#also yes swan can speak french because why not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therealvinelle · 3 years ago

Note

Ok I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I'm just now copying your Norwegian Bella AU into a text translator, and if you don't already have 50 people in your inbox demanding a translation then shame on ALL OF US because this is glorious! And while Google Translate does have a certain charm (it translated "piper hun ut" as "she beeps") I'm curious to see how you'd put it in English.

Troquantary is referring to this post. In which Bella doesn't speak English.

Fun fact, you're the only one who's gone into my inbox to request this. I was so sad, had the translation half-written and everything, but I was too proud to beg. So thank you, Troquantary, for popping this ask.

As for the dictionary fuckups, sounds about right. I made a few typos, too, that made Google Translate suffer even more. (Such as managing to mix up "henne" (her) and "hendene" (hands), resulting in Aro patting Bella instead of clapping his hands. Poor Google.)

Also, there are a few cultural references and language things that would be lost in the translation, in an attempt to keep them I included notes clarifying things.

Some things, like Aro and Carlisle's very old man way of speaking, are easier said than done to translate, you'll have to bear with me there.

Additional notes are that I added a few things to this version, many of them because translating is hard, but a few because while translating I thought "oh you know what would be much funnier-" and then wrote that.

Alright, without further ado:

When Renée left Charlie she did not go to Florida, she went to Oslo. And she went all in to make her daughter a true Norwegian, hiring Norwegian nannies and making sure never to speak English around the child. Since transatlantic flights are expensive, little Bella Swan rarely got to visit her father, and as such she never did learn what should have been her native language.

She quickly forgot what English she did have in favor of Norwegian, with the exception of words like “Yes”, “No”, and “I’m Bella”.

The few trips she took to visit her father were all the more awkward than in canon since she couldn’t play with the Black kids. Let not the blame fall upon Charlie: he took Norwegian classes and speaks conversational Norwegian. He can’t speak to Renée, because her Norwenglish is incomprehensible even to Norwegians, but he can communicate with Bella.

Not that he’s had a lot of chances to do so.

Bella makes it to seventeen years old, she’s in second grade at Handels* and is a major outsider among the preps there, and then Renée marries a handsome skier**. Together they shall travel the continent all winter to participate in as many skiing races as they can, and in the summer they’ll take gigs at Hurtigruta to see the coast.

*“Handels” is the nickname for an Oslo high school infamous for its pupils being rich and beautiful blonds who are going to be CEOs when they grow up.

**Skiing as a sport is huge in Norway

***Hurtigruta is a famous ferry that travels across the Norwegian West coast

Bella, who sucks at skiing and is too young to work at Hurtigruten, takes the hint.

With dread in her stomach and dictionary in hand she goes to her father in America.

Where she doesn’t speak the language.

Faen.

Charlie gives her a car, and I wish this meta was set in the present because I could have joked about electric cars and the automat only driver’s license*, but Twilight is set in 2005 so I can’t. The car part proceeds without drama.

*An increasing number of Norwegian youth take the driver’s license for automatic cars only, and we’re the country in the world with the highest percentage of electric car purchases.

School is worse than in canon, because she is now a thousand times more sensational than if she was merely the new student. She is from another country! All of Forks keels over with excitement.

To make matters even worse, our girl doesn’t understand a word of what people are saying.

She is too awkward to let them know she doesn’t know English. It’d become a thing, and they might think she’s dumb. To be fair, it’s not good that she’s been through primary, secondary, and now a year and a half of high school and still sucks at English.

So she nods, smiles, mumbles “Hi, I’m Bella” to the new faces, and blushes heavily when anybody says anything.

People assume she’s shy. That’s a bit boring, but oh well.

She has her biology class with the redhead hottie she noticed during lunch. She watched him and his family, they were fascinatingly pretty, but she doesn’t know anything more about them. Sure would have been great if she could have asked the tiny girl (was it Jess?) about them.

Biology proceeds as in canon - Edward badly wants to eat the delicious girl, but fortunately doesn’t.

She runs into him in the office when he tries to switch to another biology lesson, but she has no idea what he’s saying so she only has the suspicion that this somehow concerns her. Which is still uncomfortable, but Bella is probably the problem here. The hottie surely can’t be.

He’s missing from school for a week, Bella finds that weird.

He returns, and to her great horror he starts talking to her.

“Hello”, he says.

Bella dies inside. He’s too handsome!

"I'm Edward Cullen," he continues, and ok, she got that. The hottie is called Edward, that’s good to know. She’s not sure she caught that last name, though, Köln?

He says something else, it’s gibberish to Bella even though she’s concentrating, and at the end there he says “Bella Swan”.

She gulps.

"I'm Bella Swan," she confirms and nods. That should be correct. God, she hopes it’s correct.

He smiles a crooked, boyish smile. She’s awed. She didn’t think it was possible to be so beautiful.

He says something else.

Bella didn’t catch it.

She blushes even harder, she hasn’t been more embarrassed in her life. Here he is, the most handsome guy in all the world, and she has nothing to say to him. Literally, they don’t speak the same language.

She should tell him.

It’s one thing to chicken out of telling the town she doesn’t speak English, but there’s something different about Edward Cullen. He deserves the truth.

But...

He’s the most beautiful person she has seen in her life. He is American, too, so the odds of him knowing Norwegian are microscopical. If he finds out she doesn’t understand a word he says he’ll stop talking to her, and selfish as she is she doesn’t want that.

So with a slightly guilty conscience (but not enough to fess up) she contributes to the conversation with enough words and smiles to pull through. "Yes", "No", "Thank you", and "That's nice".

He is surprised by several of these answers, but instead of giving her odd looks and losing interest he grows more invested in the conversation.

Class ends.

The next day the near accident happens, and he saves her. She is stunned - dear god, did he just pick up a whole car? After teleporting across the parking lot..?

Soon she’s in the ER, and more than a little bit stressed about that fact since she knows the Americans have a terrible healthcare system.

She hopes Charlie has an insurance.

An insanely beautiful man walks into the ER, and Bella is shocked. He is just as handsome as Edward and Edward’s lunch friends!

He introduces himself as Carlisle Cullen, and Bella can only assume this is someone’s older brother. Possibly related to the blonde girl.

He smiles at her, says something, and she answers, "I'm Bella Swan."

He frowns.

That must have been the wrong answer, then.

His hands return to investigating her scalp, and to her great surprise he switches to perfect Norwegian, "kjenner De* noe ubehag når jeg holder her?" Do you feel any discomfort when I touch here?

*De is the Norwegian polite pronoun for “you”. Du = thou = the French tu, and De = you = the French vous. These polite pronouns went out of use in the 1980’s, save for when addressing royal persons, and would be considered antiquated in 2005.

He hurries to add, "Norsk lærte jeg i... fjor sommer. Det var et nettkurs." I learned Norwegian… last year. Online class.

"Hvilket da?" Which one? Bella asks, because Charlie needs to hear about this. The doctor has beautiful, if slightly outdated, pronunciation.

The doctor’s smile turns uncertain. She gets the feeling there’s something he doesn’t want to say. "Husker ikke," I don’t remember, sier han etter en litt vel lang pause.

That’s a shame. And weird.

"De hadde hellet med Dem i dag, som ikke ble truffet av den bilen." You were lucky today, not getting hit by that car. he then says, noticeably changing the subject.

"Det var ikke hell, det var Edward," It wasn’t luck, it was Edward, she replies sharply.

The doctor definitely looks uncomfortable.

She continues, "Han krysset skolegården på et blunk, og plukket opp hele bilen. Jeg så det," He crossed the schoolyard in a moment, and picked up the whole car. I saw it,

The doctor laughs. "Om han kunne det hadde nok gymkarakteren hans vært meget bedre. Nei, frøken Swan*, jeg beklager å si at det høres ut som at De er litt omtåket. Det er helt normalt ved hjernerystelse." If he could do that, his PE grade would be a lot better. No, Miss Swan, I’m sorry to say you seem confused. That’s normal with concussions.

*Addressing a young woman as “frøken” is even more outdated than using polite pronouns.

Why does Bella get the feeling he’s lying?

She’s discharged.

We’ll jump ahead to her trip to La Push - that trip uneventful, since Jacob knows she doesn’t speak English. They stick their hands in their pockets and stare at the sea.

The next day she’s shanghaied to Port Angeles, because apparently she said “Yes” at the wrong time when talking to Jessica (Turns out Jess’s name was Jessica!) and accidentally said yes to a day trip to Port Angeles.

Like in canon she wanders away from the others, and as in canon she is nearly gang raped. And again as in canon she is saved at the last moment by Edward.

He buys her dinner, and she can’t believe her own luck- and misfortune. A date with the most handsome guy on the planet (hence the luck) and she can’t say a word to him (hence the misfortune)!

He says things to her, lends her his jacket, and really this is it for Bella, she’s peaked, life can’t get better than this.

(That’s a lie, it would be better if she spoke English.)

He’s so amazing.

She’s gotten pretty good at navigating conversations with him, so she nods and aha’s her way through.

In his car on the way home the tone takes a more serious turn.

He asks her about something, and it’s a serious question, that much she’s gathered. She answers in the confirmative.

He is silent.

Did she say anything wrong?

(Edward, on his end, just asked if she knows what he is. She said yes, so calmly, not even a trace of fear in her.)

A few days later he takes her out on a walk in the woods.

He shows her a meadow in the woods, and when he steps into it he lights up in the sunlight.

Bella is in shock.

She knew there was something different about him, but- holy cow. This guy isn’t human.

Is she dating a god?

She stumbles into the clearing after him, and they spend a day together where he says things, and she can barely hear any of it (nevermind understand it) because she’s so distracted by how pretty he is.

The next day he takes her to a house in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t want to guess that this can be where he lives. Surely gods don’t live in houses?

He shows her inside the house, and introduces her for Dr. Cullen and a lady with a name she doesn’t catch.

Bit weird that these two are acting like a couple of parents, they’re far too young and divine for that.

Edward shows her around in an old-fashioned office, and she doesn’t know what to make of i when she sees a painting of Carlisle. Edward launches into a long story when he sees her watching it, unfortunately she doesn’t catch any dates or artist names. At one point she heard the word “suicide”, though, and that’s not good.

She doesn’t get much out of the story.

The baseball game doesn’t happen because Bella didn’t pick up on what Edward wanted and didn’t realize she was being invited to a thing. They spend the afternoon watching a movie instead.

The relationship continues, impeded slightly by communication problems, but she’s mostly able to cover those up.

Until her birthday comes around.

She gets a papercut.

Jasper lunges at her. Edward throws her into a glass table, and then everyone is leaving.

Carlisle is kind enough to switch to Norwegian when he’s stitching up her arm, perhaps remembering the last time she was his patient. "Jasper har ikke vært på dietten vår så veldig lenge." Jasper hasn’t been on our diet for very long.

"Diett?"she asks. She’s never seen Edward eat anything. She wasn’t clear on what the Cullens ate, honestly she thought they were above such things. She was thinking maybe photosynthesis. The knowledge that they apparently eat food astounds her, but diets?

"Dyreblod istedenfor menneskeblod," Animal blood in stead of human blood, Carlisle clarifies.

Whachasay?

Carlisle gives a slight smile. “Jaspers liv som vampyr fikk en brutal start." Jasper’s life as a vampire got off to a brutal start.

...

Vampire?!

Bella’s missed something here.

Oh dear lord, oh fy faen, she has missed something.

“Åja”, uh huh, is all she can say, and suddenly she’s very aware of the fact that she’s sitting there with a bleeding arm.

And Carlisle.

Who is a vampire.

Over the course of the following conversation Bella makes a host of discoveries.

Edward has been a vampire this whole time, and he’s a telepathic vampire. Whether Bella should be a vampire too or not has been a matter of hot debate, but due to religious reasons Edward doesn’t want that.

Carlisle also brings up how Edward died of the Spanish flu.

"Jeg var under den oppfatning at Edward fortalte deg bakhistorien min?" I was under the impression Edward told you my back story? Carlisle asks at one point, and Bella just has to ask very nicely if he’d be so kind as to repeat it.

Turns out the guy is nearly four hundred years old.

Jaha.

Jahahaha jaa ha.

That’s… a lot.

She wanders out of the house in shock, and hardly notices Edward’s strange behavior over the next couple of days.

One day he picks her up at school, and takes her behind the house.

That works out.

He’s a vampire, but he never hurt her. He is endlessly beautiful, perhaps easier to love now that she knows he’s not a god. He’s her Edward, and that’s suddenly easier now that she knows.

They can still be together.

But now that she knows this about him, it’s about time he knows something about her as well.

It’s time to finally be honest with him.

So when he opens his mouth, she opens her mouth as well, but she doesn’t get any further than to “Edward-” before he launches into a monologue.

She’ll have to wait until he’s done before saying her piece. It’s a bit embarrassing, but it doesn’t seem like he intends to stop talking anyway.

And what he’s saying seems to be serious, so it’s probably best to let him finish.

Edward concludes his monologue by kissing her forehead. Then he disappears.

Where did he go?

A big unsure, Bella goes back to the house. She’ll just have to wait until he gets back.

She doesn’t know what to think when Charlie returns from work and tells her the Cullens have all left.

Oh, god.

Edward must have found out she doesn’t speak English.

She made a mockery of him.

He has every right to leave.

Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to live with.

Bella sinks into a depression.

The hallucinations begin, as in canon, though Hallusinward speaks Norwegian. Thank god for small mercies.

The friendship with Jacob (dictionary in hand) blooms, as someone has to help her see those hallucinations.

The cliff diving happens, and Alice shows up. Bella’s not sure what this is about, but she has gotten good enough at English to know that something bad happened, and Alice wants them to do something.

She’s a bit surprised to find herself on a plane to Italy, though.

Alice tells her to “Run to Edward” and ok, she got that, actually.

So she saves Edward.

After that she’s taken into the sewer, which turns out to house dozens of vampires.

Bella, Edward, and Alice are received in some kind of hall, where an unusual vampire has quite a bit to say. She understands some of what he’s saying, at least the part about “la tua cantante”. She knows a bit about Italian, see, so she knows that he’s talking about a song now.

She wishes she knew the context.

At one point he takes her hand, and appears fascinated by it. She wonders if he’s a palmreader. Not very vampirey, but what does she know.

He asks her a question.

"Yes," she says.

Saying yes has gotten her this far, after all.

But when he lights up and claps his hands together, and Edward and Alice stare at her in shock and betrayal, she knows she must have said the wrong thing.

The two are dismissed from the room before Bella can do or say anything, she’s just listening to Edward make a racket outside in the hallway.

Not good.

The unusual vampire brings her further down in his sewer palace to a basement, and she is given comfortable clothes to wear.

This is getting terrifying.

The vampire leans towards her - and she chickens out.

"Jeg snakker ikke engelsk!" she squeaks. "Non habla ingles!" I don’t speak English.

Han stanser, og ser forvirret ut. "Que- Hva behager*?" I beg your pardon? spør han etter et øyeblikk.

*A very formal, and slightly outdated (you can use it, but people will think you’re putting on airs. And they will be right) way of saying “excuse me?”

Sobbing, Bella tells him the whole story, from how she didn’t want to be the weird kid in school to how she’s now somehow in Italy without knowing why nor what she just agreed to.

When she’s done the vampire starts laughing.

"Dette forklarer jo en hel del," This explains quite a bit, ler han. "Men, kjære Bella, jeg er redd det ikke endrer noe." But, my dear Bella, I’m afraid it changes nothing.

He tells her that she has agreed to serve him and his army of undead warriors into eternity.

Well fuck.

"Du skal få slippe det, når du ikke visste hva du samtykket til - men skjebnen din forblir den samme. Loven er loven." You’re released from that promise, as you didn’t know what you agreed to - but your fate remains the same. The law is the law.

After a moment of silence, during which she looks terrified, he hurries to add, "Vi har en lov. Du må bli en av oss." We have a law. You must become one of us.

A law that Bella Swan has to become a vampire?

People are finally speaking Norwegian, and Bella is still lost. And it’s too embarrassing to keep pestering this poor, polite man with questions.

So she nods.

He gives her a glittering smile, and bites her.

When she wakes, Aro offers her an English course. A language course that, naturally, leads to her staying in Volterra. Why not learn a few more languages while we’re at it, dearest Bella?

Some time later Edward breaks into Volterra to save his Rapunzel, only to barely recognize her now that she’s a vampire who says things. Lots of things, she talks all the time now. WHAT DID ARO DO TO HER.

Too mortified to admit that she never spoke English, Bella claims she’s been brainwashed.

Aro is having too much fun to correct her, and the whole sad affair sets off a regrettable flood of rumors.

#troquantary #norwegian things #bella swan #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #evighetens kyss #evighetens kyss meta #evighetens kyss renessanse

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captain-emmajones · 4 years ago

Text

everything is icy and blue (you would be here too)

Dearest @klynn-stormz, Merry Christmas! It has been so lovely to get to know you during this past month. I hope you’ll enjoy this gift I wrote for you, and here’s to hoping we’ll get to know each other more during this new year!

A big thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this event, to @therealstartraveller776 for being the loveliest beta and to @carpedzem for screaming at me -- always.

Summary: Canon divergence in which season 3B happens during Christmas time. Set after 3x16 and before 3x17 (let’s pretend more time passed between Neal’s death and Hook’s curse).

When Hook has to adjust to Storybrooke’s Christmas traditions and learns about mistletoe, he starts carrying it around with him, all the time -- just in case Emma decides to join in the fun that was promised and kiss him. Except it doesn’t exactly go according to his plans.

6OOO words - Fluff - Angst - Ao3

The sun is long gone when Hook and Henry finally sail back home. The stars and the moon have invaded the night sky, twinkling peacefully above their heads.

Hook exhales a sigh of contentment, twirls of white smoke dancing out of his lips.

“Quite chilly, isn’t it, lad?”

Henry stands before him, spyglass firmly pressed against his right eye. It seems to take him a few seconds to register that Hook has been talking to him.

“What?...No! I’m not even cold!”

A quiet laughter jolts out of Hook’s mouth. Of course he isn’t cold. The lad has been looking mesmerized ever since they left port. It is a miracle he still knows his name.

A mechanical swing of the wheel, cold fingers against cold metal -- and not warm wood, not like the Jolly -- and the small boat Hook has ‘burrowed’ slides gracefully into port.

“Almost there, lad.”

If Henry hears him speak, nothing in his demeanor gives it away. Hook’s heart smiles as something warm swells inside his chest.

The sailor has to admit that Storybrooke’s docks in this late winter afternoon have proven to be a sight for sore eyes. They seem forever entrapped in shimmering clouds of misty darkness, the pavement glistening under unusually bright street lights.

Hook frowns.

“Tell me something lad, why are those street lights this colorful?”

His question causes Henry to finally give up on the spyglass. He clicks it shut, and abandons the front of the boat to reach him.

“Christmas lights. Why do you ask?”

Although Hook has very little idea what this Christmas thing is, he gathers from Henry’s matter-of-fact tone that it is on the list of things he shouldn’t be talking about with the boy if he doesn’t want Emma to kill him.

“Oh, just like that, lad. My vision must not be what it used to, because I couldn’t make them out properly.”

Emma’s cheeks are flushed and her nose stained with red when Hook and Henry finally reach her. Her slim body appears tense under the quivering lights of the docks, and there is not an inch of her skin showing.

“Everything alright?” she asks, voice hoarse from the cold.

Her head is buried beneath what she calls “a beanie”. It is also red, and it is positively the most wonderful vision Hook’s had the pleasure of gazing at in weeks.

“I think so, Swan. The lad is quite fond of the sea. Isn’t that right, Henry?”

Henry is polite enough to look up from the video game he was already engrossed in to nod vigorously.

“Yeah, it was so much fun. Thank you for taking me, Killian.” Henry dedicates a smile to Hook, to which the pirate answers back: “T’was my pleasure, lad.”

The boy then shifts his attention to his mother. “Can I go wait in the car?” he asks.

Hook watches as Emma pretends to think, for one minute -- eyes rolling and underlip tucked between her teeth -- before she drops the car keys into his hand.

“Thanks, Mom. Bye, Killian!” Four words and the boy disappears as a gust of cold wind curls around the two warm bodies still outside.

Emma scoffs a little as her eyes linger on her son settling himself comfortably in the yellow bug parked a few feet away and raises her eyes to gaze at Hook.

The immediate effect it has on his heart rate is truly ridiculous, and Hook cannot hold back his smile.

“Thank you for taking him,” she mutters quickly, scrunching her nose -- and her words seem to burn her lips.

Hook sees himself lean into her space, smirking.

“Why, you’re most welcome, Swan.”

He watches as her eyes widen and scrutinize him before a slow, timid smile curls up her lips.

Behind her back, the waves crash tenderly against the harbour, claiming it as home.

It’s always a sight for sore eyes, Emma Swan smiling at him, and Hook counts his blessings.

“Oh, by the way, tell me something, Swan,” and as he speaks he leans into her space even more, bending forward as if Henry might hear them.

Emma’s eyes grow wider, but she does not back away.

It isn’t necessary, of course, and it isn��t like Henry is paying any attention to two of them anyway but neither Hook nor Emma seem willing to take that into account.

“Yeah?”

Her breathy tone and bright eyes cause Hook’s heart to leap inside his chest. As he squeezes his belt between his fingers to gain some composure, Hook gathers enough courage to incline his body towards hers even more, lips dangerously close to Emma’s face.

“The lad mentioned a Christmas celebration, and I’m afraid I haven’t been updated on this subject.”

Hook catches a whiff of Emma’s fragrance as he backs away to gaze into her eyes, cinnamon and vanilla invading his lungs, and he has the pleasure of seeing her face crease into a wider smile.

“Christmas, uh? Don’t worry, I’ll make you flashcards.”

“I don't know what that is but sure.”

By the time he finishes his sentence, Emma’s grin is dazzling and Hook begins considering freezing this moment forever in time and possibly angling his face just right so that he might meet her lips, perhaps, just perhaps --

“It’s a holiday from our world. It’s supposed to be religious, but for most people it’s mostly an occasion to exchange gifts and kiss under the mistletoe--”

“-- kiss under the what?”

And Hook sees the bubble burst, just like that. A veil falls over her gaze and her smile dies away in a frown.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Even as she talks, her legs take a step backward, and Hook can only watch as this invisible tether between them seems to stretch and stretch.

He wonders if she feels it too, this suffocating feeling as she pulls away. The answer is cruel: surely not, or she wouldn’t be pulling that way.

“I see. Well, goodnight, Swan.”

Although she’s just begun walking away, Hook knows Emma is long gone when she whispers back: “‘Night, Hook.”

Since Emma doesn’t seem willing to share anything with him these days, Hook settles his mind on learning more about this world’s tradition on his own -- which ends up being quite easy, as he fumbles through Storybrooke’s library.

The Wicked Witch hasn’t shown up in two weeks now — since Neal died — which allows Hook to take some liberties with his time schedule.

“Do you need any help?”

Hook startles and turns around to face two, big blue eyes.

“Belle,” he says, but it sounds a lot like a reproach. Belle’s clearly understood it because she is frowning now.

“I saw you all alone with your books in the Christmas section and I figured you might need help to understand this world’s traditions,” she explains but any warmth has definitely escaped her tone.

Guilt immediately circles Hook’s throat, and he is gentler when he says: “No, I’m fine lass but... thank you for offering.”

Belle simply nods as a faint smile flickers across her face. And Hook thinks guilt is quite a vile thing because it pushes him to give up on the book in his hand Christmas Traditions to Brighten your Holidays-- silly, silly title -- and press his palm across the brunette’s shoulder.

“Actually, you might be able to enlighten me on something…”

A wink, and the right corner of Belle’s lip raises slightly.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Swan mentioned a kissing tradition that involved toes of some sort?”

She’s frowning now, and it cannot possibly be good.

“What?” Her hands meet her hips as she furrows her brows harder. “Oh you mean mistletoe!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.”

Hook watches as Belle’s grin becomes impish. “I’m not sure Emma would like me telling you this,” she begins, coy.

“Which is exactly why I want you to tell me.”

Belle shrugs, glances down for a bit. “Well, I guess there’s no harm…”

“So you mean to tell me if this plant hangs over two people, they have to kiss?”

Hook’s startled blue eyes are quite a comic sight, Belle must confess. Surprised glimmers glisten amidst tender blue; he looks younger.

“Yes, that's what I mean.”

But Belle knows Hook’s cheerful smile is merely a facade. A few minutes ago, he seemed so...lonely, when she entered the library, nose buried in his book, and Belle figures it isn’t quite fair that he ends up having to learn it all -- on his own.

No one deserves to be left alone. Especially not during the holidays.

“And what does it look like?”

Belle gives a little chuckle. “Why? You want to use it?”

Hook’s answer comes out as a matter of fact. “Aye.”

And he looks so boyish, with this Christmas book in his hand and this hope hovering his eyes that Belle cannot help but smile frankly.

“I’m not sure Emma will fall for that.”

“Never try never know, lass.”

Belle sighs, scanning the shelves of books. Her eyes settle on one that she flips through rapidly.

“There,” she points with her finger, “this plant with the green leaves and red berries? It’s mistletoe.”

Hook peers above her shoulder. “Thank you, lady Belle.”

In a wink, the pirate has disappeared out of the library and Belle scoffs— amused, in spite of herself. He won’t be stopped, will he?

Hook and Henry are playing dice at Granny’s when he figures he might as well just ask the boy for more information.

“I’ve got a question, mate,” he begins, uncertain as to how to address the subject without sounding suspicious to those teenage ears.

Thankfully, Henry’s little concerned about Hook as he shoves French fries into his mouth.

“Yeah?”

Hook tries not to look horrified as one French fry tries to escape and Henry tucks it in expertly with one greasy finger.

“Where do you think I could find mistletoe in this town?”

That does make Henry stop for one tiny second, eyes open wide and eyebrows raised.

“Mistletoe? Why?”

Hook clears his throat, looks down at his fingers stretched on the table and lies: “Mary Margaret sent me.”

From the look on Henry’s face, he isn’t convinced. Smart boy.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve been living in this town very long. You should ask my mom about it.”

Hook frowns. “Nah, let’s not bother her with this when she’s already busy with her...how does she say it…?”

Henry’s eyebrows reach unprecedented height. “...Case?”

“Aye. That.” Why would Swan bother with cases, that Hook doesn’t bloody know -- but it’s part of the things he doesn’t question.

If there’s one thing Hook’s learnt over the years, it is that if one wants something badly enough, it always ends up in one’s lap. However, the tricky thing is it rarely lands softly or in an expected way.

As Emma and he investigate the west side of the forest looking for the Wicked Witch, he quite literally stumbles onto mistletoe.

As things turn out, it is quite a painful venture and it involves gazing for a bit too long at Emma who is a little far behind and not long enough at the vicious root right under his feet -- not that Hook truly thinks he is to blame -- and plummeting to the floor, head first, leading up to Emma falling on top of him in a colorful “HOOK”.

Hook groans at the impact but he isn’t about to complain -- Emma falling on top of him might be the only way she’ll fall for him these days.

Emma, on the other hand, isn’t so pleased.

“What the hell? Can’t you look where you’re going?” she hisses as fiery green eyes pierce through his soul from under golden strands of hair.

“I didn’t bloody mean to do that!”

Hook wishes he didn’t sound like a ten-year-old boy, but that’s what it’s come to these days with Emma.

Emma grunts some more before rolling onto her side and kneeling to spring to her feet.

“You’re impossible”, she mumbles, and it sounds a lot like she might just kill him as she taps snow off her knees. “Tripping in the snow as if the Wicked Witch couldn’t kill us both on sight…”

Hook keeps his lips resolutely closed. When Swan starts rambling about him, he knows better than to interfere and possibly worsen the situation.

She’s still dusting snow off her jeans when suddenly, she stops. And stares at him.

Hook’s toes curl in his boots. “What?”

Emma scowls and he thinks she’s hesitating. “You’ve got...” she starts and then seems to catch herself up and stops.

Hook is about to ask what he’s got, but then Emma’s walking towards him, her hand raised up, and before he knows it her fingers have landed into his hair.

“Don’t move…” she whispers. Hook stands very still, feeling a blush creep up his skin, eyes lowering slowly not to stare.

From his height, he is able to see the slight freckles dusted over her small nose, and her pink lips and, -- perhaps he ought to look at the ground.

Emma’s face remains blank as she rummages through his hair, gentle fingers sieving through it, but a hint of red does stain her cheeks. When she retreats, the glimmer of a smile lingers on her lips.

“You had mistletoe in your hair,” she finally explains, with that quiet, abashed tone that’s only too rare.

Hook swallows down, heart drumming. “Thank you for the assistance, Swan.”

But then she’s quick to avert her gaze and Hook knows the spell has been broken as the small sprig of mistletoe lands onto the snow-coated ground in a faint whisper,

“Come on, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Hook lets her stride forward, making sure she isn’t looking at him before stooping down and picking up the small plant to slide it into his coat. He promises himself to come back for more. We’re not about to waist treasures, now, are we...

Hook is a subtle man, but he is aware that he cannot rightly expect Granny to be okay with him sticking mistletoe onto the window above Emma’s booth without asking first.

So he does.

“Why isn’t there mistletoe here? Isn’t it a Christmas tradition?” He begins, the picture of innocence, as he twirls a spoon into his cup of tea.

Granny sees right through him. “Very cute of you to be concerned about our traditions, Hook,” she mumbles, piling up plates onto a drying rack.

He nods, smiles even. “Fortunate are we that I’ve already stocked up on it.”

Granny’s eyes pierce through his soul. “How fortunate indeed.”

She lets him, of course. Not that Hook had any doubt.

When Emma strolls down the B&B’s stairs to go claim her daily hot cocoa and bear claw, Henry still caught up in a teenage coma, she does think Hook looks especially weird -- staring at her with a glint in his eyes that she can only coin as mischief.

“What are you up to?” she mumbles on sliding into her booth.

Hook says nothing but leaves his spot next to Granny at the bar to come and sit down in front of her. Emma doesn’t have it in herself to complain -- it’s too early for that and it’s not like it would make him go away anyway.

“Nothing, Swan. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing towards the window pane.

Emma tilts her face to gaze through the window. She distinguishes a sky heavy with grey clouds of snow and looks back at him with a puzzled frown in her eyes. He is being suspicious. She squints.

“Is that grey sky the reason you’re so cheery?” she asks, and then dives into the hot cocoa Granny just dropped in front of her.

At least, hot cocoa is still sweet and perfect and doesn’t disappoint her.

“Can you blame me for being happy to see you?”

Emma nearly chokes on her beverage but she catches herself soon enough. Instead, she furrows her brows and proceeds to ignore as well as she can the stubborn leap of her heart.

“You’re never that happy to see me,” she retorts, smothering a smile, and then drinks up another mouthful of hot cocoa.

Why is she encouraging him?

“Allow me to disagree, Swan. Plus, look up: there is a wonderful opportunity to make me happier.”

“Why would I want to make you hap-?” she begins, but then she discovers what he’s pointed at with his hook and the end of her sentence vanishes from her mind.

It takes a lot of willpower not to burst into laughter or stab him in the face with her little spoon -- which one she hasn’t made up her mind on just yet -- and instead plaster the blankest expression she can conjure on her face....

...which is in that case a silly, silly smile.

“You’re really desperate if you think mistletoe is what it’s going to take for me to kiss you,” she retorts, and she really hopes the heat she feels blooming on her face isn’t showing up.

From the look on Hook’s face, however, it is definitely showing. Emma wants to rip that stupid, smug smirk off his face.

“Can you blame me for trying?”

This time she cannot hold back the chuckle that’s bubbling inside her throat as she shakes her head. Idiot. Her cheeks hurt.

“No, of course not, if you don’t expect to succeed.”

And he smiles that smile, that “that’s when the fun begins” smile and stands up.

“We’ll see to that, Swan.”

And when Granny asks her “So, mistletoe, uh?” Emma figures the grin spreading across her face isn’t her best poker face and she pretends to be exceptionally thirsty for hot cocoa -- mostly to distract Granny’s from the flush on her cheeks.

Hook is meticulous in his endeavours, and has the sense of details, Emma will give him that.

She slowly finds out that the whole town suddenly is brimming with mistletoe. Mistletoe in the B&B’s corridor, mistletoe in the laundromat room, mistletoe in the library, mistletoe everywhere.

Mistletoe even in the leather satchel Hook carries around everywhere with him. “You never know when the occasion might be right, Swan. You have to be prepared.”

Although she hates him for it, she does not hate him nearly as much as she hates herself for not hating it completely.

After all, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For instance, when Mary Margaret and David notice it above their head at Granny’s, they smile and meet halfway in a kiss. The other day, Granny’s lips also found Ruby’s forehead and left a sonorous smack there -- a rare display of affection between the two women -- and Ruby then proceeded to stain Emma’s left cheek with a lovely burgundy color.

No one knows Hook is the one hanging them there -- except for Granny -- and Emma wishes she would find it more ridiculous. (Even a little bit, that’ll do to make her feel better about herself.)

They are only a few days from Christmas Eve when, after another endless afternoon spent patrolling, Mary Margaret starts musing over the Christmas spirit in the sheriff station.

“I just love Christmas and I am so glad we are spending it together, this year -- Wicked Witch or not.”

Mary Margaret’s right hand brushes over her round belly while the other rests above David’s shoulder.

Emma sits in a corner; exhaustion is weighing down her limbs, coloring her world blue. The snow seems to have sunk into her skin, crystalizing over her muscles.

She can hardly share their enthusiasm. With the Wicked Witch on the run, she’s had little time to think about the holidays -- if not for mistletoe because of a certain someone -- and what it means to spend Christmas with her parents and her son. Henry still hasn’t recovered his memories and all she can think about is avenging Neal’s death and the life she gave up on, back in New York.

“Should we invite Regina?” Emma asks in a breath. This all starting to sound a lot like a complicated masquerade.

She stares at the bright, yellow neon lights above her head. She’s stared at them so many, lonely times, but now their sight is almost comforting... and then, slowly, slowly, flutters her eyes shut…

It would all be so simple, if they went back to New York. No more villains, no more happy endings to bring, no more sacrifices to make -- just Emma, a mother, and her son in a normal, quiet life. It was enough. She would be enough.

Silence. Emma cannot see her parents’ faces but she thinks she guesses quite well their expression anyway.

And then her mother’s voice, a bit blurry, as if erupting from another reality: “I mean, yes, we probably should or she’ll be alone for Christmas Eve. We’ll just have to tell Henry this family is really close to the mayor.”

“I still don’t know why you guys celebrate Christmas. It’s not even from your world,” Emma mumbles and yawns.

She is tired, so very tired. And celebrating Christmas always did feel like staring at an open wound that will not heal.

“Then we should also invite Belle…”

Emma hears her mother sigh. “In that case, maybe we should just all gather at Granny’s.”

Emma opens her eyes. The bright neon lights above her head are no longer soothing; they glare and burn. There will be no happy ending for the Savior.

“That makes sense,” she whispers and stands up before she can sink into another lethargy

Emma rubs her eyes and stretches her sore muscles.

“I gotta pick up Henry. Hook and he went sailing this afternoon,” she says as she slips one arm back into her jacket and another yawn quivers out of her.

“You should tell Hook, Emma,” adds her mother while Emma sieves impatient fingers through her hair.

Emma stops in her steps, arches one eyebrow. There is still so much exhaustion clinging to her bones and clouding her mind. “Why should I be the one telling him?”

Emma’s mother isn’t impressed by her petulant tone. “Because you’ll see him tonight, Emma.”

Emma winces. “Right.”

Christmas always sucked for Emma. She doesn’t know why this year should be any different.

Emma nearly hates Hook on sight when she sees him reach the B&B alongside Henry, his arm swang around his shoulder and this stupid gust of wind playing with his thick, black hair. She rubs her hands together to warm them up. At least the cold breeze is enough to sharpen her senses and wake her up.

It does warm her heart, to see Henry and he get along just fine, not that she’d admit it under torture or something.

Henry greets her with a hug and Hook with a tilt of his face and an intolerable smile. As they enter the B&B together in silence, warmth curls around their bodies, hugging them tightly, and Emma unzips her jacket on the way up the stairs.

“Go take a shower, Henry. I’ll be here in a sec,” she tells her son, palms on his shoulders to guide him inside their room.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Hook peer at her but she ignores him. “‘kay, Mom.”

The door bangs close behind her back and Emma shifts to face Hook staring at her with his insufferable blue eyes and a quiet smile and that silly, silly mistletoe hanging between them -- teasing her, it seems.

Smells of food and the faint rustle of conversations surround them as they stand in the corridor -- as if isolated in a liminal space.

Emma blinks, breathes in, inhaling some courage, and exhales: “We’re going to celebrate Christmas all together at Granny’s.”

She can tell he isn’t following because he looks taken aback for a moment and she hates seeing him like this -- when the mask cracks and light spills in and illuminates this earnest look on his face. It’s really hard then to convince herself that she does not care -- not at all, not one bit.

“Are you inviting me, Swan?” he asks, and Emma knows he means to sound impish but something else is rearing its head behind the sly smile and Emma feels a weird pang, down in her stomach.

“I’m not inviting you,” she retorts but she doesn’t have it in herself to keep her armor on tonight and she feels herself smile a sluggish smile. “Everyone is invited.”

He’s tilting his head then, in that manner that has a terrible effect on Emma’s heartbeat, and slowly bends down towards her -- his fragrance filling her lungs.

Emma thinks then that her eyelids are definitely far too heavy, that she should sleep, and she watches herself lean into him.

“So,” she begins again, voice hoarse and it isn’t quite because of the cold, “are you coming or not?”

But then, somehow, something seems to shatter between them and Hook takes a step back. Emma’s stomach gives another lurch and she has to fight the instinctive spring of her hand towards his arm.

“I’m sorry, Swan, but I don’t think I’ll be able to attend.”

“Why?” The word comes out of her mouth before she can think about it.

From the colored windows, Emma can make out the sun setting behind Hook’s back -- purple and pink clouds softly floating away -- and that sadness everywhere -- on his face, in her open palms with nothing to hold, in that distance between them.

Emma clenches her jaw as she watches him, as she watches him pulling away from her.

“I don’t think it is my place to be,” he simply answers.

Emma’s stomach twists.

This same urge to touch him burns her fingertips, owls that she should take a step forward. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand why he won’t, why she feels that --

Instead she remains very firm on her legs and smiles a faint smile and says: “I understand. Just know that if you want to drop by, you’re welcome to.”

A grin flickers across his face, but the glimmer dies before it reaches its eyes. “I appreciate that, Swan.”

And then she says: “Goodnight, Hook.”

And feels something bitter tug, tug, inside of her when he bows his head and disappears without a word.

As Emma expected, this Christmas Eve dinner in Storybrooke is...something.

Granny’s diner is bursting with people and clatters of heels and a silly, silly jingle bell rattles the walls. For the occasion, everyone brought a dish of their own while Granny arranged the bar to turn it into some kind of buffet where the guests get to pick and choose what they want to eat.

Emma stands on the side, an empty glass of champagne clasped between her fingers, as she watches her son queue near the buffet.

Emma isn’t hungry. In fact, it feels like her stomach is full to the brim with heavy bricks and she cannot swallow anything else down.

As her gaze wanders and lingers on the Christmas tree, near the stairs, Emma isn’t so sure she wants to be here at all.

She wants to blame the Wicked Witch for her lack of enthusiasm, but the truth is this scene of profusion and happiness is quite painful to watch.

There are so many people, and so much noise, and Emma feels like the light garlands are mere colorful spots dancing before her eyes, twirling and twirling, and they will not stop and she wishes they would.

Hook isn’t there. In fact, since their last conversation in the corridor, he has seemed quite inclined on avoiding her -- which is fair, considering it’s exactly what she’s been doing since she got back from New York.

Emma sighs, lowering her gaze to watch the Champagne bubbles fizzing inside her glass. Perhaps if he were here, it would be a bit more bearable. Emma frowns, fingers clutching around her glass. Nonsense.

A warm hand closes over Emma’s shoulder.

Emma startles, but when she looks up, she only meets Mary Margaret’s gentle green eyes.

“Emma, your plate is still empty. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Emma brushes off the attention. “I’m okay for now, thank you. I’ll go get something later.”

Dammit. She doesn’t mean to sound this cold, doesn’t mean to push her away like this, but thankfully for her Mary Margaret knows best.

The next thing she knows her mother is sitting down on a chair next to her.

“Is everything alright, Emma?”

Emma hates the concern she hears in her voice, or rather she hates that it is somehow enough to tighten her throat and burn her eyes, and that there is a part of her that is desperate to feed on it. Maybe, just maybe, her mother can help her lift the bricks down in her stomach.

“I’m okay, I’m just --”

But then Emma glances down again, and she stares at mother’s hand, brushing over this round, loved belly and Emma’s breath catches in her throat.

Run.

“Emma, you are…?”

Something clatters down to the floor, and suddenly everything is too much. Emma’s eyes widen and before she knows it she’s moved up from her chair, heart pounding.

“I need to get some air,” she says very quickly, putting her coat on with trembling fingers.

The siren keeps blaring in her mind. Run. Run. Run.

“Please, will you make sure Henry eats something? I won’t be long.”

Emma does not wait for her mother’s answer to flee from the dinner, bursting through the front door.

The icy winter air leaps onto her skin just like she expected it to and Emma sighs in relief, closing her eyes. Her legs are still trembling beneath her weight, and her blood is still pulsating at her temples, but at least she is outside now. Her lungs quickly fill in with December smells — burnt wood, misty dead leaves and something almost magical that crackles as she breathes.

Outside, beyond the quiet chirping of insects, there is no noise. And it is incredibly peaceful.

Emma breathes in, and out, envisioning her anxiety slowly flowing out of her body like trails of electricity.

“Swan, are you alright?”

Her eyes shoot open as her heart skips a beat. There he is. Hook is sitting alone, his flask of rum in hand and his legs crossed under the table.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice still stammering.

Shit. She didn’t mean it to sound like that. Too late, Hook’s smile has already faded into a mirthless expression. Emma curses herself inward.

“It is always a pleasure to see you too, Swan.”

Oh she hates the tone of his voice, this distant, cold tone that sounds so sad, so sad. She cannot bear it.

“I’m sorry,” she exhales rapidly and she sees his eyebrow raise up under the surprise as she heaves short breathes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A pause to stretch her hands, to feel the cold seize them gently. And then she tries again: “What I meant is.... why are you not inside?”

He’s quick to strike back but his tone is tender: “Why aren’t you?”

Although her heart still beats uncomfortably fast, he makes her smile.

“Don’t change the subject.”

She wonders if he can tell, if he can tell that she is still shaking, if he can tell that it is helping to simply be there and talk about something else.

Unfortunately for her, her legs are still frozen and she stands on the stairs leading up to Granny’s as he ponders his words.

Of course he can tell. Open book.

“I’m not sure people really want me there,” he says.

Emma’s stomach lurches forward just as her legs begin moving against her will. “That’s not true,” she begins, still walking towards him.

She does not understand the wave of relief that washes over her as she strides his way, and suddenly the Champagnes bubbles are fizzing gently inside her empty belly.

“Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite and distant.

“Yes,” she asserts. She fists her cold palms. “People want you around. Look at Henry, he really likes you. And I --” she begins and then stops in her tracks.

She’s standing before him now, and he’s staring at her with his bold blue eyes, his expression blank.

He isn’t making this easier for her, but when did she make things easy for him?

“And you…?” He’s challenging her, taunting her to jump the one step she will not take with him.

She breathes in the cold air.

“And I could use you around, in case something bad happens--”

His mask finally drops, his eyebrow raising. “-- in case something bad happens?” he repeats, frankly grinning now.

Emma’s lips quiver with a smile. “In case something bad happens,” she confirms, nodding.

All anxiety has now departed from her body and Emma feels light for the first time in...in a very long time.

And then Hook’s standing up in front of her, and Emma’s surprised to see how close they’ve gotten.

There is this terrible moment during which they both stare at each other, and Emma glances down at his lips and fancies herself leaning in and --

“It’s a shame you’re not carrying that stupid leather satchel, tonight,” she says.

She does not leave him time to ponder over her words before she crosses Granny’s door again.

As things turn out, Hook fills the chair next to hers quite nicely. And by his side, the dinner isn’t that noisy and overwhelming anymore -- not that Emma would tell him.

“Killian showed up! That’s great!” Henry looks up from his game when the pirate has gone to get one more serving of turkey.

Emma smiles down at him. “Yeah. I’m glad, too.” Hook definitely seems at ease, twirling among the rest of the guests, one eyebrow raised as he examines the food on display.

Clearly, he was wrong. He fits in just fine. And Emma starts thinking perhaps she was wrong, too.

“It’s good for him, you know,” her son continues and Emma blinks to see Henry, head down, focused on his game as he speaks, “I don’t think he has that many friends here, but he definitely likes you.”

Emma is glad Henry isn’t looking at her then, because it saves her the embarrassment of having to justify the blush on her cheeks.

When Henry’s climbed back up to the B&B to get some sleep, and everyone’s helped to clean the dinner, and Hook proposes one last drink outside, Emma may or may not ask him to go ahead in order to retrieve a bush of mistletoe from the window above her booth.

She may or may not slide it into her pocket and join the pirate outside.

She lets him tell his ravishing tales of pirating and freedom, as they exchange his flask of rum. The starry sky is their only quiet companion as they sit outside until eventually the tingle of her lips cannot be ignored anymore, and Emma gets the small sprig out of her coat.

The bewildered look on Hook’s face is a sight for the ages.

“Pirate,” he says then, and he probably means to say more, but Emma is holding the mistletoe above their heads resolutely.

“Tradition is tradition” she says, even as her free hand already closes over the lapel of his coat.

“As you wish…”

Later, much later, Emma will blame the mix of rum and champagne for the way their lips met in an icy, starry kiss and Emma lingered above his lips, just a little bit, unable to get enough of him, until they were both panting outside of Granny’s -- forehead against forehead, twirls of white smoke escaping their mouths.

And Hook will definitely tease her about her definition of “one time things” but surely that matters little when she can just grab the lapel of his coat to make him shut up once and for all.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #captain swan #klynn_stormz #my stuff #i hope you'll enjoy this <3 #amy writes

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theelliottsmiths · 5 years ago

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So anyway, Mein Herz Brennt Making of liveblog, one of my favourites

First of all, I do take any use of piano MHB as a slight towards my tiny hands. -1 point

I really would love to visit this place, it's beautiful

I love that Oli introduces it and then Till is straight in there talking about murder and stabbings. Trust that to be what intrigues him. I feel like 'smells like murder' isn't a direct translation but that's purely because I spent like ten minutes trying to work out what words he says. It rhymes, which is suspicious.

Oh this was before he let his chest piercing reject all the way out in the grossest way

When schneider says Krankenhaus it sounds very Geordie and I'm convinced that kind of thing is why Auf Wiedersehen, Pet was created

Richards eyes light up when he's talking about the room he's in and it's one of those looks where it's just. I would love to listen to anything anyone has to say when their eyes have that sparkle.

"the scavengers had already been here" cue Paul talking about his criminal past thieving from there. See, another example everyone forgets of him being the biggest bastard of them all. The smile is a front.

One of my favourite ever Rammstein things is the combined joy and mockery from Paul when Richard is revealed to be wearing the bird mask and it wiggles as he nods. He looks like a little black cockatoo. Richard looks embarrassed to be wearing it but Paul is having the time of his LIFE.

The way is echoes in his mask makes him sound like he's clucking

Flakes glasses perching in his cone make him look like that sesame Street doctor or scientist

They all suit this make up so much and I wish they'd consider it as a stage look

Peck. Not intimidated.

Considering the nightmares Till has/had, ouch

Richard looks so much like a little vampire prince but like, a character from what we do in the shadows. He makes his own smokescreen entry/exist and everything.

Melanie!!!

Richard has many tendons in his neck huh.

The sounddd. I used to always be curious as to whether or not people in music videos were making the sounds it looks like they're making and now I know and I'm uncomfortable. This and also later when till does the heart

His laugh is never what I expect it to be

That uh. That doesn't look like he's in pain the way the injection sounds implied. At all. Not that I'm complaining but it gives mixed messages.

I'm so sure Richard is the only one I've ever heard use the word quasi. It makes sense for him if true but maybe I only notice because of the tone he uses? His is quite a punchy nasal tone it might just be more noticeable.

Till with kids is always the most adorable wonderful thing. He's really helping to keep them relaxed despite the creepiness of the stuff they're shooting.

"if you look at the cover then you'll recognise a morbidity to the whole thing" till, my darling, do you think people don't already ~see the morbidity~?

I googled and the lady doesn't pronounce renaissance with a g like Till does and that interests me. In fairness I have to assume it's like in Norwegian how words like restaurant are pronounced with a g sound because it's closer to the French sounds? It's not like we in English donut the French way either but the Google translate lady does. This is why I always suspect that when I'm learning a language I'm learning the language wrong and at some point I'll find out there's a Real, For Adults version if the language that's totally different. This is irrelevant. Accents are fun and I like being able to notice them.

It feels so strange seeing this knowing what Eugenio did

Paul taking pictures because he knows better than them

Something about a child saying "ah yes, I know Till and Flake very well" is hysterical.

You can feel the dismay and disapproval radiating off till as he tries to be diplomatic about the Spanish understanding of linear time. He struggles to find a positive and only comes up with the fire walls. "It should have gone out before we filmed anything because they were fucking around with the playback so long but it didn't" is his only compliment.

The German word for French is wild.

Do they know they could have hired an interpreter? Interpreters existed in 2012 I know this

This whole thing with Melanie is beautiful you can't deny that the arm Eugenio made with then was lovely.

Till in the dress with Melanie in his lap. I don't off the top of my head remember seeing it in either video so I simply must assume that it was just what he was wearing that day when he showed up. She's so tiny on his knee I'm glad they're still friends.

"you're left in a state of trauma when everyone stares at you all the time" did this need to get so heavy? It's interesting that he focused more on her voice than her appearance there, though in fairness it's pretty high

They all love her so much and it's totally understandable.

Mit rock n roll und cola trinken

I have to skip the screaming the secondhand embarrassment is too much.

Part 2

Again, this liveblog is so long

Sometimes Oli speaks like his body isn't used to talking.

I want, so badly, to know if Richard was having memories of his dreadlocked youth The tiny cup in his elegant hand is so pleading and then you look left and. It sure is something.

Are they freckles or acne scars across Tills shoulders?...cute. The first set of arm/chest wounds, not so much. I do spy his lil tummy scar

Richard does look like he almost swooped in for a kiss and then changed his mind because of the camera. Paul turns his head that way and then Richard tries to save with a step back and face rub (his own). Just saying.

The fact that a few of them have taken pictures on their personal phones warms my soul it's such a nice reminder that they're good friends outside of work and My Heart

Schneider and Paul ready at a moment's notice to be Dumbasses. J'adore.

What if Zoran was more of a background character tho actually

God, schneider is beautiful. An ethereal, pure beauty that exists no matter how he's being styled.

See okay how is flake almost taller than Oli right now he's not even doing his standard open legs and swan spine thing

It must be so hard to find Oli sized clothes. Flake is also tall and slim but he's a lot more leg, whereas Olis height seems largely to be torso. I have to assume a lot of his stuff is tailored or custom made now.

I always forget about the marks on tills back when he's in the nightmare dress

The child staring with great confusion at a bright red flake reading. I would love to know what his favourite books are.

The childs plural poking and prodding at a very patient Oli, who gracefully bends his spine in ways I've never seen a human do before. I wonder if he's ever dressed up as Lurch from the Addams family.

The actress playing the woman in this half is so beautiful and has a power her younger counterpart lacked when she was threatening him with her weapon.

I am a dummy and was like weird why is Paul speaking Norwegian. I know full well he wasn't saying unnskyld because I've heard Germans say their equivalent before and I assume Entschuldigen either sounds like that fast or shortens so what the fuck, rhi

Till guiding people through him murdering them is truly one of life's greatest pleasures. They trust him so completely. I would like to watch them dance the elegance would be astounding.

Paul lurking watching with what I choose to see as pride as till slaughters an old woman.

Paul being critical (again, as always, rightly so) of the hallway mouthing the lyrics decision.

"for this in prepared to make compromises" he says, hating every bitter word of it

I would like to know what he wanted to say about till and then see him get into trouble over it.

I would like to see till in a bouncy castle. He's adorable jumping into the comfy pit I want to see him in a bouncy castle. Child, utter child.

Paul takes every opportunity to say how hot he thinks they all are and I love that about him. Sometimes your friends are all hot and everybody needs to understand that fact.

Their approaches to pretending to play cello are all so uniquely them. Flake and Richard are taking the time to try and understand what they're being told, whereas Paul just fucking. Lays into it, attracting the weirdest looks from Oli. Richard looks beautiful with that cello and I think he should learn to play. For fun not for work. It's not just that he looks so handsome, but I think that's the easiest way to convince him. I think he'd be good at it, and not being the lead at something might be good for him.

I appreciate that Oli is skeptical because yeah they do all look like they've never held a cello before.

They do, however, all look lovely in their dresses. I'm trying but actually I can't not say that Schneiders little sternum dip makes it seem like he has breasts in that dress and it's a good look for him.

Till singing it in such a high voice, more like his speaking voice, is both interesting and lovely. Oli is trying... So little compared to the others. Laughably incorrect

Why yes, I am laughing at the sheer length of the spikes. They're just... They're so fucking long. So long.

Paul is actually probably the best one there, ironically. They're all comically out of time. They're professional musicians. I know they aren't used to bowed instruments I do understand and I don't want to be uncharitable but also they are struggling. I want to see cellists react to this.

Pretty dresses! And the nightmare but with the most awful and worst fingers! Like the Grinch but goth.

Both Schneider and Richard had the same neverending shoot idea and I am Intrigued.

Till waiting for Schneider with the umbrella :)

Wir brennen! Paul is always so happy to play with fire.

#rammstein #liveblog #dont talk about richards neck this isn't the time or place #me rambling #The Nightmare #vaguely #complete liveblog

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thejacketandthehook · 4 years ago

Text

The Art of Pretending 2/?

Title: The Art of Pretending 2/?

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere)

Summary: Killian Jones needs a family and needs one now. In order to impress his boss, Killian hires a single mother and her son to pretend to be his wife and son for the weekend. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Rating: Teen (for language)

Words: 6875

Author’s Notes: Hello all! Here is my submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon! This is based off of the Lifetime movie, "Borrowed Hearts," starring Eric McCormack and Roma Downey. The movie came out in 1997, and I consider it to be one of the first made-for-tv Christmas movies.

A couple of years ago I was watching it and thought this would be a fantastic scenario for our favorite Captain and Savior. I wrote it and then stopped, and then started it again, only to stop again. When I saw this movie marathon, I knew instantly this was the movie I wanted to do and I wanted to make sure that I finished it this time.

I hope you enjoy it!

A30

Chapters: 1

"Emma," Granny called with the phone on her shoulder. "Come. It's for you."

Putting down the pot of coffee she was holding, Emma made her way over to the phone and picked up, "This is Emma Swan."

"Ms. Swan, I'm sorry to disturb you at work, but it's about Henry," Henry's teacher, Ms. French, responded calmly.

"He is okay?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine. He just...he put a couple of worms in another teacher's desk this morning. A few other students saw him doing it. Usually we would just talk to him about this, but seeing how this is has happened twice before, I do believe we need to get you involved as well."

"Yeah. Yes, of course." Emma bit her lip and blood rushed to her face. She was going to kill Henry. "I'm sorry for this."

"It happens, it happens." She replied with the same calm voice. Ms. French must deal with so much shit in her day, that a few worms in the desk must be nothing. But still, Emma had to ask --

"Whose desk did he put it in?"

"Mr. Gold," she responded.

Yeah, Emma thought, that sounds about right.

See, Henry was overall a really good kid, but there was something about Mr. Gold that got under Henry's skin, and frankly, Emma's as well. He was an older man who walked with a limp. Your first impression of him would typically be "Oh, this poor man," but after he graded Henry rather harshly on the last two exams, and refused to up Henry's grade by one point so he could make honors last year, yeah...Emma didn't really mind Henry putting worms in his desk.

For the third time.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. French, I truly am. I'm going to speak to Henry about it tonight."

"Just one more thing, Ms. Swan." Ms. French took a deep breath and continued speaking a tone of voice that made Emma think that the teacher really didn't want to be saying this, but felt like she must. "Henry has been talking a lot about his father lately."

Oh God no.

"Last week he was telling the other students that his father is a firefighter in Arizona and he saved many people's lives. I almost believed that until this morning, he was telling them how his father is a spy for the FBI. I thought you might want to know."

Emma grabbed onto the counter and took a few deep breathes. She knew that Henry was having a hard time letting his father go, but she didn't realize it was this bad, honestly. "Again, I apologize, Ms. French. I will speak to him about it."

"Thank you for being so understanding," his teacher said before hanging up.

Once the phone was back in the holder, Emma turned around to see Ruby standing there with her hands on her hips. When she saw Emma's expression, her face and arms soften. "Oh no. What did Henry do?"

"He put worms in the teacher's desk."

Ruby waved an arm. "Oh, I did a load worse when I was his age. I'm sure Granny can tell you all about it."

"I don't doubt it," Emma replied. She took a deep breath before leaning on the counter. "But he was telling his friends about his father."

Ruby leaned on the opposite side and muttered, "Oh shit," under her breath. With her shoulder slumped, her long brown hair fell forward and made almost a curtain around her face. When she looked back up, she said, "What are you going to do?"

Emma shrugged, "Talk to him, obviously. You know he's still holding onto hope that Neal is going to come magically back into his life and all will be forgiven."

"Well, he is eight years old. And he has seen a lot of Disney movies."

Emma raised an eyebrow and muttered, "If you're trying to help me, I can assure you, you are not."

"Sorry." Ruby shook her head before continuing, "That jackass really is something, huh? Gets you pregnant at seventeen and while yeah, he stayed with you and all, continued doing shady business on the side."

"You know that I thought he was done with that, of course."

"Right, of course," Ruby nodded with agreement. "And then he..." she shook her head, too angry to continue.

"I know," Emma muttered.

They stood there in silence for a good thirty seconds before Granny called, "Well, I'm glad I'm paying ya to just stand there and talk!"

Emma sighed before picking up the pot of coffee and going over to table seven.

~*~

Emma put the car in park, but put her hand on Henry's arm before he could get out. "We need to talk."

He sighed. "I'm sorry about the worms, Mom. But he's asking for it."

She let go before putting her hands back on the steering wheel. "No, that's not...Well, yeah, you should apologize for that too, because come on, Henry," she finished, exasperated. "Worms? Really? I know the guy is a jackass and all, but instead of not treating him with respect, just.... ignore him."

"How do I ignore my teacher?"

"You prove that you are not who he thinks you are," she insisted. "He thinks you're a troublemaker now, Henry, and you're not. I know you are not. But putting worms in his desk is not telling him that."

He nodded. She took a deep breath.

"But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." Henry looked at her curiously, but she couldn't look at him. Instead, she stared at a gate that was badly chipping from rusted paint as she said, "It's about your father. And the stories you're making up."

He looked down and started picking at his nails. "I know he's not working for the FBI, but where is he?"

Probably running from the FBI, she thought before she answered honestly, "I don't know, kid. I really don't know."

"When is he coming back?"

Looking at him, she said softly, "He's not, Henry."

His bottom lip started to quiver before he tugged the handle bar open and jumped out of the car. "Henry!" she shouted as he ran off to a tree right near their house. He began climbing it, and by the time Emma reached the bottom, he was sitting on a branch a good five feet off the ground.

She crossed her arms as she looked up at him. "Henry Swan, you get down this instant!"

"He's coming back!" Henry shouted.

She shook her head. Why couldn't Neal just say his damn good-bye so I didn't have to put up with this? "Henry, you need to get down!"

"No! He promised! And Dad never breaks his promises!"

I wish. Thinking of the engagement ring burning a hole in the bottom of her jewelry box, she could think of a few promises that Neal Cassidy broke over the course of the last ten years.

"Henry, you need to get down." When he didn't budge, she answered, "Fine! I'll donate all of your toys to charity!"

Leaning on the tree, Henry crossed his arms. Sometimes he was too much like Emma for his own good.

"Henry!"

"Henry Swan, you get down now!"

Emma turned to see her best friend come walking towards them, her stomach leading the way. Being six months pregnant didn't necessarily mean a huge belly, but when one is the size of a pixie, like Mary Margaret Nolan, a pregnant stomach tads to stick out more than usual.

Mary Margaret was also a school teacher, who perfected her teaching voice a long time ago. So Henry had no problem coming down when she told him to.

"Thanks," Emma muttered.

"No problem. What happened?" she whispered as Henry grunted his way down.

"We got into a fight about Neal."

"Oh geez," she commented as Henry's feet hit the cold ground. Having a best friend meant that she understood what Emma was talking about, even when she said almost nothing. "Henry, why we don't go in a make a nice hot cup of hot chocolate?"

"Do you mind watching him ‘til six?" Emma asked. She had already spoken to Mary Margaret about her watching Henry while Emma went back to work, but she just wanted to make sure it was all okay.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem. Henry can help grade me second-grade tests."

"Really?" he asked with a bright smile.

She smiled back as she combed his hair with her fingers. "No."

~*~

"Do you believe in angels?"

Mary Margaret looked over at Henry, the credits rolling on It's a Wonderful Life on the screen behind him. She laid down her pen, and leaned back in the chair, rubbing her belly as she did so.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Henry got up from the floor and walked over to the table, putting his hands on the chair in front of him. "Why?"

She shrugged. "It's a nice thought, I guess. Thinking that someone is looking out for us."

"Like in that movie?"

"Kind of. I mean, I don't think an angel is going to show me how everyone's life would be different if I wasn't there, but I do think angels try to help out when they can."

"How?"

She got up and groaned a bit as she did. "Oh, geez, well I'm not sure. Maybe they help you decide what job to have. Or help you cross the street so you don't get hurt."

"Can they help bring a family together?"

Henry's innocent question made her stop in her tracks. Mary Margaret knew she had to answer this question as honestly as she could without giving the kid false hope. Having hope is one thing, but having false hope - that can be soul crushing, especially to an eight-year-old.

"Well, if the angel thought that it was the best thing for the family, then sure. Yeah. Maybe they can help bring a family together."

Henry grinned so wide, his two front teeth were clearly visible. Mary Margaret came over to him, though, and bent down as low as she could go before she continued sternly. "But you have to be very lucky to have an angel come and visit you. You would have to be the best child in the world for something like that to happen."

Henry nodded. "I am a good boy. Except for when I put worms in Mr. Gold's desk. But I promised I would never do that again. Because I'm a good boy."

Mary Margaret stood back up and held onto the chair. "And no more climbing that tree!"

He held up his fingers as though doing a Boy Scout three finger promise. "I promise I'm never going to climb that tree again."

She chuckled before shaking her head and turning towards the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Henry following behind her asked, "How do we see the angels, though?"

"Well," she said, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. She asked if he wanted water too, and he nodded. Grabbing a second glass, she continued. "I think they look like us, right? Nothing particularly special about them --"

"But they have wings!" Henry interrupted. "Where are their wings?!"

As Mary Margaret poured the water from the pitcher into the glasses, she replied, "They must hide their wings inside, so we don't see them."

"They would leave feathers all over the floor!"

She chuckled as she placed the pitcher back down. "Henry, I'm sure that the angels know how to hide their wings and their feathers from us."

"Why would they want to hide the fact that they're angels? Angels should want to help people, not hide from them!

Handing him his glass she said, "True. But people can take advantage of the angel and the help they can bring."

"What does that mean?"

"Sometimes when people try to help, others....well, they don't know how to stop asking for help. They just take more and more and more. So angels have to hide who they really are."

He took a gulp before asking, "But how do I know if there is an angel around if I can't see their wings?"

Mary Margaret took a sip before answering. "Good question. When you hear something like the tinkling of bells, but there are no bells, that's means there is an angel nearby."

He nodded again seriously before taking another big gulp and putting his glass on the table next to him. "I'm going to leave my listening ears on, to make sure I can hear the bells."

She nodded with a smile. "Sounds like a good plan."

Just then there as a knock on the door, and Henry went running to it, yelling, "Mommy! Mommy!" He threw open the door, and sure enough his mother was on the other side, looking exhausted but still had a huge smile on her face.

"Henry!" She shouted with joy. He gave her a big hug before asking for pizza for dinner. "Sure, kid. Why not?"

She was just reaching for his book bag, when Mary Margaret's husband came up behind her. "Oh good, you're still here," he said when he saw Emma. "I need to talk to you."

Emma looked over at Mary Margaret, who shrugged. "Okay..." She said taking Henry's bag and throwing it over her shoulder. "What's up?"

"No, this is a couch conversation," David insisted as he gestured to the couch before taking off his jacket and scarf. Emma and Henry sat down on the couch, Mary Margaret sitting in the arm's chair as David paced back and forth in front of them. When he finally stopped, he only said one thing:

"Please don't kill me."

Mary Margaret and Emma looked at each other, while Henry looked up at his mother. All three looked at David as Emma said, "That doesn't sound reassuring."

Mary Margaret asked, "What's going on, David?"

"It has to do with Emma. And Henry. Both of you."

"David, what is going on?"

"Okay, so our CEO, Mr. Marco Woodman is coming in a few days to discuss branching out and making London the new headquarters for Woodman's Architect."

"Okay...Why would this lead anyone to kill you?"

"I'm getting to that. You see, him coming is a really big deal, especially to Killian, the CFO of the branch here, in America. If Mr. Woodman likes Killian, he'll have Killian oversee everything, which is a huge deal."

"David, stop circling the airport," Emma said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Bring this baby down."

"What?" Henry asked, confused by what his mother meant.

"She means, get to the point!" Mary Margaret almost shouted.

"Okay, okay. So Mr. Woodman is the definition of a family man and Killian, who is a good guy, I should point out, is not a family man. So Regina may have...tweaked his image a bit."

"Tweaked it how?" Mary Margaret asked. "By giving him a family?"

Emma's arms dropped. So did her stomach. She tilted her head down, looking up at David. "And, what exactly, does this have to do with me and Henry?"

David held out his hands. "Please don't kill me."

"David!" Mary Margaret and Emma shouted at the same time.

"David, what the hell?!"

"Look, you're going to get paid," he said quickly, like that would make up for the fact that he basically sold his friend and her child to a man. "You are. One thousand dollars a day. And you're only working two days. A thousand dollars a day."

Two extra thousand dollars doesn't sound too bad, Emma thought, almost hating herself. That can help when looking for a bigger apartment.

“I can’t believe you sold Henry and me out!” she shouted. “David, what were you thinking?!”

“That this could help you, honestly.” David looked at Henry before looking back at Emma. “I know that things are…tough, right now, and I thought that this could help make some things a little easier. It’s very simple: all you and Killian have to do is pretend you’re married—”

“Killian?” Mary Margaret asked from her seat.

David looked over at her before answering. “Yes.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip and Emma noticed. “What? What’s the problem?”

“No. No problem,” she said quickly. When Emma raised her eyebrow and crossed her arms, Mary Margaret continued. “It’s just—”

“I knew there was a problem!” Emma shouted.

Mary Margaret tried to get up quickly, but it took her a few extra minutes to stand in front of her best friend. “There isn’t. Really. I’ve met Killian on many different occasions. In fact, I can’t believe the two of you haven’t met before.”

“I’ve been a bit busy these last few years,” Emma said before pointedly looking down at Henry who was taking this conversation in.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Of course, yes. And Killian is a nice man. Really. He’s just…”

“You’re not helping, Mary Margaret,” David groaned.

“No, no, no! It’s just he’s…been around the block a few times.”

“Like on his bicycle?”

The three adults were taken back by Henry’s innocent question and David found himself nodding. “Yes. Yes, exactly like that, Henry.”

“I’m not doing it,” Emma answered sternly as she shook her head. “No way. I don’t care about him,” she looked down at Henry before continuing, “riding his bicycle or whatever. My son and I are not for sale.”

As she gestured to Henry to get his coat, David stood in front of her blocking her path. “Look, before you fully say—”

“No!”

He closed his eyes before trying again. “Yeah, before you say that, just meet him. Please. You know that I am a tough person to impress, and Killian has impressed me. He’s a close friend.”

“So why haven’t I met him before?”

“Honestly, I don’t know how. But you can meet him tomorrow. You and Henry. He invited you to his house.”

“He has a house?” Henry asked.

“Where did you think he lived, kid? A mouse trap?” Emma asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Henry colored a bit before replying. “No…No, I mean, he doesn’t live in an apartment, like us? He lives in a house?”

David nodded. “Yeah, and it’s huge.”

Henry smiled. “Would I have my own room?”

David nodded again. “Of course, buddy. That was the first question I asked.”

Henry smiled even bigger. “With a big bed in it and toys and a desk and –”

“All of that, Henry! All of it!” David replied esthetically.

“Mom,” Henry quickly turned to his mother and started pulling on her jacket. “Mom, we have to meet him. We have to! I could have my own room, Mom, a big room!”

Emma sighed before looking at David. Sarcastically she said, “Thanks.” He gave a small shrug before Emma rubbed her son’s head and said, “Henry it’s not that simple.”

“Why not, Mom? We just hang out at his house for two days and you get money. How is that hard?”

“Well, it’s a little harder than that, kid,” Emma said sitting on the couch and placing her hands on her son’s shoulders. “It’s not just hanging out at someone’s house for two days. It’s…well, it’s pretending that we live there. It’s pretending that it’s…it’s our home.”

“Are we going to go back to the apartment?”

“When the two days are up, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Emma hated that he sounded disappointed about that. She cleared her throat before saying, “Listen, kid, this isn’t going to be real, okay? It’s like…it’s like playing pretend. Actually, it’s a lot like playing pretend. We just have to pretend to be…one happy family.” She looked down before letting go of Henry’s shoulders. “You think you can do that?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! Sure can!”

She sighed before standing back up. “I’m sure I’ll have a thousand questions, but...Okay. Let’s meet him. I’m not agreeing to doing this, though.”

David nodded. “Understood. I’ll call Killian and let you know what time he’ll be expecting you.”

Author’s Notes: I promise you, Killian and Emma will meet in the next chapter.

#captain swan #captain swan movie marathon #fanfiction #CSMM #CSMM2020 #csff

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misssophiachase · 5 years ago

Text

For @klaroline-events KC Bingo - School on FF and AO3

When his Porsche convertible blows a tire, private school student Klaus Mikaelson needs it fixed. Enter townie and daughter of the local mechanic, Caroline Forbes.

The Preppy and the Townie

Friday PM, Forbes Garage, Exeter, NH

“Excuse me?” Klaus hadn’t frequented this part of town all that much during his time at Phillips Exeter Academy and given the outdated exterior he wasn’t sure if it was still operational or if he’d stepped back in time.

It was eerily quiet and the small gas station on the outskirts of the town centre seemed unattended. He’d blown the tire on his Porsche not far down the road but had managed to get there just in time.

Given he attended the local boarding school, cars weren’t usually allowed on campus but his father had sent it the other day in lieu of his presence. Mikael Mikaelson never quite understood the concept of fatherhood and considered monetary gifts an alternative way to show affection.

Klaus also knew there was another reason for his guilt but pushed it to the back of his mind, it was easier that way.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was gruff, bored and almost resentful of the intrusion. Klaus turned to the source not expecting her to be so indescribable.

And he meant that in a very good way.

Her denim shorts were frayed at the edges, her white, fitted tank covered in black, grease stains and a red, checked shirt tied around her waist was doing nothing to hide a delectable pair of creamy, toned legs.

“Hey jackass, my eyes are up here,” she barked.

Yes, they were. Blue, expressive and teamed with her golden waves pulled back into a high ponytail, Klaus didn’t think he’d seen anyone so breathtaking in his life.

He didn’t usually stare so obviously at girls, generally it was the other way around, but he couldn’t stop if he tried.

“Is that how you speak to all your customers?”

“Only the ones who look at me like that.”

“And how exactly am I looking at you, love?”

“You know exactly how you’re looking at me,” she countered. “You’re not the first and I know you won’t be the last. Also, I have a name but before you do the completely predictable thing and ask what it is, I’m not going to tell you.”

“That’s quite a speech you seem to have prepared there,” he offered. “Is there any point in me asking about my tire then?”

“If you can’t fix it, then sure, I can do that for you.”

“Are you insinuating that I can’t change a tire?”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” she responded, shrugging her shoulders. Klaus wanted to be offended, he wanted to dislike her immensely and tell her so but there was no hope in hell of that happening.

“Actually, I can change a tire but I don’t have a jack on me,” she snorted by way of response. “You are incredibly judgemental, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Oh, p-uh-lease,” she drawled. “Your type swan around this town like you own it but, newsflash, you don’t. We’ll all be here long after you’ve finished school and left town.”

“I don’t swan, number one,” he replied, “and number two, I don’t think I own your town, even though it is lovely, especially during the Fall.” He held her gaze, and he could see her face soften slightly. But, unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

”How about we just stick to the tire,” she murmured begrudgingly. “If you’re lucky, I’ll even give you some pointers.”

Saturday PM, Front Row Pizza

“So, tell me more about this hottie from Philips?” Kat asked, handing a customer their slices on a plate.

Katherine Pierce was her oldest friend and the two had been working at Front Row the past two years. Saturday was their busiest night of the week but thankfully business was starting to slow down.

“Shhh, would you keep your voice down,” she hissed, wiping the counter and keeping her head down to avoid any embarrassment. “You know how small this place is at the best of times.”

“I didn’t name names, mainly because you haven’t told me yet,” Kat muttered.

“He’s your typical, preppy jock, nothing groundbreaking around these parts. And I never said he was a hottie, nor would I ever use that term.”

“No, I found that out when I visited the garage this morning and spoke to your DILF.”

“Kat, please don’t talk about my dad like that, it’s extremely disgusting,” she growled. “And when exactly did he decide that Klaus was...”

“Oooh, he has a name. So, tell me more about him and his Porsche?”

Caroline fought the urge to roll her eyes. As much as she loved her best friend, Kat liked the finer things in life a little too much. Sure, their upbringing was relatively simple in comparison to people like Klaus but Caroline didn’t need money to define who she was and what she wanted out of life.

“He blew out his tire.”

“Wow, how exciting,” she pouted. “You never tell me anything.”

“He’s English and his surname is Mikaelson, happy?”

“Not in the slightest, next thing I know you’ll tell me his favourite colour,” she pretended to yawn. “Okay, one last question and then I’ll leave you alone for a full five minutes. How would you score him on a scale of one to ten?”

“It’s blue, well actually it’s more of a french navy if I’m being specific,” a familiar voice interrupted. Caroline closed her eyes wishing she could melt into a puddle on the floor. Of all the times for him to just show up. “As for a score, I think it’s probably best Caroline takes that one.”

She really shouldn’t have told him her name. Why did it have to sound so good rolling off his tongue too? Damn his English accent and those dimples. Why hadn’t she noticed just how disarming they were yesterday?

“If it isn’t the hottie,” Kat smiled, turning to face Caroline giving her an extremely indiscreet thumbs up. “It’s okay, no score necessary, I can work it out just fine on my own.”

Before Caroline could really die of embarrassment, Katherine had conveniently flounced away to make it even more awkward.

If she thought he looked good yesterday in his school uniform sans tie with his shirt sleeves rolled up, he was absolutely gorgeous today. Dark jeans, sitting low on his hips and a navy henley that only accentuated his eyes.

“She’s, uh, friendly.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Caroline agreed. “Are you following me or something?”

“Someone has an incredibly high opinion of themselves,” he said, cocking his left eyebrow. “Maybe I was just hungry, did you ever think of that?”

“Did my dad tell you where I was?” She asked, arms crossed over her chest. “I noticed you two talking yesterday, but here I thought he was just drooling over your speedster.”

“He may have mentioned that Front Row has the best four cheese pizza in town,” he shared. “You know, while he was drooling.”

“Just because you think you can charm my father with your expensive car, doesn’t mean I’m powerless to your charms.”

“My charms?” He smirked, leaning closer. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“If you think that’s flirting then I need to teach you more than how to change a tire,” she scoffed. “Now, would you like to order something? The kitchen is going to be closing soon and I can only take so much of your over inflated ego in a confined space.”

“Your customer service skills really are second to none, love,” he laughed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She wanted to hate him so much but Caroline swore those crimson lips had superpowers of some kind.

“Sorry, what?” She asked, noticing he’d said something but not quite sure what it was.

“My over inflated ego and I would like a four cheese pizza to have here,” he joked, his knowing smile telling her she’d been caught out.

“You are taking it to go,” she demanded, scared of what his lips might do next.

“I think I’m going to nominate you for employee of the month,” he suggested, taking a seat and making himself at home. “There’s something about your rare skill of being charming but rude at the same time.”

“Kat, can you tell the kitchen there’s an order up,” she called out, not bothering to respond to his remark. “To go.”

“If I agree to leave this fine establishment, how about you do something for me?”

“I changed your tire yesterday and I’m now serving you pizza today,” he attempted to interrupt but Caroline continued. “And before you try to be cute about my impeccable, customer service skills, it’s abundantly clear that, if anything, you owe me, Mikaelson.”

“I was getting to that part,” he promised. “I was hoping you could come to the river tomorrow morning and help me out with my rowing?”

“Excuse me?” Caroline wasn’t expecting that. “I’m curious about what exactly the preppy needs help with?”

“Motivation,” he murmured, his double meaning not lost on her. “Coach says I won’t be up to championships if I can’t improve my times. So, I figured what better way to do that then have you yelling at me from the bow?”

Katherine let out a not-so-subtle groan from the nearest table. Caroline really shouldn’t have been surprised she was eavesdropping. “Be careful what you wish for, french navy.”

“I’m willing to take my chances, Katherine,” he smiled in her direction before returning his attention back to Caroline. She really wanted to hate him and his smug, good looking ass but it was becoming more and more difficult. Now, she knew why her best friend and father were so easily convinced.

“Can I push you in the water if you annoy me?” He took her by surprise and laughed. Caroline had to admit she liked hearing it.

“I think we’ll need to define what’s annoying from the outset but you’ve got a deal.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Sunday AM, The Exeter River

“You need to keep your back flat and make sure your core is engaged,” Caroline offered from the front of the boat.” Now that instruction Klaus wasn’t expecting.

“Trust me, my core is very engaged,” he teased, unable to help himself.

Klaus was still shocked she’d agreed to come today, he figured it had everything to do with pushing him in the water. Which luckily she hadn’t done...yet.

“I think we decided that innuendo was annoying.”

“You decided that and who said it’s innuendo? I was merely confirming the fact that my core is, in fact, engaged. And let’s not forget you asked the question.”

“It’s textbook rowing technique and that smirk you gave me was a dead giveaway.”

She looked stunning today, the breeze blowing through her blonde waves that were loose and flowing. Her make-up free face, simple t-shirt and shorts only highlighting her natural beauty.

“How do you know so much about rowing?” Klaus was surprised, given she didn’t indicate any interest the night before.

“I might have dated one of you before.”

“One of me?” Klaus was immediately offended by her reply. “I didn’t realise I had a twin.”

“He went to Philips and was on the rowing team too. But instead of a Porsche he had a Mercedes.”

“Wow, you really know how to hurt a guy,” he shot back, unable to disguise his disappointment. “Is this why you’ve been so hostile?” He stopped rowing needing to know the answer.

“I haven’t been…”

“Yes, you have,” he interrupted. “I don’t know what this guy did to you but…”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Perhaps not but I’d hate for you to unfairly judge me based on some idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him.”

“I’m a townie, yes my house is only a few kilometres away, but we lived in totally different worlds,” she murmured, her gaze downcast. “He had a trust fund bigger than I could ever imagine and I work two jobs just so I can afford college if I don’t get a scholarship. I stupidly thought that someone like him actually liked me.”

“Well, he’s an idiot and you’re not stupid.” His hand was on hers before he had time to think. “I get you’ve had a bad experience but I’m not who you think I am.” She faltered, her eyes finding his again. “Ask me anything.”

“Can I push you in the water?”

“Cute.”

“On Friday, you didn’t seem to care too much about your new car, why is that? At first I assumed it was the fact you had another ten of them waiting at home in your garage.”

“Only two,” he admitted. “But I’m not really that enthused about them either.”

“What happened?”

“My mother died last year, my siblings are scattered around the country at different colleges and schools and my father sent the car in lieu of his presence at Philip’s family weekend. We’ve never been that close but I guess I thought…”

“He’d want to see you.”

“It’s ridiculous I know.”

“It’s not,” she smiled, placing her other hand over his. “You know what is silly though? How lazy you’re being, now get moving before I push you into the water, Mikaelson.”

Turns out they both ended up in the water that day but neither minded. Klaus won the rowing championship with plenty of core engagement instruction from Caroline. He also sent back the Porsche to his father because he didn’t need it anymore, he had everything he needed right there.

#kcbingo2020 #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #misssophiachase #my writing #the preppy and the townie

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sirmedicknight · 4 years ago

Note

Hyoga headcanons maybe? c:

Ahh yes my other kid. In no particular order, and it's long so strap in...

-Hyoga could only say/understand when people asked for his name/ hi my name is, in Japanese because that's all his mom had taught him.

-Other than that he really didn't understand Japanese so he was more quiet than he would have been if he could speak the language.

-Hyoga is the second bronze boy who learned to burn Cosmos after Ikki. -At the orphanage he would get in trouble for speaking/writing in Russian but they wouldn't teach him Japanese because he should have known it by now, but he did pick up how to speak it more as he grew up.

-He would attend mass but was given dirty looks for being blonde.

-Shun and Seiya would try to be friend him but he would stare at them with a harsh gaze until they left him alone.

-As soon as he meet the man who adopted him, he knew that there was a different motivation to him.

-He used to hate Saori for not only getting to abuse them, but because her grandfather shows her love that of a parent and he misses that.

-The only time Hyoga ever raised a hand against her is when she tried to take his mother's cross from him, but of course was beaten for it.

-He was also bullied for his blonde hair and Asian eye shape, but in his limited speech Hyoga said the meanest stuff to people.

-Jabu is the worst offender, but by the time Hyoga left to Siberia again that kid lost all of his confidence.

-Hyoga really geared his training for swimming endurance and had a plan to run away to Siberia when he would be sent off to train.

-He actually had no plans to ever return to Japan.

-The first time he meets Isaac and Camus he is overwhelmed by how Isaac is nice to him. That and finally meeting other people who could speak Russian like he can.

-Camus taught the boys how to speak Greek and also taught them French swear words by accident, but Hyoga doesn't cuss.

-Hyoga would try to go to church on Sunday's when they would get the day off but wasn't allowed inside the building.

-He would also make those self deprecating jokes but Isaac would be quick to say "I don't think so" or "Hey be nicer to yourself making mistakes is part of learning", and Hyoga would brush it off.

-So Hyoga dosen't have a sweet tooth like Isaac but he always loved when they would share stolen sweets together, cause it ment more that he remembers him.

-They once almost had a pet polar bear but Camus was quick to tell the boys no.

-Swans used to hang around the two boys during training but stopped coming by when Isaac was gone.

-Actually let's talk about my strange head cannon that Hyoga and Isaac switched fates.

-So when Hyoga and his mom first sailed to Japan the ship they were on was a cargo ship selling Caviar. Hyoga's mom was sent to Siberia for being a teen mom and dishonoring the family name.

-The only thing have value she got to keep was the dress she had, her pink coat and of course the Rosary on her person. This is important as I believe Poseidon only picks noble blood to be Generals in his army.

-As the boat traveled the Kraken felt Hyoga's Cosmo as his scale owner and attacked the ship to try to take him to Atlantis. It was going to let all of the other passengers make it to land.

-Hyoga's mom sacrificed her self because the kraken would only let Hyoga go if she would, because on ships Women and Children have top priorities to life boats.

-In Awaking the spirits of the Siberian sea noted that Hyoga and Isaac would have a tragedy befall them, and Isaac himself wonders why the Kraken showed up after Hyoga makes it to their training ground. So I assume that it followed him when it sense his Cosmos again.

-Then for a while Hyoga and Isaac couldn't break the ice to enter the sea so the sea beast couldn't get to him at least not until Hyoga went to see his mother. That's why the Sea currents happened twice in quick secession on that day.

-When Isaac went to save him and got swept up in the current both of them were on their hands in knees begging for the other to get rescued. That's why the Kraken saved Isaac's life as he drifted farther into the sea.

-The Cygnus cloth also saved Hyoga by blasting the extra current of air to get him back up on land. This is also a move in Awaking when the Gold Hyoga character gives an ally the Northern cross boast. This is my only evidence for this but even still, I think it adds a nice bit of angst.

-Stealing some stuff from G Assassin, Hyoga and Isaac are brothers except in blood and he still thinks of himself like that.

-He used to tell Camus and Isaac that they were wasting their time with him because A he's a bit slower than Isasc and B he only plans to train to survive swimming to his Momma ship.

-That cliff that we see Hyoga jump into at the beginning of episode 3 is made from the hole Issac punched when he saved his life. Camus froze the edges as a memorial to the other kid.

-For the first few months after they lost Isaac, Hyoga would lie next to the hole and stick his hand onto the water below. Even when the ice would pile on top of him and when the tips of his fingers stopped brushing up against the water he would just stay there.

-Of course Camus stopped going to Sanctuary after Isaac too, half from grief and half from making sure Hyoga wouldn't do anything rash if you get what I'm putting down.

-Hyoga was sent to kill the other bronze kids because Sanctuary thought Ikki was dead and they only knew about the torment from Seiya.

-At the tournament he got a mad crush on Shun cause if you watch those episodes again he was gawking at the boy, like wow he's so pretty.

-Hyoga is also the only other saint besides Ikki who has killed before.

-When the go deal with Ikki and his bullshit Hyoga is determined to be the one to end it because he knows how Shun will feel having to kill his brother, because as far as he knew Hyoga killed his.

-Also he taught Shun and the others how to pray as he made the funeral for Ikki when they beat him in combat.

-Hyoga and Miho start a bible study together as Hyoga isn't allowed to be in mass for being a saint of Athena and of course blonde.

-Next to Dohko Hyoga knows more about mythologies than the other bronze kids as Issac and Camus would tell him the stories to help him sleep as he has nightmares alot.

-Hyoga is also Abstinent, so Shun only gets to hold his hand and maybe one or two kisses.

-He only learned how to drive a car because Camus was in charge of bringing the near by Village their Rations and, Issac and Hyoga couldn't carry all of the supplies back. But like what were these two going to crash into anyways.

-The last one I can think about is how much Hyoga conducts himself to be what he thought Isaac would be like as a saint, and only when he starts being more himself is when he defeats his opponents.

(Edit because I just woke up)

-Hyoga made the Aura Thunder Attack to deal with the water currents and that’s why Judo (Black Swan didn’t know the move)

#long post #crying about magical anime boys #something stupid #cygnus hyoga #hyoga #ask me things #Also I swear his name is judo

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Not Your (soul)Mate {1/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature (mostly for jokes now and for...other things later)

A/N: Hello, friends! It’s me coming at you with more words! This time they’re of the supernatural variety for @cssns with *gasp* a soulmate fic. It’s a fun one guys. Seriously. It’s an absolutely ridiculous concept (soulmates + aroused by each other’s voices), but I’m having fun writing it! I’ve got eight chapters written so far, and I’m itching to share them with you!

A special shoutout to @captainsjedi for her incredible artwork and for being my number one cheerleader as these words were dragged out of me. I feel super honored for her to have made this art for my story! And thank you to the organizers for doing such great work! So, everybody ready? 😁

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @dreameronarooftop15 @searchingwardrobes @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81@thejollyroger-writer @xellewoods @cssns

-/-

One.

Two.

Three.

It’s the pattern he keeps tapping against his thigh as he sits at his desk, the clock on the wall ticking loud enough for him to hear. If he’s busy enough, it’s silent. But when he has time to idle and not focus on something in particular, when he’s anxious to get to go home, he can hear each individual tick as the seconds and minutes pass by. He’s always been sensitive to sounds, the quietest of whispers sometimes equivalent to yelling directly in his ear, but over the years, he’s learned to block the sounds out, to control how voices and taps and screeches affect him.

His clock is driving him insane.

He wants to go home.

And it’s not because he hates his job or anything. Sure, some days it’s like actual torture, nails on a chalkboard multiplied by at least seventeen, especially with the sensitivity of his ears, but most of the time he enjoys designing boats, ships, and the like. He enjoys working with Liam every single day and getting to draw up someone’s dream vessel like he often did as a child when he had nothing more than a pencil and a notebook of battered paper. Really, his job is a way to make his childhood dreams become a reality but in a financially responsible way.

For him. Not for the people who buy custom boats.

He likely wouldn’t enjoy it if he didn’t make any money. Designing boats is a hell of a lot of fun, but he does so enjoy having an apartment (some of the American terms have integrated into his vocabulary by now it seems) to go home to and food to eat. Honestly, he likes tea far too much to not be able to afford it.

How stereotypically British is he?

It doesn’t even matter. He likes tea, and he won’t let anyone try to convince him otherwise. His cabinet in his kitchen keeps him supplied with caffeine, and if it’s all arranged by size of bag and flavor, no one has to know that. He doesn’t live with anyone, so it’s completely fine.

Liam would make fun of him for ages if he knew of all of Killian’s little tendencies and specificities on how to run his life. Liam already has too much fun teasing him about the binders and books on his shelves in his office, but really, of all of the places to be organized, why not in the office? It’s not his fault that Liam lives in a disorganized mess.

Once a Navy man, always a Navy man doesn’t quite hold true when it comes to one half of the team at The Jewel: A Boating Design Company. He was never sold on the name, but it was Liam’s idea so he went along with it. And the odd name hasn’t seemed to keep any clients away, so it’s obviously worked out.

He still wants to go home.

And technically he could. Technically he’s a boss here and could go home whenever he wants, but he doesn’t like to leave before six. It’s bad business, and it’s never a bad thing to keep his mind focused on work. He’s always got a million thoughts whirling around in his head, and focusing on work keeps him grounded.

But today is a different day. Today is difficult for him. It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the good kind. It’s not roses (or sunflowers because in his opinion, roses are overrated) and wine and beautiful jewelry over a nice dinner with small servings when all people really want is to sit at home and eat pizza on the couch. No, it’s an anniversary of loss.

Of loss that’s not as final as death, and yet it still has its own particular sting that tends to linger. It’s a loss in his life that he’s felt many a time, but this one, this particular woman, well, her loss stung the most.

Her loss stings the most.

And it’s all because of the universe and its twisted sense of fate. He doesn’t mean that in a “weird shit happens” kind of way. He means that in the universe is a piece of shit that has lives decided before the people who live them are even born. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you live. The universe is always standing at the plate ready to throw a curveball and strike you out.

One strike.

Two strikes.

Three strikes.

You’re out.

Soulmate.

Or soul mate with two words. The universe has everything predestined, but apparently, they couldn’t decide on words in dictionaries and whether or not it was one combined word or two separate words. And that’s just scratching the surface of language and grammar, and he only speaks English and a tiny bit of French. Things just get more complicated when you move beyond that.

But that’s not the point. He can worry about grammar on another day. Right now he’s thinking about the unfortunateness of soulmates (soul mates…nope, he’s just going to decide it’s one word for him) and just how completely screwed up it all is.

No one really knows how the human race figured out that there are two people who are perfectly matched up in every single way. It doesn’t mean there aren’t fights and arguments and petty squabbles over who did the dishes or turning the air conditioner up too high. It simply means that somewhere out there, there’s a person who, when it counts, matches up to you so well that the universe has decided to they are your person.

They are the Christina Yang to your Meredith Grey.

(Yes, he’s watched Grey’s Anatomy, and no, he is not ashamed...of seasons one through six. It gets a little murky after that.)

But what happens if your soulmate dies? What happens if you never meet them? What happens if you fall in love with someone only to find out that their sign or their mark or their soul doesn’t at all match up with yours? What happens if you love someone so deeply that you don’t think your heart can take it anymore, and they leave you because the words written across their ankle are not also written across yours?

What happens if you don’t have words written at all?

He doesn’t. He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t have any kind of indication as to how to find this so-called perfect match of his. He has no idea.

And he doesn’t need to ask the question of what happens when you love someone who is not your soulmate because he knows. He knows that the love can be real and deep and true, and yet the moment that person finds their matching mark, suddenly things start to crumble and fall apart. Questions begin to be asked, and there are no answers. There are no answers that are correct anyhow. It’s as if you’re taking one of those standardized tests where all four answers are correct, but you have to choose the one that’s the most correct.

Bullocks.

That’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, and yet he’s taken the standardized tests. He had to, but that’s really not the point.

(Also, he wonders if soulmate magic is real, are other types of magic real? Is Harry Potter based off of something true? Could he have gone to Hogwarts?)

Milah found her soulmate, and it wasn’t him. She loved him, but she let him go. And he cannot begrudge her for it. No, she’s doing what will truly make her happy, and he wants her to be happy. She deserves it.

He just wishes that it had been him.

The universe apparently had other ideas.

And four years later, he still doesn’t know his mark.

Four years later, he still loves her even if he shouldn’t, even if he knows he should have moved on.

Liam could hear Elsa’s thoughts at night when he was lying down to sleep. It wasn’t in his dreams, though he has heard of those, but simply once the darkness fell outside. They’d known each other in their thoughts since they were children, a love predestined and predetermined that found its way to life despite the countries that were spread out between them. He’s always been jealous of his older brother for a lot of things, but knowing who his love is and getting to know her for his entire life, that may be the thing which fills him with the most envy.

He’s not even sure that he wants to know who his soulmate is, but when he thinks of his brother and the happiness of his life with his wife and his children, he wonders how two people so genetically similar could have such different paths in life.

Robin’s had been a simple tattoo on his forearm. He knew that all he needed was to find his match, and even though it took into his mid-thirties, he did.

Mid-thirties are truly not old – especially since he himself just turned thirty five – but in a society that is obsessed with love and procreation, Robin might as well have been a lonely elderly man with no chance at love…and Robin’s a man. It’s much worse for women, which is fundamentally unfair. But he’s a designer of boats, not a designer of the universe, so he can’t exactly fix that.

Will, well, Will’s soulmate sign is one that Killian is rather fond of if he’s honest. He found Belle because he’d started spending time in a library, and whenever he would touch certain books, fingerprints would start glowing. They were small, dainty things, so he knew that they weren’t his. But the prints glowed, and as he moved throughout the library, he noticed that every book had fingerprints that glowed. And thus he found Belle, the librarian, and even though they don’t seem to match up, they do.

Everyone he knows is living life with someone they’re supposed to be with, happiness and issues all combined, and he’s…not.

He doesn’t think his life will suddenly become perfect if he were to meet this mystery woman. He doesn’t. His life is wonderful. He loves his friends and family. He loves his job and his hobbies. He loves his life.

Today is simply a hard day.

Today is simply a day of loss.

But tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he’ll go back to normal, and he won’t feel the loss of his love so much.

As much.

“Hey, did you get the Santos order?”

“Shit,” he mumbles, jumping in his seat at Ariel’s voice. He knows that she likely spoke at a normal volume, but he wasn’t focusing and had zoned out. Her voice startled him. It doesn’t help that she takes pleasure in annoying him. “Sorry, love. You surprised me.”

“I knocked three times there, Jones,” she sighs, walking into his office and dropping a note down on his desk. “I know it’s late in the day and all, but you’re really zoning out.”

“That is the pot calling the kettle black, A,” he laughs, rolling forward in his chair to look at the note she has, her chicken scratch written across the notecard. “You zone out at lunch thinking about how someone invented the fork.”

“It’s true. You’ve got to think about things like that. You okay though? You’ve got that pensive, brooding look all over your face.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before looking up at her and stretching his hands up behind his head, the small ache pleasant. “I’m going to fire you for someone who doesn’t know me as well.”

“My severance package would be fantastic, so you can go ahead and do that. But I also know you’d be lost without me, so that’s not going to happen. No one else in the world knows which pens of yours not to use.”

“That can be taught.”

“Yeah, but no one else is going to accept your weirdness.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Anyways,” she sighs, sitting down in the chair across from his desk and crossing her leg over her knee, “Eric and I are having a dinner at our house on Friday night, and you’re coming.”

He raises an eyebrow while he tries to keep his lips from curling up into a smile because he knows exactly why they’re having a dinner. She’s been his assistant for three years, and somewhere along the way she became one of his closest friends. She also drives him mad with how she doesn’t listen to him at all.

“Are you not even asking? Just demanding?”

She shrugs and flicks a speck off of her pants. “I’m telling you. It’s at seven, lots of our friends are coming, and you will be there if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

He hums and taps his fingers against the desk, the sound of his clock no longer in his earshot. “Fine. I think maybe I can be persuaded by some free food that I know is really a dinner party to announce your pregnancy.”

Her lips part, jaw nearly dropping, before she snaps it shut and gets up, walking over to him and knocking him upside the head. “You’re an asshole. That’s supposed to be a secret. How the hell did you know?”

“This note that you just gave me has baby names and a gynecologist appointment on it and not the Santos order.”

“Pregnancy brain is a real thing,” she huffs before slapping his head again and walking out of the room.

“Congratulations,” he shouts, leaning forward in his chair and smiling to himself. It’s a day of loss, but not everything is bad. It’s also a day of life.

He does spend the night drowning himself in a glass of rum, but it’s just the one filled a little too close to the brim. And he doesn’t spend entirely too much time thinking about Milah and all of the women and heartbreak that have come before her. He only spends what he would consider an acceptable amount of time, and if it was most of the night, no one has to know that but him.

Those are the perks of living alone.

Well, that and eating food in nothing but his boxers while watching reruns of whatever the hell he wants.

The Office.

It was The Office. He spends far too much time watching The Office and also…in his office. But that’s something else. That’s work, and it’s not filled with quite the same amount of comedy. Though he is thinking about putting Liam’s stapler in some jello. That’s not as funny in real life, but he’s not exactly sure if he’s desperate enough to wrap up Liam’s entire office in wrapping paper.

It’d have to be some birthday paper or something. It’s April, so Christmas paper likely wouldn’t work. Of course, it’s April, so Christmas paper would likely be on sale. This is sounding better and better, but he’s not going to do it. He’s going to keep on going with his life and make sure that Ariel isn’t setting him up on a date at this dinner party he’s been at for thirty minutes like he’s pretty sure she’s doing with her friend Jane.

Amazingly enough, the existence of soulmates does not keep people from setting him up on blind dates.

You’d think there would be at least one perk.

Besides the whole perfect match thing and all.

That’s supposedly a perk.

“Would you excuse me for just one minute, love?” he asks Jane, flashing her his most sincere smile and squeezing her shoulder before walking toward his brother who is talking to Will and Robin in the corner of the backyard.

“BJ,” Will greets, grinning from ear to ear as Killian shakes his head.

“You cannot call me that, Scarlett,” he groans. His protests don’t matter at all, but he can hope. He can hope that one day one of his friends will listen to him.

It’s a pipe dream.

“Well, baby Jones isn’t quite as funny as BJ.”

“You have the humor of a fifteen-year-old lad.”

“At least I’m not boring like you,” he scoffs before he takes another sip of his beer. “How’s your little date going over there?”

“So you can tell that it’s a set up?”

“Little brother,” Liam sighs, clapping his hand down on his shoulder, “you scratched your ear enough times for us to know you were nervous. Plus Ariel told us. She was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement.”

“Younger. I’m younger, and of course she did. Jane is…she’s a nice woman, but I’m not really in the mood for another date.”

Suddenly his head starts pounding, sounds muting for a moment before he hones in on a laugh, a laugh that has his skin heating and gooseflesh rising over his arms as he only focuses in on it before all of the other sounds come back to him, the laugh fading into the background. He doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but he’s not going to focus on it when he’s got to deal with his brother and his best mates being undeniable assholes.

Tuning things out has always kind of been his thing anyways.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” Robin helpfully supplies, “but I think the lass likes you, so I’d turn her down easy.”

“There’s nothing to turn down.”

“She might not know that.”

“Anyways,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “how long do you think A is going to drag this along until we get to eat dinner?”

“I’d say until she finishes talking to her friends over there.” Liam points to a group of women standing on the other side of the deck. He recognizes Ariel and her friend Mary Margaret. He’s been to her house and met her husband. David? He thinks his name is David and that he’s a detective. And obviously he recognizes his sister-in-law, but he doesn’t recognize two of them. One of them is tall, her legs stretching on for miles, and she’s got straight brunette hair that falls down her back with the tips of it covered in red. The other woman is shorter, but not necessarily short, and her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail so that he can see the openness of her dress as it dips down her bare back and rests just above the curve of her waist. He doesn’t know her at all, and he wonders how. Ariel may simply work with him, but she’s made him such a part of her personal life that he feels like he knows all of her friends.

Then again, he didn’t know Jane, so obviously she has several friends she wants to announce her pregnancy to that he’s never met. They’re all ships passing in the night.

Of course, it’s not quite night yet and they’re definitely not ships, but his point still stands.

Or sails.

He can design a ship that would work for this purpose.

He has too much time on his hands.

All of the sounds mute again before the same laugh as before comes back, but this time he knows exactly where the sound is coming from. It’s coming from the blonde who’s talking to Ariel, and he can feel his skin heating up again, the flesh pricking and hair rising across his body as a shiver runs through him. He knows this feeling. He knows it well. It’s the start of something that he usually finds pleasant, but it’s not something that he finds pleasant while standing in a public place with all of his friends around.

Will may have the humor of a teenager, but apparently Killian has the uncontrollable sex drive of one.

Shit.

This is not good.

He needs to think of the government or his grandmother or people who think Hawaiian shirts can be worn to the office as casual wear when they live in Maine because his jeans are rather tight and he’s afraid that nothing can be hidden when he’s feeling a little excited.

Or a lot excited.

When he should not be excited at all.

Oh hell. He’s aroused. He’s not excited. He’s aroused, and there is absolutely no reason for it. Does he even need a reason? Probably not. Still though. This is a problem he doesn’t really want to have right now at his assistant’s barbecue to announce that she’s created a spawn of her loins.

Those are the only loins he should be thinking about.

Not Ariel’s loins, though. That is…this is all too much for him.

“Hey, lover boy,” Will whistles, and suddenly the laughter is fading away so that he can focus on the sound of Will’s whistle and the wind that’s causing the leaves on trees to rustle and mix in with all of the conversations that are happening, “you’ve got to stop staring at Emma or she will kick your ass all the way back to England.”

Emma.

“Who is that?” he ponders, reaching to scratch his beard. He should have shaved this morning, but he didn’t have time to clean his scruff up. “Emma? You said her name was Emma?”

“Aye,” Will confirms, his fingers tapping along the glass of his bottle and picking up the condensation. “Emma Swan. She lives with Belle. I’m bloody terrified of her sometimes, but she’s fun.”

“Why are you terrified of her?”

“Because she’s a cop. A detective, I think, and I’ve seen first hand just how good she is at kickboxing.”

“Why? Did you beat your ass for saying something dumb?”

Will rolls his eyes as both Robin and Liam chuckle, even if they try to muffle the sound. “I may have said something a bit unsavory one night, and she may have literally kicked my ass for it. But I’m on the straight and narrow path now.”

“Huh. So she did what we’ve all been wanting to do for years now. I like her.”

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Liam prods, wrapping his arm around Killian’s shoulder and slapping him harder than he should. “Are you scared to talk to another girl? Is this going to be like teenage Killian who can’t flirt with more than one woman in a day without being terrified of having to do it again?”

“Sod off.”

“I’m telling you,” Liam starts, but Killian moves out from under his arm and walks away from the group of them so that he can go inside and get a glass of water, not really interested in hearing Liam teasing him about his childhood. It doesn’t bother him, but he’s heard it all before and doesn’t really need to hear about it again. It’s still been A Week, and there’s only so much teasing about his relationships that he can take when he’s still mourning the loss of one.

Once he gets into the kitchen, he grabs a cup off the counter and fills it with ice and water from the fridge, the sound of the ice machine drowning everything out so that he doesn’t hear someone come in behind him. He doesn’t hear her, so he’s got no idea that she’s within a foot of him when he turns around and hits her shoulder, the cup of ice cold water in his hand spilling all over the front of her dress.

Of Emma’s dress.

Of Emma’s white dress.

Because it’s the woman who he was just admiring who he spilled a drink on.

“Holy shirt-balls that’s cold.”

He wants to laugh at her words, at her The Good Place reference, but then it’s happening again. His skin is heating, his temperature rising by several noticeable degrees, and he can feel the hair on his body begin to rise while his jeans tighten. How are his jeans still tightening? His erection can’t get any worse.

Holy shirt-balls indeed.

What the hell is happening to him?

“I’m sorry, love,” he stutters, trying to focus his hearing so that everything won’t be so heightened, but then his eyes glance down at the way that the material of her dress is clinging to her skin, the edges molding to her breasts, and everything gets worse. So, so much worse. He loves women. He’s never denied that. But hell, he should not be having this kind of reaction. This is not some kind of bad porn movie.

This is not some kind of raunchy romantic comedy either.

This is his life.

She’s got fantastic breasts.

Nope. Nope. Nope. He can’t be thinking that. He shouldn’t be thinking that. Something is happening to him, and he needs it to stop.

“I mean, I would say it’s not your fault, but you did spill the water on me,” she laughs, grabbing onto her dress and squeezing the water out a bit as she makes her way further into the kitchen to grab a towel and wipe herself down.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Again. You’re Emma, right?”

She’s still dabbing at her dress when she looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Her cheeks are flushed red, and he’s not sure if it’s from spending the evening outside or from the embarrassment of him spilling water on her. But she’s got these beautifully flushed cheeks and light emerald eyes that can’t seem to focus on him, her gaze constantly changing.

With how uncomfortable his jeans are right now, he’s honestly kind of wishing that he had ice water dumped on him.

Seriously. What the hell is happening to him?

“Um, yeah. How do you know that?”

“Will told me. I’m…we’re old friends. Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she sighs, continuing to dab at her dress while he looks away. He has to look away or he’s going to do something inappropriate by anyone’s standards. Something is happening to him, to his mind and his body, and he needs it to stop right now. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was introduce yourself, no spilled water involved. And if you wanted to see my tits, well, I should warn you that I carry around a gun for a living, and I don’t take too kindly to things like that.”

“I can promise you that wasn’t my intention.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me right now?”

“Swan, if I’m honest, it’s because I can see both through and down your dress, and it’s not proper to look no matter how much I want to.”

Holy shit. Why did he just say that?

“Is it hot in here?” Emma asks, changing the subject, and he has never been more thankful for anything in his entire life. Though, really, if she could stop talking, he would be thankful for that too. Her voice is focused in his ears, every word reverberating and spinning around so that he can focus on nothing but her. It’s like her laughter earlier. His body instinctively tuned into it, focused on it, and it caused this same feeling of arousal to base itself at his spine.

And every word she says, makes it worse.

Fuck.

He somehow knows what’s happening, his brain instantly making the connections, and if he could walk out the front door and have never come to this party, he probably would.

Emma Swan is mostly likely his soulmate if the way his senses are picking up are any indication, and every word she says gives him the most inappropriate erection.

Her voice arouses him, and it’s not in a normal way.

Of all the soulmate signs, why this?

Couldn’t he have gotten a damn butterfly tattoo right above his ass instead?

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #cssns #captain swan #captain swan fic

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poppyofwales · 5 years ago

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BASICS.

Name:

philippa

the feminine form of her father’s name. technically it means lover of horses.

alexandrina

the given name of her great-great-grandmother, queen victoria. greek in origin, it means defender of the people.

beatrice

meaning she who brings happiness. the guide through paradise in dante’s divine comedy and the high-spirited heroine of much ado about nothing.

clementine

the only name her american mother was allowed to choose to bestow upon her. it is one that poppy holds quite dear.

house of saxe-coburg and gotha

technically, as a member of the royal family styled HRH, poppy does not have a traditional surname. ( her passport lists her as her royal highness the princess philippa alexandrina beatrice clementine ) if she ever did need a surname for legalities, she would use saxe-coburg and gotha

Nickname: poppy, by most everyone; pippa by very close family; clementine by her mother alone.

Gender & Pronouns: female & she/her

Age & DOB: twenty-eight; january 18, 1992

Zodiac sign: capricorn

Orientation: heterosexual & heteroromantic

Nationality: british

Ethnicity: white

Religion: church of england

Neuroses: poppy always has to ensure she looks perfectly presentable when in public, even if she is just at lunch in an out-of-the-way restaurant with a friend. there could be cameras everywhere. she is also quite sensitive to the flashes of cameras and worked for years with a therapist to overcome that.

HISTORY.

Hometown: london, england

Father: his majesty the king philip i

Mother: her majesty the queen willa ( nee symonds )

Siblings, if any: his royal highness the prince edward of wales, aged twenty-six

Extended family:

on her father’s side, an aunt ( victoria, the princess royal ) and two cousins ( jeremy, earl of snowdon and lady annabel saxe-coburg and gotha ). she was incredibly close to her paternal grandmother, the queen mother, who has recently passed away.

on her mother’s side, several aunts, uncles, and cousins who all reside in america. she is close only to her mother’s parents, for they relocated to england shortly after poppy was born.

Educational background:

north london collegiate school; 1996-2000

hill house school, london; 2000-05

benenden school; 2005-10

gap year

university of edinburgh; 2011-15 ( ma in linguistics )

Languages spoken:

english (fluent) welsh (fluent) latin (reading fluent; not conversationally fluent) french (fluent) german (moderately fluent) italian (conversational) spanish (conversational) portuguese (basic; currently working on it)

Occupational history:

princess of the united kingdom

poppy is a working royal and, as such, carries out official engagements on behalf of her father, king philip i. she has a decent amount of free time where she can occasionally jet-set off to other locales, but she tries to keep those under wraps and does not flaunt it publicly.

Achievements:

head girl; benenden school

THE SOCIETY.

Codename: theia

Meaning: goddess or divine. after the titan goddess of sight and the blue ether of the sky. she also is the reason gold and silver have such intrinsic value.

Traditionalist or Reformist?: traditionalist; poppy knows well what duty and the status quo mean and most of the time she follows them.

Goals in the society: to ensure that she becomes the next queen regnant, being the first heir of her father.

Opinion on the society: it’s necessary. without the society and similarly functioning organizations, the world as we know it would cease to exist. people in power exist to ensure that those not in power know how to function.

PERSONALITY.

MBTI: enfj-A { the protagonist }

Protagonists are natural-born leaders, full of passion and charisma. Forming around two percent of the population, they are oftentimes our politicians, our coaches and our teachers, reaching out and inspiring others to achieve and to do good in the world. With a natural confidence that begets influence, Protagonists take a great deal of pride and joy in guiding others to work together to improve themselves and their community. Protagonists radiate authenticity, concern and altruism, unafraid to stand up and speak when they feel something needs to be said. They find it natural and easy to communicate with others, especially in person, and their Intuitive trait helps people with the Protagonist personality type to reach every mind, be it through facts and logic or raw emotion.The interest Protagonists have in others is genuine, almost to a fault – when they believe in someone, they can become too involved in the other person’s problems, place too much trust in them. Luckily, this trust tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Protagonists’ altruism and authenticity inspire those they care about to become better themselves. But if they aren’t careful, they can overextend their optimism, sometimes pushing others further than they’re ready or willing to go. Assertive Protagonists view themselves with more self-confidence.

Enneagram: One { 98% } with a very close Three { 96% }

Type One can be thought of as the Perfectionist. Ones are defined by their belief that everything must be in order, and by their feeling that they must always be right. They show great commitment and determination to improve conditions that they find need improvement, and they are forward in encouraging others to improve their performance, too.

Type Three is also known as The Achiever. Threes want to be successful and admired by other people, and are very conscious of their public image.

Temperament: phlegmatic

The phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, ranging from warmly attentive to lazily sluggish. Phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. They are accepting and affectionate. They may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. They are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. They can also be passive-aggressive.

Hogwarts House: slytherin

Inspirations/Parallels: princess anne, catherine de’ medici, queen mary i

Tropes: old money, royal blood, british royal family, rich kid, forbidden fruit

YOUR MUSE AS ..:

A piece of art: girl with a pearl earring by vermeer

A song: to live is to fly by townes van zandt

A book: the voyage out by virginia woolf

A movie: the secret life of walter mitty (solely for the traveling aspect)

A TV show: belgravia

A historical era: the regency period

A historical figure: mary i of england

A fictional character: caroline bingley

A colour: peacock blue

An animal: a swan

YOUR MUSE’S DREAM ..:

Job:

queen of the united kingdom ( and the commonwealth ). if she was not royal, however, poppy would have loved to have worked in international relations on a smaller scale ( translating, perhaps working for an ambassador, etc. )

Vacation:

something relaxing, where there are not cameras taking photographs of her every minute of every day. a private island would be ideal, with the opportunity to be on the beach as well as venture into a lush jungle or forest. in reality, most of poppy’s vacations take place in the cotswolds or on a royal estate.

Day:

waking up for tea with her parents at buckingham, a couple of engagements in the morning, lunch at the bluebird with her friends, followed by afternoon bikram yoga and a dinner that she prepares for herself in her kensington palace apartment. ( poppy generally likes her life and often lives out what she enjoys doing. yes, she has a strong desire for duty, but if she did not enjoy it, she’d have found another ambition for which to funnel her attentions. )

As a child:

to be queen. poppy never truly understood why her brother should be king simply because he was born a boy and she a girl. it’s a dream that has stuck with her throughout her entire life.

Last night:

poppy very rarely remembers her dreams.

That they gave up on:

attending university in america. she was accepted at harvard, princeton, and stanford and had desperately wanted to study outside of britain. however, she chose the university of edinburgh instead, well aware that attending a british school could only endear her to the public.

That they have right now:

to pursue that which is hers. with primogeniture being abolished years ago, it makes sense that poppy should be the next queen regnant. but as her parents and parliament don’t see the need to “strip edward of his birthright” ( that poppy argues shouldn’t have been his birthright to begin with ), she has to find a way to do it herself.

#gilded:task #{ about poppy }

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shining-dawn · 5 years ago

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OMG thanks yo @arianaisdead for tagging me. I love doing these.

Nickname: people online like yo call me Shiny. I wonder why.

Zodiac: cancer. Don't expect me to act like it, though.

Last thing I searched: either "Pillar of Souls," or "take my hand even though I'm a sinner." It's hard to keep track with all these tabs.

Favorite musicians: I have recently discovered Danny Schmidt and Lukas Graham, and I love them. I also adore Michael Jackson, Fallout Boy, Voltaire, Bon Jovi, Of Monsters And Men, and several great artists that have been recommended to me by friends on Tumblr.

Song(s) stuck in my head: "Take My Hand" by Lukas Graham, "Movement" by Hozier, and "Spooky Scary Skeletons." Yes, I can have multiple songs stuck in my head at once. Yes, it's terrifying sometimes.

If I had a time machine, would I visit the past or future: as much as there is a lot of history I'd like to see, the future is infinitely more mysterious, and not knowing is practically unbearable. The fact that there will still be more to learn after I die torments my every waking moment.

Do I get asks: very very rarely. Occsisionally, some kind soul takes interest, and I am awoken from my deathkess slumber.

Following: 672 and counting. Most are pretty inactive, though.

Would I rather be rich or famous: rich, because I know exactly what to do with money. No idea what to do with fame. Also, being able to afford my medical expenses would be nice.

Hours of sleep: oh, you know, between 15 minutes and 15 hours. Normal, healthy amounts, like a normal, healthy person. People are do weird, thinking my life is chaotic.

Lucky numbers: I have never found any numbers to be particularly lucky. I'm rather fond of 96 and Tau, though.

What I'm wearing: t-shirt and sweat pants, as always. Also black socks, because I have class.

Dream Job: house pet I'd like to write stories for movies and video games, and help animate them. Or do research.

Dream trip: there are a lot of places I'd like to visit, but I keep forgetting them. Ultimately, anywhere where I have something to do is nice.

If I where an animal what would I be: who knows? I could be anything. I'd like to be an octopus, a dolphin, a snake, a swan, a mantis shrimp, a bat, an owl, or a human, though.

Favorite book: I'm supposed to pick one? Dies fan fiction count? Shit, um, I liked Elantris and The Halls of Law. I'd really like to finish Kingkiller Chronicles.

Favorite Movie: currently, Spider-man: Into the Spider-Verse.

Favorite Shows: Disenchantment, Stranger Things, The Dragon Prince, and She-Ra are all pretty high on my list.

Favorite Games: Submachine, Being One, Minecraft, and Lobotomy Corp are all fantastic. Also, Magic: Duels and Magic: Arena.

Do I play any instruments: I have learned a little of the Piano and the Bagpipes. I'm not great at either.

What languages so I speak: fluent in English. I can speak a tiny bit of French. No hablo español.

I'll tag @roseverdict @gaypurplecat @anxya @darksteel-relic @kingbrickisthelocalcryptid and @lucifers-favorite-sweater but no pressure, though.

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slowianeczka · 5 years ago

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Hi, Karolina! I've got ton of questions again. (Somebody, stop me!) 1) What are top 5 Polish singers/music bands you can recommend? I only know Czesław Niemen and Annna German (admire both of them) but that's such a limited list! Definitely need to explore more Polish music. 2) Top 5 favourite movies? 3) Top 5 books you've read this year? 4) Top 5 suggestions for learning basics of the Polish language? 5) Top 5 reasons to study French, in your own opinion?

I loove questions!

Top 5 Polish singers/bands(I can’t add more because there are not many Polish singers or bands I can say I listen to :c There are just random songs here and there.)

1. Enej - mix of folk and rock music. Favourite: Może będzie lepiej, Dzisiaj będę ja, Symetryczno-Liryczna 2. Dawid Podsiadło - I can’t say I’m a total fan but I like a few of his songs and unlike many other artists, lyrics actually mean something. Favourite: W dobrą stronę, Pastempomat, Powiedz mi że nie chcesz

Top 5 movies(Maybe not necessarily top 5 because there are others and I watch way more tv shows)

1. Legally Blonde (can’t say why but it just relaxes me)2. Nie lubię poniedziałku (I don’t like Monday; Poland 70s, some understanding of Polish reality of that time and sense of humour recommended)3. Black Swan4. any 1-3 Indiana Jones 5. K-19

Top 5 books this year

1. The Picture of Dorian Gray2. Wuthering Heights3. In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror, and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin4. Vanity Fair5. Dans la tête de Vladimir Poutine

Top 5 suggestions for learning basics of the Polish language (I’m a native so I’m probably not the best person to answer this, other non-native learners may be more helpful in the topic but let’s try)

1. When learning vocabulary, try to divide words into categories like “the same like in Ukrainian/Russian”, “similar”, “different” (yes, now I’m speaking of kind of my own experience of learning ua and ru; pay less attention to the words which are the same, more to false friends). It may make things less confusing and more structured. The same goes for grammar e.g. conjugation/declension endings (they were very similar in Russian, a bit different in Ukrainian, comparing to Polish)

2. However, don’t learn endings by heart. I noticed that many people learning Polish do it and in my opinion it doesn’t make sense. It’s better to learn the general rules and try to “feel” the right answer while using them in context (e.g. by making sentences). You’ll get it eventually with time.

3. Write. Even if you think you’ve got limited vocabulary, write anything, using all the grammar and words you know at the moment (use a dictionary if you need it).

4. Immerse yourself, mostly try to read and listen as much as possible.

5. Don’t hesitate to ask any natives here, Polish people are generally happy when someone learns their language!

Top 5 reasons to study French

1. It may be not the most important thing in the world because if one likes the language, will learn it anyway but it’s just useful, especially when it comes to diplomacy.

2. You can surprise those French freaks you understand what they say behind your back (and just make them happy when you can help them in their own language - extra points: in foreign country) ~ Montenegro trip 2019.

3. That satisfaction you’re able to read French books in original and watch videos on yt and movies/shows.

4. It just sounds nice (but I wouldn’t call it the most beautiful in the world, sorry Frenchies, there are also different languages).

5. I can compare “French French” to e.g. Quebec French and I find it interesting.

#ask game #спасибо / дякую!

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searchingwardrobes · 6 years ago

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Priceless: 2/?

Here it is, the next chapter (finally) of Priceless! And in this one, CS finally meets and interacts. This is a dark fic, I won’t lie to you. However, part of the reason I am telling it in first person is because that way the worst aspects are portrayed second hand through Killian. In the movie, it shows things from the women’s point of view at times, but I won’t be doing that. If you have any questions about this fic’s content, please feel free to private message me. Those who know my writing style know that I do my best to be sensitive and tasteful even when handling dark subject matter. Having said all of that, the movie Priceless inspired this fic partly because it leaves you with hope at the end. And also because Joel Smallbone’s character is so much like Killian! So I hope (ha!) people will give this a chance.

Much thanks to my beta, @xhookswenchx for holding my hand as I try something new as a writer!

Summary: Desperate men can find themselves in places they never thought they would go, but for Killian Jones it would finally force him to be the hero his daughter always thought he could be. The job was simple: drive the truck, don’t open the back, don’t ask questions. But Killian Jones has never followed instructions very well . . .

Rating: M for mature themes

Trigger warnings: This fic is about human trafficking, so there is non-con, rape, prostitution, sexual exploitation, and violence, some of it involving a minor. It is NOT portrayed as romantic or sexy, just to be clear, but as the horrific human rights violation that it is. On a fandom note, there is also Knightrook in this, but Alice’s mother is Milah, not Gothel.

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Part of Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom Com: Second Edition. There is also the original series from a couple of years ago. They are all kinds of movie aus, not strictly rom coms. I just thought it was a cute title until every other reader started “correcting me” lol ;)

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @kday426 @thislassishooked @teamhook @shipsxahoy @shady-swan-jones @tiganasummertree @bethacaciakay @artistic-writer @jonesfandomfanatic @cat-sophia @hollyethecurious @thejacketandthehook @dassala @branlovestowrite @allofdafandoms-blog @flslp87 @pocket-anon @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @winterbaby89 @onceuponaprincessworld @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @wellhellotragicwrites

There were three young women in the back of the box truck. They were filthy and the stench that rose from them was almost unbearable. Liam and I were horrified to see the buckets they had been forced to relieve themselves in. Empty boxes and wrappers were all that remained of their food supply. Their large bottle of water had also run out. We reached out our hands, gesturing for them to get out, but they were hesitant. Finally, the smallest one eased forward, taking my hand for me to help her out. Her hand was tiny in mine, her wrist fragile, and I wondered how old she was. The other two finally followed, and even though it was night, they all blinked at the harsh glare of the streetlights.

“Are you injured?” we asked them. “Sick? Are you okay?”

But all they did was stare at us silently. The tallest one, whose blonde hair was braided messily over one shoulder, spoke in a language neither of us recognized.

Liam and I exchanged glances. “I’m sorry,” Liam told them, “we can’t understand you.”

“We didn’t know you were back here,” I added, wanting desperately for them to know we meant them no harm. But did they even know what I was saying?

“Are you okay?” Liam repeated slowly.

Thankfully, all three of them nodded their heads.

“Can you understand English?” I asked.

Three nods again.

“Can you speak any English?”

They all shook their heads this time, though the youngest one, a red head, seemed to hesitate and glance at the others first.

“What are your names?” I asked.

“Elsa,” the tallest one said, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Anna,” the red head told us with a bright smile.

“Emma,” the last woman said. I noticed that though she was also blonde, her eyes were a light jade green while the other two had blue eyes. Her blonde hair hung messy and loose, yet her beauty still took my breath away. Why was I transporting these women?

“Did someone force you into this truck?” I asked.

They all shook their heads, and I let out a relieved breath.

“Killian,” Liam whispered, grasping my arm, “we need to get back on the road before another vehicle comes along. This looks really bad.”

He was right, so we shut the back of the truck and had the girls squeeze into the cab with us. The smell was worse with all of us crammed in together, but there was no way I was letting them travel further in such horrific conditions. If I had known . . .

Emma was pressed right against me, and Elsa was next to Liam on the other side. Anna was wedged between the two blondes. We were all quiet for a long while until Emma gently touched the inside of my forearm. I flinched slightly, and she snatched her hand away.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, “you just startled me, that’s all.”

She reached out again tentatively and lightly touched my tattoo with one slender finger.

“Oh, it’s a chess piece – a knight. I like to teach my daughter Alice how to play. The tattoo reminds me to try and be a better man for her.”

I gripped the steering wheel harder as my jaw clenched. Thoughts of Alice were never far from my mind.

Emma leaned over and began talking rapidly in that foreign language to her – sisters? I could definitely see a resemblance. She had the same hair color as the blonde, obviously, but their eyes were also similarly shaped. Emma shared the same nose and light dusting of freckles as Anna as well.

There was a truck stop ahead, and I bought tokens so the girls could shower. Their clothes would be more difficult, but I searched the small convenience store anyway.

“This is worse than I thought, little brother,” Liam spoke low over my shoulder as I searched through a rack of cheaply made tie-dye sundresses.

“I’d say Emma and Anna are a small while Elsa is a medium, right?”

“Killian, are you listening me?”

“Why am I asking you? I’m the one with a daughter.” And a dead wife, but I refused to think about Milah.

“I’m serious! What are going to do about those girls?”

“I’m doing all I can do, Liam,” I snapped. “There are worse things than illegal immigration. We of all people should understand. Remember how hard it was for Dad and us when we first came here? The red tape? The confusing laws?”

Liam wearily rubbed at his eyes. “If we get caught - “

I shoved the dresses at Liam’s chest. “Then we don’t get caught. Now go pay for these and give them to the girls. I paid for the showers.”

Liam stomped off, looking frankly ridiculous carrying the bright colored dresses. If our situation wasn’t so serious, I would have laughed.

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

The beauty of the two blondes was even more striking once they were showered and in fresh clothes. Even the red head was pretty, though she was obviously very young. She looked even more so, and incredibly innocent, with the two braids she had plaited her wet hair into. We took them into the truck stop restaurant, knowing they had to be famished. Emma’s stomach growled to confirm it, and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. A waiter approached us with menus in his hand.

“Can I have a hamburger please?” Anna blurted out. “And a chocolate milkshake?”

“Anna!” Elsa admonished.

“But what about the tattoo?” Anna argued, and Liam and I widened our eyes at her perfect English. “Emma said -”

“I said it might be a sign we can trust them,” Emma snapped, also in perfect English.

“You could talk to us this entire time!” Liam exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa told him, her voice calmer than her sisters, “we were afraid. We were told not to talk to anyone.”

I ushered them quickly to a booth, noticing the waiter’s suspicious gaze. We slipped into the seats, the sisters on one side, and Liam and I on the other.

“Hamburgers and fries all around,” I told the waiter.

“And chocolate milkshakes,” Anna added.

I smiled at her, then addressed her sisters, “And the two of you?”

“It’s always a yes to chocolate milkshakes in our family,” Elsa laughed.

Her laugh was delicate, and my brother’s face visibly softened at the sound of it. He seemed to be mesmerized by her light blue eyes, and I had to kick him lightly in the shin to give the waiter his order.

Once we were alone, I leaned over the table, my voice low. “Why aren’t you supposed to talk to anyone?”

“The man who arranged our passage,” Emma explained, “told us to stay quiet in the container and when we were transferred to the truck, not to speak to anyone.”

“Container?” Liam asked.

The sisters explained, finishing each other’s sentences and talking over one another as siblings often do, about how their parents died when Anna was a baby. Emma had been seven, Elsa nine. Their Aunt Ingrid had taken them in, but she was young and it was a huge burden for her to care for three small children. The bank would no longer help her, so she took loans from a business man in the tiny Eastern European town they hailed from. All three sisters were here to work to pay off their aunt’s debt.

“What kind of work?” Liam’s brow creased with concern.

Emma dragged a french fry through ketchup. “He has a hotel and casino just outside of Vegas. Elsa and I will be maids in the hotel, and Anna will waitress in the restaurant.”

“But Anna will also keep up her studies,” Elsa cut in.

“Homeschooled by my sisters,” Anna grumbled, “lucky me.”

“How long until the debt is paid?” I frowned at the thought.

“Four years,” Elsa answered softly.

I watch my brother clench both fists. “That isn’t right!”

“We weren’t about to let Aunt Ingrid lose her home,” Emma argued. “She didn’t want us to do it, but how could we turn our backs on her after all she’s done for us? And by the time the four years are up, the people we’re working for will have gotten us student visas.”

“We’ll have so many more opportunities here in the US,” Elsa finished her sister’s thought.

“I’m going to be a singer,” Anna told us, “like Taylor Swift.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Sixteen.”

She was just as young and innocent as I had guessed. I couldn’t help but think of my Alice.

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

Once again, a long, straight ribbon of highway stretched seemingly endlessly before me. This time, however, I was wide awake. Liam was slumped against the passenger side door, snoring softly. Elsa had been the first to fall asleep, and Liam hadn’t minded at all when her head lolled onto his shoulder. Now, in his sleep, he had slipped his arm over her shoulder, and her head was pillowed on his chest. Knowing my brother, he would be mortified with embarrassment when he woke up. Anna had chatted endlessly at first, as if she were making up for all the miles she had been forced to remain silent. Now the truck was quiet, Anna’s head resting on Emma’s shoulder. Only Emma and I were awake.

“She’d been saving up a lot to say.”

Emma laughed softly and shook her head. “Actually, that’s normal for her.” My eyes widened, and Emma laughed even more.

I had already gathered that Elsa was reserved, Anna a chatterbox. Emma seemed to fall somewhere in between. She exuded confidence, yet small talk seemed difficult for her.

“You know,” I said, flashing her a flirtatious grin and a wink, “most men would find your silence off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

Emma rolled her eyes, yet her lips curled into a small smile nonetheless. Silence fell between us again, and I felt no pressure to fill it. Emma laid her head on top of her sister’s with a sigh, and I wondered if she too would fall asleep. My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket, and I swore softly under my breath as I fumbled to retrieve it.

“Sorry,” I whispered, hoping I hadn’t awakened anyone. I looked at the screen, and my heart leapt. “I have to take this,” I apologized to Emma, who had sat up again, a questioning look in her eyes. “Hello, Starfish,” I said into the phone.

“Papa!” Alice cried. “Guess what Tiana taught me today?”

“What?”

“How to make beignets. She said I’m a natural.”

“That’s wonderful love, you’ll have to make them for me when I come see you next time.”

“When will that be, Papa?” I could hear her sadness even over the phone and imagined her frown and tearful eyes. Liam said she was just as expressive as I always was.

“As soon as I possibly can. I’ve got a job, a very important one, that I have to finish first.”

“What kind of job?”

“Well,” I said hesitantly, shifting in my seat, “I’m driving all the way across the country. I’m in Colorado right now.”

“I want to see Colorado! Take me with you next time!”

I chuckled at her enthusiasm; she was always planning trips for us to take together. “I should do that, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, you should,” she said solemnly.

I suddenly had a thought, and even though I knew Liam might be angry, I couldn’t let it go. “I tell you what, Starfish, I’ll take a different route home and come see you in New Orleans.”

“Really?!” She squealed. The sound of it warmed the deepest places in my heart.

“Yes, really, and in the meantime, you can call me whenever you want.”

“Okay. Can you send me a picture?”

“Of what?”

“Las Vegas is this big city of light in the middle of the desert. I’d like to see that.”

“Okay, done.”

“But you have to be in the picture, Papa,” Alice admonished, “because pictures without people in them are no fun. You can look that up on Google.”

I chuckled. “That is an excellent point, little love.”

“Ugh, Tiana says I have to take a bath.”

“Well, you better get to it.”

“Love you, Papa!”

“Love you too.” I hung up, and just like every time I ended a conversation with my daughter, regret washed over me. I wanted us to be together again so badly, it was a constant ache.

“How old is your little girl?” Emma asked me softly.

“Eight.”

She nodded. “You’re a good father.”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t know about that. I keep failing her.”

“But you love her. Enough to try to be a better man.” She reached out and gently traced my tattoo again, this time her touch was like an electric current tingling across my skin. “That’s how I knew we could trust you.”

As the miles slipped past, I found myself telling her everything: about Milah, and Alice, and the accident. In turn, she told me about losing her parents and how Ingrid had stepped in wholeheartedly. She told me how their favorite family activity was a run-down local amusement park where Ingrid taught them how to beat every single carnival game. How she read every single Harry Potter book out loud to them in front of the fire on winter nights. And as the truck’s wheels ate up the miles through Colorado and into Utah, I won’t say I fell in love with her, or even that I started to fall in love, only that I began to think that perhaps I could. And that was something I had thought was impossible since I lost Milah.

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs movie au #captain swan is my favorite rom com #priceless #dark #angst #frozen jewel #emma elsa and anna as sisters

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

Text

Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 6

a/n: Super quick, I know, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and I really need this story out of my freaking head so I can concentrate on other things. Be forewarned: Although I always had a general idea for what had happened to Killian before he came to Storybrooke, this wrote itself into a bit of a darker place than I’d intended. Most of that will actually appear in the next chapter, but this one does contain mentions of a dubious-consent scenario, due to the ages of the people involved and other factors.

New, serious-this-time-summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with.

Rating: T+

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 and @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 6:

Neal swaggered into school on Monday morning, looking like anything but a boy who’d not only been suspended for a month but also ignominiously dumped by his girlfriend in public.

“What’s the douchebag extraordinaire looking so smug about?” asked Ruby. “Did he kick a puppy on his way in this morning?”

“Who cares?” replied Emma, not even bothering to look. She truly could not be less interested in whatever Neal had up his sleeve. It was hard even to imagine now what she had ever seen in him or why she had allowed him to be so overbearing and dismissive of her for so long. Now that she had gotten to know Killian, experienced his genuine interest in her thoughts and ideas, felt the flame of emotion —was it love?— that burned brighter and hotter the more time she spent with him, Neal and his petty self-aggrandizement and jealousies just seemed so pointless.

When he sauntered over and flung his arm around her shoulder like nothing had happened her skin actually crawled. Fury surged through her and she shoved him away with all her strength, the muscles honed by weeks of fencing finally paying off. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed. “How dare you even come near me after what you tried to do to Killian?”

“Oh, Killian,” mocked Neal. “Of course, Killian, your precious boo, it’s all about him now. So, hey, I was wondering, did your sweet little twoo wuv ever tell you why he moved here?”

Emma frowned, startled by the odd non-sequitur. “No, why would he?”

“Ha,” said Neal, “Of course he wouldn’t want you to know about it. Did you even know he was seeing the shrink?”

“What? Do you mean Dr Hopper?”

“Oh yeah. Seems there’s an awful lot your bae hasn’t told you. Good thing you’ve got me to uncover the lies. I got hold of his records and guess what? Sweet Killian came to Storybrooke because he had to leave England after he got his brother kicked out of the British Navy.”

“What?”

“See for yourself.” He held out his phone. Emma took it, jaw dropping as she read the document he had photographed in Dr Hopper’s office.

“Yup. Turns out your boy was fucking the wife of his brother’s commanding officer. Not so sweet after all.”

“His wife? But she must have been ancient!” cried Ruby, peering at the phone over Emma’s shoulder.

“Twenty-five. Says here she was the second wife. It’s actually a pretty badass move, I’m almost impressed.”

It didn’t sound badass to Emma. It sounded abusive. What would a twenty-five year old woman even want with a sixteen year old boy? A woman whose husband had power over his brother’s career? She wanted to cry. No wonder Killian was so closed off, so hesitant to let anyone in. No wonder he’d resisted her advances. He must have trusted this woman and it had somehow led to Liam losing his commission. Killian must feel so guilty. She had seen firsthand how much he loved his brother, idolised him really, despite his grumbling when Liam teased. If his actions had harmed Liam, Killian would be devastated.

Neal was still smirking, though there was a tiny hint of confusion in his eyes. Emma wasn’t reacting quite the way he’d expected. She didn’t look angry or disgusted, just sad. He decided to twist the knife.

“So your little boyfriend’s a homewrecker, huh? That must be a kick in the teeth. Bet you thought he was an innocent little virgin like you. Or are you, still? You let him fuck you yet?”

Emma glared at him, anger bubbling through her, feeling for the first time in her life like she actually hated someone.

“Or maybe he thinks you’d be too vanilla after the admiral’s wife.”

“Emma, if you don’t punch this jagoff in his stupid fucking face, I will,” snarled Ruby.

“No,” said Emma, slapping Neal in the chest with his phone as she returned it to him. “He’s not worth the detention. You’re pathetic, Neal. None of this changes how I feel about Killian, though it does explain a lot. I guess maybe I should thank you for that. Or not, because you only did it to be a jerk. Either way, I never want to speak to you again.” She looked him straight in the eye and spoke a word she had never thought she’d say. “Fuck off.”

Ruby gasped and even Neal’s eyes widened in shock. Emma never swore.

She almost laughed at their expressions. Maybe Killian was rubbing off on her. Or maybe she was just tired of being a good girl all the time. Giving Neal her best approximation of one of Killian’s dismissive sneers, she turned on her heel and headed for her first class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of second period the entire school had heard about Killian and the admiral’s wife. Although the majority seemed to agree with Neal that banging an older woman was pretty impressive, there was a small but vocal minority with some less than kind thoughts about the character of a person who would “steal someone’s wife.”

Whatever their opinion, everyone was talking about him, and Emma knew how Killian would hate that, how mortified he’d be to have the secrets he’d protected so fiercely as fodder for school gossip.

When he didn’t appear in English class, her worry nearly consumed her. She buzzed with anxiety for the whole period, and after it ended Emma did yet another thing that she had never done before in her life, another thing she never imagined she would do.

She skipped a class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found him where she’d known she would, in the little corner of the library that she’d come to think of as their corner. He smirked when he saw her, the old careless smirk she hadn't seen on his face for weeks.

“You've heard then,” he said. “About Milah.”

She nodded.

“At least now you understand why I have to go back.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“I left her,” he snapped. “She— she loves me, and I abandoned her. Left her in the hands of that— that demon she married.”

“Does she? Love you, I mean?”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. “Of course she loves me and I—” he looked down at his hands as his voice cracked over the words “—and I love her and I— we—”

“You—” she swallowed hard. “You slept with her.”

He shot her a sardonic look. “I fucked her, yes. Does it upset you less not to use the word? Should I tidy up the language for the princess’s delicate ears? I fucked her, is what, and not just once. It went on for months.”

Emma tried not to cringe, knowing he was deliberately trying to hurt her, convinced he wouldn’t be so callous if there wasn’t something deeply wrong. “Did you want to?” she asked.

He blinked, surprised, and then a stricken expression crept onto his face. “What?” He whispered.

“Did you want to—” she hesitated over the hated word, “—to fuck her?”

“I— of course I did!” he said, in the tone Emma had come to learn all too well over the past few months, the one he used when he was trying to convince himself of something he didn’t truly believe.

She took a step closer to him, willing herself not to feel hurt when he flinched away. “Did you really?” she whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to deny her words.

“It’s okay if you didn’t, Killian.”

“I— I did,” he said, “I had to.”

Emma jolted back like she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. “What do you mean you had to?” she cried. Something was definitely very not right here. Had Killian somehow been coerced? She swallowed over the lump in her throat, tears prickling behind her eyes at the thought, at the thought of anyone using him, hurting him as he had clearly been hurt.

He seemed to be fighting back tears of his own. “Her husband is a monster,” he said in a choked voice. “He abused her, psychologically and— and physically. She was always so sad, desperate for an escape, and I— I worried she might hurt herself, or worse. When we— well, it made her feel better. I just wanted her to stop being so sad.”

“Oh, Killian.” Emma could swear her heart was breaking, she could feel it shatter in her chest. “I’m so sorry. It must have been terrible, but I doubt there was anything you could really have done—”

“You don’t know that, Emma!” he nearly shouted, and Emma wondered wildly why Miss French hadn’t appeared to shush them yet. “You don’t know anything about it!”

“Of course I don’t!” She was shouting herself now, feeling so sad and furious and hurt that he was still trying to push her away. “How could I when you never told me anything?”

“Oh, I should have told you, should I? Told you, the sweetest little princess in the world all about how I fucked a married woman? Told you all the many and varied ways I fucked everything up, so that you could hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, I could never—”

“Well, you should. I destroyed my brother’s career, got us kicked out of our country, made Milah’s awful life worse, got her—” he broke off. “You should hate me, God knows I hate myself.”

“Oh, Killian—” She reached for him, but he flinched away again.

“I don’t need your pity, Emma,” he sneered, hating the thought of her touching him knowing what he was, desperate for her to go away and leave him alone with his pain. Pain he would rather die than allow to sully her. “The pity of a sweet little small-town girl whose biggest problem is whether she’ll get into her first choice college or her second. You don’t know what it’s like to have real problems.”

“Please let me— I just want to help you,” she whispered.

“Well, you can’t. And what’s more, you shouldn’t want to. Wanting to help someone is what got me into this bloody mess in the first place. Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt, that’s the lesson you need to learn.”

“That’s a terrible lesson.”

“And it’s only a very privileged person who has the luxury not to learn it.” He slumped back against the bookshelves, looking so lost and broken that she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and rolling down her cheeks.

“Go away now, Emma,” he said. “Please.”

“Killian.”

“Just go. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After she left, Killian sat for a minute, recovering what he could of his composure. Then he went home. There was no point staying in this ridiculous school any longer, he thought. Now that the secret was out, maybe Liam would finally agree to go back to England.

His gut twisted with what he refused to accept was distress at the thought of leaving Storybrooke. Leaving Emma. He’d known all along that he’d be gone soon, after all, that Emma could never be for him. That bright, beautiful girl deserved far better than someone who’d failed as badly as he had.

At least she wasn’t with Neal anymore. Killian consoled himself with that thought. She’d go off to college next year and find herself some bloke as solid and wholesome as she was herself, and they would get married and have beautiful children and she would be happy. He almost smiled, thinking about it. That was what Emma deserved from life.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, imagining Emma’s future when the door burst open and Liam appeared.

Killian stiffened at the expression on his brother’s face. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked.

“Emma called me at the harbourmaster’s office. She told me what happened.”

Killian glared down at the countertop. “Good,” he said defiantly. “I’m glad. I’m glad this happened, now maybe we can abandon this charade and finally go home.”

“Oh, bloody hell, not this again! We are home, Killian! Storybrooke is our home now, we are not going back to Bristol!”

“Why, Liam? You said we were moving here for a new start, but that’s blown up now. There’s no point in staying in this ridiculous little town anymore, and I am not going back to that bloody school. Can’t we just go back to England and forget this ever happened?”

Liam looked intently at his brother, clinging to the fine threads of his patience. Killian had always been stubborn, but this was a new level of intransigence. “Brother, tell me what’s going on with you. Why are you so desperate to get back? Is it about Milah, because you know you can’t—”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” shouted Killian. “You don’t know, Liam! I have to go back to her, I have no choice!”

“Of course you have a choice—”

“I don’t!”

Liam threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why the hell not? What is it that you’re not telling me? I know there’s something you’ve been holding back, Killian. Please, just tell me what it is!”

Killian pounded his fist on the countertop in frustration, wanting desperately to tell Liam everything but still so terribly afraid of how his brother might handle the news. He looked at Liam’s pleading expression and suddenly all the humiliation and anger and sadness of the day and of his life and of his hopeless future was just too much for him. “Milah is pregnant,” he burst out. “She’s pregnant and she said she’d kill herself and the baby if I didn’t come back.”

Liam gaped. “You never said… Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“How could I? I’d already made such a mess of things for you, destroyed your career and forced us to leave England, I didn’t want you to know how badly I’d actually screwed up. I was afraid that even if you found out you still wouldn’t let me go back, that you’d try to deal with Milah yourself and drive her to do something desperate. And—” he gulped, looking utterly distraught and so painfully young. “—and also I didn’t want to talk about it. It felt like talking, actually saying it out loud would somehow make it real. But it is real, don’t you see, and I can’t keep ignoring it. I have a responsibility—”

Liam shook his head, feeling like he’d finally found the missing piece to a puzzle he’d been labouring over for months. “Goddamnit, Killian, have you been keeping this inside all this time? This is what you’ve been hiding?”

Killian nodded, and Liam strode across the room and wrapped him in an enormous hug. “I’m so sorry, brother, I had no idea.”

Killian sighed against his brother’s shoulder, wishing for just a moment that he were small again so he could curl up in Liam’s lap and let his brother protect him from the world. “So you understand,” he said, sounding tentatively hopeful and profoundly relieved. “You’ll let me go back? You see, don’t you Liam, that I have to go back? I can’t let her— my own child—”

Liam’s heart broke to hear his little brother (which Killian would always be to him, despite his insistence on younger), still barely more than a boy himself, making himself frantic about the well being of his baby. “Brother,” said Liam, pulling back from the hug. “Come, sit down. We need to talk.”

He led Killian to the sofa, where his brother sat reluctantly, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. Liam was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Killian, there are a lot of things I think you need to know, things I never told you before because I thought you had enough to deal with. Looking back, I realise that this was a mistake. You’ve always been mature for your age, forced to grow up faster than you should have when Mum died and then Father left. I should have trusted you with the whole truth instead of trying to protect you from it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so much guilt or tried to take so much on your own shoulders.

The first thing you need to know is that you aren’t the reason why I gave up my commission. I wasn’t forced into it by Gold or by threats of retailiation. I relinquished it voluntarily, gladly even, when it became clear that the navy had no intention of taking action against that man for any of the crimes he committed, not least of which the crimes against his wife. I could no longer in good conscience be a part of an institution that swept such serious things under the rug or let themselves be bought with a criminal’s dirty money and nefarious influence.

What I didn’t know during the time that I was investigating Gold’s malfeasance was how heavily Milah was coming to depend on you for support. I should have noticed it, Killian, should have paid more attention to you. I got so caught up in my work that I ignored what was going on in my own family. That was my mistake, and you are not to blame for it. You’re also not to blame for Milah’s actions. She was responsible for coercing you into a sexual relationship—”

“She didn’t coerce me! I wanted to,” protested Killian, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Had he really wanted to sleep with Milah, or had he just wanted her to feel better, to feel loved and stop hinting that she might take her own life?

Liam looked skeptical, but didn’t challenge him. “Perhaps, but she should never have put you in a position where wanting to would even be an option. She had no business getting so involved with a teenager, putting her problems on your shoulders, expecting you to deal with her marriage. There was nothing you could have done, Killian, no way you could have rescued her. It was never your responsibility.”

Killian was silent, and Liam could see him thinking, trying to adjust. “She was desperate…” he whispered.

“Yes, she was. She was in a terrible situation, one that is never easily resolved. I understand why you wanted to help her, I did too. But Killian, look at me.” He paused until his brother’s blue eyes met his own. “You did not fail to save her. There was nothing you could have done. It wasn’t your responsibility. Do you understand that?”

Killian nodded slowly, but he still looked troubled. “I think, since we’ve been in Storybrooke, I’ve had some time and distance to think about it and I have come to understand those things, though it doesn’t really make me feel less guilty. The baby, though, that is my responsibility,” he said. “I can’t let her endanger it. I promised I’d go back and I have to keep that promise.”

“Brother, this is going to be hard for you to hear, but please listen carefully. There is no baby.”

“There is,” insisted Killian. “She told me. I went to see her in hospital—”

“Yes, I know you did. I just wish I’d known what she said to you there. But it isn’t true. I’ve been keeping track of Milah, and of Gold, since we moved. She’s not pregnant. She never was.”

Killian looked shell shocked. “She’s… not pregnant,” he whispered.

“No,” said Liam. “But she’s left him. Gold. She moved to London and filed a restraining order against him. From what I’ve been told, he’s respecting it. He’s moved on to some other poor deluded young woman, apparently. Milah has filed for divorce.” He looked at his brother, fancying he could almost see the cogs turning in his clever mind as he adjusted to this complete realignment of his universe. “Are you going to be all right, Killian?”

Killian was silent for a long time. “I— I need some time to process all this,” he said finally. “All this time, I’ve been thinking— thinking about how far along she was and how the baby was developing, if it would be a boy or a girl. It’s going to take some time to accept that it’s not going to happen, that it was never true. Even though I didn’t want it, losing it is still a blow. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” said Liam kindly. “And... do you still feel that you need to go back? Even knowing that she’s safe, and there’s no baby?”

Killian huffed out a breath. “Bloody hell, give a chap time to think before you start asking life-altering questions!” he said, and Liam felt some of his tension drain away. If his brother was up to making wry quips then that was a very good sign.

“I really am going to need a while to work through all of this,” said Killian, sounding so grown up that it gave Liam a bittersweet twinge in his heart. “But I think— no. I don’t want to go back. I want— I— I have to talk to Emma.”

Notes the second: So clearly there are serious issues of age-related ability to consent, here, however it’s important to note that the legal age of consent in the UK is 16, so Milah didn’t technically break any laws. I think we can all agree though that she took serious advantage of Killian’s inherent chivalry and used it to force him into a position where he wouldn’t really feel comfortable saying no, which was clearly not okay. On the third hand (ha!) It’s important to remember that people stuck in abusive relationships often feel driven to take desperate measures and Milah was looking for escape at any cost. There will be more on this as Killian tells Emma his story in the next chapter.

#cs ff au #brothers jones #captain duckling #high school au #another brick in the wall #profdanglaisstuff #secret revealed #don't hate me

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livehorsesartpage · 6 years ago

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Gaining trust by DeviantLivehorses

Although Mérante was apparently sitting comfortably in a chair, that didn't mean that he was relaxed. He was in a dynamic job only his family can notice. Odette knew how stressful he could get and how susceptible he could become. She even knew that she going around was grateful for him. Entering the room was a relief and Mérante usually wished Odette to stay and make the moment more relaxed. But the one he never wanted around was his adopted noisy daughter. He could spend nights doing this job... He leafed over and over the papers and notes. He watched and analyzed partitures that his fellow composer sended to him the last day. He wrote, sketched, erased, sometimes with energic angry. Sometimes he got up from his desk, partiture in hand, and walking through the room, he went to sat at the piano and rehearsed a tune the times was necessary until he felt satisfyed enough to return to his notes. Sometimes he rehearsed some steps or danced along the space to clarify his subjective thought he wanted to insert in his coreographies... Sometimes in the low level of the house it can be heard a single little scream of frustration. Sometimes some sketches made a crumpled ball ended rolling on the floor, or in the fireplace as fuel. Sometimes the coffee wasn't enough, sometimes the hands ended placed in his head. Sometimes he got up from the place and started walking around the room while grumbling. That very day his mind was really busy, but at least he wasn't so frustrated as the other night. "What ya doin'?" asked in a vulgar french tone a squeaky voice next to Mérante's ear. Mérante released a scream in a high pitch tone unusual in his voice. When he turned around, he found himself face to face with Félicie, arms recharged in the back of the chair. Mérante sighed between relief and frustration. It was only her; yes... ONLY Félicie, the last one he wanted to be there that moment. "It's-obvious". he answered in a stern tone. "I know." said his daughter. "But I wanna see. I like your coreographies. What is this time about?" Mérante sighed more relaxed. After all at that hour it was bed time and that probably meant a bed-story time. He felt somehow a little less stressed and more warmed by the girl's prescence. After a moment of silence, he took the child and made her sit in his lap. He started showing her his sketches, his ideas, telling her the story in which he was working. Félicie, as a curious cat watched and made questions as usual. At some point that didn't annoyed his father but made him glad to been asked of his main favorite subject. He took advance of the situation to presume about his knowedge, feeling extremely proud everytime Félicie gasped or said "wow" to all of his explanations. "Can I dance this?". asked her. "I'm afraid not. This is not like the things you have danced. It's for formed dancers only." "You should do more child dancers' ballets." Mérante laughed gently and placed a kiss in the girl's forehead. "Maybe some day my little strawberry. Now if you excuse me, I have to go to the piano, I have to think this musical phrase". And after saying this, he took Félicie softly and placed her in the floor. "But can I stay?" asked her in a plea. "If you remain silent while I play, yes." Then Mérante rose up and walked to the piano, followed by Félicie's wide open eyes. He sat and started playing a tone. But in the middle of his performance, he got a feeling in his back and heard behind him an energic sequence of wild steps. He stopped suddenly and turn around fast to find Félicie stopping dancing, interlacing her fingers and her face blushing. "What were you doing?" asked Mérante suprised. Félicie lowered her head in shame. "I couldn't resist it, the melody was catchy." "But WHAT were you doing?" "Dancing?" she rose her brilliant green eyes to meet them with the hazel eyes of his father. Mérante passed his legs to the front of his seat to face completely his daughter and placed his elbows in his knees, interlacing his fingers as well. "I want to see you." Félicie stepped back, her face getting more blushed. "I-I can't". "You don't have any shame everytime you dance. I can remember that time in the bar in front of a lot of strangers. Why can be different with your own father?" "'Cause..." the words were stuck in her throat and were refusing to go out. "You're the master." "Forget that, I'm your father now." "You will not get angry if I do it wrong?" "No, I promise. No scolding this time, we aren't at class. Besides... your dance is always on fire." Félicie draw a huge smile in her face, showing how her heart was getting wild of exitement inside of her. Mérante smiled, and turning completely, placing his fingers on the keys, he prepared himself to play. "I will play the piano, and I need you to be at my left so I can see you meanwhile." Félicie did as she was told, walking and placing at the left of the piano. "Just..." said Mérante suddenly. "Be careful to not break anything in the middle of your dancing, stay away from the decoration." he was now watching at an expensive porcelain flower vase and a greek sculpture. "Okay." said Félicie laughing. Mérante started playing the melody, and for a moment Félicie stayed still in her place. Even if Mérante noticed it, he continued, waiting patiently for her daughter to take inspiration and confidence. And it did happen; Suddenly, Félicie found herself cought in the middle of the music, and letting her body flow like the water of a creek, she moved around the left space, following what the music dictated to her heart and therefore to her feet. While playing the piano, Mérante rose up sometimes his sight from the keys to look at her daughter. Captivated by her performance, he got some glances of forgotten moments of his youth, when he whitnessed behind a door, some fair young dancer going around a classroom like a swan in light flight. Of course, Félicie had a wilder and less elegant performance, but not by that less passionate. The muses of inspiration went around both and Mérante's brain started to create great coreographies based on the incongruent ravings of the little dancer. He wanted to stop suddenly to return in a crazy race to his desk before this ideas dissapeared, but he didn't want, as he watched Félicie to be in a heavy ectasy, to made her fall violently from the clouds. But for the disgrace of both, the piece of music ended, and both found themselves forced to fall slowly from the Dancing Heaven and to place their feet in the ground again. Both look at each other for a while, having the same feeling of inspiration. Speaking after the sublime voice of music was heard in the air was almost impossible. "Well... I guess that this is all for the moment". said Mérante in a sigh, eyes shining like Félicie never saw before. He returned to his desk and started to place his newborn ideas in the papers. For some time he remained silent, and he felt how her daughter approached to him. "Dad?". her voice sounded cracked. Mérante rose up his sight and found Félicie with a worried face. "You will always be my dad? I'm your daughter right?" Mérante stared at her starting to feel concerned. "I mean... Do you love me?" "But of course I love you!" exclaimed Mérante while raising from his chair and going to hug her daughter. "Why I wouldn't love you?" "I don't know..." answered Félicie while starting to weep in his father's shoulder. "Maybe I'm a dissapointment". "You're not my dear. You can't imagine how much I love you". at some point his voice also cracked, and some tears appeared in his eyes. "You have made my life and Odette's such a great joy, you united us. And we are a family." Suddenly both felt how a couple of arms surrounded them and embraced them in a warm hug. When they rose their sight, they found like in a vision, the face of Odette, her beautiful eyes glowing behind brilliant tears of conmocion and joy. It seemed that both of them never realized how she was watching at the door of the room, to Mérante playing at the piano and Félicie dancing. They were so into the moment when they hug each other, that they never realized the sound of the cane approaching to them. The family joined like one in a single hug.

So, this is a B/L! little fanfiction of my favorite family, the Mérante family. This came out to my mind around yesterday and here I am doing it. Of course, even if I will not be a writer, I must say that I see this as my writing masterpiece. I never was able to describe a scene with so much inspiration and detail, I'm really moved and delighted. Also, it was so satisfying that I found exactly every word I wanted to use and to express my ideas so clearly. That keeps the main idea intact in the writing. I'm so proud that I wrote about one of my favorite subjects, Mérante & Félicie's storge love. Also, I've recently had issues with my own dad, that he loves me and have given me everything... Sometimes I forget how much he does for me. He is in some points simillar to Mérante's character and sometimes is hard to be with him, but from him I learned and share same tastes a lot. I'm just kind of feel broke because he usually keeps his distance, because he doesn't want to hurt us. But I'm very lucky to have such a loving, kind and gentle father. I almost cry while writing this...

Made at March 29 of 2019.

Remember I promised a fanart for my fanfic of the same name? Here it is! I take advantage of that Holy Week Vacations has just started. I really like the results. And I really, really love all Mérante family stuff. That's why I am here. I'm very suprised that my airbrushing is working out so well. I have improved... But, this is a mess of many hands one can't easily know of who belongs each one. But, more or less that's the idea. And now I'm happy, but also my index finger hurts. DX Made with DeviantArt muro at April 11 of 2019.

#DeviantLivehorses #Ballerina/Leap!#Félicie Milliner #Odette Milliner #Louis Mérante #Mérante family #Félicie Mérante

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swanwinged-princess · 6 years ago

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hsdf idk how to start this off but basically i’m gonna do some worldbuilding and also some editing to my main verse

i’m gonna separate it into two main offshoot-timelines, one taking place within the events of the prince & the raven, where she is adopted and raised by siegfried’s family, and another one where she’s.. not.

generally speaking, the difference between these two timelines is, in the first one (the main-main verse, i guess you could say), Schwanensee only consists of the sacred island in the center of the Swan King’s lake, and is really only a ‘kingdom’ in name because the inhabitants are all only the royal family (extended up to like 3rd cousins).

(the ‘royal family’ was originally more of a sacred priest/sage bloodline, but evolved over the years into more of a leadership role, so they started calling them royal.)

in the other one, Schwanensee consists of the lake, the island and a good portion of the land around the lake- not a very big kingdom, but enough to be counted as a kingdom.

In this verse, the actual royal family had retreated to the sacred island for several generations, leaving the nth-time-removed cousins who didn’t inherit the holy bloodline powers to run the actual kingdom. this decision was probably made to protect the empowered members of the royal family from got/tudors-style royal murder intrigue, or something like that.

However, that probably backfired because within like, one-and-a-half generations the regent side of the family started to abuse their powers- under the table, of course, but basically they became the actual kings/queens in all but name, and kept the distant concept of the actual royals on the sacred island over the heads of the citizens as sort of a threat, like ‘oh you think we’re not fit to manage this country? would you say that to the royal family’s face?’ or ‘oh the harvest has been poor this year and maybe there might not be enough food for all of you this year but just keep a stiff upper lip and think of the royal family, they’re praying for us or something’

this is also going into OC territory here but in Tutu’s time, the main-- magistrate, minister, regent, what-have-you-- is her several-times-removed cousin who is the perfect golden child on the surface; all glasses-pushing-up and theatrically clumsy and bookish and all smiles and etc., etc., but- of course- you can’t judge a book by its cover.

When Tutu was rescued from the wreckage of the sacred island, he was somewhere in the 12-14 age range, while Tutu was 5, and his father was actually the magistrate/regent/whatever-the-fuck.

The aforementioned father was almost CARTOONISHLY corrupt- like, not subtle about it at ALL, there were crying children in the streets while he was eating 3 whole roasted pheasants at a time up in the castle and all that stuff. You know how it be.

He made a big show about having rescued the princess, who is ALSO the daughter of this kingdom’s like LITERAL GOD, and how he was going to raise her and protect her as if she was his own, this was a miracle, etc. etc. but really his plan was to raise her and spoil her absolutely rotten to make her more of a figurehead to wave from balconies and for all intents and purposes be under his thumb/so vapid she has no thoughts of her own.

It worked out pretty well for the first few years because she was a traumatized child, but she started having her own thoughts and opinions at about 7 years old, which also coincided with when the current magistrate started coming down with a case of Ye Olde Consumption or something like that- after a long, painful illness he- of course- died, and his son, Name TBD, became the next one. Almost immediately, he basically turned the kingdom from cartoonishly-poor-and-obviously-run-by-a-villain to actually-an-okay-place-to-live.

Not because he actually wanted to help or anything, but the peasants had been getting restless and there was a high probability that they would have actually staged a revolution sooner rather than later. That obviously gave him points from the citizens, and it was a lot easier to continue doing his corrupt activities under the table when starving people weren’t pounding on the castle walls yelling.

He was actively a lot nicer to Tutu- for one, actually talking to her like she was a person, and letting her do things she wanted, to a reasonable degree, because, like, she’s only a little kid and anyway it’d be a lot easier to control her/get her to do things YOU want from her if she likes you.

He only started getting worried when most of the things SHE wanted to do were to actively help the citizens, and then of course the entire kingdom basically started falling in love with her in a ‘our princess is also our literal messiah and she’s so kind and beautiful i can’t wait for her to be queen’-type sense, and that only grew when she started using LITERAL HOLY MAGIC to heal sick children or cure blight on a field of crops. At first he was like ‘okay i can work with this’ but as she got older she also started getting more involved in the kingdom’s actual politics and managing, and undoing literal generations of corrupt money-funneling and keeping-the-masses-ignorant and so on and so forth, completely unaware the whole time that they were anything more than clerical errors in the contracts and paperwork.

So at this point he’s like ‘...ah fuck, this kid is actually smart and altruistic and literally beloved by all, this could ruin EVERYTHING and what’s gonna happen to my side of the family when she gets married and/or becomes queen, which is eventually gonna happen because she’s beautiful and every half-bit noble from lords to full-on emperors are probably gonna want to marry THE CHILD OF AN ACTUAL GOD at the very least for bragging points if nothing else.

So for one he changes the age of her coronation from 18 to 21, but that’s not gonna solve the problem forever, so I’m not saying he started actively conspiring against her- extremely low-key, of course- but that’s basically exactly what I’m saying.

For one, he only arranges meetings with, like, the most obnoxious possible suitors- the French-royal, powdered-wig types, or the dickhead playboy pinches-girls’-butts types, or the straight-up just like actual marauding Viking kings or something- the ones that she would NEVER even give the time of DAY to, and disguises his actual intent in having her reject all of them by ‘of course i would never FORCE my dear cousin to marry against her will, women- even princesses- are PEOPLE, you know’ like. wow. so progressive.

Also, while it’s true that some of the perils she faces are naturally borne from being a) a princess in a fantasy setting and b) the only child of an evil deity’s sworn enemy, who has powers that actively destroy his powers and minions, approximately, like, a FOURTH of them were probably more like ‘somebody got slipped a bag of gold to try and get the princess’s horse to run off a cliff’ or ‘hey coachman why don’t we take a detour through these woods known to be the territory of violent bandits/dangerous magical beasts/etc., it’s probably fine if we go fast’

They’ve all failed up to this point because. Hey. Heroine plot armor, dawg. That shit be TOUGH.

They also probably won’t- or wouldn’t- turn into literal assassination attempts until she starts getting closer to her 21st birthday, but they do probably slowly ramp up in intensity the older she gets. There’s also a high probability that Name TBD would actually ally himself with the Monster Raven, or at least some of his human cultists and/or his horrible children to either kill Tutu or get her out of the way somehow (coughcough COR cough. absolutely irredeemable creep REALLY wants to ‘have’ her. Gross on so many levels.)

.....yeah man that’s basically all i have *dabs*

#{I'll Be Your Lucky Girl; mun tag}#{headcanon}

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