killian and his construction crew had put up a reception desk. Next to it was a display of brochures on other historical spots in Maine. Belle was working the desk with Henry’s help, checking tickets and giving each visitor a time to return for their tour. While they waited, guests mingled in the garden, enjoying the refreshments. Many were in costume. Some fit the theme, dressed as pirates or 17th century maidens, but there were also people dressed as Thor, or vampires, or students from Hogwarts.

The actors leading the tours were doing a fantastic job as well as the “ghosts” chatting with visitors in the various rooms: a man playing Robert Gold at the balcony from which he flung himself to his death, a woman playing Milah sitting at her vanity in her chambers combing her hair, and of course Killian pacing the long hallway. He was honestly having a good time startling people with a dramatic spin of his leather coat, and Emma chuckled every time she heard screams from upstairs. He had felt a little uneasy over the actress playing Milah, but other than that, he was taking the whole crazy thing in stride and even having fun with it.

“It’s been centuries, love,” he had assured her multiple times. He also appreciated that the representation of Milah was more accurate, stating that she was falsely accused of witchcraft with no hint of the ridiculous claim that she was mad.

Yet none of that was the cause of Emma’s nerves. She was three heartbeats from a panic attack because of what she and Belle had planned for after the event. Killian didn’t know a thing about it, but it had to be done tonight, on the anniversary of when his curse was originally cast. Belle had everything they needed squirreled away in the closet beneath the stairs. Emma kept glancing that way, despite her being pulled in a thousand different directions, and every time her heart beat sped up.

“Well, Ms. Swan,” Mayor Regina Mills said, stepping into her line of sight seemingly from out of nowhere, “I must say I was skeptical that you could pull this off, but this just might become a Halloween tradition in Hopeful.”

Emma wet her dry lips and forced a smile. “Thank you, Ms. Mills.”

“And tell that man you hired - a Mr. Jones, was it? - to come see me on Monday. I may have a permanent position for him.”

I hope he can. Emma thought to herself. Outwardly, she simply gave the mayor a nod. “I’ll pass that along.”

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

Emma cursed the ancient floor boards as she wrestled the ancient cauldron into place in the middle of the parlor. She righted herself after tripping over a warped board, ignoring the strain of the muscles in her arms as she heaved the cast iron kettle over the burning wood in the fireplace.

Emma swore as Belle crushed ingredients with a mortar and pestle. There wasn’t much time. It was almost midnight.

Belle handed one ingredient after another to Henry, who rushed to toss it into the bubbling cauldron as Emma stirred. Her hands shook as she heard Killian’s boots stride across the floor above.

“He’s going to kill me,” Emma muttered as she caught her son’s gaze.

The sound of Killian’s boots were closer now, descending the stairs. Not that it mattered if he was angry. They had to try. As if reading her mind, Henry grasped her hand.

“This will work, Mom.”

Belle hurried over, the last ingredient crushed at the bottom of the small mortar. The two women shared a nervous look, then Belle shook the white powder into Emma’s palm. Just as Emma lifted her fist above the potion simmering in the pot, the sound of Killian’s boots stilled and his voice filled the room.

“Emma?”

She stopped abruptly as his eyes took in the room; the fragile yellowed book open on the coffee table, the ingredients scattered across the buffet table, and the mortar and pestle in Belle’s hand.

“Killian,” Emma explained slowly, “we found this spell, and we had to try . . .”

“Emma, no!” Killian cried as she dropped the crushed white swan feathers into the cauldron.

Emma took a deep breath and spoke the incantation: “Swan in woman’s form, injustice to right, the enslaved to free.”

A pulse of bright light suddenly pulsed from the cauldron, knocking all four people in the room off their feet. Emma moaned, grasping her pounding head in her hands. There was a ringing in her ears, and she could barely make out Killian’s face hovering worriedly over her.

Well, we’re not dead.

It was her last thought before she passed out.

Six Months Later . . .

The last remnants of the harsh Maine winter blew on the April breeze. The front porch of the cabin Killian had made his home for centuries was lightly framed with purple from the lilac trees that grew nearby. Emma was leaning against his old tan pickup, admiring the picturesque scene. Her smile grew as Killian and Henry came out of the front door with boxes in their hands.

“These are the last two, love,” Killian told her.

“Really?” she asked in surprise as she took the box from Henry’s hand and set it in the truck.

“Well,” Killian said with a shrug, “possessions aren’t of much value when you have no one to share them with.”

Emma grinned as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re so wise, oh ancient one.”

Henry snorted a laugh as Killian feigned offense. Then Henry was gagging instead when Emma went up on her tiptoes to kiss the pout off Killian’s face.

“I’ll be in the truck,” the boy announced with a wrinkled nose.

“I thought he liked me,” Killian frowned.

“He does,” Emma chuckled, “it’s just - to a kid, grown ups kissing is disgusting.”

“Ah, I see. Unfortunately, now that we are wed and all three of us are sharing a home, he’s going to have to get used to it.”

Emma laughed as Killian placed exaggerated smooches all over her face.

“Speaking of home,” Henry shouted through the back window, “can you stop being gross so we can go ?”

They both laughed, but despite Henry’s request, Emma pressed her cheek to Killian’s collarbone and gazed at the little cabin. Her hand rested against his chest, her wedding ring catching the light of the spring sun.

“I’m glad we broke your curse, but is it wrong if I don’t want to give up this place?”

Killian held her close and kissed the top of her head. “We don’t have to, love. As groundskeeper of Gold Manor, I’ll be converting it into my office, remember.”

Emma smirked up at him. “But it won’t have a bed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I bet it’s not appropriate for my innocent ears!” Henry called out again from the truck.

Killian’s head tilted back, and a joyful and carefree laugh burst out of him. “Okay then, Joneses, lets get home.”

Emma had to admit as they pulled up in front of their new blue Victorian with its wraparound porch and view of the sea, that home was a pretty incredible place. She was glad she was too busy back in the fall to see a realtor.

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

“What’s the surprise, love?”

Emma laughed as Killian almost tripped over a tombstone.

“Bloody hell, woman, if you’re going to blindfold me, then you better get me safely to my destination!”

Emma brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry. We’re here though.” She removed the blindfold and gestured to the tombstone in front of them. Killian just stood there, slack-jawed, his eyes blinking.

The tombstone was the same one that had been erected centuries ago. Better for historical integrity, Belle had explained. Yet the marker erected behind it, tall and on top of a pretty black, wrought-iron post, was brand new.

“It’s officially on the historic registry,” Emma told him softly, biting her lower lip. “Do you like it?”

He blinked and cleared his throat before managing to read it aloud.

Milah Gold

Born 1661

Hanged for accusations of witchcraft in 1693

Like many of her day, Milah’s only crime was

defying the societal expectations of women.

Her life and death reminds us that we should

never stop fighting for justice and equal rights.

“Milah would be happy, right?” Emma asked nervously.

“Actually,” Killian replied turning to pull her into his arms, “this marker wouldn’t have mattered to her. She would be happy because you’ve broken me free of that curse and given me a reason to live again.”

He lowered his head to kiss her, and Emma wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. As their kiss intensified, she dug her fingers into the hair at his nape, humming when he pulled away.

“So,” she said, her forehead still pressed to his, “ready to live just one lifetime? Or do you have regrets?”

“Never. One lifetime with you, becoming old and gray together, is all I could have ever dreamed of.”

[clonerightsagenda]

I was looking at old tj posts trying to decide which to move to ao3 (a project I will deal with later) and like, the old ones had multiple scenes and some gesture at a narrative arc. Then the semester showed up and started kicking my ass. However, I tried to put a little more effort into this one with some type of character movement, but I ran out of time to really make that *work*. Obviously Aradia was perfect for Halloween. 

tuesjade prompt: Halloween

You've been exploring for a few weeks, and when you come back, the house's decor has changed. The leaves of the trees nearby have turned vivid colors. There are bright orange gourds set out on the front porch which, after you sample one, don't taste particularly good. There's also a cartoonish skeleton dangling from a hook on the front door. You give it a friendly nod as you walk inside.

Jade is the only one in the living room. "You're back!" she says. "Did you find anything interesting out there?"

"It's all interesting," you say. "Not as interesting as here right now, though. What's going on? Are we displaying one of our kills to intimidate the neighborhood? I thought we were taking a more conciliatory stance."

"Oh no." Jade frowns and sniffs the air. "Did Jaspers leave something dead outside again?"

"No, I meant the skeleton."

"Oh." She laughs. "It's for Halloween. That isn't until the end of the month, but we've started early. There was a lot of debate over that addition, actually. Some people thought it might be tasteless. But since it's the first time a lot of us have celebrated, we're going all out. You should see all the tacky shirts we've found at the store.” She taps her chest, which is currently emblazoned with the slogan, “Witch, please.”

Now you remember. Halloween is one of those seasonal human holidays. You've heard it mentioned before, but either it hadn't come up again or you'd been out in space when it had. If it involves decorating things with skeletons, you're all for it, although the gourds you could live without. "What is this tradition about, anyway?"

"I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask. I've never celebrated it myself. It's hard to trick or treat when you're living alone. But in general... it's a chance to get spooky!" She giggles. "And more importantly to dress up and eat yourself sick."

"A lot of your holidays seem to involve eating yourself sick," you observe.

"America is a culture of excess," she says, deadpan. "That is Rose's official position on the matter."

"What's yours?"

She purses her lips for a moment and then nods. "I'm new here, but I think it's kind of fun. I'm going to be Marie Curie. Roxy is going as Ada Lovelace, we will be classy and educational."

You frown, left behind. "Wait, you're going to *be* someone?"

"That's part of the point! Well, you don't actually "be" them." These clarifications are important. You've learned, in your attempts to communicate cross-species, never to assume understanding. "But you dress up and pretend to be someone else! That's part of Halloween, being in disguise. I think it goes back to trying to scare ghosts away by being scarier? But now it's just for fun. Younger kids go around asking for candy, it's called trick or treating."

Scaring away ghosts is a strategy you'd never considered. You'd tried to help, although as a young troll your abilities had been limited. Instead, you'd practiced being polite and understanding. The few times you could make things right (putting a warning sign up by a patch of crumbling cliff, retrieving a favorite token for a grieving moirail) even more spirits had crowded around you, desperate for aid or just someone to talk to. Had humans felt similar pressure, to make a whole tradition off frightening the dead away?

"We have something a little similar," you explain. "Normally it's a cullable offense to disguise yourself as another caste, but we have one day when it's encouraged. You can try to move up a few rungs and claim special privileges for a while. Of course, if your disguise isn't good enough and a highblood notices, they’ll still punish you, probably fatally. I guess that's our version of tricks or treats."

"It's not that high stakes here." Jade frowns. "Is every holiday from your planet that messed up?"

"More or less. At least then the disguises had a point.” You settle onto the back of the couch. Maybe you’re weightless off-planet, but it’s nice to sit down. “You do something similar, when you're younger. I'm not sure I understand why you'd keep doing it. Is the purpose to get away from yourself?”

Jade shrugs. “I guess some people might want to escape being them for a while. But I just like science, and Marie Curie made some important discoveries, even though I'm glad I won't get radiation poisoning. Looking back it's probably a good thing I went God Tier, otherwise all that uranium wouldn't have been good for me."

"I would be dead young myself," you say cheerfully. Jade's eyebrows draw together, and you guess you've misjudged your response, or your tone. That happens a lot. "Thanks for explaining this to me," you say, to move the conversation along. "It sounds interesting."

"Sure. Do you have anything you'd like to dress up as? I bet Alternia must have had some neat intellectuals, although most people would say that's a boring idea." Jade plucks at the fabric of her sleeve. "Mostly I just think it'll be easy to get a lab coat."

You touch your own shirt protectively. "I'm not so sure about that part. I'm happy as myself."

“Whatever suits you.” She picks up her phone. “I’ll let everyone know you’re here. Welcome back!”

 Apparently you didn't miss *all* the Halloween prep, because a few days later everyone makes a trip to the Halloween store. (Almost everyone. Calliope and Kanaya insist on making their outfits by hand and split off to the fabric store instead.) The building is noisy and filled with distractions, plastic skulls that laugh when you press a button, enormous coffins that swing open and closed. It seems like humans save up all their gruesome and grisly impulses and unleash them at once. No wonder the holiday has begun slipping outside its proper temporal bounds. One day isn’t nearly enough.

Everywhere, of course, are costumes. Jade is trying on a pair of fake wolf ears as a joke when Hal shows up with a silvery outfit in a package. You're nearby examining a bust with curled horns a lot like yours, so you overhear. "Check it out," he says. "Sexy robot. Do you think this would make Dirk regret we were born?"

"Halloween is an opportunity to dress up as something you want." Jade returns the ears to the shelf. "Do you want to waste that chance annoying Dirk?"

Hal scowls. He'll give you two the time of day as honorary members of the once prototyped club, but Jade has a tendency to not put up with his excesses. It's hard for him to carry on when she starts using the reproving voice. "I admit I'm not feeling the robo-tits," he says. "But the skirt ain't bad. Not like I can wear an outfit with pants."

"As someone who was a sexy robot for a while out of necessity, I'd vote against it," you say.

"Hmmm." He turns the package over in his hands. "I've got it, what about a Minion?"

Jade brightens. "Oh, those cute yellow guys from Despicable Me? I only ever saw the ads, the world ended before the movie came out. They looked nice, though."

Hal tosses the package back onto a nearby shelf. "That's right, you were spared before their reign of marketing terror. Only Dirk and Roxy would comprehend the full scale of horror. Maybe I'll split the difference, go as a sexy minion."

Jade rolls her eyes. "How about you go tell Dave the animatronic raven over there isn’t alive and he should stop trying to intimidate it.”

He retreats, and Jade wanders off. Before you move on, you reach out and slide the sexy robot costume far back on the shelf, where no one will see it.

 "I'm surprised you didn't come back with three bags of junk from that Halloween store," Sollux says. You've brought some food up for him, since he didn't come down for group dinner again, involved in some sort of project or Internet discussion. He’s accumulated a cult following online, even if he hasn’t made as many inroads as you here. That's not so different than before - back on Alternia he told you and the rest of his long-distance friends that most of his neighbors wanted to kill him. "It's stupid, but it sounds like the kind of intercultural thing you'd be into. No offense. It's even got your aesthetic."

"None taken. I do appreciate the more relaxed attitude toward the morbid. I think hangups like those are counterproductive. That part doesn't bother me." You bite into one of the rolls you brought up for him, and he grumbles and snatches the plate away. "It's the costumes I'm not sure about."

"Hell, you ran around dressed as Troll Indiana Jones half the time anyway," he says, through a mouthful of crumbs. "I don't think it's any different."

"I don't know. Maybe." You're not sure why it feels different now. Only that there's an aversion in you bone deep to pretending you're something you're not. "I'll think about it."

And you do.

Here is what it is to be a Maid: you are made. Grown in a society where you are told what you are and who to be, propaganda pushed from every angle. Reduced to a shade by a vengeful former friend with whatever feelings that were yours buried under the demands of the summoned dead. Game knowledge pumped into your mind accompanied by the reminders that you are meant to play a role and do what the game asks of you. All else is secondary. Even you. Your soul bound in circuitry with programming trying to guide your affections until you tore yourself apart. You'd betrayed friends and doomed timelines and watched thousands of copies of yourself get destroyed by a vengeful demon because you had to, and because so many forces beyond your control had set you on that path. So when you rose, transcendent, from a cracked disc of stone, you were done. No one else would tell you who to be. Especially not some human tradition fixated on hiding what you’ve worked so long to bring to the surface.

 The next time you pass through the common room, Calliope has taken it over with a sewing machine and newspaper patterns spread all over the floor. "Hello!" she says when she sees you, narrowly avoiding swallowing a pin. "Would you mind holding this flat for me?"

You hold two pieces of fabric steady while she guides them through the sewing machine. Several other brightly colored pieces have already been stitched together and piled up. "What are you making?"

"Jake and I are going as superheroes. I suppose we already are that, in a manner of speaking, but we're dressing as our characters from that comic we've made. If this silly hood will sew up right," she adds, as the sewing machine jams.

"Do you think they're better than you?" you ask as she wrestles with it.

She frowns, spitting out a pin onto the table. "What?"

"I don't understand why everyone is excited to pretend to be something else. Aren't you happy with being you?"

"Oh, I see where you're coming from." She pops open the top of the sewing machine and starts extricating a tangled mess of thread. "You know, I used to dress up all the time because I hated the way I looked. I wished I could be a troll, because I thought you were lovely, and I envied you the lives you led."

"You envied us?"

"I had a romanticized notion, to be sure, but anything was better than being chained to a wall." She yanks, and the thread snaps out. "I envied that you weren't alone."

"And you're not anymore."

"I'm not! And everyone has seen my face, and it no longer seems quite so monstrous. I'm not hiding it. That's not what this is all about. It's about... well, I guess it's almost about showing yourself off."

You glance at the sketch she's working from. "That neckline does look a little low."

"Oh, there's going to be a fabric insert, not that I have anything to flaunt. What I meant is, it's a chance to highlight something about yourself. What you like, what you care about. Something you created. It's not self-deprecation, it's self-expression." She flicks the machine on again. "Luckily in my case the skills are transferrable. Now, mind helping me with this last seam?"

You do, and she adds the component to the pile. It’s hard to tell how they’ll go together to form the outfit she’s sketched as a guide. It’s clear she’s put a lot of care into it, though. "I appreciate you trying to explain.”

"Happy to be of help. We're all learning about this world together." She smiles, an expression full of teeth, and you don’t know why she ever would’ve wanted to hide it.

 You never participated in the one day on Alternia when lowbloods went in disguise. It didn't seem worth the risk, and you had no desire to take your turn at bossing people around. You remember the atmosphere though, shot through with dread, people pretending to grasp at what they could never have. The wanting gave them away more than sloppy costuming. Those born into higher castes took it as their due.

The mood here is different. People mill around laughing and talking, running down the halls adjusting wigs or asking someone to zip them up. The doorbell rings over and over, and Jane's father has stationed himself there with a bowl of candy and an obligatory pair of disguise spectacles. Everyone is... happy. Even Sollux has emerged, dressed in what looks like formal wear and still using his husktop, which he's balanced atop a platter. "What are you doing?" you ask.

"I'm a web server," he says drily. "This is what happens when you don't volunteer any ideas."

"I thought you thought this was stupid."

"It is, but everyone else is doing it, and I got bored." He snickers. "You should see what KK got talked into. Bet it itches."

You take a look around, but you don't see Karkat. You do see Calliope in her finished outfit, beaming as Kanaya compliments her on her stitching.

"You're the odd one out, AA," Sollux says.

You roll your eyes and dash off.

 Jade is already in her lab coat costume. "Hey," she says when you approach. "How a-"

"I know it's last minute," you interrupt, "but can you find me a hat?"

"A hat?"

"The kind troll Indiana Jones wears." You shape the outline of its brim on your head. "A fedora, I think it's called."

"I don't think we have any in the house." She bites her lip and then snaps her fingers. "It's too late to go out and buy one. We'll borrow one for the night, but try not to damage it, ok?"

The hat appears in a flash of green, and you grab it out of the air. It'll sit awkwardly over your horns, but that's ok.

"So you've decided to do a costume after all, huh?"

"I used to do this one all the time." You have a jacket that'll work, and of course your whip is always on hand. "I misunderstood before. I thought it was about hiding yourself, but I get it now. You're expressing yourself even more than usual. It’s a day when you can put things in plain sight."

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” She reaches out and settles the hat evenly on your head, businesslike. “We’re going to see if anyone’s willing to give a bunch of teenagers free handouts. See you downstairs in five?”

“I’ll be there,” you say, and race upstairs.