#do you realize that literally everyone that travelled with twelve died

[jujujun-s]

sooo you guys know when twelve remembered clara in TUAT... it just hit me that what he saw was just a memory of her. which means that the doctor remembered her but clara will never know he did...........

i love you old man......

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 6

(Y/n)'s POV

Once I get over the fact that my brother's Latin teacher was half horse, we have a nice tour.

We pass by the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other. One points to the Minotaur horn Percy is carrying. Another says, "It's them."

Most of the campers are older than me. Their satyr friends are bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I'm not normally shy, but the way they are staring at me and Percy makes me uncomfortable. I feel as though they want us to do a flip or something.

I look back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than I'd realized - four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I'm checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches my eyes, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I get a distinct impression that I'm being watched.

"What's up there?" I ask Chiron.

He looks to where I'm pointing and his smile fades, "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?" Percy asks.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I get the feeling that he's being truthful, but I am also sure something had moved that curtain.

As we get closer, I realize how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own swords and shields?"

"My own - ?" Percy is cut off.

"No," Chiron interupts. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do for you, Percy, and a size three for you, (Y/n). I'll visit the armory later."

Finally, Chiron shows us the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on each side. And they are, without a doubt the most bizarre number above the door.

Except for the fact that each has a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they lock absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four has tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seems to be made of solid gold, which gleams so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl, maybe nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. I wave at the girl and she looks surprised, as though no one acknowledged her often, and waves back with a smile.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmer like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seem to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are covered with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" Percy guesses.

"Correct," Chiron says.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

I stop in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but low and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashells and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peek inside the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull me back, I catch the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glow like abalone. There are six empty bunks with silk sheets turned down, but there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, I am glad when Chiron puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and gives him an evil sneer.

"Oh, look," Chiron says as we approach Cabin Eleven. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven. When we reach her, she looks me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drool.

I try to see what she was reading, but I can't make out the title. Then I realize the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have Masters' Archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells us, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. the threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in. The door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck, Percy, (Y/n). I'll see the two of you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

Percy's POV

We stand in the doorway, looking at the kids. They aren't bowing anymore. They are staring at us, sizing us up. I know this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompts. "Go on."

So naturally, I trip coming in the door, and (Y/n) grabs my upper arm, straightening me up. There are some snickers from the campers, but none of them say anything.

Annabeth announces, "Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asks.

I don't know what to say, but Annabeth says, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy, (Y/n). You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looks pretty cool. He's tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wears an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, and her voice sounds different somehow. I glance over and swear she's blushing, but after a moment she sees me looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" (Y/n) asks, looking rather curious.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I look around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they are waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"Good question," Luke replies. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laugh and (Y/n) facepalms.

"Come on," Annabeth tells us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"We've already seen it."

"Come on."

Annabeth grabs my wrist and drags me outside. I can hear the kids of Cabin Eleven laughing behind me and (Y/n) waves good-bye shyly.

When we are a few feet away, Annabeth says, "Jackson, you have to do better than that?"

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you two were the ones."

"What's your problem?" I'm getting angry now, (Y/n) watching us cautiously. "All I know is, we kill some bull guy -"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth tells me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shake my head. "Look, if the thing we fought is really the Minotaur, the same one in the stories . . ."

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So..."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"Percy," (Y/n) says calmly. "I think what Annabeth is saying, is that monsters eventually reform."

Annabeth nods and I think about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth answers and (Y/n) suppresses a laugh.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sound whiny, even to myself, but right then I don't care. "Why do we have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I point to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turns pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent."

She stares at me, waiting for me to get it.

"Our mother is Sally Jackson," (Y/n) says softly. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead," I say simply. "We never knew him."

Annabeth sighs. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say -"

"Because I know the two of you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about us.

"No?" She raises an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How -"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I try to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/n)'s POV

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like...you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're both half-bloods."

A half-blood.

I am reeling with so many questions I don't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yells, "Well! Two newbies!"

I look over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which I somehow understand is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I have a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps she isn't so sure she can follow through on ht threat. She turns towards me, then she looks at Percy. "Who are these's runts?"

"Percy and (Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Aries."

Percy blinks. "Like . . . the war god?"

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Percy says, seemingly recovering his 'wits'. "It explains the bad smell."

Long story short, Percy made the toilets explode.

Yeah, I said it. He made the toilets explode . . .

Word Count: 2455 words

[weasleydream]

The betrayal

 Hi guys! A new imagine, I guess we can say it’s angsty... Also, I changed a few details for this story... Anyways, hope you enjoy and share your thoughts!

Masterlist

The darkness of the night had already covered Privet Drive when we arrived. Adjusting my position on my broom, I glanced at my boyfriend, Fred Weasley. He was next to me, slightly behind as he kept glancing at me too. He seemed as worried as I was. Not because of our little flight with some members of the Order - no, it was totally wonderful - but because something way more dangerous was going to happen. Harry needed another protection since the one given by his mother would disappear soon. Our mission was simple: bring Harry safe to the Burrow. However, the plan was way more difficult. Basically, it involved Polyjuice potion, six Harry-soon-to-be, seven protectors and seven houses, along with, of course, the Burrow which was strongly protected with powerful spells. 

Harry seemed delighted to see his closest friends, but he was also surprised. He didn’t know about the new plan, and Mad-Eye explained him what was going to happen. In the meantime, Fred and I were holding hands and examining the living room. A few years ago, Fred, George, Mr Weasley and Ron had burst into this room destroying the mantelpiece. The same day, the twins had given a Ton-Tongue Toffee to Dudley, Harry’s cousin. I could still remember their laughter when they had told me about this. I made eye contact with my boyfriend, and I immediately knew that he was thinking the same thing as me: These happy times seem so far from us… 

Our thoughts vanished when George snapped his fingers between our faces with a smirk on his face. 

“Sorry to disturb lovebirds, but Death Eaters are waiting for us.”

“Yeah, it would be a shame to be late.” I replied. 

 With a sigh, I followed the twins and we placed ourselves next to Fleur. Mad-Eye grabbed six glasses and filled them with Polyjuice Potion, which contained now Harry’s hair. We were gonna drink them, as disgusted as we were, when Fred screamed. 

“Wait!”

Without losing a second, he grabbed my waist, pulled me towards him and kissed me as if it was our last chance to show our love to the other one. He was holding me as close to him as possible, his arms on my back, while my hands were lost on his hair. I tried desperately to print in my brain the softness of his ginger hair, the taste of his lips against mine, the sound of his little moans, but above all, I wanted to remember the way my heart would beat faster when he was around, and the way I loved him. 

I didn’t want him to break the kiss but he did, and he whispered while his forehead was resting against mine:

“Whatever happens, I love you. Forever, Y/N, you hear me?”

“I love you too, Fred, forever and ever.”

“Are you done? We have a plan to follow.” Mad-Eye’s stern voice destroyed our little bubble.

“Why didn’t you wait for our actual departure for your heart-wrenching goodbye?” George spoke.

“When we’ll both have Harry’s face? No, thanks.”

Mad-Eye, obviously annoyed, gestured us and we drank the Polyjuice Potion. Being friend with the twins since what felt like forever - and having tried a lot of their products when they still weren’t fully developed - I would have thought that I knew what an uncomfortable sensation would be. Well, I was wrong. Nothing had prepared me to feel my bowels burning, nor to the strong impression that I was literally melting. The transformation was quite painful. When it finally finished, I looked at my, no, at Harry’s hands. They were larger than mine and the skin was slightly lighter. It was strange, and, when I looked up to see six other Harry in the room, it felt worse. I couldn’t imagine how the real Harry was feeling. Once every Potter dressed, Mad-Eye paired us off.

“You’re gonna leave in the following order: Y/N, with me on a broom; Arthur and Fred…”

“I’m George, not Fred.” My idiotic yet adorable boyfriend tried to lighten the mood, much to the former auror’s annoyment. 

Three minutes before the departure, everyone left the comfortable house. I followed Tonks, nervously biting my lips, and suddenly Fred’s voice resounded in the night.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

I turned around and spotted the Harry next to Bill frantically looking for me. I rushed towards him and engulfed him into a hug. It felt so wrong because I felt Harry’s body, not Fred’s, but I didn’t mind because I knew who was in there. At this moment, and for the first time since I had volunteered for this mission, I became aware of the fact that it could be the last time I saw Fred. What if he died? What if I died? 

“Don’t die, Y/N, oh please, don’t die…”

It was a sort of litany, a complaint marked with fear. He thought I was in danger -well, in a bigger danger than him - because my protector was Mad-Eye, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would think the real Harry would travel with the best auror. I had tried to reassure him, I told him that I would be perfectly fine because Mad-Eye was the best. 

“Be careful, Fred, I’m begging you…”

My voice was filled with the tears I didn’t want to shed. My hands were clutching his jacket, not wanting to let him go, not wanting to let him put himself in danger. I had never been more afraid. Hearing Mad-Eye’s voice alerting us that it was almost time, the panic rose in me and I found myself whispering furiously the names of my favourite twins, of the boys who had supported me all my life, my boyfriend and my best friend. A Harry came instantaneously and, assuming it was George, I grabbed both boys’ arms. 

“Be careful boys, I want to see you alive at the Burrow, alive and unharmed, okay?”

They both nodded, George ruffling my hair and whispering to me to stay safe too, and Fred holding tightly my hand, not wanting to let me go. But we didn’t have the choice, and we broke the contact. It felt horrible, as if by letting go his hand, I was saying goodbye to Fred and I wouldn’t see him again. 

I took my broom and placed myself next to Mad-Eye. He slightly turned his head and whispered a strange order. 

“If Death Eaters are waiting for us, I want you to use only one spell.”

“Which one?” I was confused. 

“Expelliarmus.” 

We had been betrayed. Someone knew, and someone told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that we would transfer Harry this night. Death Eaters were waiting for us, and as soon as the seven pairs separated, they started to follow us. Twelve Death Eaters were behind us. Green flashes of light invaded the dark sky. At first, I tried to dodge them, but I gave up and obeyed Mad-Eye’s order.

“Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!” 

I shouted as quickly as possible, trying to disarm our pursuers. I couldn’t understand why my protector had ordered me to use only that spell, whereas I knew plenty others that would have been much more effective. Suddenly, a deadly spell hit Mad-Eye. He, the toughest auror, was dead and was now falling, his body similar to a rag doll. A scream escaped my lips as I vainly tried to reach him. 

Suddenly, a black cloud, apparently made of smoke, appeared next to me. The only thing I could see was his red eyes, snake eyes, and his wand pointed on me. A pure terror took hold of me, I didn’t know how to react as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was facing me. The only thought I could manage was that the plan had succeeded, he thought I was Harry, and the real one would be -

Suddenly, all was black.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The lands around the Burrow were awfully quiet. Everything looked normal, as if a very dangerous mission, almost suicidal, wasn’t ongoing. 

The first one to arrive was the real Harry. Unaware of the losses he would have to face later, Hedwig’s one still not fully accepted. Soon, others arrived. George, who was slowly becoming himself again, had lost an ear. An awfully great amount of blood was covering his face and his neck. The other teams arrived one by one. When Fred rushed into the house, following his father, his heart pounding, one of his greatest fears came true. 

George was lying on the couch, unconscious, his hair and clothes still soiled by dried blood, and his stomach twisted when he saw the hole where his brother’s ear should have been. He was speechless. His brain couldn’t process what had happened to his twin and he was unable to think about something else. 

George woke up and pulled some joke about his ear, clearly trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t know that two teams were still missing, Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye and Y/N’s absence becoming more and more worrying. 

“Where is Y/N?”

Her name had popped into Fred’s head, and immediately his heart started pounding again against his rib-cage. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and he violently stood up. 

“Where is she?” He was screaming. “WHERE IS SHE?”

No one responded. His mother’s teary gaze met his. She wasn’t there. Fred fell on his knees, his hands slowly reaching his hair, where her hands had been sooner. Tears were slowly falling from his eyes. He knew something bad had happened to her. It was evident. He should have been the last to reach the Burrow with his father, and four persons were still missing. He didn’t even realize that Bill was kneeled in front of him, a hand on his shoulder and his face also covered in tears. 

“Fred, Mad-Eye is dead… They took her.”

His world broke into a thousand pieces, along with his heart. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

He was furious. Yes, furious because none of his Death Eaters had been able to understand their mistake. He was walking slowly towards the Malfoy’s manor, the snake close to him as he triturated the wand he had taken from Lucius Malfoy, this incapable. Pain. 

His fury was increasing while he was walking. When he had understood that their prisoner wasn’t Potter, he had tried to reach him, but he was too late. And the wand hadn’t surpassed Potter’s one. Ollivander would have some explanations to do. Burning sensation.

She was tied up on the floor, Potter’s clothes still on her, and she was looking him in the eyes. She was smirking. This little girl was smirking at him. 

“You’re not Potter.” His voice was deeper, thanks to his rage.

“It seems pretty obvious.” 

Even in this difficult position, she showed arrogance and pride. She knew, this filthy kid, she knew that Potter was safe and out of reach. Fear. 

He turned his back, watching alternately each Death Eater present in the room. Disgusted by their panic, he turned again to see her.

“Who are you?”

“Y/N Y/L/N, not a pleasure to meet you.” Stop this!

“Maybe you want to give us some informations, who knows, it could save your life.”

She smirked. Y/N NO!

“I won’t. I have the feeling that you are furious because Harry has humiliated you once more. You are unable to beat him. You won’t succeed.”

He lost his temper.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry opened his eyes. Everyone was watching him. He was facing Fred. He was crying and watching straight into Harry’s eyes. Deep down, he knew. Fred knew what had just happened.

“She’s dead.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The two men were facing each other. They weren’t even trying to hide their hatred. The one with scars all over his face grumbled.

“Why are we here?”

“You’re gonna bring Potter to somewhere safe. When? Where?”

“Why should I respond?”

“Because the Dark Lord wants to know.”

Mad-Eye glared suspiciously at Snape.

“The next week. Saturday. To the Burrow.”

Snape nodded. He was obviously thinking fast, his eyes narrowed and fixed on the auror without seeing him.

“What’s the plan?”

“Side-Along Apparition. I’ll go -”

“No.” Snape interrupted. “Thicknesse is under the Dark Lord’s influence. It’s impossible. You must use Polyjuice Potion, in order to have seven Potters instead of one. They won’t know. You won’t take the real Potter with you, take someone...unimportant… This person will have to be on a broom and use the Disarming Charm. The Death Eaters will think it’s him.”

“You want to sacrifice someone?” Mad-Eye hissed.

“You want to save Potter? You want to defeat the Dark Lord?”

Mad-Eye stayed silent. As awful as it seemed, Snape was right. Someone’s life had to be sacrificed if he wanted Potter to be safe. No one had to know. This conversation would stay a secret.

“I have to go. I will tell the Dark Lord that Potter will be transferred next saturday. I will tell him I think he’s gonna travel with you. Good luck, Mad-Eye.”

The men shook hands, and Snape disapparated. 

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 12

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter twelve [12/12] AO3

--

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she’s been thinking that maybe it should say “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck.”

Her partner’s been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

--

this is it, guys.  THE END.

i need to take a moment and thank everyone who’s been here following along with me, especially @carpedzem​, @stahlop​, @snowbellewells​, @searchingwardrobes​, @kmomof4​.  i would have been lost without @thisonesatellite​, @profdanglaisstuff​ and @katie-dub​

to the fam in the @captainswanbigbang​ discord: truly, without you, none of this would have been happened.  i am so honored to have spent time with you while we all embarked on these journeys together:  @shireness-says​, @spartanguard​, @optomisticgirl​, @justanotherwannabeclassic​, @distant-rose​, @eirabach​, @winterbythesea​, @scientificapricot​, @phiralovesloki​, @thejollyroger-writer​.  thank you again to mods B, kait, phira and @shippingtheswann​ for running such a tight ship.  i was thrilled to be part of the crew.

this chapter is dedicated to robbie, a true hero with a happy ending.

--

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) word count:  ~5k AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten |  chapter eleven

--

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest Act IV, Scene 1

--

Emma exhaled a strangled gasp. She felt like she had been through a wringer--literally flattened and squeezed out until there was nothing left inside of her--and then a pulse of warmth and light had traveled through every part of her, like lightning pulling at her cells. The room around her seemed brighter and there was a quiet in Emma’s mind, peaceful and happy.

read the rest on AO3 (full chapter below the break)

chapter twelve

Emma exhaled a strangled gasp. She felt like she had been through a wringer--literally flattened and squeezed out until there was nothing left inside of her--and then a pulse of warmth and light had traveled through every part of her, like lightning pulling at her cells. The room around her seemed brighter and there was a quiet in Emma’s mind, peaceful and happy.

“What’s going on?” Regina asked. She sounded far away, her voice somewhere on the edge between suspicious and--what else--angry.

“That, Your Majesty,” Gold said, “was True Love’s Kiss.” He was all crocodile as he said it, his voice smooth and smug. When he smiled, it was not a pleasant expression.

“The curse,” Henry said. “Emma broke it.” He was smiling, and Emma grabbed him, squeezing him so tightly that he grunted, and there was a commotion all around them--

“Snow?”

“Charming?”

“EMMA!”

“She found us--”

“Did you ever doubt that she would?”

--and Emma found herself wrapped up in an embrace that squeezed her so tightly that she yelped in pain, being held by her mother and her father, her father’s hand cupped against the back of her head as he cradled her body in a group hug straight out of--well, a storybook.

“She saved everyone,” Henry said.

Mary Margaret’s--Snow White’s--hands cupped Emma’s cheeks. “I knew you would,” she said.

“Me?” Emma said. The peaceful feeling in her mind faded, just a bit. “I didn’t--”

“You did,” Snow insisted. David’s--Charming’s--hand was on her shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck. He couldn’t seem to move himself away from her, or from them.

“True Love’s Kiss only works,” he said, “if there is love and belief on both sides. And, Emma--I love you. We love you so much.”

“I just hope that now we can show you,” Snow said. She faltered for the first time as she said it, as though the weight of the better part of three decades was suddenly heavy on her mind.

“You believed,” Henry said. He was still smiling. “That’s what a hero does, Mom.”

“Henry,” Emma said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” he said. Emma kissed him, hitting the crown of his head just like her mother had done--and she swore that, just for a second, she could feel that warmth pass through her again. The magic.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Lacey--Belle--dropped her bag and walked to him, nearly hurling herself at him instead of taking the last step, stopping herself and reaching instead for his arm. Her hand found his on top of his walking stick as she said, “I remember.”

Emma tried to extricate herself from her family--her family--waiting for his voice and the way it would say something stupid like “Hey, beautiful.”

Belle repeated herself. “I remember.” She said the syllables slowly, as if she was feeling each one in her brain and in her mouth before she spoke them. “I love you.”

Gold was very nearly in tears as he hugged her small frame. “Yes,” he said. His voice almost broke. “Yes, and I love you too.”

Where was Killian?

“Mom,” Henry said--

“What’s wrong with my brother?” Liam said.

“There will be time for that, Belle,” Gold said, and the way he articulated the words reminded Emma of that first meeting in her office--the way he sounded as though he was tasting them--his voice full of relish. It was creepy, and it meant nothing good. “There will be time for everything.”

The “later” was implied, but Belle heard it all the same, because she backed away, and that’s when Emma realized: Killian was still unconscious, comatose--cursed--on the cell mattress. Unmoving and even paler than he had been.

Emma went back into the cell and winced as her knee hit the floor, wanting to trace her finger along his jawline and settling for rubbing her thumb against his wrist.

Gold clicked his tongue and smiled, clearly unsurprised. “Why,” he drawled, “Hook is still under the effects of the sleeping curse. Naturally.”

Emma’s fingers reflexively curled around the dagger she still held as she reacted to his voice. Naturally. But there was no way, no fucking way this had been part of his grand plan--

Liam went at Gold, a fist already raised, and Emma grabbed his arm just as he tried to strike. She came up behind him and pulled him back. “Liam, no,” she said. “Not that I don’t applaud your initiative or anything, but--”

Liam glanced back at his brother. “He wouldn’t want this, would he?” He seemed to deflate slightly as he said it.

“No, kid,” Emma said. “He wouldn’t.”

Regina laughed. It was, truly, more of a snarl. “How do you feel about your brother now, Mr. Jones?”

And--dammit--Regina had read him correctly, because Liam flushed.

“I love him,” Liam said--insisted. “He has raised me as his brother with love and kindness for almost thirty years. He is my family, and I love him.”

“Perhaps,” Gold said. “But that anger and betrayal you still carry means that you cannot wake him. It must be her.” He lifted the tip of his cane two inches off the ground and used it to indicate Emma.

“Wait,” David--Charming--said. “Wait, is that Captain Hook?” His mouth opened to say more and--

“Charming,” Snow said, “now is not the time.”

Charming gave her a look that was fond but somehow grudging at the same time and Emma’s heart clenched at the affection there.

“I still have the bottle, Miss Swan,” Gold said. “I can offer you a deal.” The cane moved again, this time pointing at the dagger still in her hand.

He was calm, and he was composed.

But Emma could sense something beneath the layers. Liar. He was scrambling, Emma realized. His plan had failed, his grand big plan of several centuries was over, and there was still something he needed--something he wanted her to do, in exchange for the dagger.

Emma was not going to fall into his trap, or be ensnared in any more of his deals.

They would find another way.

They had to.

“No,” Emma said. “No, I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Gold, and don’t think for one minute that just because your magic curse grand plan didn’t work out I am not throwing your ass in jail for murdering Graham. You still killed someone, buddy, and in this world, that has consequences.”

Graham had died for this blade; Killian had crossed realms and time and still balked at using it. No way in hell was she giving it back to the Dark One.

Belle gasped. “You killed Graham?” She looked from Gold to Killian and back again. “This was all part of one of your plans? You knew this--” she gestured at Killian, dropping Gold’s arm “--was going to happen? Because Hook came for me in the asylum. He gave me a home. He was my friend.”

“He also tried to kill you,” Regina said. Gold growled.

“You locked me up and took away thirty years of my life,” Belle said, all five-foot-nothing of her with hackles up as she faced the queen. “He gave it back to me. I think--I think he changed.”

“Only I was given a gift: To wake up, for twenty-eight years, and not dread the day before it began" "...a life, and friends, and lovers, and none of it was real.”

“He did,” Emma said. She caught Belle’s gaze and held it as she said it again. “He did change, Belle. He is your friend.”

Belle’s expression looked suddenly very far away again, but not cursed; it was as if she was concentrating, searching through a mental catalogue of something until she found the answer.

“This is about the magic,” she said. She looked up at Gold. “Isn’t it? That’s what you meant when you said there would be time for everything later.”

Belle reached for Gold’s arm again. “Swear to me on your son’s life that this isn’t about the magic and I will believe you.”

Gold said nothing.

“Rumple,” Belle said, and she was pleading. “Swear to me. I will believe you. I still love you.”

Gold looked away.

Belle looked at Emma. “You said this was about Bae, and you weren’t wrong,” she said. “But in order to find Bae, he must need a tracking spell. And that means magic. That’s what he wants.”

“How would he bring magic to this world?” Snow White asked.

“There’s a lake,” she said. “In our land, we called it Lake Nostos. It has the power to restore--”

“What’s been lost,” David said. Charming. Whatever. “I’ve seen it. I’ve been there.”

“Assuming that everything in our land has a corollary here, there must be a well nearby that connects to the lake.”

“The wishing well,” Henry said. “It’s in the park just on the edge of Storybrooke.”

“That’s what he wants,” Belle said. “The potion must allow the waters of Lake Nostos to have power here. That’s how he planned to do it. Emma--you can’t let him. It’s wrong. And--”

“Hook wouldn’t want this,” Emma said. “I know. I won’t.”

She repeated to herself, almost like a mantra: they would find another way. They had to.

Emma stood beside her parents, her arms crossed over her chest, the dagger still in one hand.

David looked like he suddenly remembered something as he reached for his belt--the cuff clip he wore there. He handed the cuffs and the keys to Liam and said, “Cuff him.”

“Try it, dearie,” he said. “I’ve been imprisoned before.”

“There’s no magic here, Dark One,” David said. “And there won’t be. I think we’ll be able to hold you this time.”

“No deals,” Snow said firmly.

“Emma can do this,” Henry said.

“I--” Emma said.

“Emma,” Snow said. “We believe in you. So did Hook. That curse only works if you take it willingly. He wanted to save you, and to save Henry. He believed in you.” Her eyes were only on Emma, and on Killian. Her eyes with nothing but warmth and compassion and understanding and Emma had no idea what she was meant to do, or how she was meant to do it. “You know what you need to do, Emma.”

She didn’t. She fingered the ring around her neck and felt hopeless.

“I’m not okay with this,” her father grumbled, then grunted when her mother elbowed him.

“Mom,” Henry said in a loud stage whisper. “You have to kiss him. That’s how the curse works.”

Snow smothered a laugh.

“But--” Emma said. “He has--had--I’m not--”

My Milah. My dead lover. She knew I was motivated. Any port in a storm.

Emma stood motionless.

“Oh, dear,” Gold giggled. “Has the good captain infected you with his ghosts?”

Emma stiffened.

“Milah wouldn’t have wanted this. I would have done anything for her, but she wouldn’t have wanted this.” Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.

“He always did favor brunettes,” Gold said. He was taunting her, he wanted to make her doubt, and it should have worked--hell, five minutes ago, it would have worked; five days ago, it felt like, she hadn’t even met him yet, or Killian, and yet--

Emma closed her eyes and could feel it, the way his breath warmed her skin when they were close together, when he had been so close to her; she could feel it, the way it had been in his office, in Jefferson’s house--that moment between ‘what was’ and ‘what’s next���--and she wondered.

He had loved Milah. But--”It’s you. Don’t you know, Emma? It’s all for you”--and in her dream, it had been an inferno, the magic pushing everywhere in her body, the silver strands of light burning through her.

They’d known each other for five days.

But those moments still felt worth fighting for. She couldn’t lose him before she’d even had the chance to know him, or to know what it was that tied them together.

She already wasn’t the same person she had been before they’d met.

You should know better than anyone that Lost Ones recognize their own.

And she wondered.

“There’s hope, Swan. All you have to do is believe.”

What would it be like, to finally give in, to feel something instead of nothing?

“Just look at me, and believe.”

His lips were cold. Smooth, and cold, and Emma held her breath, waiting--

Waiting--

Come back to me, Killian.

And then she felt it, felt the moment he woke up even before he gasped.

(an inferno, burning everything in its wake as the energy rushed through her. It was raw and unfettered as it pushed every molecule in her body, electrifying her senses until she couldn’t feel anything but him)

“Swan,” he said, his fingers brushing against his mouth and his eyes wide open and so very fucking blue, “what did you do?”

Snow squeaked. Liam and Henry rushed for the cell door and Charming held them back.

But Emma wouldn’t know any of that until later.

She smiled. A real smile, the kind that lit up her face and her eyes and showed all of her teeth. “I’ve been wondering if I would like it,” she said.

His eyebrows went up, and he smiled back at her--a real smile, that softened his entire face. “So what’s the decision?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, closing the infinitesimal distance between them, and there was the metal of his rings, cool as his finger traced the line of her cheekbone, and when his mouth opened and a sound escaped Emma wasn’t sure if it was him or her. She felt like she was being devoured, if the gentlest touch she’d ever felt in her life could eat her whole and make her crave it. It was everything--his fingers, the metal, his lips and tongue and the way he opened for her--

And it felt like magic.

Killian was breathing heavily, brushing his fingers against his mouth again, and she said: “It’s even better when you help.”

There were a thousand emotions flickering through his eyes, and Emma saw all of them: sorrow, remorse, understanding, desire, longing.

Love.

He was an open book.

Emma blinked. There was no way for her to look at him, to see him when he was like that, and pretend that she didn’t feel--all of it. Anything. Everything.

He smiled--a shy smile--and Emma realized that he saw all of those things in her, too. She leaned forward, feeling his forehead against hers when he met her halfway, his eyelashes fluttering across her cheek.

“What I wouldn’t give,” Regina said, “for another sleeping curse.” She sat on the cell mattress as if it was a throne. Her face was a mask of icy indifference.

Snow White stood in front of her, regarding her through the cell bars.

Emma tried to stand, but--

“Worry not, Swan,” Killian whispered, and she stayed with him, enjoying the weight of his hand on her arm.

“I agree with the pirate,” Charming said.

“Ah,” Gold sneered. “Twoo Wuv.”

“The curse is broken,” Charming said, ignoring him. “Neither of them can hurt us any more.”

There was a knock on the station door, a heavy object of some kind being battered against it.

“Open up,” Leroy’s voice called.

Snow walked to the door, slowly and with deliberation. “The curse is broken,” she agreed. She reached for the doorknob. “And now--we have a lot to figure out.”

“Together,” Killian muttered into her ear, and Emma nodded.

“Together,” she said, feeling the magic inside of her settle at the word; the inferno banked down to something warm and comforting and tied up between both of them, inextricable. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

--

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had long, blonde hair that curled just so at the edges of her face with skin as fair as snow. Her eyes glinted green, like emeralds in the sunlight, and the fall of her lashes was thick and dark.

Her name was Emma Swan.

Sheriff Emma Swan stood up, remembering at the last minute to turn off her oversized CRT monitor before she hit the light switch. On her desk there was a picture of her son; it was hand-drawn, in pen and ink. There was a pair of boots on the shelf behind her. One of them was missing a shoelace.

“I’m heading out, Red,” she called.

“Mmmm?” Ruby murmured, not looking up from her makeup mirror as she fluffed her waist-length, red-streaked black curls until she was satisfied with their volume. “You coming by later? I think Ursula’s got something new she wanted to try with the music tonight.”

“Tempting,” Emma said, “but no.”

“Belle’s gonna be there,” Ruby said, her dark eyes glittering. “And Will.”

“Poor Victor,” Emma sighed.

“Who said he wasn’t invited?” Ruby asked. She smacked her lips and blew a kiss.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “That’s my cue. Besides, I gotta go home first.”

Emma was very, very good at her job, even though there was one mystery she couldn’t solve: how to mend a broken heart. She had once believed in love--in True Love--but now she wasn’t sure if it even existed. She had been given up by her parents, Snow White and Prince Charming, minutes after she was born, sent through a magical wardrobe so that she would have her best chance--so that some day, she would find them again. She would break a curse, and bring back the happy endings.

But Emma Swan didn’t know any of that. All she knew was that she grew up alone, moving from city to city with no one on her side, and no one who knew her.

The logistics were the easy part.

Well--the logistics were the part that was less hard, because magic, it turned out, was a very funny thing. It had no rules but its own, and the more questions Emma had, the more she had to shake her head and move on.

You really could handwave away anything in Storybrooke by the simple expedient of magic being involved.

Cursed neighborhood in a thriving city? Magic.

Mary Margaret Blanhard as the only living heir of Regina Mills? Magic.

“Not really,” Mary Maragaret--Snow White--had said. “She is, after all, my stepmother.”

More surprising was the fact that Henry Mills turned up as the legal heir to Robert Gold.

“How,” Emma wanted to know, “did the curse know that Henry was his grandson?’

And the Blue Fairy just leveled a glare at Emma, a superior air about her--a Mother Superior air--and said, as if it should have been obvious, “Magic.” She still wore her religious habit, the one Emma had noticed at Graham’s funeral, and it clung to her curves in a way that suggested “magic” had a sick sense of humor.

She didn’t know it, sent away from her family to live in a land without magic, but Princess Emma was going to grow up to be the savior.

There was no justice system in the city equipped to handle the murder committed by Robert Gold or the Dark Curse committed by Regina Mills. Storybrooke was its own jurisdiction; a mysteriously unincorporated neighborhood with no relevant law enforcement agency except a small, understaffed sheriff’s department. Then again, the former residents of the Enchanted Forest--two words Emma still struggled to say with a straight face--

“If it helps,” Killian had said with a wry grin, “we always called it ‘Misthaven’ on our navigational charts.”

Of Misthaven, then, were perfectly prepared to administer mob justice against the two people most responsible for their current predicament. Turns out, a ride with a Dark Curse was a one-way trip.

“When someone casts the curse, it’s a sacrifice of one world for another,” Blue said. “That’s simply how the magic works.”

Of course.

Nurse Ratched was perfectly happy to keep them in her asylum for a continuation of her current pay--plus dental. Emma agreed immediately. Anything to make the goddamn dwarves subside and leave her the hell alone.

Snow White looked on serenely. Prince Charming regarded her with pride.

Emma Swan was no stranger to tragedy, but she eventually made her way to Storybrooke, and found herself a home there. She had a home, and friends, and a job that she loved, until, on her twenty-eighth birthday, the curse struck her. It was a day like any other: she got up, went to her office, took on a new case.

But then her best friend--her partner--was murdered.

It wasn’t like the salty, half-assed dinners she’d had in so many foster homes--instant soup, just add water.

“Instant family--just add magic!”

It wasn’t easy. (That’s not how the magic worked.)

But heroes, Emma had learned, didn’t do what was easy. They did what was right.

Emma knew that she had no choice but to pursue justice for her friend, and to punish the person who had committed the crime. But when Emma tracked down a possible lead to a bar on the outskirts of town, she didn’t find a suspect. She found an ally.

And she found out how deep the rabbit hole really went.

“Wait,” Emma said to her mother one night at dinner. “Let me get this straight: you’re the head of the Mills Organization.”

Family dinner.

“You’re a teacher,” Emma said. “And you’re just going to--”

“She was raised to be a queen,” David--Prince Charming--reminded her with a smile, and Emma scowled. She had really, really wanted to hit him in that moment.

It must have shown on her face, because her father laughed. “God,” he said, “you’re so much like her.” He said it with wonder and pride and a lot of other emotions Emma was still learning how to deal with.

The emotions were the hard part.

Well--the emotions were the part that was less easy, because Emma.

Family dinners and Killian sitting next to her, squeezing her knee under the table to let her know that he was there.

“So,” Emma said, “how rich are we, then? Like, King Midas rich?”

Snow looked at Charming.

Charming looked at Snow.

Something passed between them.

“It’s kind of a funny story,” David said.

The night that Emma Swan met Killian Jones, she didn’t know his real name, or who he was, or where he was from.

She didn’t know how much she didn’t know, or how all of it would change her life. All she knew was that her partner was killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him.

All she knew was that something inside of her recognized him, like she had known him in another time and place; as if she had known him from her dreams. From her future.

Nights were the hardest, the part where the logistics and the emotions all bound up in each other; the part where she wanted, needed, desired Killian, to have him with her and to be with him. It was overwhelming, but the only part of it that terrified Emma was the part where it didn’t terrify her at all.

That first night--that first time--it was hot and raw and unchecked, all of those feelings, all of those emotions, that Emma had been denying herself coming up to the surface. She could feel it in her breathing, in her heartbeat, in the way that he laid hands on her and in the way the magic flowed through her, and it shouldn’t have been possible.

That’s not how the magic was supposed to work.

He was reverent and it left her trembling. It was too soon, too fast, too much.

But she slept, sated and spent in the arms of her True Love, and she dreamed.

She walked along the rocky shoreline, tilting her head toward the sky and feeling the sunlight on her face, and she looked for him. The sky was a perfect shade of blue and the air was crisp and clean and it was a perfect quiet moment; there was no sign of him.

Emma closed her eyes and took a breath, counting three before exhaling, and she was in Granny’s. It was empty: a glittering jukebox lit up in the corner, the wall clock set at 8:16.

Another breath and another three count and Emma opened her eyes, feeling something inside of her. A point of warmth that was getting warmer and the asylum laid out in front of her. The blind janitor watched her as he mopped the floor.

“That’s not how the magic works.” Regina’s voice, disembodied and hollow, drifted down the corridor. “Magic here is...unpredictable.”

“You know this isn’t right, Swan.” The whisper felt like it came out of the warmth, the warm spot that was still getting warmer. “Trust your gut. It will tell you what to do.”

The sheriff’s office looked like a dungeon, the bars made of fire, and Emma exhaled; Killian sat in the corner. She called his name.

“Swan,” he said, gasping, his fingers going straight to his mouth, “what did you do?” He didn’t look at her. “Why did you do it? Why did you not take the deal for the potion?”

The fire began to spread. He didn’t see her--he couldn’t see her.

“Killian,” Emma said, “come back to me, Killian--”

Emma turned, concentrating on the warmth inside of her, and pulled.

She held him against her, their backs toward the water as a wave crashed and bubbled up along the rocky shoreline.

He blinked. “Emma,” he said. His hand came up toward her face, and she leaned toward him. Their foreheads touched and his fingers were in her hair and he said her name again. “Emma,” he breathed. “What did you do?”

“I kissed you, Killian,” Emma said. “I kissed you, because you’re my happy ending.”

Emma closed her eyes. One, two, three--

And woke, Killian sweating and shivering in her arms.

Killian Jones was a complicated man. He had wandered, and traveled, and suffered many hardships. He had been a slave, and a naval lieutenant. He had been a brother and a pirate and, some would say, a villain. He had given himself to vengeance and turned himself toward the darkness after his first love was murdered. He had willingly subjected himself to the Evil Queen’s plan, to the Dark Curse, in the hope that he might finally see his vengeance delivered.

For the first time in her life, Emma asked her mother for advice.

She’d always wondered what it would be like, to ask her mom about clothes or makeup or boys or--life. It never occurred to her that she’d need to ask about a sleeping curse.

“What was it like for you,” Emma said, “after dad woke you? From the--from the thing?”

“Oh, Emma,” Snow said. There was so much understanding, so much sympathy, so much empathy in the single word. It shocked Emma how much her mother immediately understood, and how much of a comfort that was. “Is he having the nightmares?”

Killian Jones--Captain Hook--had spent many years in Neverland, the home of the Lost Ones, and still had not realized that he, himself, had been Lost. Until he met Emma Swan, and found himself again.

They found themselves in each other.

It wasn’t easy.

She had a kid who believed everything was going to be okay. He had a brother with a lot of justifiable anger issues.

Emma had literally never in her life lived under the same roof as her parents.

“You never even got to spend a single night in the nursery,” her father said, and Emma remembered the page in the storybook, of Prince Charming fighting off a horde of Black Knights and nearly dying in the process, all while protecting the daughter in his arms.

“There were unicorns on the mobile over your crib,” her mother said, and Emma could picture it, the colors and the crib and the toys, the hopes and the dreams manifest in a single room.

Emma had never gotten to spend the night with her kid, either.

The loft, Mary Margaret’s loft, was barely big enough for two. It had not been designed for six.

Fuck logistics.

But the nights were the hardest.

Because when Emma and Killian were apart, that’s when he was afraid to close his eyes.

That’s when the nightmares were the worst.

The night they met, Killian told Emma about the Dark Curse, and her parents, and about a creature known as the Dark One, who had killed both his first love and Emma’s partner. The Dark One had lived for centuries, immortal, his powers seemingly limitless. But here, in Emma’s home, in Storybrooke and the Land Without Magic, the Dark One had no power. He only had plans. It was his curse that had brought Storybrooke into existence, and forced Emma from her parents.

It was his curse that, unbeknownst to him, would bring the savior and the pirate together.

It wasn’t the same, every night--every time.

But Killian had so many regrets; when he slept, it was as if his body became, again, that prison--until she found him.

She always found him. She found him, and pulled with her magic, and they would stare at the ocean.

Peaceful, quiet moments. Together.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he always said.

“Killian,” she always said. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’re a survivor.”

“The only one who’s ever saved me is you, Swan,” he said.

It’s you, Emma. It’s all for you.

“Any port in a storm,” she said.

“That’s just it, love,” he said. “I’m not in the storm, not any more. Not since I met you.”

And when they were together, she could feel it, the way that her magic would settle around them.

No one knew why--that wasn’t how the magic was supposed to work.

Twoo Wuv, Emma thought, and held him tighter.

The nights were the hardest, with the emotions. And the logistics. And the fact that there was no goddamn space in the loft--no doors, even. Four adults--two couples--and two adolescent boys, or near enough, and Emma learned very quickly that when her mother sent her on a grocery run in the middle of the afternoon to take her time and knock very loudly before she used her key.

Not that Emma didn’t find her own ways--The Rabbit Hole had doors that locked and a bedroom and an office with a large desk and that one time up against the hallway wall, in between the kitchen and the restrooms--Killian did, after all, still work most nights. But they always came home, after. They always spent the nights together, all under one roof. It was a family rule.

And then one night, as Emma kicked off her boots, as Killian helped her off with her coat, the door barely shut behind them, there was Snow White sitting at the table with cocoa and cinnamon and Scotch and rum. “We should talk,” Snow said.

“Pleasant conversation then, innit?” Killian muttered in her ear.

Henry was already using his cinnamon stick in lieu of a spoon but Liam looked suspicious. He was quiet and reserved and holding himself back, like he was afraid everything would shatter around him. He had seen everything he thought he’d known change twice in the space of mere days, but Emma was determined to do what she could to erase the haunted lost look from his eyes in the way that it never had been in hers, or in his brother’s.

“Everything okay, Mom?” Emma said, sitting down.

“Your father and I--” Snow paused and smiled. For an instant, her parents were the only two people in the universe.

Ruby had only fifteen minutes ago been throwing French fries at her in an attempt to divert Emma’s attention from Killian--but, gross. Emma didn’t need to see her parents like that.

“We think it’s time to make a few changes,” her father said.

Emma stiffened. It was an instinct, and the habits of a lifetime were not going to be broken by a few weeks of relative peace, but--her breathing hitched and her heart rate sped up and then she felt Killian’s hand on her knee, squeezing gently.

“Like what?” Henry asked, slurping his whipped cream. Henry had nothing but glee at his suddenly expanded family. It would shock her ten-year-old son to know that in that respect, Emma wanted nothing more than to be like him, her amazing, empathetic, achingly open kid who wanted all of them to have their happy endings.

One roof, three floors; the Mills Organization, and therefore Mary Margaret Blanchard, owned the building and all three apartments tucked into it.

“Okay,” Emma said. “But seriously, how rich are we? You sure it’s not, like, Midas rich?”

Her father laughed. “I’ll leave that to Kathryn,” he said.

“Kathryn really did go to Boston, though,” Emma said. “So that’s relevant how, exactly?”

“She was Princess Abigail in our world,” David said. “Abigail, daughter of Midas.”

Killian’s eyes lit up and his eyebrow went up and the corner of his mouth went up and Emma knew it was going to be trouble before he uttered a single word. “And why,” he said, “would you want to give up an opportunity like that?”

Snow let out an indignant sputter as she choked on her cocoa, but Charming laughed again.

“You of all people know why,” he said.

Killian’s arm snaked around Emma’s waist and he pulled them closer together. “Aye,” he said. “That I do.”

It wasn’t easy. It was too soon, too fast, too much.

But they found a way; that’s what this family did.

Killian wasn’t someone who trusted easily. Emma wasn’t someone who trusted at all. But they quickly realized that together was the best way to get through, to get justice for Emma’s friend and partner--and to break the curse. When Emma’s life was threatened by the evil Queen of Hearts, it was Killian who was able to defend her. And when Killian put himself in the way of a sleeping curse to protect Emma’s family, Emma was able to awaken him.

It was True Love’s Kiss, and it sent a pulse of magic through Storybrooke. Emma realized that her feelings gave her strength. She broke the Dark Curse. She found her family. She brought back the happy endings.

Including for Killian Jones.

Once upon a time, after a long day at her new job with her best friend, Emma Swan came home to the apartment she shared with her family. She pulled off her boots, stepping over them into the apartment, and hung her red leather jacket on the hook by the door.

Killian Jones--Captain freaking Hook--was sprawled out on the couch, his hand over his eyes. In his lap was a black-and-white speckled composition notebook; there was no sign of the work crew that had left a small pile of equipment in what was slowly becoming her--their--kitchen.

In the apartment she shared with her family--the second-floor apartment. The one that was currently being fixed up with extra bedrooms and talk of breaking through the floor to the flat below, to make a duplex.

“‘Ello, love,” Killian called softly, and Emma smiled.

She did that a lot more often now--the real kind, that made her eyes light up and showed all of her teeth--and her smile didn’t fade as she stepped into the living room and took the notebook out of his lap.

“He told you the story again,” Emma said, gesturing at the sleeping form curled up in the oversized chair and the goddamn domesticity of it--

“Aye,” Killian nodded, scrubbing his hand down his face as he sat up, and she still wasn’t used to it, what happened with his face when he got all soft like that talking about her kid. “Your boy spent the entire day working on it with Belle, and he was quite insistent. Seems to think hearing it will--”

“He worries,” Emma said. The lack of walls when sleeping upstairs left no room for secrets, and Henry did worry. He’d come up with the idea, to write down their story like a fairy tale, about Emma and Killian and Liam and their family and it made Emma’s heart hurt, sometimes, when she thought about all that Henry had brought into her life. “He just wants to help.” She paused, then: “Does it? Help?”

Emma Swan hadn’t been looking for someone who would give his heart to the world, or some True Love riding to her rescue. The only one who saved her was her. But she had always hoped that somewhere in the universe, there might be someone who would keep her warm when she was cold, feed her when she was hungry, and maybe--on occasion--take her dancing.

No one was more surprised than Emma when she found her True Love in the Storybrooke Sheriff’s station, when she kissed Killian Jones and saved him from eternal sleep.

No one was more surprised when she found her family that night.

“Hearing a story where I’m not the villain? Yeah,” he said. “It helps.”

“You’re more than that,” Emma protested. “You’ve got a mark in the hero column, at least.”

“I’m not so sure about that, love,” he said. “I don’t believe I ever--to use your phrase--rode to the rescue, or gave my heart to the world.” Killian’s words were teasing, but his eyes were serious.

“You gave your heart,” Emma said. “You gave it to me.”

“I did,” he said. “But you have given me use for it: a double heart for my single one.”

Emma grinned. She could always tell when he was quoting something.

“Shakespeare?” she asked.

“Aye.”  He smirked.  "I'm getting a mite predictable, then?"

"Maybe you should try something new, darling," Emma said, her voice a terrible imitation of his accent, and he laughed and stood up and pulled the notebook from her hands, placing it with some care on the couch cushion.  

Killian's voice was low and sleepy as he began to speak.

"'i fear / no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want / no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) / and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant / and whatever a sun will always sing is you'," he said.  He pulled her until she was flush against him.  His finger traced the chain around her neck.

'"and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart,'" he said. 'i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)'."  He kissed her, starting at her forehead, trailing down to her mouth, and whispered against her lips.

“Dance with me, Swan,” he said.

And they all lived happily ever after. The End.

--

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest Act IV, Scene 1

-30-

[huntsman-ash]

LiveThoughts: RWBY V8E6

Second attempt at this since last time Chrome just DIED for no reason...

Im going to put literally the entire thing with Cinder under one note; Called it.

Its a great set of stuff, sure, but it doesnt relaly tell us anything we didnt already know about Cinder, and I personally feel it doesnt really explain why she turned out the way she did. I feel like we’ve had another weird twist of the situation again...M+K? Coronas fault? Who knows. Either way, this section isnt great by my taste and I kinda skipped most of it. 

Few things to note though; Apperently in Mistral scrubbing by hand is still more viable floor cleaning tech than using Dust.

The wind vane on the roof has the Rooster Teeth symbols rooster on it. 

The hotel Cinder is bought by is named the Glass Unicorn, fittingly enough for...several reasons. 

The coffees behind the stepsisters when we first see them are the animated versions of the real life stuff RT put out just before this season went live. 

No one seems to notice the fact cinder has orange eyes. I wonder if weird eye colors are just a THING in Remnant?

The control collar/shock thing is incredibly inefficient in design, since it doesnt actually hold on to her very well. A more effective brace/choker design would have worked better.

The song that goes on during all of this is...kind of obvious and a little bland? Fitting for younger Cinder I guess. 

Mmm. Random greasy huntsman. 

I guess in Atlas its fine to laugh at struggling teenagers?

Im going to assume there’s a 3+ year gap here where she gets older, cause she stops being smol and gets closer to how we see her now.

Also even here, in Atlas...really? The most effective way to clean these carpeted floors is to have a TEENAGER SCRUB THEM BY HAND?

How do you scrub...I assume its carpet anyway?

And how you tell civilians are lame in Atlas; they are impressed...by a sword.  Just a sword. A boring, half-cut sword. Losers.

I assume this would be Cinder’s semblance manifesting. Also note on the desk; “we do not serve faunus”. Well THAT doesnt surprise me.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHE. Get fucked Cinder. HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

I dont even feel pity for her, this is funny to me.  Also the fact that this kind of shit aCTUALLY EXISTS is...amusing to me. Like, really? So I guess indentured servitude is a thing in Remnant too. 

And this is why Cinder likes to use swords. Really. Wow. LAMEO.

Huh. Dual maces. Interesting. Thats a prety cool weapon.  Looks like they open up too. Bet he could bash some skulls with that.

“Hurting them isnt going to make your life any better”. Um, excuse me? I think hurting them is the very best thing to do in this situation. At least, for the moment anyway. 

Huh. So she’s ten at this point? Even as a child, shes older than she looks. 

And training montage. Huh. Or at least I assume it is. I get the feeling being able to go where you want too and do what you want too is the main reason Hunters exist. There must be crazy tight immigration laws...or, maybe, its just that traveling between kingdoms is stupid dangerous cause of Grimm. I think the latter is most likely considering every form of public transit extra-kingdom we’ve seen (even between cities, see Argus Limited) has some kind of defensive weaponry. Limited and ineffective, for th emost part oddly.

So you can take the exam at 18. Okay cool. Pre-that must be prep school. Wonder what happens if you wash out? Also I like how this dude is just “yeah, 7 years of training, we got this.”

I think this is the first time we’ve seen the other side of the moon. Or at least, the proper other side...bloody hell I STILL dont know how all those piesces are still held in place, the thing looks like it should start yeeting bolides at Remnant. 

Better still we see it MOVE, rotate in time to the passing of years. So it literally does rotate on its own axis, and more importantly, unlike OUR moon, its NOT tidally locked. We only ever see the same side of our moon. REmnants rotates MUCH faster. Also it doesnt seem to have phases like ours does. I’ll check on why that is. 

Well at least we have an explanation for why Cinders so damn good at fighting people. Trained by an Atlas Huntsman.

Also as a note the device is quite literally just an electrical Dust crystal attached to a necklace. Things the most inefficent torture device Ive ever fucking seen. 

Wonder how often they have to change the crystal.

And there goes the moon rotating again.

I like how NO ONE comment on the blade going missing and that guy never came back for it. I guess he must have just bought a new one.

I get the very distinct feeling they wont just let her go honestly, permission or not. 

AWWW WE DONT EVEN GET TO SEE CINDER MURDER THE SISTERS. Also no blood. Odd.  Good kill on the  stepmother though. Oh, that NECK CRACK.  I like how all the bitch can do is try and shock Cinder, like, uh...adrenaline up? SHE HAS A SWORD? MAYBE FIGHT BACK?

Hah. Weak ass fuckin Atlas people.  Also the clock going off in the back ground twelve times. How fitting. Welcome to midnight. 

Also shes kind of glowing here cause the room is dark, and I find it amusing this is probably the last time she wears white.

And THERES the Cinder we know

Sick ass music, cool. Also THAT is an interesting semblance...I guess he turns himself to metal? Also DAMN his aura broke after THAT? Hes a Huntsman...ah who cares. Again probably in Cinders memory more than anything. Which at this point is probably about as reliable as a coked up hookers.

SHANKED. Sucker. You shoulda seen THAT one coming.

And thats all it took to get the shock collar off. Lol. 

So what happened to the hotel? Did they just...write it off? I mean four people got murdered in there...

And now we’re back on the whale. HOW THE SCREAMING FUCK DID CINDER JUST...

Wow. She just got up after eating that blast. Fucking plot armor.

Merc making the hard calls honestly.  Im actually gonna watch all of this now which is nice because I want to know whats happening in the real world. PITY MORE THAN HALF THE EPISODE WAS THIS FUCKING FILLER.

I like how Cinder just...goes quiet the moment she realizes shes lost Mercury. Not that he was USEFUL mind you but if I had to guess she liked being the boss. But now shes...basically back where she started. 

So the whale is basically a ship. It has a bridge. Probably Salems throne room.

Man, Oscars literally just RTs punching bag this season isnt he? Literally in this case. 

His clothes are still scortched too which I find interesting.  The black eyes also staying. Auras not back up then? Aura repair and regen seems...werid half the time. Like RT does what they want with it.

Ah so someone finally says it...but at the same time what exactly does Salem have to fear? If she cant fight the whole world...what could they do? Maybe overwhelming her? It...Im having a hard time putting the “she cant be stopped” with “shes afraid of fighting all of Remnant”. 

Somethings missing here. I know it.

The sound of the “door” opening reminds me of the Flood doors in High Charity in Halo 3s Cortana. Fleshy twisting.

Mention from Hazel, but AGAIN...no details. I guess if you nail down how she can do stuff its harder to write? 

Glad someone made a comment on the futility of the Hunter academies. 

I really hate how Salems giving us creepy mommy shades. 

Hmm. So yeah the bridge IS the throne room/command deck. I like how Neo doesnt give a fuck is just casually kneeling. 

Ah okay THATS why he grabbed the scroll. 

Heh. Interesting. How exactly does this work I wonder. 

...Why does Salem have a ring. Has she always had that ring?

Neo looking at the Hound like “oh, I could ride this thing”. 

Oh cool the Ace Ops. And they’re arguing, shocker. Sounds like Elm doesnt trust tech either. No shock there.  Idiot.

Atlas elite. Yeah, right.

Huh, is this a Manta with landing gear? I guess they do have them...seems kind of silly to have them so high up though. I guess thats what the thing under the door is for, so they can deploy a ramp. Man, I really dont like Atlas’s airship design.

Hare needs some fuckin suppresants. 

Annnnddd...here we go, things go straight to hell. I was warned of this. I am going to try and not be mad...but from what Ive heard the incomptence of the military in this particular section is astronomical.

Huh. So...Grimm can be convirted into a rock-punching liquid? Interesting. Has that always been a thing or... Also why the fuck are you jsut standing there in awe, go kill the fucking thing! Fucking Specialists.

...that is all it took to get through Atlas’s shield? THAT?

I also love how no one does anything. Ironwoods like “wait what the fuck”. Come on bro. 

And...thats the Atlas navy. Everyone. Two lasers. One of which missed. Remind me again what exactly these things are used to shoot?

Wait, no, that took down part of it, and then the rest is, surprise, hitting the soft rock on the outside. 

THERE goes the shield. 

Hang on a second, how long have those giant squid things been there?

And...what. The whale just approaches, nothing happens? You’ve got 12 fucking ships there, shoot the fucking thing.

Again, WHY IS NO ONE DOING ANYTHING?

Oh, it just beach-headed. Okay fine, whatever. 

Im not really worried.

Lets see how RT makes this WORSE though...

And thats this weeks episode.

[longsightmyth]

Hi. I've been meaning to read the black jewels just because I've found some things about the worldbuilding interesting, but I keep hearing that it's definitely dated with its girl power message and its separation of people into male and female. Would you mind detailing why you don't like it?

So while I personally feel it is necessary to take the context of a work into consideration (ie, time, culture, etc) especially in the case of feminism and the ever-evolving understanding thereof, I’m going to go ahead and say it: The Black Jewels is bad. It isn’t feminist, it doesn’t perform the author’s stated intent of examining a world where the Nurturers (ie women specifically) control the Warriors (ie, men specifically). I capitalized the words because Anne Bishop does in her introduction in the 2003 omnibus of the first trilogy. We’ll get back to that.

Cut for the content that is part and parcel of The Black Jewels

I’m going to revisit context here. I, for instance, love Dragonflight and consider it a feminist if occasionally outdated work. Anne McCaffrey was writing sci-fi in the 60s in the US, working within the sudden framework of sexual liberation (…questionable) and civil rights. She chose to write a book with built-in genetic diversity where a woman is important not only because we’re told she is, but because nothing in the book would happen without Lessa’s decisions. On the surface dragonrider culture is comparable to Bishop’s Blood culture: there are queens (in Pern dragon queens ridden by their weyrwomen psychic/empathic soulmates, while in TBJ Incredibly Magical Women are the queens) and the culture has evolved to revolve around them. In practice… well, on a meta level Lessa drives the plot by her decisions and actions while Jaenelle drives the plot by her existence and sexiness, even as a twelve year old. Narrative power is consistently removed from Jaenelle: her father, brother, and lover make the decisions that change the world and are the ones acknowledged by other characters to have the power, though they like to SAY they defer to Jaenelle. Lessa is dictated to by men, but Lessa and the book comment on the fact that it’s wrong on a meta level and society level. Lessa takes power on her own, or has it conferred on her by other women: Gemma confers on Lessa the final piece of knowledge/plot to lead Fax to his doom though she dies doing it, Ramoth (admittedly a dragon, but a lady dragon) confers on Lessa the power to literally control the weyr and everyone in it by way of their dragons. R’gul in Dragonfligh perverts the social order as we’re told people have perverted the social order in TBJ, but once Lessa realizes it by way of Manora (a woman) she takes steps to undermine R’gul on her own time, in her own way, on her own initiative. Jaenelle is never allowed that option: The Boys are already doing it for her. She has to take the final step (expecting to die doing it, though of course The Boys save her), whereupon she is depowered on a magical level as she already was on a narrative level. Lessa uses the power she discovered to save the world (interestingly, while Bishop calls women the Nurturers, Jaenelle’s worldsaving involves the murder of the MAJORITY of The Blood, while the worldsaving plan of Lessa, who is routinely allowed to be unpleasant, unlikable, occasionally violent, and on more than one occasion downright bloodthirsty,  involves instead multiple plans for MORE dragons, including negotiating the forward time travel of more than 1500 dragons to save her world and her people, yes even the ones she doesn’t like. Which one is nurturing here?). Interestingly, while Lessa acknowledges the possibility of failure and death, she relies on herself, her dragon, and her family ties (it’s no coincidence that Lessa uses her family’s ancestral lands as her way to travel back in time, and it is no coincidence that those family ties are part of what allows her to convince another Ruathan woman to help get everyone forward in time) to get herself back and to save, not her love interest (though F’lar is admittedly instrumental in making sure everyone survives long enough for Lessa to get her idea).

None of this is helped by Jaenelle never having so much as a paragraph written from her point of view. Lessa, on the other hand, is the main PoV. For a book series ostensibly about Jaenelle, it’s very telling that we never ever get to ‘hear’ her views on anything.

Further, the sheer amount of child sexualization is startling in the Black Jewels. Not only is there a truly excessive amount of rape in general and child rape in specific, every man (yes even the good guys whose PoVs we’re in) attracted to prepubescent girls (Daemon likes to say he’s attracted to Jaenelle’s power and not her body when she’s twelve, but he’s still attracted to a twelve year old and plans to wait until she’s old enough to have sex with him)(yes he is the hero). Pern, despite what Todd McCaffrey would have us believe of his mother’s world, does not allow for the sexualization of young girls in specific and children in particular, let alone a father constantly commenting on the sexual attractiveness of his fifteen year old daughter who has been in a coma since she was twelve.

Please consider also: Dragonflight was published in the 1960s. The first Black Jewels novel was published in the late 1990s. There’s… not really much excuse for any of this, though admittedly series like Throne of Glass and A Court of Thorns and Roses, both of which pull a significant amount of inspiration from The Black Jewels, are still being published. So what do I know?

I’ve never written a short reply in my life, and for that I apologize. My point is this: The Black Jewels fails at it stated objective and fails as a feminist work in general. Further, it fails on a worldbuilding level: for a book that says the culture revolves around women, everyone sure is interested in what the men are doing and saying and how masculine men are.

Also, you can check out the tag ‘myth rags on the black jewels’ and you’ll see a lot more commentary and a lot less comparisons to Dragonflight.

[always-winter-baby]

feel free to add anything i missed, endgame haters.

This is a Wordpress post that I never posted about a Facebook post that I made last fall (2019) about how godawful Endgame was.

-------- I know I've been gone for a while and when I was here, I was writing about films I had watched. (Maybe I should start that.)

However, I am a HUGE fan of Marvel and their cinematic universe. I have the movies, the comics, the clothing, and far too much memorabilia to be considered a "casual" fan at this point. I've been reading comics for about twelve years and I started dedicating myself to the MCU around the end of Phase One.

That being said, it means everyone comes to me with their Marvel questions and everyone comes to me to see what I thought of each new film. And I don't give simple, "It was good. I really liked it," answers. I make complete strangers regret their own questions sometimes because I dive into the deep end immediately describing how they really pulled off the Mysterio "mind-bending" stuff fantastically, but how the story hinged really hard on Tony Stark when Peter in the comics stands on his own and Peter in the MCU should be able to as well.

I can give you speeches on the reason why Natasha's backstory would have been better established in The Winter Soldier than Age of Ultron or and how killing off Pietro in his first film did a disservice to Wanda's character, etc, etc. In the words of a person I passed by at work the other day, "I can talk the ears off a snake."

That's not the point of this post. That was just establishing that I am very dedicated and I Care deeply about these characters and this world.

That being said, when someone on Facebook not too long ago asked me to share my opinions on Avengers: Endgame, I asked him if he was really prepared for the novel I was going to spill on why I think that Endgame was a poorly written and directed film. He said his was. But his lack of any response to my novel was proof that he clearly was not.

However, for anyone else wondering, I copied that little book of a response and I'm posting it here. It's a little scrambled up (it was a facebook post so these things happen, okay?). I think it will still get the point across as to why I tell people that if I pulled the good parts of Endgame, I could make a really great thirty minute Avengers movie.

The post went as follows:

-Thor’s characterization was a three hour long fat joke. Thor had the most character growth out of anyone in Infinity War. His part was fantastic. Then they turned around and made everything about it completely idiotic. Thor has lived over a thousand years. He’s lost battles and lost countless, countless people before. Infinity War wasn’t the first time he made a mistake in battle that cost someone their life. He lost his entire family and almost all of friends and none of that turned him into lazy, sloppy, unshowered, fat Thor. I refuse to believe this time would magically break him. Character annihilation.

Banner has hated the Hulk for the entirety of Hulk’s existence. He’s talked about how exposed and vulnerable it makes him feel. He’s always been a quiet, shy, reclusive, and work-focused kind of guy. Now magically, he’s happy being Hulk 24/7, dabs, and takes selfies with kids? He’s hanging out in public as Hulk and drawing attention to himself? Sorry. Refuse to believe it. I know Professor Hulk is from the comics. It seems stupid and forced there too. I’m not of the opinion that just because something is found in comics that it’s necessarily a good thing. I’ve read plenty of bad comics as I’m sure any decent comic reader has.

-Tony isn’t awful. I actually think he’s done pretty well. No complaints.

-However, Pepper is awful. And it makes sense now that they’ve released the info that Gwyneth Paltrow just made up a lot of her own lines. She doesn’t know the character despite having played her for a decade. Pepper is always super cautious and she is constantly on Tony’s case about his heroic ventures, etc. Therefore, I find it incredibly hard to believe that she let him go without a fight after he “solved time travel.” I also find it absolutely impossible that she sits beside him as he’s dying and is peaceful enough to just tell Tony that he’s okay and he should rest. Per her character for the last decade, she should have been frantic. Of course it wouldn’t have been as sad and poetic an ending, but it would have been much more believable for the character.

-Clint. Meh. I can live with Clint, I think. I don’t love it or hate it. I am glad they reestablished his closeness with Natasha after AoU tried to erase it.

-Natasha. I actually like Natasha’s character in this one. Same as Tony, I think they wrote her without compromising her. Good for them. Even though I hate that they killed her off, I think that the final scene where she fights Clint is SO WELL DONE. (Except her father wasn’t named Ivan. Not even in the MCU. But whatever. Maybe Markus and McFeely know absolutely nothing about Russian names despite giving Natasha’s full name in CA:TWS. I’ll chalk it up to ignorance. Whatever.) HOWEVER, despite liking Natasha’s character and death scene, the death should not have happened. I don’t know if you’re a comic reader, but if you are, you know that the trip happens where you see the bad guy or a random person or whatever do a Bad Thing. Then later in the comic, when the Bad Thing comes into play again and there seems like absolutely no hope, the hero pulls out One Last Magic Trick. The hero manages to do what the previous person could not. And they Save the Day because they are the hero. And the hero is the one designed to give readers hope that we can overcome all odds, etc. It is literally the entire point of superhero stories to tell the stories that “realistic” books never could. We’ll come back to my complaint with Natasha’s death in a moment.

-Scott, Rhodey, Rocket, Carol were all fine. No complaints. But Okoye.

They made it out in promo that Okoye was going to have a much more significant part. She was barely in the thing. And I think it was a very missed opportunity. We saw T’Challa turn to dust. And we were told Shuri did (although, I would have paid much bigger money to see her alive and operating as The Black Panther. She’s assumed that mantle in the comics before so definitely not out of the realm of possibility.) I wanted them to show us what Wakanda would look like with half its population dusted and its ruler gone. Does M’Baku rule? What do Okoye and the Dora Milaje look like now without their King and who do they protect/defend? They had a great opportunity to show us how the world was faring after five years post-Snap, especially a place like Wakanda that rarely suffers any devastations due to their tech. Now without that protection, how are they handling the aftermath? Enormous missed opportunity.

-Steve. On my god. Where do I even start? Going into Endgame, Steve Rogers had the BEST story arc of anyone in the MCU. But here is where Marvel really shot themselves in the foot. They let the opinions of fans after Civil War severely alter their original plans for this film. (That’s a fact that’s been admitted by former Marvel employees. I didn’t make that up.). After Civil War came out, there were two strong opinions being voiced. 1) Fans who didn’t know the comics didn’t understand Sharon being there and didn’t like her quickly becoming Steve’s love interest. 2) Fans saw the always-present and ever-growing bond between Steve and Bucky and got bolder about their campaign that Steve and Bucky were a couple. Doesn’t matter if you’re for that or not. The fact of the matter is that the idea of them as a couple has A BIG FOLLOWING. I don’t think people were really pushing to see it become a real thing on screen or anything, but the execs at Marvel suddenly did this thing where they all quickly shouted “NO HOMO” really loudly and promptly dropped Bucky from as many scenes as possible. They admitted to creating distance between Steve and Bucky for this reason. And because Steve and Sharon didn’t get the reaction they wanted, they had Steve go back and get back with Peggy.

But let’s recap here and see if any of that makes sense for Steve Rogers.

—He and Bucky were “inseparable on both playground and battlefield.”

—He literally broke the law and went behind enemy lines against orders just in case he had even the slightest chance of finding and saving Bucky from a Hydra base. He didn’t even know if Bucky was still alive.

—He added Bucky to his elite team and they fought side by side until Bucky’s “death.” When Bucky “died,” Steve went from saying, “I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t like bullies” to saying, “I’m not going to stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

—Years later, when he realized Bucky was still alive, he literally stopped mid-fight and dropped all defenses. Later in the same film (on the helicarrier), he refuses to even fight Bucky. He drops his shield and was going to very willingly let Bucky kill him rather than fight him.

— When the Accords become a thing, Steve defied his own friends and 117 countries to get Bucky to safety. And then continues defying them with Bucky at his side because he is determined that Bucky deserves due process and a lawyer and help, not imprisonment.

— He helps Bucky get somewhere safe to hide and recover and visits him there. (Russos said they even discussed showing that Steve and Bucky were in regular contact between CW and IW.)

—He fights the Battle of Wakanda with Bucky and then gets to see him disintegrate right in front of him. It’s built up to be a very big moment. Bucky collapses into nothingness and Steve sits there touching Bucky’s dust remnants and with tears in his eyes. “Oh, God.”

—Then, magically comes Endgame and Steve is in a support group for people lost in the Snap and he’s grieving over PEGGY??? HE NEVER EVEN WENT ON A DATE WITH PEGGY. NOT ONE DATE. He kissed her ONE TIME very briefly 75+ years ago! HOW CAN HE BE SO SURE THEY WERE SOULMATES?! This is just awful writing.

— Then when everyone is brought back through the portals, Steve doesn’t even look for Bucky to make sure he’s there. They fight far away from one another. They never acknowledge the other one. These men have literally looked at each other before thinking that would be the last face they ever saw and then at the Battle to End All Things, they don’t even glance around to see if the other is present.

— Steve literally barely says goodbye to Bucky. He fought and was willing to die for the man, but now he is in such a rush to get back to that one girl he kissed that one time that he forsakes the people he should care about. (Sebastian Stan says he questioned this to the Russos and was actually told to just imagine Steve and Bucky must have talked it over offscreen and Sebastian tried to fight it, but was shot down.)

— Steve jumps in a time machine and goes back to live with his supposed soulmate thus creating an alternate timeline.

I have a real problem with this. A man who has been selfless his entire life chose to go and be selfish for 75+ years instead of helping anyone. This man lives to fight injustices and we are supposed to forget that? In order to believe that he went back to a woman he didn’t know that well and who already had a husband/children. CA:TWS showed that she had lived a happy life. She told him she only regretted that he didn’t get to live his. She didn’t regret them not getting to spend theirs together. And he didn’t seem to either. He was actively moving forward with his life. Thus the reason for Sharon.

Anyway, his entire story arc which is based around him being partners with Bucky and him being selfless got absolutely destroyed when he went back in the time machine and just ran away from everything he had built.

Which seems more likely? That everything in the three Cap films and IW was wrong about his character? Or that Endgame just slapped a big “No Homo” sticker on the script and did whatever they could possibly do to make sure fans could not say that Steve and Bucky were a thing?

Furthermore, I have no problem with Sam becoming the next Cap. I have a big problem with them doing it if the reason was to further the sever the ties between Steve and Bucky.

-And the Russos said that Bucky couldn’t be Cap because his mind had been compromised and that he couldn’t be trusted with a weapon. Which means that Bucky’s whole recovery story was what? A lie? They established that Bucky was really a great guy and not a terrible terrorist. And they said Shuri fixed his mind. And we still can’t trust the guy with the shield?

So either Shuri failed dramatically even though we saw her talent and progress with him in Black Panther and IW, Bucky is now magically “too broken,” or the writers and directors are stupid.  Your call, I guess.

They literally foreshadowed Bucky!Cap in all three Cap films. Bucky handles the shield in ALL THREE FILMS. But now he can’t be trusted with a weapon? Now he’s dangerous? He literally fought the battle of Wakanda with knives and an assault rifle. The shield is a DEFENSE weapon. So this excuse is the flimsiest argument ever and says horrible things about putting trust/faith in people after they’ve been victims and recovered from trauma. Gross.

-At least they FINALLY got Scarlet Witch right. I’ve been waiting to see my favorite Avenger done right for years. No complaints here except it took them long enough.

-Let’s not even discuss how their time travel ideas and theories are a MESS. Plot holes everywhere. (Steve would have created a new time line by going back. Did he just magically put the aether back in Jane? Did he have to kick Red Skull’s ass again on Vormir because I can’t imagine he would just stand by idly. This stuff would take me too long to even add onto here.)

-But back to Natasha. If it’s a “soul for a soul,” then when Steve returned the soul stone, he should have gotten Natasha back. Apparently a lot of fans saw this plot hole because they asked the Russos about it and the response they seriously got was something to the idea of, “No, you can’t do that. It doesn’t work that way.” Which WHY NOT? (Apparently because of poor writing.)

-Also not bitter (yeah right) that Tony got this big deal send off and everyone forgot about Natasha half an hour after she died. Shouldn’t the big send off at the end have been for both of them?!?! Would that have been SO hard?!

-Should I even discuss the fact that for some stupid reason Steve goes back in time and the serum stops working? Why does he age? Thor establishes in AoU that he doesn’t think Steve is mortal. And Peggy says in CA:TFA that Steve’s cells regenerate at four times the rate of average human cells. So he should still be fairly young even if he went back to the 40s. He shouldn’t start to age like a regular human just because he time traveled. He didn’t travel back to before he got the serum. I literally said, “No,” angrily the second they showed the back of Steve when he was sitting on that bench at the end. The other people in the theater turned to look at me and I was already pissed as hell and the movie wasn’t even over yet.

-Nebula having to kill her last self just seemed sloppy and cliche. I wasn’t impressed. That character had been through hell.  She is the one who really turns the tides in in the Infinity Saga comics so for her to get such poor treatment in the film?  SHE should have been the one to kill Thanos.  I know what Thor said, but Nebula literally has a lifetime of torture to make up for and she would have gotten some small consolation in avenging the death of her sister. GUH.  THIS MAKES ME SO ANGRY.  SHE DESERVED THIS.

-So we really just backtracked and retconned Gamora’s whole story like that, huh?  I’m sure James Gunn is thrilled. (I’m joking. I’d be annoyed to high heavens if I were him.) Gunn had literally written this character’s story arc and progression and the Russos and Markus/McFeely took over and then literally wrote the story equivalent of “and then they all died” with Gamora’s story.  Such a jerk move and I sincerely hope Gunn finds a way to make GotG Vol 3 work out really well despite this.

I’m sure there’s more I’m unhappy with, but you get my point. I had high hopes for this film and they did not deliver.

It’s been months and I am still so immensely disappointed in Endgame. I expected the people who had written such great films in the past to deliver with another great film and they did not.

It wasn’t a completely awful film though. I thought they did a really good job with Doctor Strange and Wanda (finally!). And I loved Steve lifting Mjölnir! Carol’s short hair made me hot and bothered.  So the film had a few perks. 

I have friends who liked the film until I started pointing out its flaws. Sorry, not sorry. I'm glad Marvel broke box office records, but I'm not going to lie to anyone and say it was with a great film.

They are ----- And look, I never posted it on my blog because the rant ends there mid sentence and was never completed, but I think it’s safe to say I’m not happy.  That great cinematic masterpiece is a mockery of good character arcs. Anyone is welcome to try, but I’m unlikely to change my mind.

ETA: Since writing this, I have found multiple things about Tony’s character that upset me too.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 62

Thank you, everyone, for bearing with me on the delays for this chapter.  There was a benefit: @satan-parisienne got to beta the chapter, AND our other sister got caught up all the way in the meantime.

Right now, I’m at 463 followers.  As soon as I hit 500, do we want to do another character contest, or Name the Colony??  I am honestly dying to have all of you name the Colony... I feel like it would make you ALL crew-members of the Ark!

Same warning as always: this is a plague arc, so there are several references to medical procedures.

“There has to be a correlation.”

It was the first thing I heard as I woke up from yet another episode of passing out.  Once again, I had been wandering a dream version of the Ark, complete with ever changing levels of dereliction.  No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to speak with the Else again, however, and if the Council asked anyone else to even try, no one had informed me.

Blearily, I glanced toward the voice that I had heard.  Grey’s hair was ruffled in every direction, as though they had run their hands through it repeatedly.  Antoine was asleep, a tube trailing away from a bandage on his arm – I wasn’t the only one in the room needing transfusions anymore.  Maverick and Conor were berthed on either side of me, blotches taunting me from the skin around their eyes.  Tears pricked at my eyes as I tried to steady my breath before speaking. “How long have you been at it, Grey?”

With a sigh they turned toward me, forcing a kind smile on their face. “Sophia. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m living in a horror movie. Again,” I groaned. “But seriously. Are the shadows because you’ve been working too much, or are you sick, too?”

“Medical scans only show slightly decreased iron levels from my baseline,” Grey admitted. “But that could also be related to standing and running tests for the last twelve hours.”

I tapped the space beside me in my berth. “Sit down for a minute. Take a break. You know as well as I do that wearing yourself out is counterproductive.” With great reluctance, they folded themselves to sit beside me. “You’re stressed out, aren’t you?” I asked, tapping their fingers gently.

The smile this time was reluctant but genuine. “People are falling ill all over the ship.  I have been trying to find a connection – some common activity that they all may have come into contact with each other during.”

“There’s the Food Festival,” I pointed out.

“Very few Terran viruses have such a long gestation period,” Grey explained. “And those that do, have a much different set of symptoms.  Additionally, in a setting this small, there are precious the majority of the ship do not share.”

“And you have the problem with the platforms,” I realized ruefully before glancing at my partners.

Cool fingers tapped my cheek. “That issue can wait,” Grey admonished gently. “It is not as important as the health of the people on this ship.”

“Speaking of…” I tried to prop myself up on my elbows, but a pointed look from my friend – as effective as any of Tyche’s glares – had me surrendering to leaning back on the pillows again. “Is there anyone on the ship who isn’t sick so far?”

Grey nodded with a grimace. “The number of those not affected numbers in the low double digits, unfortunately.”

“What do they have in common?”

“Hermits, every last one,” a voice announced quietly as the door hissed open. “And that’s saying something, coming from me.”  A tantalizing smell wafted over, setting my mouth and eyes watering as Tyche grinned like the cat who got the cream.  She shoved a forkful of something deep reddish brown into her mouth and moaned. “Phaal curry with scotch bonnets. Why didn’t you tell me about this stuff, Soph?”

“Noah is going to kill you if he comes in here,” I warned. “They have officially deemed that a biohazard.”

Grey winced. “I feel I should deem that a biohazard.  How are you eating that? Where did you even find it?”

“Four menus deep in my sister’s food console when I stopped in to water the plants,” she explained around yet another mouthful. “I warned Noah I have it, and they promised to wait for the scrubbers to clear the room before they come in here.”

“Give me a bite and I won’t complain,” I wheedled.  Noah never let me take that stuff out of my quarters.  “And tell me what you mean by hermits?”

Obligingly, she sauntered over and held out a forkful of nuclear-spicy lamb as she clarified. “The few people who aren’t sick are the ones who haven’t left their quarters since arriving.  They make me and Derek look downright outgoing.”

“Wait,” I sputtered as sweat beaded and started to drip from my quickly-numbing face. “They haven’t left their quarters in over a year?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. “They contribute, but all of it is remotely.  Programming, online tutoring, that sort of thing.”

“Well, that tells us a great deal of nothing,” I sighed. “We can’t even narrow down what activities they haven’t participated in, because they haven’t participated in any.”

“So go the other route,” she shrugged. “Who is the most sick?”

“Nixe,” Grey and I answered in unison.  Our resident mermaid was still holding on, but she hadn’t regained consciousness yet.

“Wait,” I interjected as I realized something. I squinted at my sister. “Your symptoms showed up before Antoine’s. How come you’re up, bouncing around?”

“You kidding?” she cocked an eyebrow at me. “Soph. I’ve lived most of my life with sever anemia. Even now I probably have more in my body than I ever did back on Earth. I feel amazing, by comparison.”

“She also has a habitually high-iron diet,” Grey added, tilting their head and glancing at me. “Current comestibles notwithstanding.”

“That makes sense,” I conceded. “So we can’t even build a timeline around onset of symptoms, can we?”

“Negative.  Several people on the ship have high-iron diets for various reasons. Particularly your sister and Maverick.”

I rolled my head to left and squinted. “Really?  He’s one of the pickiest eaters I know.”

“Spinach, tofu, red meat,” they started ticking off on their fingers. “Lentils and other legumes, pumpkin seeds, broccoli, and organ meats are among the foods with the highest iron content.”

My eyes widened. “You practically listed Maverick’s entire diet, Grey.”

“I am well aware.  I do monitor his nutrition closely, as he still has to prove he has consumed sufficient healthy calories in order to start his daily shift.”

“Huh,” I grunted. “So, he could have been sick the longest and we are just now seeing it?”

“While I highly doubt it, your theory is somewhat correct.”

“Weh di’ oo geh ‘im oo ee ohgah mee?” Tyche asked delicately around the last of her curry.

“Conor likes kidney pie, black pudding, and liver with onions,” I explained, trying not to wince at my sister’s breathtaking lack of manners and reminding myself that she just found out she can eat food she only dreamed of trying in the past.

She gulped, a look of revulsion on her face. “Liver and onions? That’s disgusting.”

As Grey completely lost their composure and gaped openly at the statement, I shrugged and soldiered on. “Not my idea of a good time, either, but they like it, so it’s their bonding time.”

“Surely not all three at once?”

“Christ, no. I would kill them if they ate kidney pie without me.”

“Okay, just checking.”  Tyche made her way to a disposal and made Noah aware that the curry had vacated the premises.

By this point, Grey was absentmindedly scratching at the rash that appeared from simply being near the dish.  “Can one of you explain to me how someone even eats something like that?  My eyes are burning just from being near food that spicy?”

“Ask her,” Tyche gestured. “I’m still figuring this out.”

I scowled at being put on the spot before turning to our friend. “I’ve always loved spicy food,” I admitted. “And I’ve never had any digestive issues with it. As I got older, I tried spicier and spicier food. It’s all so – vibrant. So full of flavor. Sure, you have some stuff that is just spicy for the sake of being painful, and I hate that kind of food. It’s just hate and spite made into food. No one should do that.” I sighed, struggling with my words. “Most spicy foods are ethnic foods, and I always liked being able to enjoy the ‘full’ version, for lack of a better term.  Being able to go to any country and say ‘I want to eat this the way you eat it,’ and mean that.  It just opens so many doors.”

“And it isn’t just spicy food,” Tyche pitched in. “She found this old show once, where this guy went around the world and tried weird native foods, and that was always her dream.  Every chance she got to travel like that, she tried the weirdest, most disgusting foods she could, just because she knew she wouldn’t get sick.”

“What was the worst?” Grey asked.  When we looked at each other in doubt, they laughed quietly. “It helps me get my mind off of all this.” They waved vaguely at the lab equipment. “So, tell me.  I never got to travel much before this.  I would like to hear.”

“Well,” I started hesitantly. “I only managed to choke down one bite of balut, but that may be more squeamish heart than squeamish stomach. Anything involving hard fat or cartilage is just right out, sorry.  I can’t get past the texture.  Once I got past the smell, durian was actually pretty good.  Most bugs are really nutty and delicious, surprisingly.  Balut was probably the one I liked the least. But – “ I held up my hands in a defensive posture. “I literally don’t remember what it tasted like, I couldn’t get my mind past the thought of what I was eating, so take that for what you will.”

Grey paled slightly as they looked the dish up on their datapad. “People eat that?”

Tyche nodded. “Yep.  I don’t get it either, but it’s a delicacy.”

They paled further as they looked up other dishes and confirmed I had tried them. “How did you not get ill?”

“Cast iron stomach,” Tyche and I explained, laughing at ourselves for responding in synch.

“Cast iron stomach, indeed,” they murmured.  Suddenly, their head snapped up.  They stared intently at the wall behind me before squinting slightly. “Cast iron…”

Without explanation, Grey jumped up from my berth, brushing past my sister on their way to the lab equipment. “Iron.  Whatever we are looking for is impacting iron absorption and red blood cell function. – “ Tyche and I looked at each other in confusion as Grey continued their impression of a rambling mad-scientist. “But nutritive iron does have elemental iron as part of the molecule…” Images flickered around the researcher as they scanned through notes and images; expanding this one, discarding that one, squinting at a few. “What if we are segregating the two for no reason… bacteria are bacteria, and the tail failed, too.”

The tail failed? Tyche mouthed at me. I shrugged, lost as she was.  We stared on in concern as Grey muttered, only half-audibly, into the night.

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[san-station]

A Quiet Place AU / ATEEZ (Post-apocalyptic)

Chapter 3

↝Word count: 2139

Description: In a world full of silence and dangerous creatures seeking for blood, a group of friends have to survive for their own good and find the safe place they’ve heard about months ago.

Pairing: OC x San

WARNING: cursing most of all.

・・・・・・・・

Rollercoaster

The fourth floor of the old damaged building was my place, my comfort zone, the only moment where I could be entirely alone with my thoughts, my feelings, my sorrows and my draws. The four gray aged and dingy walls were covered by my creations on every blank space that once were painted with cute bird patterns. Five months ago, when we found the place, I was depressed, my parents death followed me everywhere, so much that nothing mattered to me anymore. The twelve of us traveled afoot for over six days to finally reach the end of the forest we were hiding for, at least, the past month. The tan and shaped boy, Lucas, got lost a whole fucking day in the woods when he decided he wanted to pee because was too shy to do it near us. Fucking kid… We’d splitted in two groups of four and the three left had to stay in the encounter spot. Misuk, Jongho and Yunho stayed while we silently looked for any sign of the cinnamon colored boy. I'm not gonna lie, my heart ached when Lucas got missing, he was one of the amusing boys that kept us underground and kinda happy. While he was wandering around looking for a perfect spot, he’d felt in a huge hole of human bones and was too afraid to give us any signal (not that he could scream either). He had scratched his knees and hands and was afraid of any infection so, the moment he saw us, tears decorated his great looking face while Mingi and Wooyoung helped him climb the slippery ground. 

“I swear I’ll never pee again”, he signed shaking his head and moving forward to the encounter spot for water to clean the minor injuries.  After that, we found ourselves in a half-destroyed city, the place was literally torn in two ‘cause the government thought bombs would do their purpose and annihilate everything in their paths. Wrong. Thousands of people had died in the incident and just a little amount of the monsters. But eventually everyone mad about it died or had better things to do, like, survive for example. We couldn’t find a sustentable home over there, so we kept walking a mile away from the city until we realized this old and abandoned building with its eight floors and its amazing basement.

My fingers moved away from the smooth side of the wall, the green splash coated the black under it to mixed the colors and picture a beautiful pickup as finished work. I’ve been painting a whole zoo in the room for my own pleasure. And because most of animals were extinct by then; if you saw a bird, a rat or a racoon, they would probably be slaughter a minute later due to the sounds they made by instinct...  The paints were a gift Seonghwa and Mingi gave me to help my depression. It kinda worked, it was the right time to be oblivious. I smiled watching the glorious bird, for obvious reasons (lack of paints) I only could draw it in green, black and yellow, but that didn’t make it less wonderful. The problem with my comfort zone was that I didn’t want anyone near it for two good reasons: number one, it was my spot, they all knew I was usually painting and shit, and for that, concentration is the motto. Number two, half of the animals I drew had a straight thin red line underneath their mouths to remember those species were forever gone. 

My hands were covered in green and black from tip to my wrist but I didn't care when I cleaned my sweaty forehead staining all half of my face in the process. 

Hongjoong suddenly walked into the room slowly with two cups of whatever that was, he and Seonghwa were the only ones allowed to come inside because they wanted to assure I was okay with my panic attacks. I wasn’t even paying attention to him, I was focused on that animal and his grace… it needed the final detail, so I crunched and grabbed the red paint on the floor next to the few lefts I had. I opened it, clean my middle right finger with my little painted towel specifically used for that, and then I let my finger separate the head off of the bird’s body. I sighted and stepped back to admire the result. However, without any warning my back collided with Hongjoong’s body and I holded a scream facing him, as a reflect, I almost threw a punch to his face. My wide eyes saw the mullet boy grabbing the cups hardly while he smile at me in surprise. 

“I like it”, he whispered motioning to the bird with one of his occupied hands. As fast as I could, I covered his mouth with my green-black hands.

“No talk, you know we are not safe here”, I signed. Soon after, he extended a cup to me and pointed to an empty place to sit on the floor. He turned around, sat on the cold and all dusty cement and patted next to him. I contained my giggles when I saw his face all covered in paint. 

“Sorry”, I signed pointing at his lips. He glared at himself not finding the cause of my amusement. He then touched his face and looked at his painted fingers. He smiled. 

"Don't worry about it, Ji, now come and sit next to me”, he insisted. 

My feet followed the order and I was now next to him sharing a cup of green tea. I hated tea, he knew I hated it, so why…? 

Hongjoong leaned over me until I felt his warm breath in my ears. 

“Taste it, it's for the nerves.”

I sighed, I was afraid of being caught if he kept talking, so I gestured him to shut the fuck up one more time or I'll end him. He lifted his hands in defeat. 

My lips tasted the hot water with essence and immediately I was ready to spill it out, Hongjoong was faster and begged me with his puppy eyes to drink it all for my own health. That man was manipulative as fuck, so there I was, finishing my disgusted tea with tears in my eyes. 

Two almost imperceptible knocks on the door made us both jerked from our sits, Jongho's smooth whisper alarmed us. 

“May I come in?” 

I slapped my face listening to the young one. Panic was taking over me for like two seconds, but the mullet boy answered putting a hand on my shoulder and looking at the door.

“Wait a minute...” he said as quiet as he could.

Jongho sighed loudly and Hongjoong gave me a judging narrowed eyebrow, he brushed the hair out of my face and cleaned a little of the paint rubbing my forehead with the thumb.

“Ji…”, he started. 

“No fucking way”, I shook my head in denial. “You know he can't, Joong… No one”, I signed abruptly and grabbed the cup off the floor. The next thing Jongho saw was the mullet boy grabbing his arm friendly, escorting him downstairs. I followed behind after closing the door carefully. 

“I just wanted to talk to you, Jiyeong”, he turned to face me and I could tell he looked… sad. It'd been a while since we saw the light-brown haired boy so gloomy about something. He stopped going down in the second floor and yanked his arm from Hongjoong's grip a little bit stronger that he should. “I want to know how she died, Ji… I just…”, he raised a hand and scratched the back of his neck. “I don't know, may-maybe we can go to the same spot and collect whatever is left of her and maybe make a good funeral… I… I don't know, guys…  she deserves it.”

I sighed, the walls around us started to feel like they were closing, reaching each other for one gold: suffocate us, but that’s how I actually felt. If only they knew how hard it was for me to stop thinking about what happened, they’d stop asking questions I didn’t want to answer.

“Jongho… there's no way we can do that”, my whisper sounded harsh, still that wasn't the feeling I wanted to transmit, my heart shrinked from sadness. “The place will be plagued with the odor, her scents...", I stood in the first floor now, Jongho gave me the most concerned face I've ever seen before. I felt like the villain of the story, yet I was being realistic. "The creatures will be around it, Jongho, we can’t risk our lives.” Jongho’s hands turned into fists, I ignored them. I knew his blood was probably boiling in his body but, could you blame him? He was receiving cold water on his face while sleeping. Wake up, Jongho… 

“The moment you step on that rooftop, you'll be gone, we don't need that”, I really wanted to make his dream come true but if it meant losing him, or anyone else, it didn't worth it. At all. 

“We certainly didn't need Misuk's death either”, he spatted a little loud for my pleasure, my body immediately freeze, Hongjoong was next to me after giving the final steps to the main floor. The minor left walking down the hallway to the basement as we heard the footsteps disappear. I rubbed my temples roughly and sighted. 

“Ugh, I didn't mean to sound like that…”, I mumbled after the basement door clicked closed. 

“I know…”, Hongjoong caressed my back with two pats and passed me, “He knows it too, but let him be mad for a second, it’s a kid."

“I didn't know…”, I signed, talking outside was getting me more and more anxious.

“Yeah, they had a thing, not too serious though”, we made our way to the basement again. “But at the end of the world, we all need to be loved.” 

I left out a scoff. 

Oh my God… of course… 

“Surviving is all we need, Joong.”

“Humanity needs survivors, Jiyeong”, the mullet boy opened the door silently and we entered. “How do you think  we can do that if we don't love other people and create families”. Yeosang’s head raised from the kitchen at the sound of Joong’s voice, he had a full plate of cooked fish ready to be eaten. Now he was listening to our conversation while washing his hands on the sink. 

“Stop right there, ugh…”, I sat on the couch beside Mingi, the boy was counting how many plastic bottles will be needed for dinner. I caressed his hair and he smiled still focusing on the bottles.

“Our priority is to survive, not create new human life in this dystopia, you crazy man.”

“I'm not joking”, Hongjoong made his way towards the fridge and had a sip of carrot juice. “Eventually you'll have to find a family too.” He smirked and walked to the other side of the room, were the beds were. My heart ached with the memories of my beloved family.

“I have one already.”

“I'm not talking about us”, he disappeared in his room. A soft “Sup’?” was all I heard before a refreshing Seonghwa made act of presence after he got out of the room with his hair barely wet.

“He’s not wrong, to be honest”, the black haired man smiled while he joined Yeosang and helped him with the green bowl made of leaves that contained eggs and potato salad.   

    “You want a new family, Ji?!”, Mingi opened wide his eyes getting out of his trance, he was surprised and kind of scared. Oh, sweet big boy…

    “No, Mingi, Hongjoong and I were talking about preserving the human race on Earth even though we might all get kill for that”, I speak shrugging not giving it to much care.

   “You’re thinking about having a baby right now?! With Joong?!”, Mingi asked incredulously loud. I breathed and stood up. 

    I felt Yeosang’s gazed and I looked at him, I wanted to smile at his shook face, but then I remembered he was a fucking cinist. 

“I’m all sweaty and dirty, I’m gonna wash myself and then catch y’all on the roof”. I heard Seonghwa’s soft laugh after I closed the ladies’ bathroom door and sighed. 

“Why does Hongjoong have to be the one? It’s not fair” Mingi asked again. The sound of footsteps resonated on the place.

"Shut up, Mingi, they aren’t serious about that”, Yeosang’s voice sounded a bit mad and tired, but he speaked again, more gentle. “Let’s go with the others, she’ll be there soon and this is the first night without Misuk, so Jongho needs us.”

So everyone knew about Misuk and Jongho except for me? What a shitty friend you are, Jiyeong… 

(...)

Masterlist

[tvdversefanfiction]

Canary Carnage

Fandoms: Arrowverse, DC Universe, TVDverse and The Originals

Chapter Twelve: A Far Cry from Earth X

Warnings: I don’t own any of the rights, content or characters belonging to any of the DC content I use within the story along with not owning any rights, content or characters within The Vampire Diaries, Originals or Legacies.

18 Rating: Moderate/Graphic displays of violence, sexual innuendos, sexually charged scenes, SMUT, mention of Nazi’s due to Earth X storyline, strong language and potentially triggering scenes.

Pairings: M/M, F/F, M/F.

Lucas Thomas Wayne may have been the Earth X doppelganger of Lucas Lance, but they were to very different people Lucas Lance was the Red Canary and Lucas Wayne was the Blue Canary.

Lucas Thomas Wayne was dumped on the doorstep of Earth X’s Batman after his biological mother Earth X’s Laurel Lance aka Siren X abandoned him to continue her ruthless crusade. He is the biological son of Earth X’s Bruce Wayne aka Batman and was raised by his father eventually joining him in his crusade to make Earth X a better place.

Earth X’s Lucas was resilient, strong and ready to save his world from the darkness that surrounded it under the guidance of his father Batman but having the same meta-human power as his mother leading to Batman himself naming him the Blue Canary.

Lucas Lance was the villain and Laurel Lance was the hero in that story whereas on Earth X Lucas Wayne was a hero and his mother Laurel was the villain on an earth with far too many villains so when the fate of the multiverse was at risk it was only a matter of time before Earth X would be no more.

Unbeknownst to him his father had planned a back up plan so that he could live after hearing rumors about Earth Blood from other earths he had visited in the past and eventually learning that somehow Earth Blood existed out of the multiverse meaning if all else failed he could at least save his son and all else did fail.

Lucas Thomas Wayne couldn’t be any more different than his doppelganger who died on Earth Blood but he was soon about to learn all about him as he found himself teleport-ed to Earth Blood via a fail-safe breaching device that his father had installed into his phone scheduled to teleport him after Earth X was wiped out by anti-matter.

A lot had changed on Earth Blood over the five years that went by following the death of the Red Canary: the entire vampire community now knew the Black Canary as Laurel Lance spent most of her time travelling the world and using her superhero alter ego and Sara Lance had taken over New Orleans Voyage Hotel renaming it the New Orleans Lance Hotel in honor of her family deciding to stay in New Orleans and adjusting to no longer being the White Canary and being a vampire.

The Mikaelson family were of course still the Mikaelson’s as immortal beings who lived for over a thousand years, five years wasn’t really much to them although they did have some momentous changes such as: Kol Mikaelson reuniting and marrying his true love Davina Claire, Hope Mikaelson being accepted to and now going to Columbia University in New York City, Rebekah getting her revenge on Marcel Gerard by trapping him for good and the tragic and shocking death of Hayley Marshall which left everyone devastated especially Elijah and Hope.

The last thing the Lance sisters or the Mikaelson family were prepared for was the return of Lucas, or rather their introduction to Earth X’s Lucas Wayne the heroic Blue Canary who was ready to cause all kinds of carnage to any wrong doers.

“Where am I?” Lucas Wayne wondered as he opened his eyes to find himself in a hospital room laying in a hospital bed with a nurse standing over him. “What’s going on?”

“You were found on the side of the road unconscious but we’re as of yet trying to find out why you were there.” The male nurse replied to him. “Do you know your name?”

“Last thing I remember is being at home with my dad…” Lucas began to say before he realized Earth X was no more before tearing off the cables connected to him, climbing off the bed and rising to his feet much to the nurse’s concern.

“I’m going to have to ask that you sit back down! You’re not in a state to be going anywhere.” The nurse advised him, as Lucas was too concerned looking at his hospital gown which revealed a little too much in the back.

“What earth are we on?” Lucas asked, knowing the chances of the nurse knowing anything about the multiverse were slim.

“Yeah I don’t know what you’re talking about…I’m going to need you to sit back down!” The nurse answered the Blue Canary, eager to get his patient back into his bed.

“I figured that was a long shot…well I’m going to need my clothes.” Lucas replied to the nurse before looking him up and down. “Your clothes will do if you can’t find mine.”

Lucas Wayne waited for a moment as the nurse stared him down making it clear he wasn’t going to let him go easily forcing Lucas to release a canary cry in his direction with just enough force to send the nurse flying into the corridors giving him just enough time to make an escape and try and figured out what the hell was going on.

Lucas knew that for him to be on this strange earth that his own earth must’ve been destroyed by the anti-matter waves and wherever he was now was going to have to be his new home but he had no idea of the people he lost or the people he was about to find.

It was the fifth year anniversary of Lucas Lance’s death and although he died on Lian Yu, Laurel decided to have him buried in Lafayette Cemetery within New Orleans where she would reunite with her sister Sara each year on Lucas’ anniversary to mourn him as they honored not what he became but who he once was.

It was a tradition that brought Laurel comfort and helped eased her guilt, regret and pain about losing a son and choosing not to return to Star City to stop him even being born knowing saving the world had to come before being a mother but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty.

At first she had no idea why her younger sister Sara Lance chose to stay in New Orleans despite the fact she was hated by the Mikaelson siblings for killing their beloved sister Freya Mikaelson but as the years went by their hate for Sara grew smaller as Rebekah Mikaelson surprised them all by forming a friendship with the White Canary, a strong friendship built on forgiveness, loss and honesty.

Laurel Lance knew there was good in Rebekah and Elijah from the start and following his marriage to Davina Claire she learned Kol had good in him too as she began blurring the lines between good and evil, learning that the world itself was not so black a white which was a lesson she wish she had learned five years ago.

“I had a feeling this is where you would me Miss Lance, it’s always a pleasure to be in your presence.” Elijah greeted Laurel as he sped into the cemetery to stand beside her, as Laurel stood in front of her son’s tombstone.

“I don’t even understand why I always come here each year I mean with the way the future changes he’s probably vanished by now just like Talia al Ghul did when he died.” Laurel admitted with a saddened sigh, freely opening to the noble original before turning to face him. “I enjoy your company too Elijah.”

“It’s soothing to have a place to grieve for what we’ve lost and also a place where we feel we can reconnect with them momentarily at least.” Elijah replied to the Black Canary. “I may not have been with you in your choices with your son, but I understood them, nonetheless. You can’t keep torturing yourself forever Laurel.”

“I could say the same to you over Hayley it’s not on you what happened to her and it’s not on you to keep your life on hold because she’s gone…you two weren’t even together in the end.” Laurel told him, trying to comfort the original why he tried to comfort her. “You two shared a great and epic love for each other but that doesn’t mean your life has to be over…you’ve lived on pause for a thousand years Elijah maybe it’s time to press play.”

“We are as bad as each other.” Elijah admitted with a sly laugh, smiling at Laurel. “Neither of us will take the other’s advice and yet we keep advising each other anyway.”

“Well that’s where your wrong as of today my days as the Black Canary are well and truly over I’m even considering joining Sara at the hotel I mean she wants it to remain somewhat of a family business…the irony being my son literally murdered his way into owning the hotel.” Laurel replied with a sly smirk.

“This world needs the Black Canary don’t let her go for some attempt at a normal life you were never meant to be normal Miss Lance.” Elijah advised Laurel, hoping she didn’t give up being the Black Canary, knowing how much it meant to her.

“How is your brother Klaus?” Laurel asked, instantly making Elijah chuckle, both knowing she didn’t care about Klaus, she just wanted to change the conversation.

The Lance sisters had grown closer to the Mikaelson over the last five years to the stage where both Laurel and Sara even tolerated Klaus which to them was quite the hard task but Laurel and Elijah wound up getting a little too close and that’s where their problems began.

From the moment they met they had buried feelings for each other feelings that they eventually acted upon which would have been perfect if their moment of passion didn’t happen the same time Hayley Marshall was killed making Elijah blame himself and his feelings for Laurel for not being there for his former love’s death.

Both Laurel Lance and Elijah Mikaelson were both filled with guilt over their past, but both wanted to help each other and so they were at a painful halt in their angst-ridden relationship with happiness for either seeming highly unlikely.

Klaus Mikaelson was king of New Orleans once again thanks to Rebekah’s revenge against Marcel and although he was particularly thrilled that a man he once loved like a son was wiped off the map or the fact Rebekah wouldn’t reveal his exact location he was more than thrilled to have New Orleans to himself.

Marcel Gerard was the only thing on that entire earth that could kill him and him being out of the equation made the original hybrid and his siblings truly immortal once again or so that’s what he had come to believe.

Klaus walked the streets of the French Quarter like he did many nights taking in the city he loved so much when he noticed Lucas Wayne for the first time stood next to a jazz band performing a musical ensemble in the middle of the street.

Immediately he believed that Lucas Lance either survived the day he died and deceived everyone including himself or that the Red Canary had somehow found a way back to the living, knowing the canary was capable of both.

“I didn’t take you as a lover of music, but you always were full of surprises.” Klaus said to Lucas after walking over to stand next to him, as the two of them continued to listen to the beautiful jazz music being performed live.

“You’ve clearly mistaken me for someone else or rather the same person but different earth.” Lucas replied to the original hybrid. “Tell me who am I to you in this strangely fascinating world?”

“Are you seriously expecting me to believe that you’re a doppelganger of Lucas Lance?” Klaus scoffed, believing Lucas was trying to trick him somehow, after all he was quite the master of manipulation in the past.

“Seriously? You know who I am in a world that’s already much better than my own and nobody has heard about breaching devices which allow you to jump portals?” Lucas quizzed the strange man he was highly suspicious of. “Clearly you either know about the multiverse and are lying boldly to my face or you are somebody completely useless to me…no offense meant unless you’re a liar that is.”

“Are you really not the same man who died at my sister’s hands five years ago?” Klaus wondered, struggling to know whether to trust Lucas’ words.

“This world really is fascinating!” Lucas said with excitement in his eyes as an innocent smile appeared across his face making Klaus realize this wasn’t Lucas Lance. “I’d love to hear the story of how this earth’s doppelganger met their demise seems like there’s a chance of a lesson being learned there…tell me stranger do you know Bruce Wayne?”

“I have no idea who he is, but your mother is in this very city in fact she’s only recently returned.” Klaus informed the Blue Canary, as he tried to work out what Lucas’ otherworldly doppelganger was doing in his world. “Sara Lance too.”

“Figures the man whose sister killed me works alongside Siren X makes sense that ruthless bitch would survive the literal end of the multiverse. I just need to find out if I’m on this supposed Earth Prime or this Earth Blood my father talked about.” Lucas revealed to the original hybrid just in time for the band to take a break. “You better tell your boss I’m coming for her and this canary isn’t so easy to kill.”

Before Klaus Mikaelson could even process the realization he had just met the doppelganger of a former flame Lucas Wayne sped his way out of sight clearly without a worry of being noticed for his powers which was a far cry from the other canaries arrival on Earth Blood.

Klaus had no idea what world this Lucas came from but he already knew this one was different to the Lucas Lance of his past despite their many similarities and he couldn’t help his urge to want to find out more like; was this Lucas also the Red Canary? How different was he to the Lucas he knew? What the bloody hell was Siren X? Was Laurel or Sara Siren X on this Lucas’ world? Was this Lucas a threat to his loved ones and beloved city?

Klaus knew one thing for and that was it was time to sit down with the two canaries in the city that he did know, knowing either Sara, Laurel or both Lance sisters would quickly solve the mystery of Lucas 2.0.

To find out the brother you grew up with was actually your son was a reveal very rare but it is a discovery Laurel Lance made before she went on a mission to kill that son for the greater good only to later on reconsider what was good and evil and whether her son truly deserved to die.

Laurel Lance was still traumatized from watching her son Lucas Lance die at the hands of Rebekah Mikaelson, so traumatized that when she learned of the news about a doppelganger of her son now being in New Orleans it had her reliving all the pain and regret once more as she began to fear what awful fate this version of her son would meet and whether she or her loved ones would be the ones to deliver it to him.

She wanted so badly to run away and continuing running so she never had to face another Lucas or her duties as the Black Canary ever again but deep down she knew that despite everything she was first and foremost a canary and she needed to make sure this Lucas wasn’t a danger to others or himself, hoping desperately this outcome would be better than the last time she had to put a world before her own child.

“I can’t believe that there’s another version of Lucas out there…although with all the parallel universes it makes sense that he’d be born in at least a few other worlds within the multiverse but what doesn’t make sense is why the hell he is here.” Laurel reluctantly confided in Klaus, as the Black Canary and the original hybrid sat on the edge of his bed within his room in the compound both nursing a glass of whisky each.

“He said something about the multiverse being dead that there was only Earth Prime and Earth Blood now which I found rather strange, but I don’t pretend to understand the multitude of worlds that you meta-humans come from.” Klaus replied while taking a sip from his drink. “He also mentioned Siren X he believes I work for this person I believe he’s referring to either you or your sister.”

“Me…or at least the Earth X evil doppelganger of me.” Laurel revealed to Klaus. “Figures some version of my son would be working alongside an evil version of me.”

“I don’t know he didn’t seem like a big fan of Siren X if anything I think he’s more than likely an enemy…he had a look of hate when mentioning her name and that particular look can’t be faked.” Klaus informed Laurel as he finished the whisky in his glass. “Maybe in this bizarre world he comes from the roles are turned around between you and him.”

“You mean in a world literally run by freaking Nazi’s my son is a hero?” Laurel laughed at Klaus before downing her drink. “Why tell me about this? You’re not one to tell me anything especially regarding my son.”

“I wanted to know if it was possible or if Lucas was just playing yet another game with us all.” Klaus admitted as he stood up from the edge of his bed. “I don’t particularly want to play in the past not when the future is mine!”

“It’s highly possible my Lucas is back but it’s also highly possible that this isn’t my Lucas.” Laurel replied to the original hybrid as she too stood up from Klaus’ bed. “I’ll meet with this Lucas but if he’s not my son then he’s your problem not mine.”

“In other words, if you don’t kill him I should.” Klaus answered with a sly smirk.

“You were the one trying to save him last time around so don’t start playing the big bad wolf to me Klaus!” Laurel snapped at him. “I said I’ll sort it and I will.”

“Yes, well Lucas Lance amused me and that’s rare for anyone to do but if this isn’t him then he’s merely some cheap copy from some maddened world that I don’t intend on getting to know.” Klaus replied, making it clear to Laurel he was ready to kill if he needed to.

The mere idea of Klaus Mikaelson killing her son infuriated her and not because his sister Rebekah had already murdered one version of him before but because it seemed so easy for him, which served to strengthen her dislike for the original hybrid as she continued to believe he was more monster than man.

Laurel Lance doubted any chance of any version of Lucas being a hero having dealt with the Red Canary’s crimes first hand but this wasn’t the Red Canary and this wasn’t the son from her future or even her world and if she was to take him out then she would in fact be the villain this time around.

Lucas Wayne grew up in a cruel world a world in which the Nazi’s had won but that didn’t stop his father Bruce Wayne from donning the cape and suit and becoming Batman if anything it drove Batman to be the hero not only Gotham City needed but the world itself as he worked alongside a group of freedom fighters eventually enlisting his own son Lucas into the group under his heroic alter ego Blue Canary.

Earth X’s Batman had traveled to many different worlds most far better and some far worst but he never gave up on the hope of one day saving his own earth that was until he heard tales of the death of the multiverse and everything changed for him and his son.

The Blue Canary had turned down many of his father’s pleas to go to either Earth Prime or Earth Blood with a device that not only allowed him to breach to another world but also transport him to another time but Lucas Wayne was very much like his father and wanted to save his earth, the problem was Bruce was never going to allow anything to happen to his son meaning Lucas Wayne was now in a different world in a different time completely and utterly alone.

Lucas wanted nothing more than to return to his awful world just to be reunited with his father but he knew Earth X was gone now and if he was going to honor his father’s sacrifice he had to continue being a hero no matter what world he was in.

“You know you were always pretty morbid but visiting your own grave is a whole other level even for yourself Lucas.” Sara told Lucas after vamp speeding into Lafayette Cemetery to stand beside him, finding Lucas stood in front of his own grave, or what she believed was his own grave.

“I don’t know why I was drawn here but I was…it was like his spirit was calling out to me somehow.” Lucas replied as he continued to look at Lucas Lance’s tomb, looking haunted by his own doppelganger’s grave.

“I heard your playing the doppelganger card, but I’ve got to admit you’re really committing to the role little brother.” Sara said completely disregarding the theory that this wasn’t the man who she was raised with.

“Brother?” Lucas stated as he turned to face the White Canary. “In my world I’m an only child well I was the only surviving child…yet you know me as brother and I’m not aware of any siblings looking like you which only means you’re her daughter.”

“What the hell are you talking about Luci?” Sara questioned him, not sure whether to be more confused or more suspicious by Lucas’ words.

“My name is Lucas Wayne…I’m guessing yours is Sara Lance which means you are my half-sister I won’t blame you for your mother considering she’s mine too or at least she is on my now extinct world.” Lucas replied to the woman he believed was this earth’s Laurel Lance’s daughter.

“Wayne…shut up!” Sara said in shock, realizing this version of Lucas wasn’t her Lucas. “You’re the freaking son of Batman!”

“I guess identities are just as badly hidden in this world.” Lucas scoffed. “Yes, I am but, on my Earth, they tend to call me the Blue Canary…tell me are you evil like our mother or is this a world where she’s a canary instead of a siren?”

“Firstly, Laurel Lance isn’t my mother she’s my sister, secondly I’m the White Canary and I’m not your sister I’m your aunt.” Sara informed the Blue Canary, while trying to get her head around his revelations. “Also, this isn’t my earth or Laurel’s but we’re both the good guys here…this world isn’t like the others.”

“Well I gathered that on the whole fact that there’s only two worlds in existence now within two entirely different multi-verses which I know is as confusing as it sounds so I’ll just ask is this Earth Prime or Earth X?” Lucas replied with more questions for the White Canary.

“Earth Blood…What do you mean the other worlds are gone?” Sara quizzed her nephew’s doppelganger, desperate to find out more about the supposed death of the multiverse.

“Do you always answer questions with more questions?” Lucas retorted with a smile on his face.

“I could say the same for you…my sister says you come from Earth X or at least that’s what she suspects considering the Siren X name drop you gave to Klaus.” Sara stated to him. “Are you as batshit evil as my Lucas was or did Batman become a good influence on this version?”

“I do come from Earth X yes but I’m not part of the evil that world is run by your sister is however, I worked alongside my father until…” Lucas began to explain before taking a painful pause, as he was reminded of the death of his father, his friends, his loved ones and the only world he had known as home.

“Until the death of the multiverse…you’re the only survivor from your earth, aren’t you?” Sara asked sympathetically, knowing the answer by the pure look of devastation of Lucas Wayne’s face and the tears forming in his eyes.

“All the worlds from our multiverse are gone…completely wiped out except for the newly reborn Earth Prime…in time there will be more reborn, but our worlds are gone forever!” Lucas cried. “I knew it would one day come to this, but I thought I’d be gone too.”

“We should probably go somewhere to talk about all this something tells me we’re both going to need one hell of a drink.” Sara suggested to Earth X’s version of her Lucas, wanting to stop his cries, distraught to see a soft side to any version of her brother.

“My father said not to trust anyone…but he was highly paranoid, and you are a fellow canary after all.” Lucas replied while drying his tears. “Let’s just keep your sister out of this one!”

Sara Lance had sought out Lucas fully expected to find the man she loved like a brother to be fooling them all but instead she found a good hearted and vulnerable Lucas Wayne, one not too dissimilar to the Lucas Lance she once knew before becoming the Red Canary.

She knew she could trust the Blue Canary as she recognized the pain in his eyes, the loss he must of felt and the loneliness he was now suffering from following the death of his entire world but just because she was willing to trust Lucas Wayne and he was willing to trust her didn’t mean it would be so easy for everyone else.

Sara Lance had been convinced that the man she found in Lafayette Cemetery was in fact the Earth X’s Lucas Wayne, the Blue Canary and the son of batman and decided to take him back to her own Lance Hotel within the French Quarter of New Orleans going as far to take him up to her own private bedroom within the hotel so they could have some privacy.

Sara ordered some much needed beers for them both via room service before they both walked out to Sara’s private balcony, both holding bottles of beers as they looked down on the city of New Orleans taking in the beautiful view that the city had to offer.

Lucas Wayne was taught to never trust anyone but he wasn’t anywhere near as distrusting as his father in fact he liked to believe he was a great judge of character and his judgement for Sara Lance was that he could trust her, a gut instinct which he wasn’t wrong about as she willing divulged information about his doppelganger Lucas Lance.

“I don’t mean to be cruel but I can’t help but see irony that the Laurel you know was determined to stop your Lucas’ evil ways considering I’ve spent most of my life cleaning up after a mother who abandoned me and the evil acts she committed on my earth.” Lucas scoffed at Sara while taking a sip of his beer. “Although I guess your Lucas was also abandoned by his Laurel in a way luckily, I had my father to raise me honestly and not under a cloud of deceit.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that it was a future version of Laurel in our world and she was trying to protect you.” Sara defended her sister while still feeling sympathy for this version of her nephew. “I know you’ve lost a lot and I know Siren X was a wicked bitch but my Laurel’s not like that she’s a hero…just like you.”

“It must’ve been difficult being part of a mission to kill a loved one for the great good I’d like to believe I’d be that honorable if I were ever in that situation.” Lucas replied with sincerity, making it known to Sara he didn’t hold her or Laurel responsible for his Earth X fate. “My whole life has been a never-ending battle fighting side by side with my father with the quest for freedom and now the war has ended…everyone lost…and all I want to do is find another battle to fight.”

“I get that for many years I was an assassin with the league of assassin’s my life was far less honorable but it was a never ending battle nonetheless and upon leaving the league I had to fight someone I called a brother.” Sara comforted Lucas before they both took drinks from their bottles of beer. “My war ended about five years ago and it was hard at first…don’t get me wrong things are never quiet around here, but this life really is an improvement to my previous even if I am a vampire.”

“You’re a vampire!” Lucas said in shock before laughing at the White Canary. “I think I can safely assume that this is Earth Blood then.”

“Lucas…” Laurel spoke with a sense of shock and heartbreak in both her voice and on her face, as she walked into Sara’s hotel room forcing both Lucas and Sara to walk back in from the balcony to greet the Black Canary.

“Judging by you looking not much older than I am that I’m also in the past instead of the present of Earth Blood.” Lucas stated, correctly assuming where and when he was, while Laurel continued to look at her son with tears forming in her eyes.

“He’s not our Lucas, he’s really not but he needs us Laurel.” Sara revealed to her older sister. “I think we need him too…I think you need him too.”

“So, you’re really from Earth X then?” Laurel managed to say as she held back her tears. “You must hate me even more than my Lucas did.”

“Well as long as you don’t try to kill me on numerous occasions, I’m fairly sure you and I will get along in some shape or form.” Lucas replied to the good doppelganger of his evil mother. “You’re not her I can’t hate for actions someone else made.”

“Wow you really aren’t my Lucas!” Laurel both cried and laughed, unsure if she was happy or not by the discovery of the good doppelganger of her evil son.

It was hard for Sara Lance not to see the little brother she grew up alongside when she looked at Lucas Wayne knowing that despite him looking exactly like Lucas Lance he wasn’t that man but he did share many similarities with who her adoptive brother Lucas was before becoming the Red Canary before Lucas Lance gave into evil.

Laurel Lance was resistant at first to get to know this doppelganger of her son but she knew he was innocent and as long as any version of her son needed her help she was going to be there for him even if it caused potential carnage between her and her bonds with the Mikaelson family, knowing Klaus would definitely have something to say about another Lucas being in New Orleans.

Nyssa al Ghul had decided to stay on Earth Blood five years previous creating a league of assassins of her own and claimed the island of Lian Yu for herself and her assassin army using her chance to break free from her father once and for all and both Sara and Laurel had been living on Earth Blood for quite some time too but they were far from alone.

Upon the death of the multiverse Lucas Wayne wasn’t the only one to find a way of escaping erasure by the anti-matter wave and Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only one to learn about the strange world of Earth Blood and the Blue Canary wasn’t the only one who used this world as an escape from their own deaths although he was the only one anyone would be happy to see.

In fact quite a few people from multiple worlds managed to find some way of escaping the death of the multiverse bringing them all to Earth Blood which may not have been a huge concern for the Mikaelson’s but it was certainly about to put the lives of all the canaries in definite danger.

“Well Puddin you don’t quite look like my Mr J but you sure as handsome!” Harley Quinn stated as she walked up to the gates of Lafayette Cemetery to find a different version of The Joker stood there waiting for her, knowing by the look of him he was just as sinister as The Joker she knew.

“Well you look exactly like the Harley Quinn I’m used to.” The Joker replied as he walked slowly towards a doppelganger of his sinister lover. “Now don’t tell me you’ve disappointed me and came alone now.”

“Don’t be silly now I’m a very smart broad and I know if we’re going to take this city by storm then we’re going to need accomplishes…although alone time with you is definitely on my schedule right after some chaos and carnage.” Harley answered with a menacing look in her eyes as Poison Ivy, Ra’s al Ghul and Killer Frost appeared from out of the shadows, each of the three looking just as sinister as delighted with themselves as the others.

The Joker simply replied with a manic and continuous laugh clearly beyond ecstatic to have escaped death once more, eager to rid this world of any good that resided within it knowing his twisted team were more than prepared to take out anyone that got in their way even if Batman himself somehow managed to follow them.

Now truly was the time for some true carnage and The Joker was more than ready to inflict it on everyone that got in his way.

[rhalgrs]

4, 19, 32, 40, 45! (Gryphon, Ao, and Schach!)

So this is probably going to be long lol - I’ll go through each question at a time, and skip whatever characters I have nothing for, or nothing applies to. It’s all under a ‘read more’

4. Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

Gryphon-four: 

Four grew up in the city-state of Ala Mhigo. The only thing they remember about Ala Mhigo from their childhood is imperial rule, and their parent’s stories of how it was before. Every day, they saw Garlean soldiers marching the streets, they saw the image of a strong empire that supposedly protected its people, they saw the dwindling supplies of food at home, the shrinking pile of savings, their parents hiding their tears from their child as they tried to figure out how to continue providing safety for their child. The constant incidents shaped their view of the world - a fierce pride and protectiveness of Ala Mhigo, and a blinding hate for anything Garlean. 

The last straw that convinced them to leave for the Ala Mhigan Resistance at merely 17 was being caught stealing a sack of flour, consequently having their pinky cut off on the spot to make an example to everyone, and at that moment their decision to join the Resistance shaped the rest of their life. They’re not shy in telling people about how they used to live and why they joined.

Ao: 

Ao used to be quite the bright and sunny personality, excitable and willing to take on any job as a fresh adventurer, pleased to help anyone and everyone. At one point, he took on a job that brought him to the cold reaches of Coerthas. The job was to slay a creature that had been spotted near an abandoned outpost, as it was causing trouble and potentially nesting there, and the knights and dragoons were busy in areas that were actually strategically important. Ao was confident he could take on it himself - plus, the reward for slaying it was rather appealing. Unused to the cold and snow, however, he was soon caught up in a whiteout of a blizzard, cold biting deep into him, mistakenly assuming the snow would soon cease. So, there he sat, hunched over in the cold, trying to not let the snow settle and bury him, when a wyrm very much bigger than anticipated found him. 

The resulting fight looked like a massacre. Fresh blood splattered across the trampled snow, a broken and bloodied dragon dying with torn wings and maimed tail. Ao lay beside it, clutching its severed talon to his chest as proof of his victory - but wounded. A blow every here and there leaving him with bruises and a general sense of pain, perhaps a broken limb… and crimson staining the ground, flowing from a deep wound in his throat - a misstep leading to him nearly dying. He only survived thanks to a trader and his pack chocobo finding him after passing through and examining the struggle they’d seen from a distance. 

Ultimately, his throat was damaged to the point he could no longer speak without pain, leaving him essentially mute and with scars across his face and down his neck. It was a hell of a reality check to show him he wasn’t invincible. His time recovering led him to be depressed for a while, and once he did get better, he stayed quieter, less flashy, and his instincts caused him to grow more cautious. He tries not to bring it up, and if he’s asked about it, all he’ll be able to manage is telling some half-truths. 

Schach: 

As a young adult just trying to figure out what to do with his life, Schach had no idea what he wanted, jumping around from engineering to music making. One evening, a walk in the nearby forests led Schach to get lost for hours, not realizing he didn’t know where he was until he stumbled across a ranger taking samples by coring trees. After a bit of chatter, he learned what this person was doing, eventually talking about what they’d studied and learning that the ranger had studied forestry. He never realized his passion for the environment and flora could grow into a career, but at that moment he decided that what this park ranger had explained was exactly what he wanted to do, and ultimately went into studying the field of forestry with no doubts.

19. What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

Four: 

They’re too willing to give up literally anything for their job, including relationships - they’ve taught themselves how to not get too attached. A handful of times they’d actually gotten into a relationship, hiding their occupation from their partner, only to abruptly break things off or vanish with no explanation. Mostly, it was simply because they had to move for work, and they claim they don’t really care and that relationships are just a cover for a normal life. Their previous partners really don’t like them because of this. 

Ao: 

He really just doesn’t know what he’s looking for, and he’s a little eccentric in how often he might actually see them, considering how often he travels. He’s a little unstable at this point, too, and would be far too worried about if he’s being a good partner or if his partner even cares for him - at any rate, he just hasn’t found anyone he wants to date yet.

Schach:

Really, the biggest flaw would be how he might get too engrossed in his research and not quite notice if his s/o is in a bad mood or doesn’t want to hear more of it. Their attention is not always quite there, and while he is incredibly caring and gentle, he just is oblivious to how little he might pay attention at times. 

32. Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

Ao:

If he’s put into a situation where he can’t solve problems by either fighting or running away, he’ll grow incredibly uncomfortable. Pretty much, he hates being confronted or being insulted without the ability to retaliate in any way. 

Schach:

He definitely likes having groups of people to discuss work with around him, and never minds participating in a bustling academic fair! As soon as he’s in social gatherings around, let’s say, groups of drunk people or others who are only there to mess around with friends and not have conversations with, he gets self-conscious. He really doesn’t know what to talk about to others if they’re not interested in his work, and realizes not everyone cares enough to talk about academic work or field research.

40. How does your character treat people in service jobs?

Four:

They’ll be courteous enough - maybe a bit paranoid with food workers, watching like a hawk what they do with food they’re preparing to make sure it’s not poisoned or anything. 

Ao:

He tries to be nice, and if he could he’d strike up a conversation, but usually his interactions with them are either pointing and gestures, or writing out stuff on paper if need be - the bare minimum of communicating what he needs. 

Schach: 

He’ll definitely just try to chat with them for a minute or two if they’re genuinely nice to him, and has ended up befriending a few vendors he frequents. Aside from that, he also works to help supply lumber to a few merchants, so he knows his way around some rather specific markets quite well. 

45. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

Four:

They would like to believe that when they die, their soul is carried into the Halls of the Twelve. They fear that they’ve done too many bad things to ever go there. Thinking about how they might really simply disappear in a burst of aether scares them. 

Ao:

He doesn’t think about it a lot. His attitude is ‘what happens, happens’. His brushes with death made him think how the only thing he cares about is staying alive. 

Schach:

If you ask him what happens, he’ll launch into an incredibly detailed discussion of how your soul will explode into a burst of aether and then re-enter the lifestream, and how your body will decompose and find its way back to the earth. This doesn’t really scare him. Instead, he’ll rather cheerily tell you that he’d like to have a tree planted on his resting place after he dies so he can give back to the environment. 

[mobius-prime]

175. Sonic the Hedgehog #107

Crouching Hedgehog, Hidden Dragon (臣人豪猪臧龍) (Part Two)

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Frank Gagliardo

Yes, those are the same Chinese characters as last time. I was kind of hoping they would have used different ones so we could have a second nonsense phrase to laugh over, but alas. The morning after the dragon's attack, Sonic and Tails are playing video games when they're called to a morning meeting with Station Square's president. Once in the meeting, the president begins to explain his strategy for taking on the dragon, but Sonic is less than interested.

Sonic suddenly realizes he recognizes the team as the one that captured him at the beginning of Sonic Adventure 2, and promptly bursts into hysterical laughter, remembering how easily he disarmed them last time. Sally is quick to salvage the situation by claiming that it's Mobian tradition to laugh at their allies as a show of respect, and a confused president and annoyed Paladin Team look on as every Mobian at the table howls with laughter to keep up the ruse. Sonic, however, is not pleased with the tough-guy, humorless attitude that every member of the team exudes, and Sally, Rotor, and Antoine stay behind in the city as Sonic, Tails, and Bunnie airdrop in with the team to Pyro Island, where the dragon is believed to be hiding out. The Mobians are cheery, singing and chatting with one another, but the leader of Paladin Team admonishes them for not taking things seriously. While everyone is distracted, two of the Paladin Team members lag behind everyone else, not realizing that there's a shadowy, snakelike figure stalking them from behind. As the Mobians and humans begin to argue, they suddenly notice the disappearance of two of their team members.

While the humans angrily head out to find their missing team members, Sonic, Tails and Bunnie press on into the trees, trying to figure out where a dragon might hide. Tails spots a cave behind a waterfall, and they duck inside, to be immediately greeted by… Dulcy! It's been a while since we've seen her! Her arm is in a sling, but otherwise she seems fine and happy to see them. Suddenly, the red dragon emerges from behind her, but Dulcy quickly explains that this is Zan, and she's in a relationship with him. However, he begins to act aggressive, insisting that the others are their enemies and shouldn't be here, to her dismay.

Well, that changes things a bit. Everyone tries to convince Zan to settle down so they can talk things out peacefully, but Zan becomes even angrier when Dulcy agrees. He's interrupted from scolding her for relying on them when a net entangles his mouth, shutting him up, and the humans all rush in with guns drawn, ready to kill both dragons. Sonic utilizes his super speed to take apart all their guns before they can fire, but then Zan breaks free of his muzzle, gloating that now that they're unarmed he can kill them easily. Sonic steps in the middle to prevent that from happening either, and then Dulcy, from the back, quietly speaks up.

So this isn't the only "surprise domestic abuse" plot in a Sonic canon. Anyone who's played Sonic and the Secret Rings knows that an abusive romantic relationship plays a big part in that game's plot as well. But it still does come as a big shock here. Sonic freaks out, infuriated that Zan would hurt his friend, and begins wailing on him, while Tails and Bunnie rush outside to check on Dulcy. She repeats certain stock phrases that are common of abuse victims, such as "he loves me" and "maybe it's my fault," while Bunnie reassures her that she's not at fault at all and deserves better than to be treated this way. It's honestly a decent portrayal of the guilt that abuse victims become stuck with, just very condensed, because this comic doesn't have time to throw in a whole long subplot about Dulcy's emotional recovery. Instead, it takes a fast-track approach, as while Sonic and Zan fight, Paladin Team sets up explosives and blows up the entire cave, with Sonic and Zan still in it! That'll solve it!

Everyone outside is horrified and rushes forward to try to dig them both out, but Sonic emerges safely, tunneling his way out from under the rock. However, Zan isn't so lucky. The team contacts the president, informing him that the dragon that menaced them is dead and the city is safe again, and he agrees formally to take in the Overlander refugees, while Sonic, Tails, and Bunnie stay with Dulcy at the ruins of the cave till nightfall, letting her mourn despite the abuse.

Fittingly, our character file for this issue is for Dulcy! She's an outlier in almost every way compared to the other characters so far. Since she's a dragon, you'd expect her to be bigger than the others, but I wasn't expecting her to be so massive. She's a whopping 240 cm or 7'10" tall, and weighs 111.8 kg or 245.9 lbs! That's easily taller than Big the Cat and E-102 Gamma, the tallest characters in the games (not counting bosses such as Iblis or Dark Gaia), though not nearly as heavy as either of them. Her wingspan also comes out to 169 cm or exactly five feet, which correspond well enough to how they're usually drawn as proportionately small. However, that's not the most interesting thing about her file. Based on her behavior and this recent relationship of hers, how old would you say Dulcy is? Seventeen? Eighteen?

She's thirteen.

I was honestly shocked when I found this out. This means that most of the previous times we've seen her, she was literally only twelve, not even a teenager yet. This actually puts a lot of her behavior into perspective - her somewhat crybaby attitude and nervousness in the face of danger, all that is due to literal immaturity. This means she was only about two years old when the war against Robotnik started, with her birthday being August 23. The file explains that when Robotnik began his coup, he heavily targeted dragons before any other creatures due to their sheer power. One such dragon, Sabina, sought protection for her daughter Dulcinea (Dulcy's real name) among the Kingdom of Acorn before she too was captured. Dulcy grew up over the years and helped the Freedom Fighters, though she mainly lived outside on her own due to her massive size. Interestingly enough, the file also attempts to provide a bit of a retcon for the whole "dragons can sense truth" plot hole that I pointed out all the way back during Endgame, instead suggesting that Dulcy in particular is just a very trustworthy individual who doesn't like telling lies and has an instinct for knowing when someone is being truthful, which I can accept. It's a lot better than the handwave from before, anyway.

Reunification (Part II)

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Dawn Best Colors: Robbie O'Quinn

Lien-Da is pissed. Apparently, she actually didn't expect Knuckles to be able to reverse the effects of the Quantum Beam, despite Dimitri not only promising Knuckles he'd do so himself, but even encouraging Knuckles to do so on his own. Dimitri is also shocked, though more at the sheer extent of Knuckles' power, which exceeds even his own when he was Enerjak.

What, Lien-Da? You think you're gonna recruit Remington or something? Remington's an upstanding guy, man, I think your chances are… uh… well, I suppose we mustn't forget about the time traveler girl who apparently thinks he's gonna murder Knuckles. Remington asks her for her name and she gives the name "Jani-Ca," though internally she notes that she's trying to hide her own identity, meaning this isn't her real name. Wynmacher and Lara-Le rush up, concernedly asking after Knuckles, and while Remington states he hasn't seen him, Jani-Ca hides her surprise at seeing a younger version of her grandmother. Wait - grandmother?! Then that means she's…

The Chaotix are back as well, having landed right back in the ruins of the Grand Conservatory, with their dialogue again suggesting that they haven't been away for long due to the slower time scale within the Twilight Zone. In Haven, the various members of the Brotherhood are dismayed to find the place trashed from Knuckles' earlier bursts of uncontrolled power, though they instead suspect the Legion's hand. They notice that Matthias and Hawking are no longer there, realizing that they've both died and headed on to the "next evolution," AKA echidna heaven. They sense one more soul with them, whom we know is Tobor, but they can't figure it out. Locke briefly worries that it might be Knuckles before hearing Knuckles' ghostly voice reassuring him that he's fine and currently in the city. Far from reassuring Locke, this only makes him worry that instead of his great plans for Knuckles to be a savior, instead his worst fears have come to pass. What, Locke, you starting to think that maybe genetically engineering and irradiating your unborn baby wasn't a good idea after all?

*sigh* So, yes, everyone, this is Knuckles' future daughter Lara-Su. Anyone who knows Penders and his whole lawsuit debacle will know exactly who this is. Now, she's kind of an unpopular character because of this (and because many people essentially dismiss her as Penders' Mary Sue OC), and there are definitely valid criticisms to be made about her inclusion into the comics, but I'm not going to immediately jump into hating her just because of the circumstances of her creation. After all, we still know basically nothing about her, not even how she came to be, and anyway you all know that I prefer to judge a character or story on its own merits and not on how likeable its creator is.

Everyone's conversations are interrupted by a flash of light, and Dimitri materializes in the middle of the group. Remington, of course, steps forward intending to arrest him, but Knuckles stops him much to his shock. Dimitri grins in a super-duper-not-an-evil-villain way and says that Knuckles has finally seen that he and his Legion only wish to rejoin the rest of echidna society, and that they're prepared to do whatever it takes to reintegrate…

[let-it-raines]

CSJJ Day 2: I Have A Method

Summary: Finding your neighbor drunk and nearly passed out in the snow isn’t exactly a great way to become friends. But that’s exactly how Killian Jones becomes more of a friend to Emma Swan than he has been in their years of knowing each other. And it’s exactly how the both of them learn to be a little less alone.

Rating: Mature-ish. 

A/N: Thank you to the organizers of @csjanuaryjoy and all of the participants in our lovely group chat. Make sure to check out all of the other fics and pic sets coming this month! Another thank you to the anon who sent me the prompt that inspired this story!

Also on ao3 | here | Tag List: @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @mayquita @nikkiemms @bmbbcs4evr @ekr032-blog-blog @captswanis4vr @dreadpirateemma @branlovestowrite @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @captainsjedi 

She hates the snow.

It’s cold and wet and people don’t know how to drive in it.

She gets that visibility is low and there’s black ice and all of those awful things that happen in the snow to make the driving difficult, but it’s not totally necessary for everyone to lose their collective shit. And they don’t just lose their collective shit over driving or the negative things about snow. They lose their collective shit over the positive things.

People bundle up and run out into the frozen water – but not, like, frozen water that’s as hard and as solid as ice. – and lay down in it, soaking their clothes and bodies and likely catching pneumonia from the way they’re literally sitting in freezing water. It’s pretty, but it’s ridiculous. And it loses its appeal right as someone throws a snowball at her that ends up having tiny pieces of rocks inside. That hurts.

Mostly, she just hates being cold.

Yes, the clothes are cute and she gets to wear her favorite boots and a beanie that has a little puffball on top, but she’s freezing.

All. The. Time.

And it’s not like they’re even experiencing negative temperatures here but still.

She’s on her way home from work, the walk home from the station short and sweet, when she sees a pair of legs sticking out from the snow.

Is she living in some kind of snow-covered version of Wizard of Oz?

Winter of Oz?

Blizzard of Oz?

She’s cautious as she steps toward the figure, not knowing what she’s going to find, and as soon as she gets close enough, she sees that it’s Killian Jones laying in the snow with red tipped ears and a nose so cold he may as well be Rudolph.

It’s January. Rudolph is late.

“Jones,” she grumbles, squatting down next to him and waiting for him to respond.

He smiles, his eyes slowly fluttering open only to reveal the usually clear blue as a hazy, muted blue, nearly gray. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Are you drunk?”

His hand waves in the air while his lips form into a sloppy smirk. She swears he tries to wink, but both eyes close. “I may have imbibed in a few libations, and it seems that I may have fallen down on my way home.”

“Can you stand up?”

“I can.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I’m comfortable,” he hums, his voice slurring the slightest bit, “but I am a bit chilled, love. Should probably go home and take a warm shower. Would you like to join me?”

She sighs, the realization that she’s going to have to help him home coming to her and filling her with annoyance. She spends enough time dealing with drunks and helping drunks as Storybrooke’s sheriff. She doesn’t need to be carting a drunk middle school teacher home at eight in the evening. But Killian is not a drunk, never has been unless he’s good at hiding it, and she’s not about to leave someone who’s a good citizen out in the cold to die when she can easily cart him home. Hell, he lives three doors down from her in their apartment complex.

“Alright, Jones. Let’s get you home.”

“I thought you’d…never ask.”

It takes a hell of a lot of stumbling and readjusting and carrying one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight at least half a mile, but eventually she gets him into her apartment, dragging him to her bed and flopping him down while encouraging him to slip out of his clothes. That gets her a look, one that she knows would usually be flirty, but this one is mostly just sad. But she does get him out of his wet clothes and into some of David’s old sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt she has that’s a little too snug on him, hugging the hard lines of his stomach and arms that she saw while helping him change. It takes some maneuvering to get him under the covers, but she eventually does, tucking him in like a child and putting her beanie over his red-tipped ears before she walks into her bathroom and falls back against the counter.

“I’m going to have to sleep on the couch, aren’t I?” she whispers to herself, shutting her eyes and taking several deep breaths to calm herself down.

This is not how she wanted her night to go, but it’s probably not how Killian wanted his night to go either. It’s just one night. She can do this for one night, and then they can go back to acknowledging each other when they see each other and occasionally hanging out when they’re both at Mary Margaret and David’s. Sighing, she turns the sink faucet on and begins removing her makeup before washing her face and pulling her hair up into a bun. She doesn’t care how she looks, popping her contacts out and sliding on her black-framed glasses, and that’s exactly the mindset she keeps when she pulls on a pair of pajama pants with snowmen on them – Mary Margaret bought them for her for Christmas because they were ‘cute’ – and an old sweatshirt from college.

When she exits the bathroom, Killian’s sitting up in bed but still wrapped up, and as she gets closer, she sees that his eyes aren’t as glazed over as they’ve been for the past hour.

“Swan, I want…I want the…do you have coffee?”

“I do, but you probably need water and advil or something.”

He shakes his head furiously, her beanie rocking on top of his head. “No, no, coffee. I have a method.”

“A method? Since when do you get drunk enough to have a method?”

“Just the one day a year.”

“Yeah, and why the one day a year?”

“Tis the day my brother died.”

All of the blood in her head rushes to the rest of her body as the realization of what he said hits her. She didn’t know he had a brother. He’s never mentioned it before, but who brings up their dead brother to a neighbor? No one. But now he’s in her bed, mostly still drunk, and telling her that he gets drunk once a year on the anniversary of his brother’s death.

Fuck.

“Killian, I’m – ” She tentatively places her hand on where she knows is his thigh under her flowery comforter. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you the coffee.”

“Thank you,” he slurs, a single tear escaping his eye.

She turns on her coffee pot, letting it percolate and allowing the scent to fill her apartment, while rummaging through her medicine drawer – it’s like a cabinet but not – to see if she has any advil. She doesn’t, but she has aspirin. It works too in the grand scheme of suffering through hangovers. The coffee finishes brewing, and she pours him a cup, pockets the medicine, and grabs a Gatorade out of the fridge since he really needs to be drinking water or something and not coffee that’ll dehydrate him further. But hey, dude has a method.

“Hey, so I don’t know how you take…oh.”

He’s asleep, spread out on his side across her mattress and drooling against her pillow. That was fast. She quietly walks over to him, leaving the Gatorade and medicine on her bedside table before tucking him into the bed and walking back out of the room, turning off the lights on her way out.

“Swan.”

“Love.”

“Emma.”

Her eyes pop open to see a man standing over her, something that hasn’t happened in a hell of a lot of time, and it takes only a moment before she realizes that it’s Killian…and he stayed in her apartment last night…but they didn’t sleep together. It all comes back to her as she blinks herself awake, and with the way she’s waking up, she’d think that she was the one who was passed out drunk in a snow bank and not Killian.

“Hey,” she yawns, sitting up on the couch and adjusting her sweatshirt so it covers the bare skin of her stomach, “you’re awake.”

“Uhh, yeah.” He reaches to scratch behind his ear, his gaze traveling up to the ceiling while his jaw ticks. “Swan, not that I’m not glad to be waking up in your apartment, but I’m a little bit confused.”

“Do you…do you not remember?”

“I remember pieces, but none of it is really making sense. How did I end up here?”

“I found you drunk in a snow bank.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Really.”

“Did I, uh, did I say or do anything stupid?”

She’s not sure what to say. Overall, he was fine, probably the nicest drunk she’s encountered in a long while, but she’s not sure if she should tell him she knows about his brother’s death. That may be too private, and she doesn’t want to pry. But she also doesn’t want to lie to him. This entire thing is weird and unexpected, and while she was kind of pissed at first, the moment she realized he was grieving all of that faded away.

Or most of it.

Her back is killing her from sleeping on the couch, so that’s going to be a memory of tonight that stays for awhile.

“No, no. You were fine. It’s just – you told me why you were drunk. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Swan, no offense, love, but I’ve embarrassed the hell out of myself to you in the past twelve hours. I don’t really wish to do it again. I fear I’m not very good at talking about it.”

“Well, maybe another time then.”

“Maybe,” he smiles, even if it’s weak. “I’m going to go home and get dressed for work. Thank you for last night. Let me know how I can repay you. I’m in your debt, love.”

“Don’t think anything about it. I hope today is better than yesterday.”

“Me, too.”

She doesn’t see Killian for four days, not even in the hallway or on the stairwells, but she can’t stop thinking about him. It’s not that she didn’t think about him before. He’s been the star of some very vivid and inappropriate (in the that’s her neighbor and a teacher inappropriate and not a kinky inappropriate but do whatever floats your boat) sexual fantasies as well as someone who’s pretty easy to talk to, but she’s never actively thought about him before…while she’s awake at least.

Now she can’t stop.

It’s ridiculous.

There’s a knock on her door Saturday evening, one she’s not expecting, and when she looks through the peep hole, there’s a guy with a pizza standing outside her door.

“I think you’ve got the wrong apartment,” she tells the guy when she opens her door. “I didn’t order anything.”

He looks up at her door number before looking back at her. “You’re Emma Swan in apartment 310 B?”

“Yeah?”

“Then this is your pizza. It’s already paid for, tip included. I was just told to give it to you even if you protest.”

“Um, okay,” she mumbles, taking the pizza out of his hand and taking a step back into her apartment, “have a nice night.”

“You too, lady.”

She closes the door and locks it, unsure of what’s going on, before she plops the pizza box down on her kitchen counter and opens it up as the smell of cheese wafts in the air and invades her senses. A plain pepperoni and cheese pizza. Nice. Suspicious but nice.

There’s a note taped to the top of the box, grease coating the paper, and when she pulls it off, it opens to neatly written words.

Swan,

I’d like to both apologize and thank you. There are a million things you could have done differently about the other night, but you were kind beyond belief when you didn’t have to be. I don’t know what kind of pizza you like, so I got the classic. But there is stuffed crust. How could you resist that?

Anyways, thank you for everything. I’ll see you around.

Killian Jones

Apartment 310 E

Did the man really feel the need to put his apartment number? She knows who he is and where he lives? But it’s cute and a bit endearing, and it’s probably the reason why she walks out her front door and down the hall to his, knocking without thought of him being busy or not being home.

But he is home, opening the door after two knocks, like he was waiting or something, and he greets her with a bright smile and crystal blue eyes that are not hazed over by alcohol.

“You like pizza, Jones?”

“I do.”

“You want to come eat some? My treat.”

He chuckles before his lashes flutter against his cheeks. Damn, he has long eyelashes. Why do guys always have better eyelashes? That honestly seems like another injustice against women.

“I think that’d be nice.”

Killian joins her for dinner that night, and she learns more about him in two hours of pizza and beer – a singular bottle for him – than she has in her three years of casually knowing him. Turns out a guy doesn’t have a big filter around you when you’ve dragged him home drunk after being passed out in the snow. It really bonds two people.

Okay, so maybe not necessarily bonding.

But they both have the same opinions on the current plot West World – or maybe it’s a lack of a plot because they’re not really sure – and they both agree that David acts too much like a retired sixty-year-old man to be thirty. And they like the same pizza and beer, so it’s enough for them to spend two hours together on a Saturday night.

It’s not weird, which is the biggest thing. They’ve never spent much time alone together, or any time really when they’re both mostly sober, and she was expecting there to be awkward silences and stilted conversation…but there wasn’t.

At some point in the night Killian gets ahold of her phone, and when she checks it that night when she’s getting ready to go to bed in her newly washed sheets, she sees the new contact along with a picture of himself smiling down at her phone with his thumb in the air. She’s in the background, standing above him with her mouth hanging open. It’s unflattering in every way possible, but all she really cares about is how he got her phone and then figured out her password.

ES: How did you figure out my phone password?

She doesn’t even exit out of the texting app before he messages back.

KJ: Wouldn’t you like to know?

ES: I definitely would.

KJ: You’re an open book, darling.

ES: Yeah, no. That’s crap. Tell me.

KJ: Goodnight, Swan.

Oh, he’s just going to go to bed. He’s not going to continue this? He doesn’t want to talk more? Why does she want to talk more? What the hell is even happening?

Why does she care?

She doesn’t know if it’s because she doesn’t have much of a social life or if it’s because Killian doesn’t – it’s probably both – but somehow Saturday nights become their thing. Ruby is convinced they’re dating, and they’re not. Definitely not. Dating is going out to dinner or drinks. It’s not sitting in your pajamas with un-brushed hair trash talking television shows and eating junk food.

That’s…established relationship activities.

Or friendly activities. Yeah, friendly activities. That’s exactly what’s happening.

But then Saturday nights turns into all day Saturday and falling asleep on the couch with her head on his shoulder and their thighs pressed together without a care in the world. And then they wake up on Sunday and go out to eat breakfast all while bemoaning the sun coming out. Sometimes she’ll have to go into work, depending on her shifts, and Killian always seems to have papers to grade. He’ll often come to that station those times, his backpack full of ungraded assignments and grilled cheese from Granny’s just for her. They’d probably get a lot more done if they weren’t together as they always get distracted by something, but it makes life in the small town of Storybrooke a hell of a lot less boring.

She decides that she has a middle school deeply intense crush on Killian when they’re at David and Mary Margaret’s house watching March Madness. She’s just…not into sports. She likes them and thinks they can be entertaining, but she’s not about to wear another man’s jersey and get pissed over a college basketball player not shooting enough three-pointers.

“Oh come on,” David screams, slapping his hand against his thigh and spilling the bowl of chips he had in his lap, “how do you miss that?”

Killian snickers next to her, and when he wraps his arm around the back of the couch, his fingers finding her hair, she shivers at the slightest touch.

“Man, I love sportsball,” he jokes, his accent a poor attempt at an American one. “I like when they get the points.”

She chuckles beside him, a smile breaking out and lighting up her face while Killian takes a long, slow sip of his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he gulps. She has to hold in her own gulp.

“My favorite thing is when they touch the balls with their hands.”

She doesn’t realize what she’s said until Killian does a literal spit take, something she’s never seen before, and bursts into the heartiest laugh she’s ever heard fall from his lips. If anything, it makes her smiles, but then he’s laughing so fiercely that he turns and buries his head at her collarbone, his whiskers burning her skin in rough patches all while his lips continuously hit against her collarbone. The vibrations of his laughter are intense enough that she feels them all the way throughout her body, and she buries her own chin against his mop of messy black hair, tears falling from her eyes.

“What the hell are the two of you laughing at?” David spits, and the two of them pull back with flushed cheeks and aching stomachs. They take one look at his hands placed on his hips and the genuinely upset look on his face before dissolving into fits of giggles all over again. “This is not a joking matter. Duke is losing. That’s my alma mater!”

They get kicked out of the apartment with five minutes left in the game, the two of them never quite able to contain their laughter after Emma’s inadvertent hand job joke, but neither of them were really watching the game anyways. They amble back to Killian’s apartment, and when they get there, she props herself up on her island counter while he sticks a frozen pizza into the oven, setting the timer for seventeen minutes and twenty-three seconds like some kind of weirdo.

“Why that certain amount of time?”

He shrugs before stepping over to her, placing his hands on her knees and spreading them further apart until he can step in between them. She closes them, squeezing his hips, and he places his hands on either side of her waist. He’s so close that she can see every detail on his face from the blue of his eyes to the scar on his cheek to the way he’s got smile lines around his eyes and how there’s ginger tints in his beard. Her breath hitches, and he chuckles, low and deep.

They haven’t been this close in…an hour. But where earlier they were laughing, the air light, now the room is full of tension that she wants to break into a million little pieces.

“It’s the perfect amount of time,” he whispers, his breath hot against her lips though they don’t touch. She shivers, and his lips twitch upward.

“How do you know?”

“It took time to learn, but after awhile, you kind of just figure these things out. I have a method.”

He leans forward then, crowding her in, and she lets him, allowing him further into her space until he’s just…until her space is his space.

She’s not sure who moves first, but she blinks and suddenly his lips are moving over hers, tentative and subtle until she opens a little wider and moves her arms to tug on his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. His lips are hungry over hers then and his whiskers are rough against her skin. When she nibbles on his bottom lip, her teeth harsh, a groan emanates from the back of his throat, and with how delectable that groan was, it takes her a moment to remember to soothe her tongue over his lip. When she does, he opens his mouth, allowing her inside, and when their tongues tangle together, she feels a mixture of headiness and happiness.

They pull back, but she keeps her eyes closed, not ready to look at him until her breathing and racing mind are under control. She takes a deep breath, readying herself, and opens her eyes to the most dazzling blue she’s ever seen.

“Hi.”

She chuckles, even if it’s small, before running her hands down his neck and holding them at his biceps. His found their way underneath her shirt about three minutes ago, and he still hasn’t moved them. She doesn’t really want him to.

“Hi. So, um, that happened.”

He hums, and she feels the vibrations in her lower belly. “It did.”

His voice is husky, broken, and she is an absolute goner for this man. “I’d like to do it again.”

“Me too, but I’m afraid the taste of your lips has ruined me for the pizza in the oven.”

“Oh wow, that was cheesy.”

“So is the pizza.”

The next time she kisses Kilian he tastes like pizza, and he was right. It doesn’t taste nearly as good as it did the first time.

At least at first.

They don’t talk about the kiss, or any of the other ones, or, frankly, the very heavy petting that went on that day, but they don’t have to. It just keeps happening. It happens in the hallway outside of their apartments, soft, quick kisses before work that make her heart flutter. It happens at the station, hard and fast, demanding kisses against the wall in her office that hides them from the rest of the station. It happens after the middle school play that he sponsors, his arm around her waist after the show where he’s greeting the parents of the children. It’s quick then, like his lips barely even touch her, but it’s not the kisses she cares about at that moment.

Mostly, though, it happens in one of their apartments and it’s a mixture of all of those things until one day it goes a little further and there’s a distinct lack of clothes between them while the join together in an intimacy that neither has breached in a hell of a long time. His mouth never strays far from hers, and even though they haven’t said the words, with every thrust of his hips and every whispered word of affection, she knows that they’re making love.

She says the words on the fourth of July, and they slip off of her tongue like they’re the most natural thing in the world.

He’s got the entire summer off from school, and he convinces her to take a long weekend so that they can go away together. She protests at first, not sure if she should really be leaving town on one of the busiest weeks of the year, but then he gives her these damn puppy dog eyes and bites down on her collarbone and she’s a goner.

So they load up into his truck, their two duffle bags in the backseat, and drive the three hours to Boothbay, pulling into the parking lot of the quaint home they’re renting for the weekend. Everything here is perfect, like something you’d see on a postcard, but then Killian takes her sailing, just the two of them, and she knows that it’s what’s perfect.

He tells her that Liam taught him how to sail, and when his eyes get distant for a few seconds, she lets him have his moment. They know each other pretty well, but there’s still some darkness that each of them hold that they haven’t told the other. She wants to tell him about all of her scars. She isn’t scared to, something she’s never experienced with anyone else. It’s just…she doesn’t need to. With them, everything seems to flow naturally, like the water beneath the boat, and things seem to slip out a little at a time.

At the right times.

“Come here, love,” Killian calls, waving his hands so quickly that she knows she needs to hurry, walking over to him as quickly as she can even if she doesn’t have her sea legs quite yet.

“What?” she asks, stepping over to him only for him to pull her in front of his body and push her up against the wheel. “Killian, what are you doing?”

He wraps his arms around her and steps closer, the heat of his body rivaling the heat of the July sun. “I’m teaching you how to sail. My girlfriend needs to know how.”

“Why?”

His neck nuzzles on top of hers, the pinpricks shooting through her skin. “Because it’s a good skill to have, and if you can teach me how to get out of the cell in the station, I can teach you this.”

“Good. So I can escape from jail and then sail away by boat.”

“Exactly.”

They manage to make it a little further out in the bay, the sun beginning to set around them, and as all of their surroundings are coated in a bright orange, the words fall from her tongue as easily as if she were telling him she’s going to be late for dinner.

Which happens a lot.

“I love you,” she speaks, no tremor in her voice while she looks out on the horizon.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I damn well love you.”

He tugs on the string of her bikini, pulling her around and into him as their lips crash together in a dance more familiar than anything else in her life. Her skin prickles, and it’s got nothing to do with the way the sun has been beating down upon it all day.

“So a woman who can sail and who loves me? I don’t think I could do better if I tried.”

“Oh, I know you couldn’t.”

They get into their first big fight in October, and it all stems from the fact that she got distracted and forgot to tell Killian that she’d picked up an extra shift to help out David. She was supposed to come to his class and help with a project, something about career day, and she’d let down both he and the kids. It’s not the biggest thing in the world, and it’s definitely not one of the better reasons to pick a fight with your significant other, but it happened to them. She felt awful for forgetting. There were harsh words and passive aggressive statements until they got all of their anger out and were actually able to sit down and talk to each other, explaining misunderstandings and mistakes and the reasons as to why they each got upset. She’s never had a relationship like that before, where you talk instead of running out the door, and knowing that neither of them were going to leave was everything.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks her later, their comfortable silence in the afterglow of their make-up ending while her hand pauses its ministrations in his hair.

“Always, Killian.”

He rolls in her lap so that he’s looking up at her, his lashes practically hitting his eyebrows. “I’m ashamed of how we got here.”

Something drops in her stomach, like a heavy weight, and she has to keep the emotion that’s suddenly lodged in her throat from escaping. He’s ashamed? Is he ashamed of her? He doesn’t…does he not want to be with her? Was it the fight? Did they really not resolve things? Every comfort she was just feeling begins to be tugged away by demons that still reside inside of her until she hears Killian’s voice again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, reaching up and cupping her face, his thumb moving back and forth against the apple of her cheek, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing.”

“Darling, honesty remember? That’s what we were just talking about.”

“You’re…you’re ashamed of me?”

His eyes go wide, but she can’t look at them, can’t look at the blue. She closes her eyes and shuts the world away while shutting Killian out. She feels the mattress move underneath her, and the warmth of Killian leave her until suddenly it’s so overwhelming that she feels as if she’s been set aflame. Calloused fingers touch her skin, and soft, warm lips touch her, a salty tear she didn’t know escaped from her eyes having landed on their joined lips.

When Killian pulls back, she finally opens her eyes to see the concern etched in his features. He smiles softly, sadly, and then he wipes the salt from her cheeks.

“I could never be ashamed of you.”

He adjusts his legs then, spreading them so that hers rest between his and he sits on her thighs while pressing them together.

“But you said – ”

“ – that I’m ashamed of how we got here. I’m ashamed that I got drunk and you had to keep me from dying on a sidewalk in the snow. We should have become friends some other way, should have fallen in love another way.”

“I’m…I’m confused.”

“I love you,” he chuckles, leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers. Her heart is fluttering, the beat quicker than it’s ever been, and she’s happy. Confused as hell but happy. His hands move from her face to her arms, running them up and down to soothe her. “I love you, and you are the goddamn best thing to ever happen to me. But I wish you hadn’t seen me at such a low point. I wish that I could have been better for you from the very beginning. We’ve never…we’ve never talked about that night that shines me as a rotten human.”

“We didn’t have to. It was a bad night. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“But I feel like you should know how broken I am. If you’re going to love me, you should know the broken pieces.”

“I love the broken pieces that I already know. I love you.”

“But Emma, I – ”

“Killian, listen to me,” she urges, her own hand finding his face, the whiskers scratching her palm, “you lost the most important person in the world to you in a horrible accident. He was taken from you, and it’s not fair. Not a bit of it is. You’re allowed to feel that pain, that hurt. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

“I don’t like feeling that way.”

“No one does.” She finds his hands, intertwining their fingers together, a perfect fit, and squeezing. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore. Next year, if you want, I’ll fall down in the pile of snow with you.”

He chuckles, a singular tear falling from his cheek. She wipes it away in the same way he had earlier. “I’d like that. I’d like for you to always be by my side. I’d like to always be by yours.”

The next year they don’t fall into the snow together on the anniversary of Liam’s death, but she does hold Killian as he sobs at three in the morning. She knows that most of it is pain from feeling like he’s not strong enough. But grieving is human and loving someone is helping them grieve when you don’t understand their pain. Maybe it’s helping especially when you don’t understand the pain.

It’s the first year he’s had someone to help him with this day, second if you count the year before, and she cries her own tears thinking of how alone Killian felt for so long. She felt that way too, but she never had anyone to lose. She can’t imagine how it must have felt to love someone so fiercely and then to lose them. But then she thinks of how much she loves Killian, of how she’d barely survive if she lost him, and though it’s not the same, it’s still altogether heartbreaking.

The year after that the grieving is quieter, and it happens in their house down by the water. They’re in the midst of moving in, boxes of her things mixed with his things. After awhile, their apartments began to mix together, her things trailing between the apartments until the two were perfect blends of each other. So they’d decided to move into one place. It helps that they now had the same last name and matching rings on their fingers. It makes paperwork easier, though that’s about the last reason on their imaginary list of reasons that they decided to commit to each other in that way.

So they are together in every sense of the word, and when Killian needs a moment on that day, he sinks to the floor and closes his eyes for a few fleeting minutes. Her hand finds his, and they sit in silence all while her thumb runs over his knuckles.

“I love you more than anything, sweetheart,” he whispers, the timber of his voice rough and low.

“And I love you. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shakes his head before bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing right above her rings. “I just needed a moment to remember.”

“Liam?”

“Aye, and all of this. I don’t want to forget a thing.”

The next year the grieving is mixed in with a hell of a lot of screaming, a nearly broken hand, and the happiest moment of either of their lives. Like the fates somehow aligned, she gives birth to a little girl two minutes past midnight the day after the anniversary of Liam’s death. Killian was convinced their daughter would come on January eighth, but she’s as stubborn as the two of them and decided to come into the world on January ninth.

“You did so good, love,” Killian promises her while her body screams almost as loudly as their daughter. His lips find her sweaty forehead at the same time she’s handed a squirming red baby, and for a moment, she doesn’t feel anything but happiness.

“Thank you for being by my side.”

“Always.”

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “A Toast to Now” (Part 2) (au)

Summary: His neighbors may be brightening their own holidays, but they’re ruining the constant melancholy of his life. He’s determined to keep to himself until the single mother that lives next door to him drops literally through his door two nights before Christmas. It’s the moment that may be temporary, like everything else, but it may just change everything.

Rating: E (sorry not sorry)

Warnings: Just smut for this part. Not exactly anti-Neal but also not pro-Neal. 

A/N: Hoooooly crap it’s finally done! This is way longer than I anticipated it would be, and I thought about splitting it into more sections and posting for a couple days, but the whole thing is just over 13k so why the hell not just post the remaining 11k. This is, of course, the “second part” to @effulgentcolors secret santa gift for 2018. I’m so glad I got you, that I could take a little more time and make it something I’m really proud of writing for you, and using all the things you like to hopefully make one hell of a gift. I hope you enjoy it, dear. And I hope all of you reading enjoy. Now to get back to work on my second CSJJ! Thanks one more time to @cssecretsanta2k18 for rocking this event and staying on top of everything! 

Read Part 1 Here! 

Posted as one part to FFN & Ao3 if you’d prefer to read it there!

-x-

Emma wakes in the morning to her phone ringing, a headache, and the reminder that she did not get to spend the night in her own apartment. With groggy morning brain, she rolls from the couch, trying to locate her phone and finding it plugged into a charger that’s definitely not hers, nor did she plug it in. Killian Jones, it seems, is one of the most considerate people she’s ever met, and she’s now madder than ever that she was so drunk last night and couldn’t even enjoy their meeting to the fullest extent.

The third ring of her phone has her scrambling for it, and she greets Marco as cheerfully and as quietly as she can. She already interrupted Killian’s night; she doesn’t want to interrupt his sleep, as well. She agrees to meet the landlord at the door and hangs up, quietly gathering her clothes and phone and bag and creeping out the door. She hopes she can get into her apartment and change before her neighbor wakes up, intent on sneaking back in after she’s had a chance to change and make some coffee for the both of them. It’s the least she can do.

As soon as Marco unlocks the door, Emma thanks him and hurries in, throwing items where they need to go while rushing for the coffee maker. While it heats up and brews, she changes into her own clothes, folding Killian’s carefully and putting them off to the side to return to him.

After she’s washed up – teeth brushed, hair untangled and braided, face quickly washed free of any makeup she still had left – she heads back to her kitchen. It takes her a second to realize she’s looking straight at her keys on her counter, not so lost after all, and she groans as she stuffs them in the pocket not occupied by her phone before she pours a couple mugs of coffee and secures lids on each of them.

Maybe she just won’t tell him that they were here all along, or maybe he’ll find the humor in it like she eventually will. But eventually, because it’s certainly not so funny right this moment. Slipping on a pair of flats to walk down the hall, Emma checks her appearance in a small mirror by the entrance and balances the mugs to open and shut the door behind her.

She’s always wondered what her next door neighbor was like. Henry was always going on and on about what a cool guy Mr. Jones was, and he was one of three people in the whole complex she was comfortable with her son talking to, just because of word of mouth. She knew he was quiet and kept to himself, but in the years he has lived here beyond their length of renting, he’s known to everyone as a gentle presence. She doesn’t even know how old he is, but he’s definitely not the old man everyone claimed “Jones” to be.

A puzzle to be put together with more than rumors, if she has anything to say about it.

He seems surprised as hell when she shows up just a half hour later with two travel mugs, fresh clothes, and a smile. The somewhat sour expression he had on his face when he opened the door slowly morphed into pleasant wonder, and he opens the door further when she asks if she can come in.

“I take it you got your extra key?” His voice is rough, and she finds she likes the sound of it more than she should.

“Marco let me in a bit ago. I uh, I don’t cook or else I would’ve made breakfast. Just wanted to do something small to say thanks again for last night.”

“Never a problem, Swan. If you ever need anything, you only need to ask.”

“Well, how about helping me share a pizza tonight for dinner.”

“Pardon?”

“Henry doesn’t come back until late tonight, and I actually hate being alone during the holidays. I spent enough years on my own,” she says before she can stop herself from saying it. The look in Killian’s eyes, however, holds no further question or judgement. He, too, looks like someone who has spent quite a few holidays alone. “Anyway, I thought maybe we could get to actually know each other, seeing as we’ve been neighbors for so long and I just finally learned your name.”

He hesitates in answering, and it’s during his pause that her eyes land on the star on the wall, Henry’s rough penmanship written across the front in marker. She has a matching one on the tree. She didn’t realize she made one for Killian, too. She reaches out to run her finger along the edge, a smile on her face as she does, before she turns back to Killian. His brows are furrowed, the emotion in his eyes one she can’t quite place, but there’s a softness there she didn’t expect.

“I suppose pizza would be a good way to spend the evening,” he says after another moment.

With a brilliant smile, she gives him a time to be at her place, telling him to return the mug when he comes by before she ducks back out of the apartment.

Once back in her own place, she looks around at the chaotic mess she and Henry live in, and she cringes. Now she just needs to make it look like a tornado hasn’t blown through recently and she’ll be ready to have him over.

The day moves so slowly after the tidying takes way less time than she thought it would. Henry has a pile of mess to clean off his bed when he gets back tonight, but maybe he should’ve listened when she told him to clean up his stuff before he left for his dad’s place. She even cleaned the bathroom, just in case. When she calls the pizza place, she makes sure she’s the last one on their delivery list for their early hours, and promises a hefty tip to the kid before she hangs up.

Killian arrives only three minutes after the pizza does, and he holds up a six pack in greeting.

“Wasn’t sure if you liked beer, or what kind?”

“I do, and it’s just my kind,” she says as she takes the offering and ushers him in. When she sets it down on the counter, he also holds up the left hand – today it’s a hook, but she’s seen the artificial hand, as well – and releases the handle of her travel mug when she grabs it. “Thanks,” she says, giving him another smile. She makes a mental note to tell him about his borrowed clothes on the entryway table later on, but for now she rummages through her gadget drawer for a bottle opener before lifting it victoriously.

Over the course of two beers and three pieces each (she’s not ashamed, she works hard at the gym for her abs and deserves her carbs when she wants them), she finds out more about Killian than she anticipated. Some of it, the standard information like his time in Storybrooke and his jobs, she was already partially aware of thanks to Henry and town gossip. The other stuff, it doesn’t look like he even means to tell her. But there’s the story of how he lost his hand, and why he ended up here. She finds out about his brother passing away, and his ultimate heartbreak when his almost-wife died tragically.

She only feels right, then, sharing as much as she can with him in return. Her foster home upbringing gets aired out quickly, along with her relationship with her adopted brother and his sickeningly cute marriage to Snow White (they call her Snow anyway, so technically, it’s not an exaggeration). She talks about her decision to get her GED while she worked bail bonds, and how that led to her going to the police academy and coming back to Storybrooke to take a position as deputy.

“I was here from the moment Ruth adopted me at thirteen until the moment I ran away with Neal my senior year of high school,” she tells him as she’s nursing the end of beer number two. He doesn’t seem in any rush to reach for the third, either, so she sets it off to the side. “Do you want hot chocolate? Coffee? I don’t know if you noticed but our windows are extremely drafty in this apartment and I need something to warm me up.”

He chuckles when she says it, shifting to help gather some of his own trash as Emma’s doing the same. “I offered to weatherproof my own after my first winter here. I can ask Marco if I can do the same for yours, if you’d like. He used to have his son to do the maintenance around here until August went off to be a writer in New York.”

“Hey, I’m certainly not gonna say no to that offer. So? What’ll it be?”

Killian fiddles with the bottle in his hand for a minute before he shrugs and nods. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. When’s your boy due home?”

“Well, according to the custody agreement, he should be home at ten. It was earlier when he was younger, but since he stopped believing in Santa, we’ve been able to play with the times a little.”

“He’s only just turned twelve, hasn’t he?”

“Yep.” She knows he’s doing the math, or at least trying to, and she’s getting ready to cringe as his brows furrow and he looks at her. The kettle whistles, saving her from a conversation she doesn’t want to have just yet, a conversation that she’s only had twice in her life – once with Henry when he asked two years ago and once with David when she showed up back on his doorstep, three months pregnant and crying.

With care, she mixes the hot chocolate in each mug and tops them with her signature whipped cream and cinnamon. “I usually make the good stuff with milk or cream, but I’m out of both and won’t be able to shop until the day after tomorrow,” she explains, not really needing to but wanting to anyways.

“Don’t usually make it, meself. So this is all new to me,” he tells her as he takes the handle of his mug and follows her back to the couch. It’s still early, with two more hours until Henry will be flying through that door.

“Well, come back over when I have all my usual ingredients. I may not cook much but I make a damn good hot chocolate.”

He stops and stares at her, and Emma tilts her head to the side in question. “What is it?”

“You want me to come back for more than just weatherproofing?”

It’s something about the tone of his words that takes her a moment to form her response. “Well, of course I do. I wouldn’t have offered pizza in the first place if I didn’t want you to come over. And I don’t know about you but I’ve been having a great time tonight.”

“I have too, Swan. Thank you. I’m sure it’s obvious, but I don’t spend much time socializing outside my apartment. It’s quite nice to have a… friend?”

“Same here,” Emma says, smiling and resisting reaching out and touching him. Because suddenly, she wants to touch his hand. Worse, she wants to kiss him. It’s going to take some time for her to unpack that thought, though.

He stays almost until the time Henry comes home. And while she told him he was welcome to stay and say hello, he still helped her clean up and said he’d catch Henry again soon. His goodnight and wishes for a happy Christmas were given quietly, their proximity in the doorway closer than she intended to be to him but unable to move away. She manages to keep her hands to herself as she repeats the words back to him, closing the door and leaning against it until she hears his door close further down the hallway.

“Crap,” Emma mutters to herself. She wanted to meet her neighbor, not fall for him.

-x-

Killian figures he’ll wait a few days and then offer to help Emma with the weatherproofing he said he would complete for her. He figures he won’t hear from her, and that he’ll just try his best to see when their schedules line up, and that’ll be that. What he does not expect is the knock on his door just past breakfast time on Christmas morning. Looking out the spy hole on his door reveals not only Emma, but Henry as well. Both of them have their hands behind their backs, and their expressions border on mischief. He runs a hand through his hair once, trying to tame it back, then opens the door for them.

“Merry Christmas!” they say in unison. They sound far too cheery for the early hour, but he can’t help but smile at the both of them and give them greetings as well.

“Why do you both look as if you’re up to something?”

“Because we are,” Henry says immediately, his smile large and toothy and almost childlike in its appearance.

“May we come in?” Emma asks, her smile smaller but no less playful.

He narrows his eyes, sizing them both up, but they stand their ground until he steps back and opens the door wider. What happens next can only be described as a Christmas ambush. They each had multiple bags behind their backs, laden and damn near bursting at the seams with all that was inside them.

“So I let slip that you have your ornament hanging on the wall,” Emma explains as she sets her bag down and Henry starts pulling out item after item, as if the bag was a clown car rather than a reusable shopping bag. “And that you don’t have a tree, or any decorations. I tried to stop him?” She says it with a shrug, and an adorable twist of his lips, and Killian still can’t believe they’re even here, and apparently setting to work giving him a Christmas miracle, by the looks of it.

“Where the blazes did you get all this?” It’s not quite the first thing he was going to say, but neither of them slow even for a heartbeat in their process.

“So when we moved from Boston, we finally had enough space for a bigger tree, and we wanted bigger ornaments with more meaning, so we started collecting them and Henry started making his own. These have been in storage until, well, this morning.”

“Mom told me you don’t have anything up in here. I like my ornament on the wall, but I think it would look much better on this tree,” Henry finally pipes up, and Killian looks over to see that he’s placed a small tree on one of his empty end tables. He’s even managed to find an outlet for it, and it twinkles merrily with its pre-lit multi-color lights. The boy is looking at him, and while he was brazen when he walked in and started unpacking, there’s an edge of uncertainty in his eyes at the moment.

With care, Killian closes his mouth and wanders over to where Henry is starting to fidget by the bag of decorations. Killian stoops to rummage through the bag for a moment and procure a package of tiny baubles that are the perfect size for the miniature tree. He tilts the box back and forth to see the way the glitter catches the lights.

“Tell me, lad. Did you pick these out?”

“Mom and I did together,” Henry responds, his eyes darting over to Emma and the smile coming unbidden to his face before he looks back at Killian. He’s going to start growing like a weed soon, Killian can tell just by looking at him, and he starts to grin with that thought. He pictures Emma and Henry picking out small ornaments for their small tree as a small family, and the image in his mind is sweet and filled with hope and love, and he can feel the life spreading through his body.

“I love them,” he tells Henry plainly. “But I want your ornament to be the first one on this tree.”

If he thought the boy was smiling before, then he’s downright beaming after Killian says that. He runs over to where the star is hanging on the wall and carefully pulls it down, hastening back to Killian’s side to hand the star over. Killian handles it just as gently, affixing the string to one of the upper branches so the star falls in the very middle.

It’s perfect.

“Yeah, it is,” Emma says, suddenly standing much closer than she was before. He wasn’t aware he said it out loud, but he’s glad he did because it’s true. With the first one done, the three of them get to work decorating his new tree, filling it with more ornaments than it should realistically fit. There’s even a tiny strand of garland that they wrap around it, and a red and white skirt which wraps around the base and ties the whole picture together nicely.

But the bags are nowhere near empty.

“Bloody hell, have you brought the whole store with you, then?”

“Yep,” Emma says, the ‘p’ popping at the end as she smirks at him.

With every item that comes out of the bags, she gives the story: It’s something she picked up ages ago but never put out, it’s something she wants to put out but doesn’t have the right space, it’s something she got from a secret Santa when she first moved to Storybrooke, it’s something she bought for David and never gave to him…

By the time they’re done, not only is there a resplendent little tree on one of his end tables, but they’ve strung lights around the window in his living room and placed holiday themed items around the room. There’s a candle that smells like cinnamon burning on his coffee table, and a wreath made of grapevines with sprays of berries and pine trimmings. All fake, of course, but the whole thing looks rustic and fits perfectly in his opinion. There’s also a very light throw with a buffalo check pattern in red and black that comes out last, and Emma carefully drapes it over the back of his couch.

“That’s one of my throws. But once I pictured it in this area, I couldn’t leave it alone.”

He can hardly believe his eyes, or that this transformation has taken place in his own living space. There’s so much more color and vibrancy to the room, and he wonders how he ever did without any of it – which goes far beyond the decorations. Emma and Henry fit here, too. Their laughter fills in all the cracks and warms his heart in ways he didn’t know he was missing. At lunch time, Henry’s stomach growls so loudly that Emma apologizes for him while chuckling.

“Would you like to join us for grilled cheese and soup?” she asks him when she finally controls herself. There’s no possible way he could turn that down.

They include him in their whole day, and Killian can’t say he minds one bit. It’s clear they had their morning together and breakfast, but lunch and dinner and every space between they spend with Killian. They bounce back and forth between apartments, as well, spending lunch at theirs and dinner at his. He only had a few chicken breasts he planned on baking and saving for dinner all week, but with their kitchen contents combined, they make a recipe Emma calls “Chicken Supreme” and they settle along his breakfast bar to eat, with Henry sitting on the counter because he only has two stools.

While Emma and Killian clean up the kitchen, Henry takes command of the remote and finds a marathon of Christmas movies. It gives him time with Emma, not that he doesn’t want Henry there, but just a moment to express his gratitude for the whole day.

“Swan, I wanted to thank you for today,” he says as she finishes packing away the leftovers and hands him the container to put into the fridge.

“It was our pleasure,” she responds, tossing a smile and a look he’s unsure of over her shoulder as she does. She goes right back to cleaning up, setting the pan in the sink to soak a bit before Killian ushers her away to finish loading the dishwasher. With the cycle started on that, they join Henry in the living room.

He’s taken up occupancy of his armchair, which means Killian and Emma are together on the couch. They sit a respectable distance apart, but as the evening draws on and they get more comfortable, he’s shocked to feel her pinky finger touching his on the cushion between them. It could be an accidental touch, so he holds perfectly still, trying to stay as natural as possible while his heart damn well beats out of his chest over the slightest bit of contact. Ah, how the suave have fallen.

It’s no accident, however, when her finger nudges his, and he looks down at their hands and up at Emma’s eyes. There’s a question there, a nervous gesture when she wets her lips and presses them together. And oh, how he wants to kiss her right now. But instead, he extends his pinky and wraps it around hers. Her eyelashes flutter a few times before she smiles, and the space between them naturally thins as the movie rolls onward. Before the credits, their hands are clasped palm to palm with their fingers linked together, and Killian is struggling to remember a time when something so small meant so much to him.

With the late hour and the long day, Henry has long since fallen asleep in the armchair. Really, for him, the extra time was a wonderful excuse for him to hold Emma’s hand a little longer. Even she seems a little reluctant when it becomes obvious that her eyes are growing heavy, as well.

“Thanks for everything today,” she says quietly. The television has been switched off and so they sit in the dim lighting of the tree, Henry’s even breathing the only sound besides their words.

“I could say the same,” he murmurs. Again, he wants nothing more than to kiss her, but it’s been two days; something tells him that they both need more time for this to develop properly. So instead, he kisses the back of Emma’s hand and rises from the couch first. He helps her to her feet, relishing the moment she sways into his space. It’s not really an embrace, but it’s something close to one. He ghosts his lips across her hair and swears to himself that he’ll do everything in his power to do this right.

After they rouse Henry, he sees them off, wishing them one last happy tiding and a good night, as well. Back in his own apartment, he’s surprised it doesn’t feel as empty as he expected it to with the two of them gone. The glow from the tree helps, as does the evidence of their presence in almost every space he’s used to seeing barren.

-x-

Slow progress is good progress, according to Emma. Her heart had stuttered and then beat twice as hard when Killian’s finger linked with her own on Christmas. On New Year’s Eve, right as the ball drops, they kiss. It’s a mutual agreement as they watch the countdown on television. Henry’s not there, so it’s just the two of them on her couch with a bottle of champagne. They’re even both in their pajamas. It would be so easy to invite him to her bed, strip off those flannel pants, but she wants this to stay at the pace it’s going.

So they kiss – a couple sweet and simple touches of their lips that taste like champagne and chocolates from where she was snacking earlier. Shortly after that, he rises from her couch and wishes her goodnight with another kiss, and she walks him to the door as if it’s not been forever since she kissed someone and she doesn’t want to stop.

On Valentine’s Day, a bouquet of flowers shows up at the station with her name on them. They aren’t red, they aren’t roses, and they’re signed simply with “Thinking of You – K. Jones” and she almost cries. She leaves the arrangement in her car as she stops at the bar after her shift, not really caring about the few patrons scattered around the quiet little establishment as she heads straight for the man behind the worn wood. She pulls him over the divider just enough to kiss him hard, his hand barely having time to caress her cheek before she’s pulling away again. She has to go pick up Henry from David and Snow’s house still, and they have dinner being delivered in an hour, but she needed to do this in person today.

“Thanks for the flowers, Jones. See you tomorrow?”

He nods, his eyes still transfixed on her lips as she speaks, and she’s tempted to kiss him again but she won’t leave if she does. Instead, she releases her hold on his shirt and sends him a wink as she gets closer to the door. The whole bar is turned to stare at her, all with the same dumbstruck look on their faces as Killian has as he raises his hand in farewell and a smile blooms across his whole face.

On St. Patrick’s Day, neither of them make any moves at all. In fact, they hadn’t really planned on seeing each other because of the nature of both of their jobs. While Storybrooke isn’t a big party town by any means imaginable, Killian still works at a bar, and Emma still works as a deputy, which means they’ve both been wrangling drunks all night.

Thanks to David and Snow, Henry is spending the night at their house tonight. He got back sometime this evening but knowing the holiday, Neal took him straight out to her brother’s place. He’s a piece of work, but he doesn’t fight the dumb shit anymore – not that he ever should have since he all but ran when she told him she was pregnant – but he pays her a hefty amount of child support and made up monetarily for the years he missed in the beginning. As long as he doesn’t fight her on custody or try to poison Henry’s mind against her, she really doesn’t give a damn about him.

That’s a whole different story, though, and one that’s not important to Emma as she all but crashes into Killian in the stairwell that leads to the apartments. Wordlessly, and looking just as exhausted as she feels, he invites her in to his place since it’s closer.

They barely make it into pajamas before falling into his bed, which is how Emma wakes up after having slept with Killian for the first time. And not even the really fun kind, but the necessary kind. He’s still asleep but stirring awake when she opens her eyes, so she gets to see the way his eyelashes flutter and how he turns and stretches his whole body upon waking.

His hair is an absolute riot on top of his head, the dark brown and hints of gray going in every direction. She has never, in all her life, been attracted to a man so much older than her. Sure, something can be said about how she’s always gone for men older than she is, but this is definitely a different playing field. But Killian doesn’t really act like there’s an age gap between them, so she chooses to see past it as well.

Right now, he looks so much younger than the day they met. His hair is trimmed short now, as it has been since right after the Christmas. He showed up at the station with coffee for her one morning with his hair cut and styled like she imagines he may have worn it once. The unruly beard he’d sported before was suddenly shorter, bordering on the growth from not shaving for a few days, but neater.

She can’t get over the way he looks so similar to before but different, all dark brown hair with gray wings spread along his temples and up over his forehead. The same silver is just starting to pepper into his eyebrows and beard, and she idly wonders how long it’ll take for him to go fully gray. She’s really never entertained the idea of sleeping with a silver fox before, but looking at the way Killian pops his empty wrist beneath his head and rubs his hand over his face before running it through his hair, she has to admit that her thoughts are getting less pure by the minute.

Especially when Killian catches her staring, his eyebrow raising as his lips twitch up knowingly. “Good morning, love,” comes his husky whisper.

“Morning,” she responds, just as quietly and her voice just a bit breathless. “Sleep well?”

“Aye. Like a dream. You?”

She nods, her eyes still trained on him, her body nudging her to move closer, to touch, to kiss, to finally feel. It’s been almost three months since her ridiculous failure of a night before Christmas Eve. They’ve kissed more times than she can count, fallen asleep watching movies – with and without Henry in attendance – at both of their apartments, they’ve spent countless nights getting to know each other, divulging the secrets of their pasts slowly but surely. There’s been some heavy make-out sessions and she’s found that he’s learned exactly how to turn her on already.

But actually venturing into sexual activities? That’s the one place they’ve taken it slow. So really, can anyone blame her for sliding across the unoccupied space in his bed and leaning over him to kiss him senseless? She doesn’t even wait for it to start shifting into something a little deeper before she’s rising up all the way, settling over his thighs as her hands wander up under the hem of the t-shirt he slept in. She feels his muscles twitch, his stomach hollowing out as she hits a particularly ticklish spot, and then resettling when her hands brush over his pecs.

Killian’s hand tangles in her hair, the strands partially wrapped around his fingers as he caresses her neck and pulls her closer. She shimmies up a little, resting right over his hardening cock and rocking experimentally to see how he’ll react. A groan emanates from deep in his chest, and he waits until she’s done it a couple times before flipping them over with ease, settling between her thighs even with his bottoms and her underwear between them. He thrusts against her, in no apparent hurry to shed any of their clothing. Instead, he steals her breath away with his movements, with his deep kisses, with his fingers ghosting along her tank top to tease her nipples into stiffening.

She barely has time to reconcile that they’re actually doing this before she’s tightening her thighs around his hips, his name a silent whisper on repeat as she comes undone. Her nails scrape down his back and he stills, his eyes shut tightly and her name huffed out on a quiet breath. They both pause, both trying to regain their senses as they open their eyes to look at the other. Their matching smiles are almost shy, but Killian leans down to leave a tender kiss on her lips.

He clears his throat, his eyebrows furrowing a little as he holds back a salacious grin. “Would you like some coffee this morning?”

“Isn’t that what we just had?” she inquires, arching up a little and relishing in the way he scrunches one eye closed as he encounters his own release in his pajamas.

“I’ve thought of roughly three things to reply and all of them sound dirty. Out of bed with you, love. Give me a moment to change and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”

She nods, her nose bumping into his as she does, and she can’t resist kissing him again. This is something she can get used to – all day, every day, please and thank you.

They split ways approximately three minutes and what feels like a thousand more kisses later – Emma rushes to the bathroom to tidy up a little and throw on the same plaid pj bottoms he gave to her months ago under different circumstances, and then she wanders out to the kitchen to set up his coffee maker. She’s familiar with the whole set up now, so she prepares it and hits the button to start the brew cycle at the same time Killian shows up behind her.

With time to wait until the coffee finishes percolating, he wastes no time wrapping his arms around her waist. His hand travels up to palm at her breast while his lips tease along her neck, and suddenly Emma’s thoughts have nothing to do with coffee.

“You sure you don’t need a nap or something before starting up again?”

He doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, and her breath quickens as his hand starts traveling to slip beneath the waistband of her borrowed bottoms. His fingers brush along the spot where thigh meets body and she struggles to keep herself upright on her own – her knees actually go weak for a moment.

“I may be older than you, Swan, but that just means I’ve had longer to hone my experience, and my recovery time,” he tells her, pulling her back until they’re pressed against each other from shoulders to knees. “For the record, I had a very romantic plan for our next date night that involved a lot of candles and my best set of sheets having to be replaced before morning, if you’d been agreeable to it. You and I were very naked when I imagined the course of the evening, and it was probably incredibly old-fashioned, but very worth the wait we’ve spent.”

It does sound perfect, and she’s almost tempted to tell him to wait, that they can hold out a little longer and have that perfect evening he’s imagined, but he chooses that moment to press their hips together a little more and she leans back into his touch.

“Next time,” she utters, reaching back to wrap her arm around his neck and maneuvering so he’s kissing her right as they are. The straps of her tank top get peeled off her shoulders, and Emma shudders with pleasure as he draws the material down over her breasts, leaving it bunched at her waist for the moment so he can touch without barriers for the first time. His left arm remains wrapped around her waist, providing leverage for the shallow thrusts he’s making against her backside. “You need to lose the pants or else we’re having a repeat of when we woke up,” she tells him plainly, abandoning her own needs for a moment as she turns and urges him to remove his shirt.

For all the ways she’s seen Killian at this point, self-conscious never really came to mind, but as soon as that shirt comes off, that’s exactly how he looks. But she has no idea why. The man is built beautifully. His biceps are firm, his chest broad and his shoulders strong. But more than all of that, he’s human. He has scars – more than the obvious ones around his wrist – and other places where his skin is so baby smooth that she can’t help but stroke it peacefully for both their contentment. But now is not time for simply contentment. She leans up on her toes to kiss him again, pressing her chest against his and swallowing his noise of satisfaction.

“Fast, Killian,” she mutters between kisses, and he immediately walks them towards the counter. With her nod of approval he spins them again until she’s facing the counter. Behind her, Killian slides her top and bottoms over her hips and leaves them pooled on the floor by her feet. His hand disappears for a second, but when he comes back she can feel the hard heat of him pressing between her thighs at the same time his hand reaches forward and his fingers drag along her wetness. She doesn’t know which she wants more, to lean back and fall into his embrace or move forward and ask him for more.

He brings her almost to the brink of orgasm like that, his fingers circling her clit between dipping inside of her. He presses his cock against her center, coating himself to lubricate before he silently asks her to lean forward a little, just the right angle for him to enter her slowly on the next thrust. His hand once again moves, but his fingers just cover over her clit as he pushes her against the counter with each thrust, providing the perfect pressure to build her up all over again.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she murmurs with the time of each thrust; it takes next to no time at all before she’s actually coming again, her voice loud in his quiet apartment, and she’s so glad that she’s his immediate neighbor so no one else can hear her. He slips out of her, still hard, but he’s turning her so he can kiss her again, deep and passionate, like the sex he described to her earlier.

Emma pushes them away from the counter, the coffee completely forgotten even as it beeps to signify it’s ready. She’s too busy turning him towards the bedroom and pushing him along, her hands splayed on his shoulders as she finally gets to see the whole deal from behind. Wonderful shoulders and arms, smooth back, great ass.

“I can hear your thoughts, Swan, and thank you for admiring it. I feel like I need to start attending a gym again in order to measure up to yours, though.”

“No way. This is all…” Instead of finishing her thought, she grabs two handfuls of butt and squeezes, laughing as he makes an absolutely undignified noise and spins around. And that view, well, suffice to say she has no complaints at all with his physical appearance, officially speaking. Even half hard as he is, Killian is a shape and size and length that she would consider ideal if she had preferences. But since she really doesn’t, all she takes into account is that he’s growing hard under her stare again and he’s all hers. Just as she’s all his. They haven’t really discussed their status, but one of these days she’s going to introduce him to David and Snow as her boyfriend.

Her face must change in some way because Killian’s moving forward, trailing the backs of his fingers down her arm. “What was that thought you just had, love? Let me into that mind of yours.”

“Do you have objections to me calling you my boyfriend?”

His eyes light up as he smiles, his laughter coming out breathless as he pulls her closer again. “None at all. In fact, I would very much like to call you my girlfriend. Does that meet with your approval?”

She nods, nibbling her lower lip for just a moment before she seals their titles with a kiss. Then, she makes good on her earlier direction, walking him backwards to the bed until he’s sitting on the edge with her in his lap.

-x-

There’s a goddess straddling his lap right now and Killian Jones has not a single complaint in the world. Had you asked him three months ago if he ever imagined what Emma Swan looked like in the throes of passion, he’d have politely walked away from the question and changed topics, even if he secretly had dreamt this moment once or twice.

What makes it even better is that she’s seen him fully bared and didn’t walk away – and that’s more than just a reference to his current state of nudity. He and Emma have slowly coaxed all the scars for the both of them into the light. And maybe that’s why he’s feeling so light-headed as she slides back down onto his cock. It’s either that or the fact that he’s managed to stave off a second climax for this long and there’s no longer any blood left for his brain to function.

She is so much more than goddess – she is siren and ethereal. She is otherworldly in all the best ways, and in all the other best ways she is entirely human. Her flaws are simple and understandable, her emotions guarded for the right reasons to start. Seeing the slow transition to where they are today has been one of the most fulfilling adventures of his life. And now, with her perfectly imperfect body, she is loving him, though there’s not a chance in hell that he’d call it that right now. That’s still down the road a ways.

His focus narrows and broadens with each time she moves, his mind wholly focused and unfocused on the clasp of her body, the grip of her hands, the quickness of her breath as they chase closer to release. He could watch her riding him all day and never tire of it, he’s sure, and he already can’t wait for the next time when he gets to taste and explore every inch of her body at his leisure.

The thought alone has him gripping her hip a little tighter, urging her moves as he finds leverage to thrust up into her. He falls back to the bed, his feet still on the floor but from this position he can meet her movements to benefit both of them.

“Touch yourself, love. Come with me,” he gasps out, and she slides one hand to where they’re joined, hitting just above where he’s hard and aching at this point with each circular movement. As she starts to shudder in his arms, she presses down against him, her hand anchoring in his chest hair and tugging just to the point of pain but causing him to tumble over the edge with her.

If he thought coming in his pajamas earlier was messy, this is a whole different variety of one. They’re both sweaty, and he can feel his release sliding back down his shaft as he softens. He sits up, shifting so he slips out entirely. He shudders at the loss of her warmth, at the aftershocks of the orgasm, but he focuses on drawing her closer so he can kiss her.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” he utters, watching the smile light up her whole face even though she looks like she could use a few more hours of sleep after that. At her eyes fluttering closed a few times, he can’t help the comment from escaping. “Now who’s the one who needs a nap?” He gracefully accepts the pinch she gives to his side, chuckling as she leans forward and places a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Both of us, I’m betting,” she finally says. Still, she moves off his lap, steadying herself with a hand on Killian’s shoulder while the other pushes her hair back from her face.

“Swan, if you kiss me again, we’ll never leave the bed for the rest of the day.”

“Fair point. I’m going to your bathroom, and then I’m going to rummage through your kitchen and find us food.”

He nods, biting his lip and tipping his chin towards the door, resting back on his elbows as she raises her eyebrows at him and breezes out the door.

Okay, so all he desperately wants to do is collapse back onto the bed and sleep for days after two orgasms in such a short amount of time, but he figures they can nap after they’ve had some breakfast. Henry gets home from school right around three and that means the whole day stretches before them with no interruptions but their own.

From that day forward, it’s settled. They are dating, in a committed relationship, more than courting or “talking” – they are boyfriend and girlfriend, which sounds so mislabeled when they are both over 30. Henry is delighted when they share the news, specifically because now he doesn’t have to struggle to explain that Killian is their neighbor who may or may not be dating his mom. Maybe. Sort of. But not really. Now, Henry goes around telling everyone about his mom’s boyfriend, Killian, who lives down the hall from them.

And so they all fumble through it:

It’s two weeks later that Killian meets David and Snow, with Emma tugging on his arm and leading him to the farm house that Henry has already disappeared into.

“Your brother isn’t going to give me some protective dad speech, is he?”

“He better not. First off, you’re older than he is. Second, you’re the first man I’ve dated for longer than two weeks since before I moved here. And third, if he does, I’ll beat him up.”

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that, love.”

She spins on him before they get to the front porch, pushing up on her toes to kiss him, something heady and wonderful, sweet and sensual at the same time.

And so that’s how he first meets David, with Killian’s tongue just ghosting Emma’s lips and his hand just a touch too low on her hip. David clears his throat, causing Emma to spring away and turn to the door.

“Hi! Sorry, we were just…” But she can’t finish the statement, because what would she say? We were just making out like teenagers outside while you were waiting for us to walk in? Not bloody likely.

“Uh huh,” is all David says with a wry grin, his arms crossed across his chest as he leans against the door frame. Then his lips slowly quirk up and he shakes his head, motioning them inside. It’s April, but there’s still a bite in the air and Killian is eager to get out of the chill. He urges her forward and takes her hand again, trailing only a little behind her in trepidation.

Anything he worried about was all for naught. David is a little chilly towards him at first, but over the course of the evening, they find quite a few topics in common and he’s in the middle of a rant about American football versus actual football when he catches Emma staring at them. Snow leans over and whispers something as David is replying his own thoughts, and Emma laughs softly at whatever was said to her. He catches her eye and winks at her before turning back to the conversation.

They dive in even further when Henry asks what the big deal is. He and David both go on the attack with that one, and it takes roughly three minutes before Henry is sorry he asked, but it’s already too late – they’re going to educate him on all the intricacies if they have to.

By the end of the evening, Snow has packed up enough leftovers to last the three of them for days, somehow, and hugged him so hard he may have felt one of his organs shift. David gives him a handshake and promises to drop by the bar sometime, clapping Killian on the shoulder once as they turn to leave.

It’s like another piece falling into place. Over a decade in Storybrooke and Killian could barely string together three words to say to any one person in the whole town. Now, suddenly, he has a girlfriend, and David and Snow could be… friends. And there’s Henry, who – heavens above, let him not jinx it – if this all keeps lasting, could be his step-son.

They’re back in their building, walking down the hallway hand in hand with Henry in front of them when Killian suddenly stops at the very thought, and Emma turns to look at him, her face pinching in concern.

“You okay?”

“Of course, love. Just couldn’t remember something I put on my list for tomorrow.”

There’s a joke on the tip of her tongue about him forgetting anything because she constantly says he’s worse than an elephant as far as memory goes, but instead she just kisses him. “You wanna stay at mine tonight?”

“Are you sure?”

“Killian, do you really need to ask if she’s sure ten times before you finally come inside?”

Henry is still six months away from 13 but that certainly doesn’t stop him from acting like a cheeky teenager whenever he feels like it.

“Besides,” the boy continues, “if you’re asking because of me, I’m pretty sure you don’t have to tiptoe around that anymore. You’re mom’s boyfriend. Even though you live right there, you’re still allowed to come spend the night.”

“Thanks, Henry,” Emma says flatly, an incredulous smile on her face. “What he said.”

Forward they move again, that summer, when the admissions finally happen. Honestly, Killian would’ve told her sooner – he’d known he loved her shortly after Christmas – but there was always that fear and anxiety that it would all go wrong. So he waits, and waits, and waits, all the while hoping she’ll say it first so he can know it’s okay to finally tell her. But then it happens on its own.

During the summer, they plan two mini-vacations. One is for the three of them, where Emma, Henry, and Killian all load up into Emma’s Volkswagen Bug and drive it down to Boston. If they have more time before school starts for Henry, they’ll do it again down to New York City, just a quick weekend with hit-it-and-quit-it tourism, as Emma calls it (though not in front of Henry).

The second mini-vacation, while Henry spends two solid weeks with his dad, is for only a few days of that seemingly long time. So while a majority of the time spent without their third partner in crime consists of cleaning and working, there are four beautiful days and three memorable nights that they spend at a fancy bed and breakfast just a few miles south of Storybrooke. They’ll never admit it to Granny, but they’d stay all the time if they could.

On the second night, after dinner and watching the stars appear above the horizon, they retire to their room. While Killian is in the bathroom, he can hear Emma moving about the room, and he hears her speaking in low tones to someone before the door shuts more audibly than it opened. While he washes his hand and takes his time, he still walks into the main room with a skeptical look on his face. He clears his throat while Emma faces the dresser and fusses with something. She jumps when he calls to her attention, and when she turns she has a hidden guilty smile.

“I know you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but…” As she shifts out of the way, there’s a small cake for two sitting there beside plates and forks. She has a lighter in her hand, just about to light the candles, it appears. “Happy birthday, babe.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, wandering over to grasp her hip and kiss her, intent on trying to figure out how to pass over his heart for safe keeping. Which is why he isn’t quite expecting the words that come out of his own mouth. “I love you, Swan.” He’d meant to say thank you, thank you.

They both pause, and he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, praying that when he opens them it’ll all be fine, that he’ll not have royally fucked it all up. He can feel the way she’s stopped breathing for that same moment, her chest pushed against his and not moving for whole heartbeats, and it’s just as his eyes open that the breath whooshes out of her and she swoops back in, dropping the lighter in her haste to get her hands on him.

It’s clear in the way she hesitates, throws herself more into the kiss than into saying anything back, that she’s not ready. He understands, he understands so well that he pulls back for a heartbeat to tell her that she doesn’t have to say it until she’s ready, if and when she feels the same way he does. She nods, a smile cresting over her lips as she kisses him one last time. They both bask in and shake off the moment, something else to be celebrated later on when they climb the tiny steps to their massive four-poster. Emma refocuses them on the cake, struggling for a few seconds to locate the lighter.

“It’s Italian rum, no almonds. Just the way you like it,” she explains as she finally finds the lost item and turns back to it. With a little click, she starts the flames on the candles and lifts it up. “I’d sing happy birthday but you’re too old for that shit.”

At that, Killian throws back his head and laughs. “You’ll pay for that later, love. For now, let me see what I might wish for when I’ve a beautiful woman in my room.” He gives her a teasing look, letting his eyebrows lift and play for a minute before he looks back to the cake.

He thinks hard, and wishes with all his might, that this will continue, that she loves him back, that she’ll consider this an arrangement for the rest of their lives. Because he has officially entered a state where he cannot imagine living without her by his side. He wishes…. he wishes that they’ll consider moving in together in the upcoming years, and he wishes that they’ll talk of marriage and see how the other feels. And maybe, if it’s in the stars for them, Emma will also want to continue their family and consider having her implant out.

All of it he wishes for, but knows that if she only loves him back, there’s nothing else he could ask for beyond her companionship from now until forever. And that’s the thought he has in his mind when he blows out the candles.

The rest of their vacation can only be described as blissful, even as they eat breakfast with strangers and sometimes have to convince the other that they should do more than spend the whole day in bed. They do plenty of that, too, but they manage to wander the little town enough that they feel it wasn’t wasted time someplace new.

It’s not always perfect, by any means. They fight, they argue, they disagree. But they make sure to talk it out as much as possible for two people with communication problems. Henry goes through his teenage rebellion phase, but in how he acts or how he handles chores rather than smoking or stealing porno mags from the corner store. But they take all the imperfections, the sarcasm, the sometimes-unavoidable attitude by talking or laughing or making it up to each other, and that’s what really matters to all three of them.

-x-

She has to admit, when Killian told her he loves her on vacation, her heart actually stuttered in her chest. She hasn’t stopped thinking about the way he said the words that night. He says them occasionally, just to say them to her, without expecting anything in response. And at this point, it’s almost embarrassing that she hasn’t said it back. If they’ve been dancing around each other since Christmas, it’s been ten months since this all began – next week is her birthday – and it’s been four months since her boyfriend declared his love for her.

He is so patient and giving that she almost can’t believe that this whole thing is hers.

For her and Henry’s combined birthdays, they have a party out at David and Snow’s house, with friends she’s made over the years and people Killian has come to know, as well. It’s somewhere among the friendly laughter and warmth that doesn’t leave her limbs for the entirety of it that she decides she’s going to tell Killian as soon as they get a moment alone tonight.

Until then, they mingle and chat, enjoying the antics of the kids and adults alike. She rests her head on his shoulder while his arm slips around her back, his hand playing with the ends of her hair as they chat with their friends.

Despite being a brand-new teenager, Henry isn’t the least bit embarrassed to be ushered inside at the end of the night by both Emma and Killian. He’s barely awake, his eyes struggling to stay open, and Emma gently guides him away from walls and obstacles as they make their way inside. It’s only after he’s tucked away in his room, quiet snores disappearing behind the door that Emma closes, that she moves immediately to her almost equally tired boyfriend in the bedroom.

He’s already changed, his brace off and resting on the nightstand as he settles into the bed. Emma crawls across her empty side in order to kiss him, making sure she has his full attention before she smiles at him. “I love you.” The words are so easy to say after all this time that she wonders why she couldn’t say them sooner, but the look on Killian’s face is worth the wait.

“I love you, Swan.” He pulls her close again to kiss her once more before she shifts away to get ready for bed.

A month and a half later, their lives are in upheaval as they try to decorate for Christmas, but no one can seem to find anything amidst the mess. Of course, that’s what happens when you combine two households into one just before the holidays.

“I can’t find my tree,” Killian says, exasperation showing through as he lifts box after box in their basement. They have a basement. And three bedrooms. They already set up the big tree in the living room, decorations and all because the storage spaces were the last things they emptied and the first things that came into the house. But while Emma thought Killian’s decorations were also in his storage space, they’ve gone through everything twice and can’t seem to find them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Emma says soothingly when he almost throws one of the boxes of Henry’s books. She reaches out and actually grabs his arm, moving close to kiss his clothed shoulder. Killian looks so crestfallen, and she takes his hand and leads him back upstairs.

It’s after he goes to work for the evening that she heads back downstairs and starts carefully sorting through the boxes still left over. Old clothes from her, books of Henry’s, kitchen items that they didn’t need doubles of… Each box is put into a pile until Emma finally unearths a box from Killian’s apartment. It’s labeled simply as “MISC” and he may have completely missed it beneath the other boxes, so she opens it to make sure.

When Killian shakes her awake when he gets home, he’s smiling softly, the expression on his face lit only by the small tree she found and set up. Henry’s star is front and center, and he looks so relieved to see it all that she can see as plain as day that he loves her son. Surely, the thought has passed through her mind before, but to see how much he cares about it – not to mention that the star is what started all of this – is something lovely.

“Thank you, love. I don’t know how you found it, but thank you.”

He kisses her gently, resting on the edge of the couch next to her, his hand in her hair and she finds his hook with her hand.

“Something I don’t think I’ve told you before, but when I woke up the morning after we met and you weren’t on my couch, I really thought that was going to be the end of it. I thought we would go back to being awkward neighbors who never spoke again.”

Emma pushes herself into a sitting position, throwing her legs over Killian’s lap as he settles fully on the couch. “But I just ran down the hall to get coffee.”

“Aye, but I didn’t know that at the time. And then you invited me over to have pizza, but I still didn’t think it was going to lead to anything further.”

“And then we barged in the next night with bags of Christmas decorations.”

“That you did, Swan. Fell in love with you a little bit more even then. You were already working on my heart only hours after our formal introductions.”

“That sounds about right,” she murmurs as she strokes along his jaw, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact. When he opens them again, he’s staring at her with an intensity she can almost feel in her bones. “Henry named our mission, by the way. Operation Killian’s Christmas Miracle. He just couldn’t stand the thought of you down the hall by yourself with only one little star hung up on the wall.”

“You both were my Christmas miracle.”

“I’m sad now that Henry’s out of the age where he makes handmade ornaments, since technically that’s what started everything.” Killian’s eyebrow jumps a little, his lips pressing together to suppress a smile of some kind. He reaches up to scratch behind his ear and that’s the final tell; he’s hiding something from her.

“Aye, I probably would’ve wanted a few more for the collection,” is all he replies. She lets it ride. He doesn’t keep anything from her, so the need for secrecy must have something to do with a Christmas gift or else he would’ve told her already.

When she gets home from work on the eve of Christmas Eve, she gets to see exactly what was going on. There are little ornaments strung throughout the whole downstairs, both with Killian and Henry’s handwriting all over them, and they’re both trying to get something hung up by the fireplace – her weed of a teenager and Killian stretching his arm so high that his shirt has come untucked to show part of his side – so intently that they don’t even hear her come in until she swings the door shut. They both whirl around, and Emma can see the small form still dangling from Killian’s hand.

The wind from the door movement and what followed her inside hits against what she previously thought were just shapes with writing on them, so they flutter back and forth and Emma’s eyes go wide. The writing, it turns out, is dates and locations – landmarks and milestones for the three of them individually and together. The other side has photos filling the shape; they are all handmade ornaments of all the major things that have happened in their lives.

There’s Henry’s birth photo, and one of Killian in the Royal Navy. There’s Emma’s induction into the Storybrooke Sheriff Department, with Henry by her side as she smiles. There’s a picture of Killian and Henry taken on Christmas last year, one she didn’t even know existed, with Killian’s hair still long and his beard fuller. She can’t believe how different he looks, but she does still declare she’d have taken him either way.

Pictures of Emma and Killian, Killian and David, Emma and Snow, Emma and Henry and Killian – they’re all represented. Each holiday, each landmark. A picture from Killian’s birthday when they walked along the beach with the inscription of the date and “I love you, Swan” written below it. Another from her own birthday taken from afar of the moment she tucked into his side as they talked, her own words of love adorning the back. There’s one of the three of them when they decided as a unit that it was time to move house – it was pointless to keep walking back and forth down the hallway to spend time at each apartment when they were all together all the time now.

And the ones along the fireplace… those are the ones she sees last, the most important ones, because as she gets closer she can see Killian’s signs of anxiety heighten. Henry’s smile just grows and grows as he watches all of this take place. There are three along the mantel and one in Killian’s hand, and she doesn’t even have to see what’s written on them to know what she’s going to find. Still, she comes all the way into the living room after removing her boots, reaching for Henry first and pressing a kiss to the side of his head and marveling at the way he’s grown even more.

She moves to stand in front of Killian, taking his hand even as he drops to one knee, and she waits as patiently as she can for him to finish the question before blurting out her answer, but it’s a close thing.

-x-

On Christmas day, earlier than when he and Emma would’ve first held hands, she settles into his arms once more while they sneak in a movie before Henry leaves to spend the rest of the day with his father. It’s something he may have asked for as a growing teenager with a sensitivity to spend holidays with both sides of his family, or it could have something to do with two nights ago. Killian once thought that, on the rare occasion something bright happened in his life, it was only temporary.

But not all things are so temporary. The ring resting on Emma’s finger only proves further that sometimes, if you’re patient enough, it lasts.

[dukeofriven]

[Note: this post originally appeared in this thread. Owning to Tumblr’s inability to update reblogs with edits because it is a hellsite programmed by a secretive cell of former Stasi operatives to avenge the fall of East Germany, it has thus been re-edited and reformatted here for your reading pleasure.] JK Rowling’s wizards are the most useless, lazy, incapable dumbfucks in the history of fiction. The average Muggle? You take away their technology and they would be able to complete the basic tasks of feeding and clothing themselves without shitting on the floor. If a wizard ever lost their magic in Harry Potter, though, they would die. They’d be dead in three days. They’re garbage and I hate that I’ve come to hate Harry Potter - a series I once loved - because an author inexplicably hailed for her world-building is daily revealed to be appallingly bad at it. I realize this is a really dumb thing to be this angry about but I’ve been told for years what a great world-builder J.K. Rowling is, and that was not even true when the books were coming out. The Time Turner ruined all of Harry Potter forever, not because it offers easy time travel you can hold in your hand (although it does), not because you ask ‘why don’t they just use the time turner’ with every subsequent scenario forever (although you do), but because it was an enormous, flashing red light warning everyone that the series was going to attempt to make the transition from Fairy Tale Logic to Serious Fiction logic and fail. Badly. Really, really badly. I still think Harry Potter & The Philosopher’s Stone is an almost perfect book: a distillation of decades of boarding school genre fiction combined with magic, friendship, and wonder. It is a book that owes as much to Enid Blyton and L.M. Boston as it does to C.S. Lewis or T.H. White and other authors with two first initials. Its sense of place is magisterial, from the frumpy, soul-crushing suburban sadness of Privet Drive to the ephemeral curio-shop wonderland of Diagon Alley to Hogwarts itself, a bastion of astonishment, homeliness, and delight. What it isn’t is the sort of framework on which you can support the horror that is the torture and murder of Charity Burbage in front of her colleague Severus Snape, who could not rescue her because he could not break his deep cover as a spy against Wizard Hitler 2. Long-running series can experience changes of tone and complexity. This is neither something laudable nor worth reviling; it’s a neutral phenomenon. Sometimes series do it well: Susan Cooper’s The Dark Is Rising and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld are both series that by-and-large end with books focused on far more complex issues than their earlier entries. TV series do this too: contrast the early episodes of Steven Universe or Adventure Time with episodes from later seasons. With Adventure Time, for example, trying jumping from the pilot to Remember You and see how hard you get tonal whiplash) Lois McMaster Bujold sublime space opera The Vorkosigan Saga doesn’t just change tones but also genre: space adventure, murder mystery, political thriller, goofy regency romance, comedy of errors, heist movie, schizoid identity crisis - on and on. The latest entry in the series has almost no plot to speak of, but is instead a musing on age, gender roles, grieving the loss of a lover, and the hope of new life. Some series, however, manage the transition poorly, largely because the initial tone cannot be harmonized with the later tone (Mass Effect jumps immediately to mind). But Harry Potter has more than just a problem of its tone getting darker: its trying to have darker events fit in the same world in which people can walk around with names like ‘Mundungus,’ the Hogwarts school song can be a nonsense poem, and the Philosopher’s Stone was defended with a series of video game puzzles. In a world in which the villain openly tortures somebody to death, the Philosopher’s Stone shouldn’t have any whimisical bullshit about its magical defences: it should have trip mines in the floor and an enchanted statue with a gun, because Voldermort isn’t a guy you confound with drinking potions and flying keys. You should just kill him. The charming fairy world of wonder of HP & The Philosopher’s Stone has room for a love potion. The later books, in which it is revealed that Voldemort was essentially born from rape, is not place where Ron Weasley can hand-out a book to Harry called Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches without seeming like a predator in the making. The cradle that is The Philosopher’s Stone cannot hold a beastly baby like Deathly Hallows any more than Grindlewald pontificating about the superiority of wizards can sit comfortably in a universe in which wizards took until the 18th century to accept the outhouse! Not that fascist ravings are inherently logical; but even non-fascists in Harry Potter never act like wizards are anything other than 100% better than muggles at all times. They can’t, because if the series were ever to do that it would have to acknowledge that the two worlds are different: neither better, just different. Instead - well, as Ron once bitched, magic makes coffee perfect every time, so it’s not clear how muggles stand being alive and don’t just roll-over and die from the hellacious half-life that is living with imperfect coffee. This has nothing to do with irony, a suggestion that ‘oh Grindewald talks a big game about wizardly superiority but wizards didn’t use toilets and cal themselves goofy names like Flumpus MacFludgeon: Rowling is using dramatic ironic to lampshade how wizard supremacy lacks self-awareness. No: this is about a world that is silly being asked to host a genocidal dictator and his crimes. It’s like those tedious ‘grimdark’ AUs that always show up in bad fanfiction by authors attempting to be serious: what if the Sesame Street gang had to deal with ICE, what if Po started haemoraging while hanging-out with Laa-Laa, what if Peppa Pig learned that she was adopted and her real parents were brutally murdered as part of gang war because they were heroin dealers and so on. (The best skewering of this edgelord comedy is still probably either Andrew Hussie’s Muppet Babies/Saw comic or any encounters the Shortpacked staff ever had with the Transformers: Buckets of Blood guy.) In Harry Potter, Rowling built a wonderful little fantasy world that ran happily on the logic of fairy tales and fairy stories, and then decided she was never going to be taken seriously as an author unless she introduced Hitler to the equation. And it never works for her. It’s not like it couldn’t have worked. The Lord of the Rings is famously a very different book from The Hobbit. It did, in fact, introduce Hitler into a little fantasy world but Tolkien made it work by abandoning huge portions of the Hobbit’s tone, style, and structure: he wrote a completely different book.  Frodo isn’t scarfing-down Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans on the slopes of  Mount Doom. The moment, say, Cedric Diggory lay dead in Harry’s arms, we needed to never meet Mundungus Fletcher ever again, or Weasley’s Gooftacular Prank Nonsense, or Ron getting Harry a book about love spells. All the very least that needed to go away, at least until the very end, because Rowling is not an author with the skill to keep the silly and the sublime on the same page. That’s fine in and of itself: all artistic people have strengths and weakness, nobody is skilled at every element of creation. J.M. Barrie was very good at writing a book about an eternal child, but a bit crap at writing a biography about his mother. Arthur Sullivan spent his life quietly seething no one wanted to listen to Ivanhoe instead of The Mikado. There’s a reason Jerry Lewis never released The Day the Clown Cried.  Virginia Wolfe is a great writer, but that doesn’t mean she would have written a great run on She-Hulk. [Although now that I’ve said it I can’t think of anything I want to read more.] There’s a great bit in the Lord of Rings after the Shire has been scoured of Saruman where the Hobbits essentially open-up their larders and allow people to have fun again; there’s also a nice bit slightly earlier where Great King Aragorn puts on his old Strider clothes just so he can be his D&D character again: when series change tone, unless you’re really good at walking on a knife’s edge, the quieter, gentler, lighter world isn’t gone forever, but it does have to go away for a while: which means its time to tamp-down on the people with silly names and personalities - like Slughorn, who slips into book six like the second-coming of the vain and silly Lockhart, even though that’s the book where Dumbledore dies.

Rowling keeps trying to makes her old tone fit with her new world without having to pull a Tolkien and actually write differently, which produces moment after moment of tonal whiplash in which the latest Potter-related movie literally involves referencing the holocaust but she also drops some fun trivia about wizards shitting on the floor like animals. (You could describe the entirety of the first Fantastic Beasts film as Tonal Whiplash: The Motion Picture. I’d say that’s an essay for another day but I do not want to have to watch that movie again.)

It needs to be said that a primary reason these tone shifts ‘don’t work’ for Harry Potter is that the logic of a fairy tale is different than the logic of a mundane story. The logic of a fairy tale tends to be self contained: it doesn’t have a smart ass running around asking questions like ‘why’ because there is no why; a thing is the way it is because it is the way it is. Fairies steal babies on the third Sunday of every month, and nobody in the story asks ‘well what about in countries that use different calendars, and what about the shift from Julian to the Gregorian calendar that skipped eleven days?’ because such a pedantic question has no substance in a fairy-tale world. The Clever Child might question what the fairies need with babies, but she’s not about to break-down the week-to-week investment metrics on the Fairyland Infant Exchange. It’s not that one cannot critique or bring critical thinking to fairy stories; it’s that in a fairy story you don’t ask how the sewer system works because it’s not pertinent to what the story is trying to convey. It’s being the guy at the book club who is mad nobody wants to discuss his theories on the music of Rush: its not that the theories are bad, it’s that in this time and place they are of limited relevance. Harry Potter, however, does not belong to to the world of fairy stories, but to the legacy of Tolkienesque fantasy - the world of

  In The Hobbit nobody would ever ask if Hobbiton had sewers - it’s not important, and if you ask those kind of questions expecting there to be a serious answer of grave import you’re being a twit. Lord of the Rings, though? Not only is it a valid question, but Tolkien probably wrote a paper explaining the etymology of the Westron word for ‘sewer’ and how sewers were first invented by Shítlívær the Noldor as a way of helping the Blessed Isles cope with all the crap that tumbled out of Fëanor’s mouth.

The world of The Hobbit is one you could enter and expect to quickly find yourself on an adventure. The world of The Lord of The Rings is one you could enter, walk-about, and study without anyone ever exepecting you to solve some sort of regionally-disturbing social problem: in short, it wants you to be invested in the existence of its world in a different way than The Hobbit. Even then, although The Lord of the Rings is more grounded than The Hobbit, it is not so grounded that it doesn’t leave room for mystery, and questions that refute Wittgenstein’s assertion that all questions must be answerable. Tolkien loved to create complex worlds, but there was stuff he knew wasn’t worth elaborating on. It’s really his fans and authorial heirs who developed the somewhat worrying belief that a good worldbuilder has to have an answer to literally every question or else didn’t think their world through. (This has killed more potentially good books than bad cover art ever has.)

The Lord of the Rings leaves room for The Undiscovered Country. Harry Potter wants too… but can’t. Firstly, Rowling obviously understands the need for what we might call poetic mystery - like the gateway in the somewhat unsubtly name Department of Mysteries - but she also wants you to know how wizards pooped three hundred years ago. You get the feeling she knows exactly how and why that gate works, and what it is, but she withheld the knowledge because she likes mystery’s aesthetic more than she ascribes to any idea that an author might have lacunæ in the knowledge of their own work. That is, she would never put something into her work that she didn’t have an answer for - for her there is no undiscovered country that exists beyond the knowledge of even the author; she is an omniscient deity. Not for her is C.S. Lewis’ insistence that for her characters: All their life in this world and all their adventures had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before. Rowling knows exactly what happens to every one of them from the moment they were born to the moment the rot in the ground and the day-to-day schedules of their lives in heaven. Secondly - and far more of an issue - is that Harry Potter becomes a world that invites you to pick up each part of its structure and think about it, because the author has - with loving care - built that entire world for you to interact with. A place for everything, and everything its place. Except JK Rowling is a lazy thinker who never, ever considers the consequences of anything she says. Nagini is actually an Asian woman cursed to live as a snake, wizards used to magically disappear their shit from wherever they just stood and shat it out, Hermione Granger can have a time travel device to attended a bunch of classes but Harry can’t grab one off a nearby shelf and go back fifteen minutes and save his godfather, and nor a few years later can the Minister for Magic’s protection detail keep them on hand to go back half an hour and tell their past selves ‘Hey Voldemort is about to walk in here and kill y’all thought you ought to know.’ No author can work-out every aspect of every element in their works - that’s impossible, and why ARGs are solved by the internet hivemind in half a day even though they took a far smaller group of minds months to devise. But Rowling is intellectually lazy - she adds the holocaust to her Magic Fun Land without sparing a single moment to think that idea through. She then gets defensive when confronted by the suggestion that her worldbuilding might have been shallow. Hey your American wizard houses seem a bit racist also America doesn’t really use the house system in its schools - and her response was to lash out and not listen.  Rowling tried to move Potter from a fairy logic world with its own rules into our world with our rules and our history but she doesn’t know our history very well, or even our rules, so she tells us wizards shat on the floor until the 18th century while the rest of us sit around going ‘but humans have never done that as social groups - even in horrible slums and facility-free prison cells humans create a designated place for taking a shit even if it’s just ‘that corner over there.’ We don’t just drop pants and go whenever!” This is because, as a worldbuilder, J.K. Rowling is actually kind of rubbish.

[sineala]

I was reading Allegro, Forte again yesterday and read some comments to it and now I wonder how did you come up with the idea of Double time? How did it all happen?

Thank you for asking about this because now I get to tell everyone about my favorite post-Civil War comic ever. Again.

So there’s this miniseries called Avengers/Invaders, taking place while Steve is dead and Tony is the director of SHIELD and, naturally, Tony is blaming himself for Steve’s death and doing a lousy job coping. So, naturally, the one thing he absolutely does not need in his life is a time-traveling Steve Rogers from World War II, which is exactly what he gets.

The plot of this series is that people are so very sad that Steve is dead that a Cosmic Cube summons Steve and the Invaders from Monte Cassino, Italy in 1943 to the present day just because everyone misses him so much. I’m serious. Here, for example, is Tony when he finds out that Steve is back:

Sometimes canon loves us and wants us to be happy. Well. Sad, really, I guess.

Seeing Steve alive again, even if it isn’t his Steve, naturally brings up a lot of feelings in Tony. Like OVERWHELMING GRIEF and also A BUNCH OF GUILT. Here Carol is trying to convince him that Steve’s death isn’t his fault:

Naturally they have to try to take the Invaders into custody so that they don’t ruin history by finding out more about where they are, and naturally Steve doesn’t take this well at all. I feel like Tony takes this pretty badly, too. He’s not really in a state of mind where he can handle fighting Steve again, and the way Steve reacts to him sure isn’t helping.

They get Steve in custody but he escapes again and Tony has to bring him in again and at this point Tony is basically about a thousand percent done with life, and I don’t mean that ironically:

Steve tells him his days are over and threatens to stop him and Tony’s response is “maybe that’s what I deserve.” OH TONY NO.

But, okay, so they finally take Steve into custody, and they figure that the only way to get Steve to stop trying to fight them is to tell him some small part of the truth. They want to explain that they’re the good guys and that they can’t tell him the future without taking the chance of him ruining large parts of history.

So Tony has Steve literally tied to a chair in his office – remember, he can’t tell Steve he knows him or that ruins history – and he’s trying to explain this to Steve, one of his best friends in the entire world, who died because of him. He can’t tell him any of this. And Steve, Steve who is right here and alive again, Steve who at this point in his life doesn’t even know him, looks him right in the eye and asks, “Who’d you kill to get where you are?”

I’d like us all to take a moment and contemplate exactly how Tony must have felt when he heard this.

My reaction was basically YES, I LIKE THIS ANGST, I WANT MORE, I WILL TAKE TWELVE. 

(I mean, okay, yes, it goes on from there and there are several other plots going on that are very COMICS and there is actually a sense of closure, sort of, for Tony’s sadness, but let’s just freeze it there on the EXTREME ANGST.)

So when I decided to write Double Time my motivation was “I would like to take this feeling from Avengers/Invaders and roll around in it.” And I realized I’d even left the Noir characters a Cosmic Cube! So the actual premise of Double Time is basically a straight-up reversal of Avengers/Invaders into Noir – what if the Invaders (plus Noir Tony) are the ones staying in Monte Cassino in 1943 and a Cosmic Cube somehow brings in Tony from 616 post-Civil War and he has to deal with seeing a Steve again who is alive and well (and even worse, one who knows Tony in his universe and is totally happy with him and 616 Tony has ruined that forever) and can never tell Steve he even knows him? Yeah, that feeling. All of that.

And then, of course, what happens when they all find out that 616 Tony in fact knows Steve in his universe? And what if I bring Steve back to life and force them to get over their differences by having to work together to get home? My one big complaint about canon, I think, if I had to pick one thing, is that Tony has lost his memory of Civil War – so if I get to write a fix-it, which I decided I was doing, I was going to write a story where he got to meet Steve again while he still remembered the entire war. So I did.

And that’s how I ended up writing Double Time.