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faean · 5 years ago

Text

Spider-Man/Peter Parker x Male Reader

Rating: T; Angst

Word Length: 2,512

Title: Forgive Me

—–

Peter had never been more perplexed in his entire life, and he did not know what was more surprising: The fact that this ranked higher in terms of something than him getting tech from the Tony Stark and fighting the Captain America half way across the world, or that he was genuinely confused about everything.

A little exaggerated, of course (and possibly not for the first time), but you certainly did have an effect on people.

First off, you, (Y/N) (L/N), were a transfer student from who knows where. Second, you were easily the most amiable person in existence, so much so that it took no more than two weeks for you to become one of the very few people to know Peter as Spider-Man. Third, you seemed to be, somehow, always of aid to Peter even when he didn’t think he needed it nor expected it.

Lastly, and certainly the most prominent thing, was not just that you were open and comfortable about your sexuality (which wasn’t unheard of and even encouraged), it was that Peter began to question his own.

He still harbored a small, albeit diminishing, crush on Liz after she moved. He also began to develop feelings for MJ. Most jarring, however, was that in spite of him knowing that he is attracted to women, he could not get (Y/N) (L/N) out of his mind.

And things only got stranger.

Soon, (Y/N) became absurdly more affectionate towards his close friends, especially Peter. He had even become Peter’s, rather Spider-Man’s, go to after patrols and battles to get patched up or rest, sometimes spending multiple nights in Aunt May’s apartment, which she enjoyed immensely since you were such a help around the place. Peter had even become accustomed to the affection you showed, so much so that he found himself craving it at times.

Stranger still was the dramatic decrease in criminal activity. Peter knew he couldn’t be the cause of it, and it wasn’t because he didn’t do a decent job at being a ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. It was because that drop in crime went straight to zero and the only reason he continued patrolling was because of a new figure on the scene. He had no idea if they were a new villain or hero, or even if they were male or female! The new figure was always heavily disguised, and it was obvious they were using a voice modulator.

Strangest of all, though, was that when the disguised person began making sexual advances towards him, it correlated with (Y/N) becoming unabashedly possessive, and to Peter alone. While Peter did enjoy the reprieve from Flash’s torment, he did miss spending time with his friends; even Ned and MJ shied away from him whenever you were present.

And all of this in the span of a mere six weeks!

It was now week seven of this strangeness, and Peter wanted answers. He wanted to finally figure out his sexuality; he wanted to finally hang out with his other friends; he wanted to finally unravel the intentions of the disguised figure; and he wanted, most of all, to get a break from (Y/N).

Surprisingly, he got through most of that list by the end of school.

He figured out that, while he is indeed attracted to the opposite sex, (Y/N) is an exception and it was due simply because Peter could admit he was comfortable with such an idea.

He got to hang out with his friends, and it was such a relaxing and fun experience that Peter nearly forgot he had more stuff to do.

Nearly.

The only reason he was able to spend some time with his friends was because you were absent, which was startling, as you haven’t even been late to any class or club meeting, much less absent all together. Peter had to admit that he was somewhat worried about you, but it was this worry that reminded him of his mission. Once school had ended for the day and he donned his suit, he searched throughout the city to find the strange person.

---

It had been several hours, and night began to fall, but Spider-Man could not find any trace of the disguised figure. Exhausted and defeated, he took rest atop a random skyscraper, watching the sun finish setting, and gazing into the night sky. There were few stars, given the amount of light pollution, but with the help of his suit’s A.I, Karen, he magnified the sight and stared into the depths of space. Unfortunately, this moment of respite was just that.

A moment.

“Peter, I am detecting an energy source quickly approaching.” Karen’s voice riled him up, but his Spider-Sense (or Peter Tingle, as his Aunt called it) had already put him on guard.

He stood, ready to counter whoever and whatever came at him, the suit’s sensors attempting to locate the direction of the energy source.

“The energy source is increasing in speed exponentially and resembles that of the disguised figure we have met. I am currently attempting to predict its- Above you!”

Karen’s warning and Peter’s reflexes were not fast enough to prevent him from being pinned to the floor. It took Peter a few seconds to recover from the force of the impact, and he came face-to-face, well, mask-to-mask, with the disguised person. He struggled to push them off of himself, but they were unnaturally strong.

No, not strong, he thought. They couldn’t possibly be strong enough to pin him down with brute force, not unless they were unnaturally heavy.

Which also didn’t make much sense to the still struggling Spider-Man. The figure was barely taller than him, and just as lean. In order for them to so effortlessly restrain him, they would need to be dense. Denser than most metals. Upon realizing this, Peter noticed no warmth emanating from the body above him, and Karen’s scanning revealed as much.

“Peter, the person, isn’t a person. They’re not even machine. I cannot determine the mat-t-t-t-… Pe-pe-peter, they a-re-re messss-ing-g-g-g with my f-f-f-unction-ion-ionnn...”

Karen went silent, and the holographic display of his suit disappeared. Black tendrils snaked from the thing’s hands, somehow shutting the suit down and paralyzing Peter as it reached across his arms, stopping at his neck and chest. This was unlike anything he had ever experience, and he was truly, genuinely, afraid.

The figure stayed still, straddling Peter and staring into his masked eyes. At least, Peter thought they were staring at him. He couldn’t see any part of their face, and he didn’t care, as his mind was set on finding some way, any way, to escape.

As the figure lowered its head, Peter could hear a faint purring coming from it. It pressed its entire body against his, an immense pressure weighing upon him, restricting his breathing and ensuring he couldn’t escape, if he could have in the first place. Soon, it buried its head into the crook of his clothed neck, its ethereal purring having an… effect on him.

It resonated throughout him, and he fought his body’s arousal. He was no stranger to it, admittedly, as he was a teen going through the paces, but those times were private and few in between. Though, they did become more frequent and intense when (Y/N) began to overwhelm him. But this? This was unwanted, and he struggled ever more vehemently to escape.

Then, the figure raised its head, seemingly gazing at Peter before an inky black tendril slithered to the seam of his mask and slipped underneath. Peter’s eyes widened as he was being unmasked, but then his Spider-Sense went nuts, the tingling in the back his head overpowering the sensation of the figure’s purring.

He couldn’t see what happened, exactly, but the figure was forcefully ripped off of him by an unseen force and slammed against the low wall that encased the rooftop. Instinctively, Peter first shot a capture web at the figure before shooting a tether at the entrance to the rooftop, hoisting himself away from the figure.

Freed from its grasp, his suit sparked to life, and Karen’s voice could be heard again.

“Karen! How did they shut the suit down? And what was that that pushed them back?” Peter asked, his words laced with fear.

Before she could respond, footsteps echoed, and Peter’s attention was on…

“(Y/N)…” he whispered as he stared at your back, watching you casually make your way to the figure, which had picked itself up and stood hunched over, its hands scraping the floor and it head unnaturally twisted at you.

“You had free reign of the city, all the enticing souls of Manhattan, and yet, you just could not help yourself. He is mine, and I will not hesitate to ensure he stays mine.” You growled at the figure as you continued towards it.

Peter was taken aback, his face heating up from your declaration and his mind racing from your reveal: You and the creature were connected, its appearance coinciding with your transfer and the sudden drop in crime. Although, Peter had thought the figure was likely you in disguise, even Karen had calculated it to be the most probable of scenarios.

“…” The figure remained silent, but its body spasmed as it turned its head to look up at Peter. “………”

“So be it.” Was your reply to the figure’s silence, standing in front of it now, your hand on its neck as you lifted it off the ground, its head still craned towards Peter’s perch.

Peter was in shock at how you managed it, and Karen’s voice was a distant echo as he remained fixated on you.

You took a step up onto the ledge of the wall, dangling the figure over the vast expanse of the city scape below. Peter snapped back to his senses, rushing towards you to stop you. He had so many questions and fears and he just had to get answers from you about the figure, but…

He stopped in his tracks as you turned back at him, a soft, loving smile on your face. Your eyes held such adoration for him as tears glistened in them, the moon perfectly aligned with your frame. So many memories flashed before Peter’s eyes, memories of loss and tragedy and heartache, he meekly reached out for you as you stepped off the ledge, falling, still with the same smile and love across your lips as you mouthed ‘I love you…’.

He screamed for you at the top of lungs, firing off two webs at you as he desperately chased after you, his tears clouding his vision. The webs raced after you and the figure, but you both fell at such an unnatural speed, as if something more than gravity drew you towards the gray concrete earth. They never reached, and Karen had to fire another to anchor Peter to the building so he would not meet a similar fate.

The figure landed first, impacting the ground and cratering it, the force shattering nearby glass. It laid there, motionless, until you neared the ground. It jolted up and leapt to intercept, but it fell a few inches short as you slammed into the asphalt beside it.

Peter swiftly made his way to your lifeless body, your smile and love unbroken. The figure knelt beside your body, and in its ethereal, warped voice, whispered “Forgive me...”

Peter held you as a crowd began to form, and the figure slowly dissolved into an inky black mist as it slumped over, its hand intertwined with yours.

---

A week went by, and Peter was still lying in his bed, the city of Manhattan wondering where their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man had gone off to. Peter refused to leave his room save for food and the occasional hour-long shower, and took no visitors, not even Tony Stark had been able to get through to him. Ned and MJ stopped by everyday to drop off his missed homework and copies of their notes, but Aunt May remained to be the only one to see him.

And now, she stood outside his bedroom door, a crisp letter of crimson with an ivory seal in her hand. She hesitated when she went to knock and decided it better to slip it under his door, knowing he would come out when he was ready.

Peter saw the letter but made no effort to get it. Hours passed before he mustered the strength to retrieve it. He sunk back into his bed as he read the lettering, the same color as the seal-

‘Beloved’

He gingerly opened it, immediately having recognized your handwriting. Carefully unfolding the letter, a few rose petals scattered about him and the bed as they fell from the opened paper. His eyes watered as he smelled your scent on the paper, and it soon became sobs as he read through it, your voice echoing in his mind.

My Dearest Beloved,

I imagine you have many questions, and I desire little more than to give you those answers. Beloved, I am gone, as is the shade that bore the darkness of my soul and the sins I have committed, but I ask that you shed no more tears for me. I am undeserving of your grief, much less your love and affection.

I longed for someone to call my own, but my shade haunted me everywhere I travelled, a reminder of all the sorrow I have wrought. While I changed my ways, it could not, and many more fell to the darkness that resides within me. I thought, in a place with a vast number of criminals, it would be satisfied. Of course, when my heart became yours to bear, it followed suit. Beloved, never have I loved someone as much as I love you, and it is your memory that I shall keep with me as I atone for all the pain I am responsible for.

But, enough of me, for I matter naught. Only you matter. Peter, my beloved, I knew that you could not be mine by any measure, and I accepted this. At least, I thought I had. Your radiant beauty captivated me, and your brilliant mind ensnared me, and my heart yearned for a love I could not have. It is an excruciating experience, and I do not wish that anyone, not anymore. As your happiness is my only desire, I prepared this letter, and many others, for when my time came to meet my fate.

Peter, my dearest beloved, I do not love you so simply. I am in love with your very being- mind, body, and soul. I cannot express my gratitude for your freeing me. May the next letters find you and, if you still have the kindness I am ever so glad to have received, may you treasure them as I have treasured every moment I spent with you.

With Sincerest Love,

(Y/N) (L/N)

Peter set the handwritten letter down, three simple words leaving his lips before he went to Aunt May, his heart aching.

“I forgive you…”

—–

#Marvel #Marvel Comics #MCU #Spider-Man #marvel spiderman #Peter Parker #male reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x male reader #angst #fanfiction #original works #enjoy you heathens

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46ten · 4 years ago

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AH: marriage and military service should not mix

The summary of this post: A lot of historians have noted how important AH’s marriage to EH was to his future, a true before and after marker in his life. But the strangeness of it has gotten less attention - AH married while the war was going on, and even wrote of not hanging around the army at all in order to setup for his life with his new wife. Once one sees the oddity of that, a lot of other things fall into place in his 1780/81 letters.

For the past few years, I’ve wanted to work more on the theory that although marriage was generally expected of the 18th century Anglo-American colonial man (see prior posts here and here), the elite in AH’s circle did not marry until their military obligations and other duties were complete. From their examples and a few phrases here and there, getting married seemed to have been frowned upon, perhaps because of the uncomfortable examples of general’s wives and this idea that romantic love with a woman was a weakness that interfered with duty and hindered one’s commitment to military glory. (I am familiar with the challenges faced by Martha Washington, Catharine Greene, and Lucy Knox; Philip Schuyler refused a return to military assignment and presidency of the Continental Congress after the death of a newborn, among other things, in 1778). AH is an exception among his circle, with Meade, in getting married during the war itself - nearly everyone else who is unmarried waits until after their military service is complete (and sometimes well after) to marry. Not enough is made of the oddity of his courtship and marriage, within his circle, while the war is ongoing.

Now to modern thought, the title of this post makes a lot of sense - relationships are often strained when one partner is in military service, and the hows and whys are very familiar to us. But for the 18th century, when adult manhood was tied to matrimony, avoiding matrimony seems odd, as does the length of some of the courtships of AH’s friends: two years for William Jackson, about the same for Tilghman, four years of flirtation for McHenry. At a time when engagements lasted a matter of weeks (and AH notes that his own is unusually long - it’s lasting “an age” in one of his letters to ES), the delay in taking the next step is notable. Even in the prior generation, although Philip Schuyler was sexually intimate with Catharine Van Rensselaer, he continued his military service and did not marry her until it became unavoidable by decency standards (CVR was 4 months pregnant).

So what’s with AH and ES wanting to get married in such a hurry, comparatively, besides the obvious emotional ones? Maybe he really was 26-27 years old and time was running out! Another obvious possibility, noted then and noted by biographers since, was the benefits of their marriage on a personal and political dynastic level. @aswithasunbeam has noted a contemporary article (sourced from Mitchell) about what Philip Schuyler had to gain through the new attachment between himself and Washington’s aide-de-camp. (And look how quickly P. Schuyler had AH working to get GW to visit them.) The advantages for AH were obvious to, as the Marquis de Fleury stated outright to AH: “ I congratulate you heartyly on that conquest; for many Reasons: the first that you will get all that familly’s interest, & that a man of your abilities wants a Little influence to do good to his country. The second that you, will be in a very easy situation, & happin’s is not to be found without a Large estate.”

I also suspect part of AH’s decision to hurriedly marry was tied to getting a command and spending the rest of his time studying the law.* I agree with most biographers that he never takes the steps of leaving Washington’s family and asking for (Nov 1780) and then demanding (June 1781) a command without being Philip Schuyler’s son-in-law. (I also think the break with GW doesn’t happen without AH feeling VERY confident in his relationship with his new wife. EH should have been a better patriot - as in other times - and seemed less happy in her marriage, or at least not let AH read her letter to her sister.) I think that’s what Laurens knew while on parole in Phil. and causes the minor flurry of letters in late August/September 1780, when P. Schuyler was briefly at HQ and then sending lots of letters about Congress to GW, AH was going on about his planned six month leave, McHenry was writing a love poem about AH and ES and trying to get AH to get P. Schuyler’s help in getting him a command, etc . AH and ES likely intended to marry in October/early November, but both Meade and Harrison took leave instead, and AH had to stay, though he would leave in late November before their return (in fact, Harrison and Meade never returned.)

Take Laurens (left wife and daughter he’d never see in England) and Lafayette (absent from France from March 1777 to Feb 1779 and March 1780 to early 1782). Both of them left wife and child(ren) behind, and here AH was planning a long absence from military service and telling his fiancee that he’ll leave it entirely if that’s her wish. AND Meade is discussing doing exactly that! [So Laurens presumably wrote to AH - we don’t have that letter - that he hopes AH will get over this quickly, and AH wrote back that he won’t, but I’m getting ahead of myself.]

I offered to make a comparison of AH’s letters to Laurens vs Elizabeth Schuyler - while revealing of personal feelings, in content and expression they are more different than they are similar - but I think I first need to set up that major transition that’s occurring in AH’s life in 1780/81. To the extent Laurens may have objected to AH’s excitement about ES and their impending nuptials (and there’s only one phrase in one letter, and that from AH to Laurens, from which it can be interpreted that those were Laurens’ feelings), and AH felt embarrassed about conveying the news of his engagement, it was because it interfered with a (believed to be mutual) sense of military obligation and public duty and dismissal of marriage and its attendant obligations. I touch on it in a response here; I’ll try to elaborate on it in upcoming posts. [I will get into why this makes the most sense, and why claims of AH trying to spare any romantic feelings JL may have felt, quite frankly, do not make sense in a later post. Spoiler: AH wrote absurdly callous stuff re ES and his relationship with her in his letters to JL if he was hoping to spare JL’s feelings.]

I already put some of my thoughts on this in old posts that may have some helpful content and may spare me having to repeat myself too much, and then I’ll also provide some quotes from letters to get started, limited to 1777-1782 and then probably the most famous quote from 1799.

Hamilton on marriage part 1 (overview)

Hamilton on marriage part 2 (feelings on marriage 1777-early 1780)

Hamilton-Schuyler engagement (early 1780-mid 1780)

Hamilton on marriage part 3 (my breakdown of the July-Oct 1780 letters to ES)

Hamilton on marriage part 4

Reynolds Pamphlet, part 2

And a post (not my own) about how much AH’s military involvement as Inspector General was affecting his family financially.

Letter quotes [my emphases]:

You and I, as well as our neighbours, are deeply interested to pray for victory, and its necessary attendant peace; as, among other good effects, they would remove those obstacles, which now lie in the way of that most delectable thing, called matrimony;—a state, which, with a kind of magnetic force, attracts every breast to it, in which sensibility has a place, in spite of the resistance it encounters in the dull admonitions of prudence, which is so prudish and perverse a dame, as to be at perpetual variance with it. AH to Catharine “Kitty” Livingston 11Apr1777

Do I want a wife? No—I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employ a proxy. AH to John Laurens 1779 [likely from mid-April up to July - this letter is actually undated, and the April date is based on other mentions in the letter; both JCH and Lodge dated it December 1779]

The most determined adversaries of Hymen can find in [ES] no pretext for their hostility, and there are several of my friends, philosophers who railed at love as a weakness, men of the world who laughed at it as a phantasie, whom she has presumptuously and daringly compelled to acknowlege its power and surrender at discretion. I can the better assert the truth of this, as I am myself of the number. She has had the address to overset all the wise resolutions I had been framing for more than four years past, and from a rational sort of being and a professed contemner of Cupid has in a trice metamorphosed me into the veriest inamorato you perhaps ever saw. AH to Margarita Schuyler, Feb1780

I would add to this by way of consolation, or rather of countinance, that the family since your departure have given hourly proofs of a growing weakness. Example I verily believe is infectious. For such a predominancy is beauty establishing over their hearts, that should things continue to wear as sweet an aspect as they are now beheld in, I shall be the only person left, of the whole household, to support the dignity of human nature. But in good earnest, God bless both you, and your weakness, and preserve me your sincere friend James McHenry to AH, 18March1780 [this was during the time of AH’s courtship of ES]

Here we are my love in a house of great hospitality—in a country of plenty—a buxom girl under the same roof—pleasing ⟨expect⟩ations of a successful campaign—and every thing to make a soldier happy, who is not in love and absent from his mistress. ... Assure yourself my love that you are seldom a moment absent from my mind, that I think of you constantly and talk of you frequently, I am never happier than when I can engage Meade in some solitary walk to join me in reciprocating the praises of his widow and my betsey. AH to ES, 6July1780

I hope for a decisive campaign. No one will desire it more than me; for a military life is now grown insupportable to me because it keeps me from all my soul holds dear. Adieu My love. Write to me often I entreat you, and do not suffer any part of my treasure, your sweet love, to be lost or stolen from me. AH to ES, 20Jul1780

Impatiently My Dearest have I been expecting the return of your father to bring me a letter from my charmer with the answers you have been good enough to promise me to the little questions asked in mine by him. ... Meade2 just comes in and interrupts me by sending his love to you. He tells you he has written a long letter to his widow asking her opinion of the propriety of quitting the service; and that if she does not disapprove it, he will certainly take his final leave after the campaign. You see what a fine opportunity she has to be enrolled in the catalogue of heroines, and I dare say she will set you an example of fortitude and patriotism. I know too you have so much of the Portia in you, that you will not be out done in this line by any of your sex, and that if you saw me inclined to quit the service of your country, you would dissuade me from it. I have promised you, you recollect, to conform to your wishes, and I persist in this intention. It remains with you to show whether you are a Roman or an American wife. AH to ES, Aug1780

But now my love to speak of the practicability of complying with both our wishes in this article—There is none, I am obliged to sacrifice my inclination to ⟨my public⟩ ch⟨aracter.⟩ Even though my presence shou⟨ld n⟩ot be essential here, yet my love I could not with decency or honor leave the army during the campaign. This is a military prejudice which while I am in a military station I must comply with. No person has been more severe than I have been in condemning other officers for deviating from it. I have admitted no excuse as sufficient, and I must not now evince to the army, that the moment my circumstances have changed, my maxims have changed also. This would be an inconsistency, and my Betsey would not have me guilty of an inconsistency. Besides this my Betsey, The General is peculiarly averse to the practice in question. If this campaign is to end my military services, ’tis an additional reason for a constant and punctual attendance, if it is not my leaving the army during the campaign would make it less proper to be away all the winter ’till late in the spring. In one case, my honor bids me stay, in the other my love. AH to ES, 31Aug1780

Pardon me my love for talking politics to you. What have we to do with any thing but love? Go the world as it will, in each others arms we cannot but be happy. ...I was once determined to let my existence and American liberty end together. My Betsey has given me a motive to outlive my pride, I had almost said my honor; but America must not be witness to my disgrace. AH to ES, 6Sept1780

I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much. You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. ‘Tis a pretty story indeed that I am to be thus monopolized, by a little nut-brown maid like you—and from a statesman and a soldier metamorphosed into a puny lover. I believe in my soul you are an inchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least, to weaken the charm—you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts—and after every new one, I make to withdraw myself from my allegiance my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment. To drop figure my lovely girl you become dearer to me every moment. I am more and more unhappy and impatient under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance. AH to ES, 5Oct1780

I would not have you imagine Miss that I write to you so often either to gratify your wishes or to please your vanity; but merely to indulge myself and to comply with that restless propensity of my mind, which will not allow me to be happy when I am not doing something in which you are concerned. This may seem a very idle disposition in a philosopher and a soldier; but I can plead illustrious examples in my justification. Achilles had liked to have sacrificed Greece and his glory to his passion for a female captive; and Anthony lost the world for a woman. I am sorry the times are so changed as to oblige me to summon antiquity for my apology, but I confess, to the disgrace of the present age, that I have not been able to find many who are as far gone as myself in such laudable zeal for the fair sex. AH to ES, 13Oct1780

How often have I with Eloisa exclaimed against those forms which I now revere as calculated to knit our union together by new and stronger bands...Meade already begins to recant. I have received a letter from him on the Journey2 in which he tells me he finds he must return to the army. This will be a new proof to you that I cannot leave it, as we both so ardently desire. AH to ES, 27Oct1780

You possess a heart that can feel for me; you have a female too that you love. I was reduced at one period to entreat, threat, kiss, but all to no purpose; her fears were for my safety, mine for hers. You must imagine to make out the tragedy all that I am incapable for want of words to express. After placing her with at least Twenty other females & children at a safe distance I immediately returned, & joined the Baron about the time the Enemy left Richmond in order to render him all the aid I could being intimately acquainted with the Country for many miles in the vicinity of the Enemy & on their return down the river I left him to go in pursuit of a residence for a favorite Brother who was driven from his home & obliged to attend to his Wife & a family of little children. Was it not cruel my dear fellow that my matrimonial enjoyments should have been interrupted thus soon; not more than one month had passed when the damned invasion seperated us, & we have yet to meet again, for 60 miles divides us. You know I am a Philosoper my dr fd & prepared to meet much more serious disappointments. This gives me an opening to speak of my return to the army. I have been long wishing your advice in full on the occasion; you are acquainted with the arguments I have used in favor of my stay here. I have now but one to add to them, the experience of that happiness I ever expected to enjoy with the best of Women. She loves not less than your Betsy, & I fear could not bear a seperation. I have not however as yet thrown off the uniform, but I am inclined to believe that it must be the case. Meade to AH, 13Jan1781

I was cherishing the melancholy pleasure of thinking of the sweets I had left behind and was so long to be deprived of, when a servant from Head Quarters presented me with your letters. I feasted for some time on the sweet effusions of tenderness they contained, and my heart returned every sensation of yours. Alas my Betsey you have divested it of every other pretender and placed your image there as the sole proprietor. I struggle with an excess which I cannot but deem a weakness and endeavour to bring myself back to reason and duty. I remonstrate with my heart on the impropriety of suffering itself to be engrossed by an individual of the human race when so many millions ought to participate in its affections and in its cares. But it constantly presents you under such amiable forms as seem too well to justify its meditated desertion of the cause of country humanity, and of glory I would say, if there were not something in the sound insipid and ridiculous when compared with the sacrifices by which it is to be attained.

Indeed Betsey, I am intirely changed—changed for the worse I confess—lost to all the public and splendid passions and absorbed in you. Amiable woman! nature has given you a right to be esteemed to be cherished, to be beloved; but she has given you no right to monopolize a man, whom, to you I may say, she has endowed with qualities to be extensively useful to society. Yes my Betsey, I will encourage my reason to dispute your empire and restrain it within proper bounds, to restore me to myself and to the community. Assist me in this; reproach me for an unmanly surrender of that to love and teach me that your esteem will be the price of my acting well my part as a member of society. AH to EH, 13Jul1781

Don’t think me unkind for not talking of your making a journey to the Southward. It would put us to a thousand inconveniences and would in fact be of no avail; for while there I must be engrossed in my military duties. Heaven knows how much it costs me to make the sacrifice I do. It is too much to be torn away from the wife of my bosom from a woman I love to weakness, and who feels the same ardent passion for me. I relinquish a heaven in your arms; but let me have the happiness to reflect that they ever impatiently wait my return sacred to love and me. Give your Mama, your sisters and the whole family every assurance of the warmest affection on my part. Indeed I love them all.

Yrs. with unalterable tenderness and fidelity AH to EH, 25Aug1781

Early in November, as I promised you, we shall certainly meet. Cheer yourself with this idea, and with the assurance of never more being separated. Every day confirms me in the intention of renouncing public life, and devoting myself wholly to you. AH to EH, 6Sept1781

My heart disposed to gayety is at once melted into tenderness. The idea of a smiling infant in my Betseys arms calls up all the father in it. In imagination I embrace the mother and embrace the child a thousand times. I can scarce refrain from shedding tears of joy. But I must not indulge these sensations; they are unfit for the boisterous scenes of war and whenever they intrude themselves make me but half a soldier. AH to EH, 12Oct1781

You cannot imagine how entirely domestic I am growing. I lose all taste for the pursuits of ambition, I sigh for nothing but the company of my wife and my baby. The ties of duty alone or imagined duty keep me from renouncing public life altogether. It is however probable I may not be any longer actively engaged in it.

I have explained to you the difficulties which I met with in obtaining a command last campaign. I thought it incompatible with the delicacy due to myself to make any application this campaign. I have expressed this Sentiment in a letter to the General and retaining my rank only, have relinquished the emoluments of my commission, declaring myself notwithstanding ready at all times to obey the calls of the Public.4 I do not expect to hear any of these unless the State of our Affairs, should change for the worse and lest by any unforeseen accident that should happen, I choose to keep myself in a situation again to contribute my aid. This prevents a total resignation.

You were right in supposing I neglected to prepare what I promised you at Philadelphia. The truth is, I was in such a hurry to get home that I could think of nothing else. AH to Meade, March 1782 (from a JCH transcription)

You were right, My dear General, in saying that a Soldier should have no Other wife than the service...William North to AH, 12Nov1799

AND just for amusement:

I thank you My Dear Sir for the military figures you have sent me. Tactics you know are literally or figuratively of very comprehensive signification. As people grow old they decline in some arts though they may improve in others. I will try to get Mrs. Hamilton to accompany in games of Tactics new to her. Perhaps she may get a taste for them & become better reconciled to my connection with the Trade-Militant. AH to McHenry, 21June1799

__________________________________________

*I broke this down in a prior post too, but I’ll repeat it here again: I think the clearest statement of his plan left to us is from the draft of the letter he sent to Philip Schuyler explaining why he wants to break with GW (18Feb1781):

As I cannot think of quitting the army during the war, I have a project of re-entering into the artillery, by taking Lieutenant-Colonel Forrest’s10 place, who is⟩ desirous of retiring on half pay. I have not however made up my mind upon this , Start insertion,head, End,, as I should be obliged to come in the youngest Lt Col instead of the eldest, which I , Start deletion,should, End, , Start insertion,ought to, End, have been by natural succession had I remained in the corps; and , Start insertion,at the same time, End, to resume studies relative to the profession which, to avoid inferiority, must be laborious.

If a handsome command for the campaign in the , Start insertion,light, End, infantry should offer itself, I shall ballance between this and the artillery. My situation ⟨in the latter⟩ would be more , Start deletion,substantial, End, , Start insertion,solid, End, ⟨and permanent;⟩ but as I hope ⟨the war will not last long enough to make it progressive, this consideration has the less force. A command for the campaign would leave me the winter to prosecute studies relative to my future career in life. With⟩ respect to the former, I have been materially the worse for going into his family.11

I have written to you on this subject with all the freedom and confidence to which you have a right and with an assurance of the interest you take in , Start deletion,what, End, , Start insertion,all that, End, concerns me.

This letter implies 1) he had a plan post-military; 2) he had discussed with PS what that plan was, and possibly that six month leave (that never happened because of illness and unavailability) was tied to undertaking some of those studies to be a lawyer, to put himself in better shape to support a family. Being able to do so was important to AH - Philip Hamilton was born Jan 1782, and Angelica would not be born until Sept 1784.

#Alexander Hamilton #Elizabeth Schuyler #Elizabeth S. Hamilton #18th century masculinity #Philip Schuyler #John Laurens #I've always found it interesting that he references Achilles to state his willingness to #throw everything away for a woman (Briseis)

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venus-says · 5 years ago

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Yes! Pretty Cure 5 Episodes 25-49 + Movie

So... this happened.

This second half of Yes! 5 was... boring.

Yeah, it had its moments, but overall? It was pretty lackluster. And, I know Yes isn't the most eventful season, as I mentioned on the first post, this is a character-focused show so the plot won't move much until it needs to, proof of that is the Pinky collecting thing that is never on the front seat and when we see it they are in the final 4 episodes and there's only one missing for them to complete the collection. The thing is that the characters part was pretty... problematic?

I don't know if it's because they knew a second season would be coming that they decided to go very light in character development in order to focus on something else, but this second half lacked a lot in this department. Again, they had great moments, Milk, Karen, and Rin probably got the best development out of the cast, but when we look at everything together we see that there were still things that lacked quite a bit.

Another thing that was weird was the timing for the villains, the pacing in which a new villain would come and an old one would go was very weird, there were villains we spent more time with than we should and there were villains that we didn't get enough time to leave an impression and you can say that the precure stuff is actually the less important part of Yes so this isn't that big of a deal, but it's still an element that is present so I think it's okay for me to complain about it. Also, I kinda dislike how they ended the villains, not the part of sealing Despariah and such, but they were going for a "let's talk our way out of this" approach and they were building up for a good moment but they brought Kawarino back for that moment and it kinda ruined it.

But the thing I hated the most, and that made it almost unbearable for me to watch in this second half, was the whole romance thing. Pick everything I said about it in the first post, multiply that for 10, and that's pretty much how I felt about it in this second half. On the first portion it was bad, but in the second half this gets horrible, they shove you the romance thing in the face in whatever opportunity they have and it's just hideous. They made an entire episode where the conflict was Nozomi being jealous of Coco. They had an episode about marriage and each girl fantasized about their wedding and in Nozomi's fantasy Coco was the freaking groom. Heck, they even made something romantic out of a ghost. This was gross, this is definitely the worst aspect of Yes, and because it was so present in this second half I've lost a lot of my interest for this season.

But not everything was worse, in comparison with the first half, the animation has gotten a lot better, there are still ugly drawings and clunky animation, but they improved a lot. Also, the action got better, the attack spam is still there, but they had more fights, they were more creative which made things more fun. Heck, they made Aqua joust with one of the villains in one episode and that was freaking cool. Also, I like that despite having a group attack they only use it to defeat the generals so it feels like something that is very powerful and special and I think this is something we've been missing in precure lately. So, as I said, not everything was worse.

I think that's all I have for general comments, let's jump down to the characters.

It was hard to follow Nozomi around, everything related to her character ended up being about Coco. She was there for her friends and everything, but still, every decision her character made was centered around Coco, even when she finally chose a dream to pursue, that dream was because of Coco, and it's sad that a character with so much potential was reduced to just a planet orbiting around this freaking mascot.

Rin was a bit complicated, I think they've picked the "precure of passion" thing a little too literal and almost all Rin focused episodes had a romantic thing involved. They never pair her with anyone, which is great, but is kinda sad her whole thing was just that, we didn't get to see her interact with her family, we didn't get to see her playing futsal, the bare development we got for her was while she was with Karen as they started to tighten their bond inside their friendly rivalry, which was awesome, don't get me wrong, but I wish she had gotten more. But I like that she decided to be an accessory/jewelry designer as her dream because it wasn't the most obvious path for her, or for a red cure for that matter.

Poor Urara got a bit faded, I can't remember much of what she has done in this latter half. She remains great and all, and she had a very sweet bonding episode with Komachi near the end, but other than that she didn't do much other than just tag along for most of these episodes. And that's pretty sad, in the first half she was my favorite character but after this part where her light was a bit dimmed I'm afraid she may have lost the position.

Komachi had a similar situation as Nozomi, a lot of what she has done had Nuts influence on it, but I think it worked better with her because her entire goal wasn't to get together with Nuts, it was more like he was always hanging around her rather than she pursuing her. It's still an awful relationship because it's an adult and a kid, and Nuts freaking sucks as a human, but it didn't offend me as much. Also, Komachi got to do more stuff that didn't necessarily have to be involved with Nuts, we got to see more of her friendship with Karen, she grown closer to Urara and now wants to write a play/script/story that she can act, and she got great interactions with Rin because the whole telling scary stories thing. So I think her deal was more balanced.

The best of this second half, at least to me, was Karen. She was freaking awesome, I like that they paired her with Milk, it seemed like a relationship that shouldn't work because I didn't see how they could bond, but it was great, and I like that was something that was escalating slowly and it reached its peak in the episode where Milk gets sick and Karen wants to take care of her. Karen and Rin were also great, as I mentioned. I wasn't really into their rivalry in the first half but they got to work it very well here in this portion of the series, it evolved from just a dumb thing to an "I have a strong personality, just like you, and I have this vision of world about something that I won't let go of it, but I respect you and I know how to hear you and comprehend you points", it's a simple but complex thing that worked very well and that I'm glad they went with this route for these two.

Milk was also a tricky character, she was unbearable whenever she interacted with Nozomi (though she had a few points some times), she was in the mix of fun and obnoxious whenever the thing was about Coco and Nuts, and she was absurdly cute when she and Karen tagged along, so her character was a bit of a roller-coaster. I think by now I like her because I understand she just wants to be useful to the people she likes and it's a feeling I can relate too, but I admit she has her problems and she can be a handful to deal with.

Coco and Nuts shouldn't exist, they don't have an arc, they don't have development, they don't have a purpose, they're there just to push this ridiculous romantic bullshit that we don't need. Heck, Masuko Mika did in a single episode more than these double-sided plushies did in 49 episodes and a movie, she grew, she developed, she was fun, we should've got more of her and less of them. Thinking about them makes me pissed, thinking about how they're basically two different persons in their fairies and human forms because they wanna hammer down the idea that they're attractive makes me want to jump in front of a truck. I freaking hate them. Sorry, not sorry.

I wanted to talk about the villains, but there's pretty much nothing to be said. Like, from Bunbees subordinates that remained, they were already doing extra hour at this point, Bunbee being relocated to a new section but with less power seemed like could be fun but they didn't do much with it, the new staff introduced could've been great, but they were around for such a short amount of time, I think Bloody had only 4? episode where he acted as the villain, that's less than Pissard and Karehan got and they were the level 1 bosses, it was pretty ridiculous. Kawarino was cool, I think he's very scary and very creepy, but they kinda ruined him when they gave him his monster form, that wasn't 50% as intimidating as "human" Kawarino was. And Despariah was a letdown, she seemed so powerful and menacing but then her wish was to be immortal because she wanted to be young forever? I know this could be their attempt to make an allegory to how beauty standards are very oppressive to women, but this was in 2007 and I don't know if they would do that so early on in the franchise.

I was going to wrap things up now, but I managed to watch the movie before the post went out even though I forgot to download it together with the episodes, so here are my thoughts in the movie.

The Mirror Kingdom's Miraculous Adventure!

This is going to be short, I promise. This movie was a mixed bag, I was entertained, but this could've been way better. The concept of the Dark Precure is great, and they look amazing, but I feel like they weren't used to their full potential, first because it takes quite sometime before the five of them attack, and also the fact they keep cutting the battles to show everyone else kinda weakens them because I couldn't really feel how menacing or how their psyche was. Shadow was pretty bland, and the movie fairies were also very whatever, but the plot was very decent if we ignore the miracle light portion. But the thing this movie does that I can't forgive them is that they give all cures a power-up but they don't fight in that form, they just perform their attack, and that was very anti-climatic, especially considering the action for this movie was quite good

Wrapping up, Yes! Pretty Cure 5 is a decent season, it tried to do something different and that's worthy of praise, sadly they took some dumb decisions about the things they wanted to work, It's fun and has good characters but the romance element ruins it a lot, It's probably my least favorite of the four seasons I've covered so far. Thankfully they have another season so they can pull a Max Heart and be incredible so I'm both hopeful and excited for starting GoGo in the next week. What are your thoughts about Yes! 5? Share them with me in the comments. Thank you so much for sticking with me and reading this insanely huge post, I really appreciate it. I'll see you all around. Bye-bye~

#Yes! Pretty Cure 5 #Yes! Precure 5 #precure

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golddaggers · 6 years ago

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baby pictures

pairing: thor x female!reader

warnings: slight mentions of smut and a looooooot of fluff. srsly

a/n: anon, i’m not sure it’s quite like you imagined, i kind of went along with the plot and added some stuff. i still hope you like it. :)

later addition: forgot to add the translation to some old norse words haha. well “mín dróttning” means “my queen” and “sváss” means “beloved one, sweetie”. and dearling is the old spelling of “darling”, it’s not a goof. well. now it’s explained.

word count: 2,1k+

It had been six months since Thor asked you to join him in his stay at Asgard, six months of living in pure bliss. Most of the days you had to force yourself to believe it was really true, that you were there with him after all. Waking up to his warm body wrapped around yours so tightly you sometimes had to elbow him to loosen up a little. Waking up to the light, rhythmic snoring and the smell intoxicating you.

There was no single doubt in your mind that being married to that man is everything you want. To give him children and watch those electric blue eyes shine with excitement. He will be such a great dad when the time comes.

With a smile, you wrap yourself in a silk robe and goes to the dining saloon, finding Frigga eating breakfast by herself, which was not an unusual sight.

Often the two of you would be stuck together when both Odin and Thor were called up elsewhere to battle in the name of Asgard. In the beginning, it wasn't so great to be around her. Frigga certainly wasn't pleased with her son's choice, she thought he could much better than a Midgardian, a plebeian. Sif was her obvious choice, she'd spend hours emphasising how great she was. How beautiful. Strong. Fit for a future king.

It had made you feel so little and meaningless, you'd smile and dismiss yourself to your room. Only inside you allowed yourself to cry, your insides sadly agreeing with her. Yes. Thor would be much better with someone like him, someone fit for a future king. And it wasn't you.

The memories stung, you reminiscing on the night he finally found out what his mother was doing. Thor had grown very mad, cheeks bright red in anger.

"My love, why haven't you told me?"

"I-I didn't think it mattered." Your voice is barely a whisper, tears staining your cheeks. "She's your mother, Thor. She only wishes you the best."

His eyes were narrowed, thick arms crossed tightly against his broad chest. It was a sight that would leave anyone trembling in their knees, scared of this man's wrath. Not you though, you could only think that he looked absurdly cute when he was angry. You just wanted to run your fingers through his hair while kissing that adorable pout, the pink bottom lip puckering forward.

A gentle sigh pushed past your lips as you opened your arms to hug him. If anything, you didn't want him to be angry at his mum. He had an adoration for her she had no wishes to destroy, that was why she hadn't said anything. There were so many more things for him to worry about than the petty way of his mother to treat you.

"I am going to speak to her."

"No, baby, you don't have to. It's nothing. So what if she thinks you should marry someone else? She's in her right to want the best partner for you."

"You are it." Although it was meant to be a quiet whisper, Thor's deep, loud voice certainly made itself heard. "You are the best partner for me. I love you, little bird, and I am not allowing my mother to make you think otherwise."

He was crouched forward, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the thick beard bristling the skin. You shivered when his lips found the soft spot slightly below your ear, nibbling at it lightly. Large hands gripping on your hips, heat radiating from his body to yours. You wanted to stay inside his arms forever.

That night he made love to you with so much tenderness, so much care. Thor has never failed at making you feel wanted, whether it was when he pushed you against the door because he couldn’t wait to be inside you or when he spread your legs wide, tasting you at leisure. It was a mad, blinding love. One you wanted to drown in it.

Despite your request for him to keep this between the two of you, he spoke to his mother the day after, while you were still asleep. To this day you’re not quite sure what he said to her, but she hasn’t been anything other than nice to you ever since, always chatting about Thor’s childhood, how this little blond boy grew up to be a warrior, so strong and fearless. She talked about how overprotective he was with her, always ensuring she was okay. You absolutely adored these conversations.

Once the awkwardness was gone, Frigga turned out to be the loveliest woman. She was kind to you and by her blue eyes, ones that looked exactly like Thor’s, you could tell she was actually being sincere. You’d laugh together, have meals together. Finally, she became the mother-in-law you were expecting when you first arrived.

And she had been for the last four months, making you feel much more at home each day.

“Good morning, dearling.” The tall, beautiful woman said, putting down the cup of tea she was having. “I take you had a good night of sleep?”

“Yes. Yes, I had, thank you.” You smile briefly, rubbing your eyes sleepily, going over to take a seat across her. “And you?”

“I have, yes, thank you for asking.”

There was a moment of silence as you poured fresh coffee into a tall mug. Everything smelt absolutely amazing, your stomach growled, arguing in hunger. You hadn’t realised you were so hungry, normally you didn’t eat much in the morning, just the enough, but today you wanted to swallow all the great dishes in front of you.

“They should be back today.” Frigga expresses, sipping at her tea again, a genuine smile on her lips. “Thor must miss you deeply. He was always dispirited when he came here and had to be without you.“

“He misses you too, all the time we spent at Earth, he would tell me stories about his parents, especially about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, late at night he’d go on about how we would love one another because our personalities were so similar. Then he would laugh, saying that maybe my temper wasn’t just as calm as yours.” A gentle chuckle slips from Frigga, she feels happy to imagine her son being a perfect mama’s boy, gushing about her. “I suppose he wanted the two women in his life to get along.”

“He most certainly did.”

The memory of him makes the two of you exchange an intimate smile, which feels oddly familiar. In the past week that they had been gone, Frigga clung a lot to you, bringing you to her room, braiding your hair… She was honestly treating you like the daughter she haven’t had. Not that you were complaining, you liked the extra care. And being able to tell Thor about his mum would make him happy, so you were even happier.

Breakfast went on and ended in a burst of laughter, Frigga has told you a story from his early childhood, he couldn’t have been more than four when she heard childish screams and ran to find out what was going on. She recalls being so concerned until she saw them, her toddlers inside a bathtub, playing carefree with tiny boats.

In wishes to show you, she took you to a great living room, searching for the pictures that had been taken at the time.

“Look.” She hands you a photograph of said scene. “Loki was always trying to kick his big brother, but seeing them play was so relieving.”

“Oh really? I never thought they had such a complicated relationship, Thor speaks very fondly about his brother.”

“Thor adores Loki, always has, but Loki is… complicated.” As she shrugs, you comprehend it’s a delicate matter. “Never mind that. Look at this one!”

“He was so cute!” There’s another photo in your hands, a pale baby bathing while golden locks fall to his face and he smiles happily. “No wonder he turned out to be so handsome.”

“Although I am his mother, therefore entirely biased, he is a beautiful man.” There’s proud beneath those words, chest slightly inflated. “When you have children of your own, you’ll know what that’s like.”

“Hmm, actually, I was-”

Before you could tell her, two mighty men strolled inside the huge room, their voices loud as they discussed, although you couldn’t quite pin what they were talking about. Your heart thumped upon seeing him, there were minor bruises on his face, but the smile, it had you tingly, blue eyes watching you with adoration. A week was too long for you to be without him.

It didn’t take long for you to feel a pair of strong arms pulling you up from behind to a back hug, his heady scent flooding you completely. After so long, you were at ease. It made you nervous when he took a while to come back home, of course you knew he was strong enough to defeat all of his enemies. It didn’t stop you from being nervous still that one day… Well. No use to dwell on those now, he was home and safe.

“Hello, milady.” Odin takes on of your hands to place a kiss on its back, one of his arms looped around Frigga’s waist. “Hope my Frigga treated you nicely?”

“She is a delight as always, sir.”

“Oh no, no need to call me sir. You’re family.”

Thor smirks against the skin of your neck, where his head is in hiding, long fingers fiddling with your robe's knot. It was such a small sentence but it really got to you. Perhaps it was because of your current state that family suddenly became so important to you. Plus being in an entirely different realm sure made you feel out of place.

"What were my two beautiful women doing?" It was your fiance's turn to ask. "Must say your laughter is certainly satisfactory."

"Your mum showed me some baby pictures of you. You were such a cute child."

"He takes after me." Odin boasts, the four of you laughing in unison. “Why don’t we give them some space, mín dróttnig? Thor has not sealed his lips about this girl in the journey back, he needs time with her.”

“Odin!” Frigga scolds, a blush rising to her pale cheeks. “You are embarrassing our son.”

“Oh no, mother, it is true, I cannot function without my sváss by my side and I have missed her quite a lot.” For a quick moment, you feel him tighten his arm around you. “But what were you showing her?”

“For the cold temperatures here, you sure spent a lot of time naked.” You mocked, giggling at him, noticing the tips of his ears go pink as you look back at him. “It was just you bathing. Loki and you certainly looked cute playing together at four.”

“Mother!”

“And with that, we will leave you to it.”

There’s the reminisce of a chuckle as the elder couple leaves, Thor spinning you to take a proper look at his wife-to-be, taking in all the features he missed when away, the smoothness of your face on his hands and your lips against his. It was a short, desperate kiss, showing all of the longings you both had. When air made itself necessary, you hide your face on his stiff chest, enjoying the warmness it gave you, large hands going up and down your back.

"I see you and my mum are doing well."

You nod.

"I think she wanted to have a daughter instead of boys. One day she took me to her room and spent two hours braiding my hair." Thor snickers. "It's good though. I like spending time with her, makes me miss my mama less."

"Oh, sváss, we'll go to Midgard soon, I have to make sure Asgard is safe."

Reaching up to cup his cheek, you enjoy the prickling his beard causes. It's so sweet how he worries about your wishes even though there's so much in play, so many wars to fight and lives that were dependent on him.

"There's something I want to tell you."

"Yes?" He urges you forward, a crinkle of worry appearing on his forehead. "Is everything okay?"

"I am-" Your lip rests between your teeth as you hesitate. "Oh Thor, how would you feel about having a baby?"

"A baby? Are you with a child?" The booming voice questions, cobalt eyes wide in astonishment.

"Shhhh. I don't want people to know yet."

"Are we becoming grandparents?" Frigga sneaks her head into the room, Odin smiling behind her. The All-Father sensed your different energy. "Why haven't you told me, dearling? We could have started preparing-"

"Mother-" Thor cuts her off. "-You are overwhelming her. She needs peace. Come now, sváss, I shall take you to our chambers."

A loud squeal slips as he lifts you in his arms, your weight disappearing in the magnitude of his thick biceps. You drape your arms on his shoulders, supporting yourself while smiling in pure glee.

"Get my daughter-in-law back, we have planning to do, Thor."

"Later, mother."

And with that, he takes you to your bedroom, your heart filled with happiness. Feeling like your life is exactly where it should be.

tags!

marvel: @frenfics

thor: @lancsnerd @odinson-barnes

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago

Note

i noticed! i even made up a theory about it and incorporated it into some fic. basically, i think that after 4a, when they had that amazing post-heart-incident kiss, there was ~*magic*~ involved. like, every time they touch, they get a little rush of magic from the true love, and they are just completely obsessed with it and it gives them comfort and hope and confidence, and neither of them are sure how it started and neither of them cares or even mentions it. it's just their thing.

Yes, good. Yes. I love this. And, uh….I’ve been sitting on this because like…this somehow ended with words? I have no idea how long this actually is, but once upon a time I wrote a whole thing with Killian still having some magic post-Dark One’ness and I’m always here for writing post-series canon ridiculousness.

“Is it a true love thing?”

Regina does not look impressed. She flashes Emma a put-upon look, as if the answer is so incredibly and absurdly obvious that it doesn’t even deserve the question and well….fair.

“I’m going to assume that’s a yes,” Killian mumbles. He leans against Emma’s side, a hint of domesticity and years of experience and they probably should have done something about this before.

He’s been able to feel her magic forever. Well, at least part of forever, but Emma’s kind of selfish about the whole thing and a little greedy and she’s got more than a few suspicions about how it all started and some of those aren’t all that great.

She’s a little worried it’s her fault.

She’s the one who gave him magic, after all. And took it away.

And all that other stuff and—

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian mutters, already glancing up at her from underneath eyelashes she still finds a little offensive. They’re so long. It’s ridiculous.

“That’s really not fair, at all.”

“And you’re both being very difficult about this,” Regina cuts in, sounding disgusted already, but that may just be because they’ve definitely interrupted her schedule for the day.

It had happened suddenly.

A moment and a flash and the bulb in the street light bursting, a flush of magic that Emma knew, immediately, was not hers.

It made her breath catch and her eyes widen, a flash of terror rattling down her spine. Because she remembers. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t help it. She remembers darkness and words that shattered that tiny bit of tremulous belief she’d been clutching to at the time. She remembers a sword and the way his eyes shifted, an invisible hand around her throat—

“Emma,” he says sharply, twisting around her with hand and hook on either one of his shoulders. She takes a deep breath.

“Not the first time you tried to get my attention, huh?”

Killian shakes his head.

And Regina cannot possibly slump more in her chair.

It’s the same office Emma remembers from the first time she’d set foot in Storybrooke, but there are far more stacks of paperwork everywhere and several boxes piled in a variety of corners. The curtains flutter in the breeze working its way through the open window, a hint of salt air and something else that has only happened since the All-Realm that Emma can’t possibly begin to put a name to.

It’s almost sweet though.

Decidedly magical.

She’s not sure if anyone else has noticed.

“You alright?” Killian asks, and Emma is disappointed to realize she freaked him out. That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing to be freaked out about.

True Love is, presumably involved.

“Are you?”

“Swan, it’s—“

“—Ok, no, no, because—“

“Do I need to be here for this, anymore?” Regina asks archly, and the smell gets stronger. It’s like…cinnamon and sunshine, a warmth to it that Emma swears she can feel moving between her ribs, and—

“Shower gel,” she mumbles.

Regina curses loudly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“How could Killian burst a light bulb on Main Street?”

“You already asked the question,” Regina says, clearly doing her best to keep her voice even. Killian glares at her. “No, no, no, you don’t get to look like that. How long have you been able to feel your wife’s magic? And why didn’t you say anything?”

“That’s not really any of your business, your majesty,” he drawls, arm moving back around Emma’s middle in a way that’s equal parts possessive and the nicest part of her day. Every day.

For, like, years.

He’s still very determined to occupy the same few inches she is.

“Fair,” Regina concedes with a wave of both hands and her phone is gong to explode. They definitely messed up that meeting with Camelot. “But, uh—well, we probably could have expected this if I had known that.”

Emma narrows her eyes at that. “How do you figure?”

“Was True Love not enough of an explanation?”

“Try again.”

Regina clicks her tongue, but she looks almost understanding. That’s got to be a step in the right direction. “Ok, so, once upon a time—“

“—Bloody hell,” Killian grumbles.

“That was almost funny!”

“Do you not have a meeting we’re ruining for you?”

“I really cannot talk to Guinevere about her border issues anymore.”

“Oh, shit isn’t that an us thing too?” Emma asks, Regina humming in agreement and a complete lack of surprise that that’s the follow up question. “Did I know about that?”

“Mulan is taking care of it,” Killian answers, and they’re getting distracted by bureaucracy. His arm hasn’t moved. If anything, his fingers are fluttering, tracing absent-minded patterns on the curve of Emma’s hip and the slight bit of skin that appears when her shirt rides up just the right way. She doesn’t remember curling into his side like this.

Regina looks unsurprised.

“I believe she and Elsa had something to do with Lancelot,” she continues. “There was definitely an email.”

Emma makes a noise, possibly an agreement, but more likely an excuse. “I’ve been kind of distracted.”

“You going to let me explain why I think this is happening, now?”

“You’re certainly taking your time,” Killian grumbles, and Emma can hear his smile when Regina makes a face at him.

“You two have always had True Love. That’s how True Love works. It didn’t just appear with—was there ever a kiss? Rainbows and all that?”

Another noise, not quite frustration because Emma’s pretty certain they deserved a goddamn kiss, but they did get several other versions and—“Killian can speak Greek,” she says, like that’s an explanation. “And you’re face is going to get stuck like that, Regain.”

“Well, you’re not making any sense,” she argues. “Anyway. You were in love. Making eyes. Ignoring the boundaries of personal space.”

Killian’s arm tightens.

“It was always there, Emma,” Regina continues. “Growing, meaning more. And then you gave the pirate magic. A magic you both shared. And it wasn’t good, but you had already shared a different kind of magic.”

“And you think that…what?” Emma asks. “Stuck?”

Regina shrugs. That’s not encouraging. “I think that’s my most educated guess. Good has a way of latching on and clinging.”

“You need a bit more positivity to those words, there,” Killian says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds—God, Emma cannot figure out where that smell is coming from.

And she’s an idiot.

“Oh, I’m an idiot,” she mutters, Regina widening her eyes and Killian narrowing his and it makes so much sense. “Ok, ok, so—this is going to be shitty, but do you remember after all that stuff with David’s dad and you had the dream catcher and—“

“—Bloody hell,” Killian gasps.

Regina is just going to slide on the floor at some point. “Will someone tell me what you’re talking about?”

“I was trying to get rid of my memories,” Killian answers, not taking his eyes away from Emma. “But I—I didn’t even think about that, love. It just…magic is instinctual, isn’t it?”

“Mine’s always been.”

“Not necessarily a good thing,” Regina grumbles. “Ok, ok, back track for a second. You’ve had instances of magic before? I hate to repeat myself, but why was that not made more obvious?”

“I didn’t even think of it as magic. It was just…I was desperate and—“

“—Emotional?”

“Terrified,” Killian corrects. “And, then today it was…”

“Hope’s been sick,” Emma whispers, realization clattering around her brain and making her vision a little spotty and her might actually be exploding. Right there. It will inevitably ruin Regina’s drapes. “We’ve been worried about it and I’m—then we got called to some disaster in Wonderland and someone called my name. It wasn’t…there wasn’t really a threat, but—“

“—He was worried,” Regina finishes, half a smile and a possibly a bit of understanding because she’s had her own True Love too and Emma nods.

It’s more confident.

That smell isn’t a smell. It’s magic. Their magic. Collectively. And their lives.

Together.

God, she’s a sap now.

“Well, that’s something isn’t it,” Regina muses. Her smile widens and her phone lights up again, footsteps coming down the hall because they’ve ruined the whole schedule, but True Love conquers all and Henry’s already talking by the time he twists around the open door frame.

“Hey,” he says. He’s got more books in his hands. “Were you guys supposed to be here? I thought that was a Mulan thing. There was an email.”

“So we heard,” Emma murmurs. Killian isn’t more than half a step behind her when she moves, pressing a kiss to Henry’s forehead and he’s grown, he’s a grown man with his own family and his own kid, but he’s still her kid, or their kid and the magic in her flutters in something that may be actual joy. “Regina, we’re not going to deal with the Wonderland nonsense.”

Regina laughs. Unexpected. Nice. “Good. You know, sometimes, True Love is the simplest answer to all of this. Most powerful magic and all that.”

“Articulate.”

“I’ve got a lot of meetings to deal with.”

Emma scoffs, but it’s a bit of relief too and she doesn’t necessarily mean to lean into the hook pressing into her back. Whatever. True Love.

Seriously, whatever.

And she does have every intention of asking more questions, has the dim hope of a quiet conversation and, possibly, fewer clothes than normal, but then the day seems to get away from her and the day is the night and Hope is asleep and Emma may never get used to Killian Jones, fearsome pirate and her True Love, sitting in bed with a book and a t-shirt on.

“What happened to your hair?” she asks, padding back into the room with the taste of toothpaste lingering on her tongue.

Killian doesn’t look away from his book, but his lips definitely twitch. This might be flirting. Emma hopes it’s flirting. She’s got a lot of True Love, magic-type questions. “Aye,” he murmurs, “the little sea monster’s gotten very grabby in the last few days.”

“I think that’s a sign she may like you.”

“Is it, then?”

“Was that not in any of the books?”

That gets him to look up. Emma beams, the tip of her tongue pressing into the corner of her teeth. Definitely flirting. Killian chuckles under his breath, tossing the book on the nightstand and shifting enough that the blankets move with him and the edge of his t-shirt drifts up slightly and—

“Oh, you’re doing that on purpose,” Emma accuses.

“That’s an awfully certain type of suggestion, Swan.”

“And that’s not a disagreement.”

“Ah, well, it’s not wise to automatically agree with the monarchy, you know. There, at the very least, needs to be some banter. Easier to make a deal that way.”

She rolls her eyes, but the butterflies in her stomach aren’t just butterflies and his expression changes again. “Did you feel that?”

“Almost always, love,” he says, voice dropping slightly and they’ve moved, rather abruptly, out of flirting. Straight into feeling. And meaning.

And magic.

Of the unexpected variety.

“You think that runs both ways?”

Killian hums, brows pulling low. The mattress does not seem to appreciate how Emma flops on it, drawing a groan out of her and a laugh out of him and—“God, it’s like a stethoscope, sometimes!”

“You’re speaking in tongues, darling.”

She clicks her tongue, flicking her fingers on his stomach, but that only ends with his fingers wrapped around her wrist and his lips on her knuckles and his hook is freezing. “A stethoscope,” Emma repeats. “Like a doctor. Has a stethoscope and it’s freezing and you are—“

“—Freezing?”

“Not in a way that should be anything except a suggestion to take your shirt off.”

Killian’s laugh rattles out of him, lips moving to the top of Emma’s hair and her temple. He doesn’t move his hook. Or take his shirt off. They’ll get there eventually. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.

God, she’s seriously the biggest sap.

“What I’m saying,” Emma starts, burrowing further into his side and his skin is warm. “Is that…if you can feel my magic, maybe that’s a two way street. You know, like, the magical river of True Love.”

“You are genuinely this realm’s worst storyteller, Swan.”

“Ok, well, there’s no need to be insulting.”

Another laugh, but this one is a little more nervous and a hint more cautious and Emma gets that. Totally. Completely. She wants it to worth both ways.

“I know it’s not normal,” she whispers, shaking her head when Killian makes some kind of noise to interrupt. “No, no, I mean—none of our life is normal, but this is exceptionally not normal and I still sometimes wonder if this is all a dream and I’m just—“ She takes a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering and teeth chewing on her lower lip. That makes the next few words more difficult to say. “Impossibly lucky,” Emma mumbles. “With you. And our kids. And this life and I don’t…I don’t want you to think that some stupid True Love thing would ever change any of that. You don’t ever have to cast a spell or do anything, but I guess I just wondered if I could…”

“Feel what I feel?” Killian finishes.

She is not surprised he gets it too.

Perfectly.

Completely.

No matter what.

Emma shrugs. “You don’t have to.”

“There’s no harm in trying, aye?” Killian asks lightly, fingers trailing over the curve of Emma’s elbow. He leaves goosebumps in his wake, a fluttering under her skin that’s been happening for years and isn’t really surprising anymore, something more wonderful and dependable and an even better word than that.

Emma is far too busy melting, though. Straight into the mattress. They need a new mattress anyway. This one shouldn’t creak like it does.

And it takes her a moment – far too much feeling and memories and she’d never felt anything when they were both Dark. She assumes that’s part of the deal. So, this catches her off guard, even after asking for it, but that may be because her eyes have closed again and her she’s not really breathing, but she can hear Killian’s soft exhale and it’s not exactly light.

It’s like…a spark, pulsing in the minimal amount of air between the tips of his finger and the top of her skin, a warmth that seeps into Emma and settles in her core, lights her from the inside out and leaves her own magic roaring in her ears.

“Shit,” she breathes, working another low laugh out of Killian.

“Gods, but you are eloquent.”

“Is that what you feel?”

“Depends on your answer, I suppose, Swan.”

“Like…I just—“ Emma shakes her head, trying to find the words and she’s only a little disappointed that she can’t. “I don’t know, like I swallowed the sun or something. Oh, oh, you know the beach?”

“I am familiar with the beach, yes.”

She sticks her tongue out, but the spark gets stronger and Killian’s lips land on hers with something bordering dangerously close to bruising determination. “I’m serious,” Emma grumbles, tugging on the front of his shirt. “When I was a kid, I was at this house once and—they took us to the beach one day. I think it was mostly so they didn’t have to turn the AC on, but…well, they took us to the beach and it was the first time I’d really seen the ocean and the sun was so—“ Her breath catches, and it isn’t easy to see Killian’s smile when she’s doing her best not to cry.

“It was so warm. And everything smelled like sunshine and sunscreen after. A heat that just kind of…hung in the air. It almost made that van thing they took us in bearable. I feel asleep. I never did that, usually, was always way too paranoid that if I didn’t watch exactly where I was going, they’d ship me somewhere else, but I was so comfortable and so warm and—“ There are tears on her cheeks. “This kind of feels like that.”

He kisses her again.

Bruising. Determined. True Love. And then some.

“I love you,” Killian mumbles, not bothering to pull his lips away from hers and the magic is gone, but she knows it was there and may continue to be there and—“I was worried it wouldn’t be…good,” he adds. “That it was…every time it’s kind of flared, I suppose, it’s been because something has been wrong. Us or the lass, but this is the first time I’ve been able to…focus like that.”

“Damn, that’s romantic.”

“I suppose those are the qualifications of True Love.”

Emma lets out a watery laugh, blinking away more tears. Killian’s thumb does a good job of helping with that. “Yeah, probably,” she agrees. “I love you too.”

“Good. And I’ve got one more theory.”

“About?”

“Regina mentioned that True Love can exist before the participants might be aware of it,” Killian says slowly, and Emma’s always relished that very particular tone of voice. When she can hear him thinking and pondering and it’s usually about her and them and she’s kind of greedy with it. “Well, I was thinking about that before. And you did actually hold my heart in your hand at one point, love.”

Emma blinks. And opens her mouth. And closes it. She blinks again. And her jaw drops. Because she’s gasping. And understanding.

“Oh shit,” she mumbles, another soft laugh and the press of his thumb on her cheek. “I mean—yeah, ok.”

“What is it you’re agreeing to, exactly?”

“Babe, this was your theory! And I’m agreeing to being, you know…I was pretty in love with you at that point. Probably pretty magical too.”

Something about the sun, again.

Killian moves or Emma moves or whatever, more lips and roaming hands, searing touches and something that sounds like several shirt threads ripping. And it’s good and great and True Love, Emma’s hand drifting towards his chest like there are magnets or the exchange of magic.

“You do that a lot, you know,” Killian murmurs later, the jut of his chin pressing into the top of her head and Emma is sure she’s never been this comfortable in her life.

“What?”

“Like you’re making sure it’s still there or something.”

“That was a long time ago,” she mumbles, but she knows he’s right and she absolutely is. Every time. Killian hums, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Oh, don’t sound so smug about it.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I—I mean that totally happens, but. Ok. Is that a bad thing?”

He slides down, twisting to stare at her and there’s so much there. Too much. Not enough. Everything. “No, love,” he promises. “It’s not.”

There are more kisses. And a shout from the other end of the hall - a shrill daddy and mommy and neither one of them get much sleep, but there are still smiles on their faces the next morning, bags under their eyes and the smell of coffee in the air and Emma feels the spark under her skin as soon as Killian’s fingers graze hers.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #laura writes canon #this is only vaguely ridiculous #ohmightydevviepuu #laura rambles

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

The Anti-Pumpkin Brigade (1/2)

Emma has a plan. Or, rather, a schedule. And she's not following either. Not for lack of trying, but before she can get to either one she has to contend with mandatory couple costumes and her kid tucked away in some corner and avoiding pumpkin at all costs.

Killian has a plan. Or, at least, part of a plan. And a list that seems to grow every single day. But before he can get to either one of those things he has to stand under bright lights and ignore how much foundation Henry's wearing and refuse to bake with pumpkin.

Or: A Halloween!themed Out of the Frying Pan almost sequel

Rating: T because who are these characters if they’re not, occasionally, swearing and making out? AN: Story time! About a month ago @laurnorder texted me and was like...you know what you should do, you should write Halloween themed Out of the Frying Pan and I was like...yes, I should do exactly that. So that’s what this is. There’ll be a second part on Tuesday because I don’t know how to write short stories. Obviously Lauren made this better by reading it and @distant-rose is the best in-writing flailer around. Also hanging out on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

There was nowhere to walk.

And she was late.

Nearly half an hour and she’d blame traffic, which really wasn’t much of an excuse because the Battery Tunnel was barely a tunnel at rush hour, just some kind of glorified parking garage that had, at least, allowed her to change into her costume without risk of injury.

The restaurant was packed – tables covered in candy and drinks and people everywhere and Emma wondered how they knew so many people. Or, rather, how Mary Margaret and Ariel knew so many people.

Because Mary Margaret and Ariel seemed to know the entire population of Manhattan. Or maybe Brooklyn. Since that’s where they were.

There were, what felt like, several million people invited to this party.

And all inside the Jolly Roger, the second one because, as Mary Margaret put it, there’s more square footage there and the decoration options are just, you know, endless, and Killian had quirked an eyebrow at Emma and there wasn’t really anything any of them could do about it.

It was tradition.

Not to mention the combined Halloween-party-planning power of Mary Margaret and Ariel was just questionably strong at this point.

The party was mandatory and the smile was mandatory and The Jolly 2.0 was closed for the night and Henry was probably going to eat a questionable amount of candy.

Emma was wearing a costume.

Costumes were, still, mandatory.

“You look a little overwhelmed, love,” Killian said, an arm snaking its way around Emma’s waist and, well, maybe she did and maybe she took her first real deep breath of the night when she leaned back against him.

“God, you scared me to death,” she muttered and Killian might have pressed a kiss to her shoulder, but she couldn’t really think straight when his hand did whatever it was doing.

“Happy Halloween or something.” “That’s the spirit. If you knock this crown off my head, Mary Margaret will kill you.” “I would put my money on Ari.” “Ah, that’s probably right.”

He chuckled against her, fingers tracing absentmindedly against her hip and Emma tried to remember that whole breathing thing. “How’d it go?” Killian asked, mumbling the words against her neck and he probably had hair in his face.

There were people everywhere.

He didn’t seem to mind.

“Eh.”

“Not an answer, Swan.”

“Demanding. Bordering somewhere close to spookily bitter.”

“Curious,” he corrected, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice and he still hadn’t moved his head. “And I’ve been here for what's felt like several days. I think I’m also allowed a little bit of bitterness in between making sure we don’t break several dozen fire codes.” “How could you do that? Isn’t there just...like, one?” “I honestly have no idea,” Killian muttered, tugging her a bit closer to his front and Emma didn’t argue, letting her shoes slide across the floor until she was certain she could feel every inch of him against her. “Ask Locksley if you’re curious. I bet he’d know.”

“I’m too exhausted for any of that,” Emma admitted, eyes falling shut like they’d just given up and didn’t care about the party or the people or the inevitable string of questions she’d get from most of those people.

And none of them would be about the new cookbook – sitting at No. 1 on The New York Times Best-Seller list after a few only few days on the shelves, thank you very much – or how she’d hit her mark perfectly every time she had a mark to hit that afternoon.

While wearing a crown.

It was, after all, a theme episode.

No, the questions would be about everything else, the plans they’d only kind of discussed when they’d had two seconds to even consider any of it.

They should pick a date.

Mary Margaret kept mentioning that. And so did Ariel. And Ruby. And Regina. And Zelena, jeez, because being some kind of celebrity chef couple clearly meant a ratings boost the likes this network has never seen and Emma was fairly certain Killian was going to punch something when she told him that.

Killian must have smiled, or possibly laughed again because Emma could feel something that maybe was his lips moving against her neck again. “When did you change?” he asked softly, tapping one finger in some sort of unspoken suggestion to turn around.

She did.

And, shit, that wasn’t even fair.

Her reaction must have shown on her face because Killian’s eyebrows leapt up his forehead and that only made his eyes wider and even more blue and that was dumb. All of those things were dumb.

Halloween was dumb.

That was a lie.

Halloween in Brooklyn was a slightly tiring inconvenience at best and she hadn’t even done much more than sit in the backseat of a town car Regina absolutely set up and waited until the driver said ok, mascara now when they moved over the occasional bit of smooth road. There were a questionable number of potholes and cobblestones in Gowanus.

Halloween in Brooklyn, however, also meant that Killian Jones was standing in front of her in full, and mandatory, costume and, because, Mary Margaret was, well, Mary Margaret, that costume matched Emma’s.

“Huh,” Emma breathed, wincing slightly when she realized what she’d done.

Killian smiled. No, Emma’s barely functioning subconscious pointed out, he smirked at her, one side of his mouth tugging up and something flashing in his gaze and the real problem with Halloween in Brooklyn, she realized, was that there was no above-restaurant apartment to make out with her boyfriend in.

Fiancé.

To make out with her fiancé in.

Maybe she wouldn’t mind those sure-to-be asked questions quite so much.

“Swan,” Killian said, tapping his finger again and he hadn’t actually moved his hand. She was still standing there – staring at him. “Still with me, love?” “Why do you look so good?” Emma asked. God, she’d half shouted the question in his face like it was an accusation and maybe it was and that seemed like a bad starting point for what she was trying to accomplish that night.

She had a plan.

Or half of a plan.

Like, at least, a quarter of a plan. Maybe two-eighths at worst. No, wait, that was a quarter too. They’d just done fractions with Roland, like, four days before. She should remember these things.

But Killian had made onion rings and Will kept trying to teach Henry how to scoop ice cream so he could make his own floats and, at some point, there seemed to just be a decision that Henry could go behind the bar and that left Emma’s heart beating a bit faster than normal.

And her fiancé looked unfairly good in his costume.

Killian laughed, the crinkles around those absurdly blue eyes doing something else to Emma’s heart and all her backseat makeup work was going to be for naught if they just started making out in the middle of the restaurant.

She didn’t really care about that.

“You’re doing that thing with your face again, love,” Killian said, pulling his hand away from her waist long enough to draw a quiet whine out of her and tap lightly on her jaw, like that would prove his point.

Emma scowled and he laughed again, ducking his head and kissing right where his fingers had been. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she grumbled, but it sounded like the fairly weak argument it absolutely was. “Did you change here?” “That’s not how this works. I asked two questions already. You don’t get to follow up until I’ve gotten, at least, one answer.” “I really can’t remember the question.” “That distracted by how good I look in this costume, huh?” “That was a gut reaction, don’t let it go to your head.” “Far too late,” Killian grinned. “C’mon, Swan. How’d today go, really?” She probably shouldn’t still be so goddamn charmed by all of it, but she was having a hard time putting together coherent thoughts, so all things considered, swooning slightly, again, always, indefinitely, almost made sense.

And that vest was probably going to look really good on their floor later that night.

God.

“It was good,” Emma said, an obvious distraction in her voice that might not have had anything to do with the vest or how easily she could have pushed her fingers through his hair and tugged him towards her and, possibly, offended an entire restaurant with their public displays of affection.

“You sound very certain.” “You sound very sarcastic.” Killian shrugged, running his hand up her side and bunching up the fabric of her dress in the process. “We should have gone home,” he said softly and the actual, genuine concern in his voice didn’t surprise Emma, but her heart was possibly exploding.

“We couldn’t do that. You had to bake.” “I didn’t really bake that much,” he muttered. “There’s more candy here than any other food and just, like, a questionable amount of pumpkin-flavored stuff,, but Ariel had some kind of decorating scheme that had to be executed perfectly or, you know, the world was going to end. Plus, you know, I’ve got to do all that stuff tomorrow.”

“Ah, there’s the sarcasm again. You’re really anti-pumpkin, aren’t you?” “There was no sarcasm, Swan and I am anti anything that is a food stereotype. There’s just...way too much pumpkin in the world.”

“It’s blowing my mind that you have this many feelings about pumpkin. You’ll probably have to use that tomorrow.” “I refuse to use pumpkin tomorrow. I am just pointing out my schedule. To you, person who might be potentially interested in where I’m going to be tomorrow.” “I know where you’re going to be tomorrow,” Emma promised. “It’s all Henry’s been talking about for the last week. I think that’s why he wanted to come tonight. So he could show you off in front of his friends.” She didn’t even have to look up to see that the tips of his ears had gone red, but she was a bit surprised to see his lips pressed together tightly, like he was trying to stop himself from saying something and if she weren’t so goddamn exhausted, Emma probably would have asked about it. She was too busy trying not to fall over.

“You think?” Killian asked after a few more moments and it was loud in the restaurant, all those people and all that sugar and they should probably move. They had family members to acknowledge and vaguely matching costumes to show off, just to prove they were actually wearing them.

Emma’s crown was giving her headache.

“Do I think what?” Emma mumbled. It was difficult to keep up with the conversation, particularly when her mind was only firing on half speed and most of that speed seemed focused on directing the conversation to her reduced fraction of a plan.

“That he’s showing off,” Killian answered, voice still quiet enough that she could barely hear it over the din of the restaurant.

Emma pulled back and his eyebrows weren’t back to their biologically determined position, pulled low until there was a slight crinkle in between them that she swore she could feel in the very center of her and she licked her lips before she answered.

“I mean, obviously,” Emma said. Except the words didn’t come out as sure as she wanted them to, far too whisper-y and that wasn’t even really a word, but Killian looked so goddamn determined and earnest and maybe the plan was going better than she thought it was.

“You guys are totally going to win,” she continued, resting her palms flat against that stupid, offensive, green vest. No, green wasn’t the right color. God, it, like, accentuated his eyes or something. “What color is this?”

Killian blinked, the crinkle in between his eyes getting deeper or something skin couldn’t actually do. “This is a very confusing conversation.” “I haven’t had any coffee today.” “We could fix that.” Emma hummed, nodding and glancing slowly towards the kitchen, fairly certain it was, somehow, even louder there and that was probably Eric having some kind of mental breakdown about whatever menu Ariel and Mary Margaret had decided on.

“Yeah, ok, but seriously, what color is this?” she pressed, tugging lightly on the front of the vest. That was a mistake. It just pulled tighter, like that was a thing that was even possible, and Killian leaned closer to her out of instinct.

Maybe. Or maybe he was just trying to ensure Emma didn’t rip the vest. She wasn’t going to argue particulars when he was just a few inches away from her, her knees not working quite as well anymore and she pressed up on her toes before she thought about how she was going to stay upright.

It didn’t matter – he moved his arm back around her waist.

He tilted his head slightly, careful not to knock her crown on the floor and, eventually, she’d probably thank him for that. Maybe after the vest landed on a floor that also included a bed and didn’t require everyone they knew to be a few feet away.

They swayed slightly and Emma’s eyes closed again, but it wasn’t exhaustion, it was like she was trying to take in the moment or something equally sentimental and one hand was still holding onto the goddamn vest when her other fingers found the hair at the nape of Killian’s neck and he made some absurd noise she’d absolutely think about for a questionable amount of time.

Emma sighed or just exhaled or maybe resettled into the feel of him next to her and his lips against hers and the way his fingers always seemed to trace out the same semicircle at the bottom of her spine whenever they seemed up to end up this way.

They did that a lot.

They were were probably scarring Henry for life.

That didn’t bode well for her plan.

“You’re thinking,” Killian muttered, barely moving away from her lips and she could almost feel the letters lingering on her mouth.

“That’s stupid.” “They’re your thoughts, love.” “Why aren’t we still making out?” He pulled back slightly, staring at her incredulously and that wasn’t really what Emma meant to say. She bit her lip tightly, a fresh wave of something that wasn’t quite nerves – hadn’t been nerves in more than a year and certainly not since the ring had made an appearance – but might have just been want or need or something they absolutely couldn’t act on in the middle of a restaurant.

He was frustratingly good looking.

“I honestly have no answer for that,” Killian said and his expression shifted slightly, turning into something that looked a bit more like pride and maybe matched up with the want that Emma could practically feel simmering in the pit of her stomach.

That was almost a cooking pun.

It was gross.

Emma laughed, but it came out more as a scoff and her eyes were starting to droop again. They’d filmed early – in hair and makeup by seven and out of the studio by one and there’d been an interview that Emma was fairly certain she’d answered in English and then some signing thing at the Barnes & Noble on Fifth Ave and maybe she should try and challenge Henry to a candy-eating challenge if only to give herself some kind of sugar rush.

That was a bad plan.

She’d just end up crashing in the middle of the kitchen or at one of the fifty tables pushed in a brand-new pattern that both Ariel and Mary Margaret had probably thought about since the last Halloween party and Killian was still staring at her like he was worried her knees were just going to give out at some point.

They might.

If she got through her plan.

“Emma,” he said and her gaze must have gone cloudy because his had turned sharper, eyes narrowing again and mouth slanted somewhere between concern and chastising. She really just wanted him to kiss her. Again. Anywhere that was not The Jolly Roger. Where her kid was….somewhere, probably bragging to a whole group of friends how he was going to be on TV the next day.

“The line was really long,” she mumbled, dropping her head onto his chest and she was going to trip over her dress at some point. “And that’s a good thing, I know it’s a good thing, so it’s not like I’m complaining, really, but, you know…” “What?” “I kind of wanted to be here.” He stiffened slightly and Emma wondered what she said, but there wasn’t a chance to ask or answer any more of the questions she’d pointedly ignored or, she was most frustrated to realize, kiss her fiancé.

She should probably stop thinking of Killian like that, it felt decidedly possessive in some kind of middle school way, like she’d just started dating the guy she’d been shooting furtive glances in home room and it was a very convoluted metaphor, but she couldn’t stop lingering at labels.

Or staring at her ring.

God, she wanted to plan things.

She just didn’t want to answer questions.

“Yeah?” Killian asked and Emma got the distinct impression they were both dancing around something. They weren’t moving.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I mean...it’s, well, maybe not 2.0, because it is kind of, you know, out here, but in the kitchen in general and…” She should have talked faster.

There shouldn’t have been so much stuttering involved and she wasn’t scared of some sort of indefinite type of life plan, wanted in some sort of almost questionably intent way, but he’d asked Henry to help when Regina had announced you’re competing on Halloween Wars, there’s no room for argument, pick an assistant because they’re playing by different rules now.

He’d tried to argue anyway.

He stopped when he realized Henry was thrilled. Ecstatic. Over the moon. Actually jumping up and down – drawing the ire of Will behind the bar when he nearly kicked a bottle of what was promised to be the fancy scotch , but Henry had only mumbled a quick apology and then started jumping again and there hadn’t been a repeat since the dad incident, but Emma was fairly sure that moment was pretty damn close.

Maybe that was when she decided on the plan.

No, it was way before then. It was way before the ring and even before the dad incident, some tiny bit of her brain that had latched onto the hope and the idea and the maybe that she desperately wanted to be a certainty.

Emma was way too tired for any of this.

And there was a kid rambling next to her.

“Deep breaths,” Killian said, moving his right hand to ruffle Henry’s hair and earning a noise in response that was becoming far too familiar to both of them, something in between a grumble and inching closer to a moan every single day. “You’ve got enunciate if you’re going to talk.” “I am enunciating,” Henry argued. He widened his eyes in a move that was so Killian, Emma had to lock her knees to stop herself from just collapsing into a heap of feelings and a distinct lack of sleep and a different Rapunzel costume because Ruby bet her she wouldn’t change that year. “And you guys were, you know...whatever.” Killian laughed again, that tension that had been lingering in the arm still wrapped around Emma’s waist loosening slightly when he nodded seriously, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Henry made the sound again.

“What are you not enunciating, kid?” Emma asked, reaching forward to fix his hair. And there was the noise hat trick. “Jeez, come on, you can’t make that face when all your friends are in the corner and how many candy bars have you had already?” “None.” “Henry.” “No, seriously, Mom, like, not one. I’ve been…” He cut himself off, face flushing nearly as red as Ariel’s hair when his eyes dropped to his shoes, suddenly preoccupied with digging a heel into the floor Emma was sure she was half a second away from collapsing on top of.

And it hit her suddenly – Killian’s quick intake of air, his attempts to make the noise sound like anything except the laugh it was, appreciated, but entirely successful, aiding in the realization – her jaw dropping and Henry’s face, somehow, getting even redder.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbled, head snapping between her, suddenly, very old kid and a fiancé she couldn’t seem to stop making out with in public places and her eyes were probably just going to fall out at some point. “If I say deep breaths again, but direct it towards you, that probably comes off as sarcastic still, right?” Killian asked, the smile turning back into a smirk.

Emma rolled her eyes, shoulders sagging and she hadn’t been holding her breath. She was desperately trying to breathe. She couldn’t understand how she was capable of exhaling that dramatically.

Henry looked like he was trying to teleport anywhere else in the entire world.

“Yeah, probably,” Emma muttered, but she wasn’t frustrated so much as slightly stunned and she probably should have known.

“Can we talk about, literally, anything else?” Henry begged. He hadn’t actually looked at them again, still trying to bore a hole into the floor with his eyes or, possibly, the heel of his shoe. “Like...anything. At all. Didn’t you have stuff to talk about, Mom?” It was her turn to blush – or possibly glare at her son. Emma inhaled sharply, trying to pull back all that previously sighed-out oxygen back in through her nose and Henry seemed to realize his mistake immediately.

“Oh sorry,” he mumbled, trying to stuff his hands into his pockets and rolling his eyes when he remembered he was also wearing a required Halloween costume. It probably matched with the girl he’d been making out with in that corner.

God.

“It’s fine, Henry,” Emma promised, doing her best to ignore Killian’s curious glance on the side of her head.

She’d asked Henry – of course she’d asked Henry – mentioned the idea of the idea of one quarter of a maybe-plan and hadn’t been surprised to see him start jumping again, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet as the smile on his face nearly took over all his other features.

He’d shouted yeah, yeah, yeah several times in quick succession and then launched himself at Emma, wrapping his arms around her waist and nearly knocking her into the couch.

“Somehow I feel like I’m missing something important,” Killian said, but the words seemed to get caught in Emma’s hair and she tried to focus on how he hadn’t actually moved away from her. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, left hand moving up and down her back until it almost felt like a metronome, making it just a bit easier to breathe even when the goddamn Monster Mash started blaring over speakers someone must have rented.

“It’s fine,” Emma repeated. Killian didn’t look convinced. “Did they...um, where did we get speakers from?” She hadn’t meant for the question to come out so cautiously, the we there almost hanging in the air like some kind of flashing neon sign proclaiming a lack of wedding date and a restaurant that wasn’t really hers.

She did, however, spend most of the New York Wine and Food festival in the Jolly tent, building, thing , selling barbeque sauce and making sure there was double the stock than there’d been the year before because Robin was right – Killian never brought enough.

She’d helped make it, memories of that night sitting at the forefront of her mind for the last week, Henry perched on a stool he’d dragged in from the bar as he and Roland tried to figure out multiplying fractions and reported back on each taste-testing.

They’d ended up with more sauce on their faces than they probably should have and Regina had to throw away Roland’s shirt, the school uniform sacrificed to the sauce gods. Or so Killian told her when she asked what the hell is going on here as soon as she walked into the kitchen.

Roland took a picture.

They were...two-thirds of the way there, Emma was sure. She hoped. She wanted.

She’d never actually been behind the bar.

Killian, however, didn’t miss a beat, flashing a smile her direction and his hand didn’t still once. “Locksley knows a guy who knows a guy who owns some kind of actual, honest to God studio and here we are, blasting radio hits of the 70s.” “That’s oddly specific.” He shrugged and Emma got that feeling again – missing something or not hearing all the words in the sentence. And Henry was staring at Killian now, a look of barely contained disbelief on his face.

“Are we all having the same conversation?” Emma asked, having to shout a bit over the sound of the music and it was definitely on repeat. “God, aren’t there other Halloween songs?” “The entire soundtrack to Nightmare Before Christmas,” Henry suggested. It was a, nearly valiant, attempt at changing the subject.

Killian kept looking over Henry’s shoulder.

“M’s wouldn’t be into that,” Emma reasoned. “It’s kind of, you know, dark for her.” Henry hummed in agreement, eyes darting back towards Killian and the look changed from disbelief to something that felt a bit more like determination and expectations. “For real?” he asked. “You guys were all…” “So were you,” Killian said.

Henry blushed again. “That’s not even...whatever,” he stammered, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “I thought we were going to do this.” “Do what?” Emma asked, but she didn’t get a response or even an immediate acknowledgement that she’d done much more than just continued to stand there. Henry just kept staring expectantly at Killian who, in turn, did that wide eye thing that they, apparently, both shared now and Emma tried not to actually stamp her foot in frustration.

She didn’t get a chance.

Again.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret shouted, pushing through the crowd that seemed to be growing every minute, and wearing her own costume. And maybe Emma had spoken too soon about The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“What are you wearing?” she asked, gaze tracing over the black dress and high collar and Mary Margaret must have gotten that custom made. “God, who are you supposed to be?” Mary Margaret clicked her tongue, disappointment flashing across her face and Emma would blame the exhaustion for that. Or her general confusion at whatever conversation she wasn’t a part of.

Henry was still staring at Killian.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said, nodding slowly in an understanding that Emma was both jealous of and frustrated with. “Are congratulations in order, then?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and the smile fell off Mary Margaret’s face so quickly it might have actually succeeded at that teleporting Henry was trying to accomplish earlier. “M&M’s,” he hissed, shaking his head deftly and Mary Margaret let out something that might have actually been a squeak.

Killian’s hand stopped moving.

“Did you know this music was, apparently, a radio hit of the 1970s?” Emma asked and her attempts at controlling the conversation were just pitiful at this point. “And also, where is the candy? I would like...just a questionable amount of candy.” Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes, glancing quickly at Killian who appeared to be pleading silently for her to stop asking questions and, maybe, for the first time in her life, she agreed. Kind of.

“Have you talked to Regina yet?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma’s eyes were going to get stuck facing the wrong way if she kept rolling her eyes.

Happy Halloween or something.

It wasn’t even Halloween – it was a week before Halloween, but the sentiment, she hoped, was the same.

She really hoped her eyes didn’t get stuck mid-roll.

“Where is the candy, Mary Margaret?” Emma countered, raising her voice again when Henry let out a whoop as the music, finally, changed. Goddamn Nightmare Before Christmas. “Jeez,” she mumbled. “Are we just going to play these two songs on a loop? And how did it switch when Monster Mash just kept repeating?” Mary Margaret glanced at Killian again, like she was trying to make sure Emma wasn’t having some kind of complete breakdown in the middle of the Jolly dining room. “I mean, that last one was a valid question. Although, I’m assuming it was probably Ari since she was in charge of getting the speakers. Is music her gig?” “Yeah,” Mary Margaret nodded. “She said she did at the old parties, so I just figured she could keep doing it.” “Is that how you know about the history of the Monster Mash? ” Emma asked. She probably shouldn’t have any candy. She was already bouncing from idea to idea and half-formed planned to potentially misplaced hope and her kid was still bright read with his arms crossed over his chest and his tongue darting nervously between his lips like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to leave.

Killian shook his head. “No,” he said softly, brushing his lips over her temple. “What did Gina want, Mary Margaret? And where is she?”

Emma tried not to actually explode.

It felt like she was going to explode.

Her heart definitely had already.

“God, will someone actually answer one of my questions?” she asked, but it came out a bit more like a growl and Henry actually stopped blushing long enough to stare at her with wide, slightly disbelieving eyes.

No one answered her for what felt like several eternities, or, at least long enough for David to appear out of nowhere, smiling and wearing his own dark-colored ensemble and he couldn’t really walk when there was a sword strapped to his hip.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Emma demanded and David actually flinched, trying, and failing, to rest his hand on Henry’s shoulder.

It took, approximately, two seconds for him to recover, staring at her like she was sixteen and simply upset about the distinct lack of rocky road ice cream in the house. “We’re evil versions of Snow White and Prince Charming,” he said. “Obviously. It’s clever. Nice to see you’re sticking with the tried and true.” “I had to film all day and change in the backseat of a car. Forgive me for not putting more thought into a costume.” “I said nothing.” “You said words. Plus,” Emma added, leaning forward to tap her finger threateningly on the hilt of David’s sword. God, it wasn’t plastic. “I am part of a cliché couple costume this year, so, you know, whatever David.” “Can you call it cliché? Seems rude when the other half is standing right there. And Henry’s part of that cliché too, isn’t he?” David threw Henry a knowing look, shifting his eyebrows quickly and quirking his lips and Emma wasn’t sure it was possible for one person’s face to get that flushed. “It’s not really a couple’s costume,” Henry muttered, but Killian laughed again, pulling him against his side and everyone’s hair was a lost cause now.

Killian’s was definitely Emma’s fault.

And Henry was definitely part of a couple’s costume.

This whole night had already spiraled out of control and Emma hadn’t even gotten any alcohol yet. Or candy. She’d only made it halfway through the dining room.

“Mary Margaret,” Killian repeated and she nearly leapt to attention. Someone laughed. Ariel. Ariel laughed – loudly – on her way out of the kitchen with a bowl in one hand and a painfully adorable kid in the other and she was dressed like a fish.

There were scales on her dress and a fin on her back and if Emma wasn’t so goddamn distracted she probably would have been impressed by the dedication to required costumes. The kid had a tail.

“Oh my God they’re sea creatures,” Emma muttered and Killian hummed in agreement. He might have also kissed her hair again.

Henry groaned.

“Hey,” Ariel said brightly, bobbing up slightly on her toes and nodding towards the bowl. “Candy? We’ve just got like...a ton of candy. Also, Killian, Regina was looking for you. She just got off the phone with Zelena.”

“If this is about tomorrow…” Killian warned, but Ariel was shaking her head before he’d even finished talking.

“It’s not. You guys are totally going to wreck.” She flashed a grin Henry’s direction, gaze darting towards his neck quickly and Emma squeezed her own eyes shut, silently asking every religious figure she could think of that she wouldn’t actually see what Ariel saw. “Anyway,” Ariel continued. “She’s had, like, five martinis already and she was on the warpath as soon as she hung up, so you know, prepare your souls or something.” “Consider me prepared.” “Yuh huh.”

“Enough, Ari.” “Oh my God, have you not…” Killian glared at her and Mary Margaret looked sympathetic, but David just looked like he wished he could be anywhere else, clicking his teeth anxiously and grimacing when Emma stared at him. “For real? You guys were making out. I saw it,” Ariel asked, seemingly undeterred, particularly when the entire Mills-Locksley family could be heard pushing their way through the crowd.

Roland was yelling. And draped over Will’s shoulders. One of them was, apparently, supposed to be Robin Hood because there was a quiver hanging off Will’s forearm.

“Whose arrows are those?’ Emma asked, muttering the question and Killian, somehow, managed to hear her. He smiled at her.

“Rol,” he grinned, moving the arm that had been seemingly cemented around her waist, up to her shoulders and Emma could only imagine what they looked like. He was still holding onto Henry too. “Apparently the matching, cliché costumes for familial groups were also part of the requirement.” “Did I miss that meeting?” “There was no meeting, Ari just announced it”

Ariel stuck her tongue out and Killian’s grin widened when the baby made noise, responding with nonsense syllables and faces that made Emma’s already exploding heart disintegrate. “Stop talking trash in front of Seb, that’s just rude,” Ariel muttered.

“I am not talking trash. I am merely presenting the facts as they happened. If you want Seb to grow up to be a model citizen, he’s got to learn that his mom just likes to demand things sometimes.” Ariel growled, but Killian just kept smiling, leaning forward slightly – and bringing Emma and Henry with him – to make faces in the nearly two-year-old’s eyeline. “Isn’t that right, Seb? Just blink if that’s right.” “You’re an idiot,” Ariel grumbled and there was a note of something that felt a bit like pride in her voice. She did, however, wince slightly when Roland screamed for Killian, practically leaping out of Will’s grasp and nearly kicking him in the head in the process.

He seemed ready, though, letting go of Henry long enough to brace himself for Roland Locksley’s entire weight and Emma’s eyes flickered towards Mary Margaret, some sort of impossible look on her face.

“What do you know, M’s?” Emma asked, tugging on the back of Roland’s shirt out of instinct. Maternal. Maybe. Jeez.

“Nothing,” Mary Margaret said quickly. Way too quickly. Exactly like a lie quickly. Ruby practically cackled in response.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Ruby shrugged, holding her own cup – fancy plastic covered in goddamn pumpkins and ghosts and filled with, what appeared to be, Granny’s incredibly potent punch. “Glad to see Granny’s expanded to the rest of the boroughs,” Emma said, reaching out to grab the glass and Ruby glared at her.

“Hey, get your own,” she snapped. “How come you’re just, like, awkwardly standing here? Did stuff happen? Did I miss stuff?”

“Stop talking,” Ariel muttered and Mary Margaret kicked at Ruby’s heels.

“What?” “Stop.” “But….” “Oh my God,” Killian sighed, running his free hand through his hair. Henry rocked back on his heels, glancing towards the corner when his friends – and the other half of his matching costume – started calling his name. “Go,” Killian added. “Just you know…” He waved his hand in the general direction of Henry’s face. “Maybe cut back on that. A little.” Henry grimaced – David laughed. “Yuh huh. And, uh, you guys...maybe talk. About things. Stuff. Important things and stuff.” “Eloquent.” “Yeah, thanks, Killian.” He nodded, arm still around Emma’s shoulders and Henry was nothing more than a blur of costume and early-teenage hormones and Emma tried not to think about that for any longer than absolutely necessary.

So she’d probably think about it for the rest of the night.

“I hear you’ve been depleting my alcohol stock, Gina,” Killian continued and Regina looked like she wanted to throw her empty glass at him.

“Don’t do that,” Robin warned. Will sounded like he was mumbling deterrents under his breath as well, but it didn’t really matter when Killian and Regina were already in the middle of some kind of staredown.

Killian quirked an eyebrow. Regina just tilted her head. “Gina,” he continued. “Why’d Zelena call? And why are you five martinis in?” “Three,” she corrected softly, but with an undercurrent of intensity that seemed decidedly out of place. “I have only had three martinis and it wasn’t even top-shelf gin. Also, Scarlet skipped on olives. You should hire better employees.” “I’m standing right here,” Will muttered. That didn’t matter either.

Killian just kept standing there and Regina sighed, a noise Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever heard the producer make. Even Ruby was biting her lip.

“Oh,” Emma said and she wished realizations would stop hitting her like that. She felt like she was on the wrong side of drunk – and that seemed decidedly unfair without the getting to that part. “So, we’re like, a solid no on that, right?”

Regina and Ruby both nodded in tandem and it took Killian, approximately, five seconds and one slightly tighter hold on Emma’s shoulders to get up to speed. “Absolutely not,” he said and Regina rolled her whole head in response.

“Obviously,” she snapped. “Although it did take some convincing. Zelena thought it was a really good idea.” “She wanted a special series,” Ruby added. Emma’s knees were wobbling again. “It took some tag-teaming, but we got her off that idea. Told her the two of you looking miserable on camera probably wasn’t good for the numbers.” “What kind of special series?” Emma asked, not quite sure why she was still asking questions when even the idea of filming the lead-up to a wedding that still didn’t have a date made her nauseous.

“Once a week for, at least, a month, probably longer, in the road to the altar. Her words, not mine.” Ruby waved her hand in front of Emma. “Oh, look, she’s making the same face I said she would, Regina.” Regina hummed in agreement and Emma could almost hear the gears working in her head. “Zelena had a follow-up.” “Yeah,” Killian said. It wasn’t a question.

“She does want something together and you guys have kind of opened up a metaphorical can of worms by letting Henry on Halloween Wars.” “He wanted to.” “I’m not disagreeing with that, I’m just relaying. She thinks we can pump the family angle.”

“Yuh huh.” Regina’s eyes darted back towards Emma – like she was going to ask a question or for a rehash of the plan for filming, but she didn’t actually say anything and Emma would probably have to buy her several bottles of gin for that. “Set a date for your wedding,” she continued. There went those bottles of gin.

And straight into some metaphor that definitely had her feeling drunk and, maybe, willing to throw the order of the goddamn plan straight out the window. Metaphorically.

“Soon,” Emma said and the whole lot of them moved in tandem, wide eyes and open mouths and that was a bit more intimidating than she was expecting it to be. “Wow, did you guys practice that?”

Mary Margaret shook her head and Ruby actually looked close to tears, but she might have actually been drunk and Emma could feel Killian staring at her again. “Swan,” he said slowly and he couldn’t really turn on her when Roland was still hanging off him like a piece of playground equipment.

“I mean,” she started, pulse pounding in her ears or just between her ribs and shrugging in that situation was weird so, naturally, she did just that. “Maybe? I kind of…” “Yeah.” “Was that a question?” “No, that was an affirmation.” “Yeah?” “That was a question.” “Oh my God,” Ruby mumbled, but she stopped talking when Mary Margaret muttered something under her breath and Robin already had his phone out, talking about dates and venues he knew of and Emma cut him off before he could actually just start making phone calls. “The water,” she said. Robin put his phone away. “That’s…” She glanced quickly at Killian, staring at her like she was the center of the goddamn universe or several different incarnations of the sun. He nodded. “I mean, there’s water downtown, right? And we kind...well, Killian owns a restaurant. Two restaurants. We shouldn't have to pay for anything. Someone could get one of those things off the internet.” “One of those things off the internet,” Will repeated skeptically and Emma shrugged again. “I’ll do it.” “What?” Killian asked.

“It’d probably take like five minutes, right Emma?” “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never tried to get ordained on the internet.” Will hummed, like that was an acceptable answer, but Robin had his phone out again, fingers flying across the screen and Emma wasn’t entirely surprised when Killian’s hand moved down her back. Again.

“You know it’s, like, insanely easy to get married at Battery Park,” Robin said. “That’s close to the restaurant.” “Efficient,” David mused, flashing a knowing smile at Emma. He probably knew the plan.

It did, actually, only take a six minutes to get Will ordained on the internet – on Robin’s phone and with a surplus of not-quite-top-shelf gin and Granny’s punch and they decided soon actually meant soon and even a few months seemed like not soon enough.

A fact Killian managed to point out no less than eight different times over the course of the night until Emma’s face was as red as Henry’s had been and she’d giggled more in a few hours than she had in her entire life.

“You’re still blushing,” Killian said, hours later and his steps weren’t quite as even when he walked into the bedroom.

Emma grinned, propping her head up on her hand and she appreciated whatever his eyes did when the blanket fell away from her shoulder. “How much punch did you have?” “Did you know that there’s grenadine in there? It’s basically a glorified Shirley Temple.” “Are your bartender senses tingling?”

His eyes widened again and Emma tried to move her eyebrows, but she was absolutely drunk and it didn’t really work. Killian took another step forward, the mattress dipping when he all but fell onto his side of the bed, but he barely waited a moment before tugging Emma to him and if the making out in semi-public places before had been something then the making out in the middle of their bed in their bedroom in their apartment was something else all together.

He groaned when her leg hitched over his, trying to stay balanced on her side and Emma couldn’t smile when her lips were otherwise occupied. She tried anyway. And that was fun.

Killian sighed, eyes fluttering closed and Emma suddenly realized how long his goddamn eyelashes were. “What was that, love?” he asked, a note of laughter in his voice and, shit, she’d said that out loud.

“Your eyelashes are stupid.” “Excuse me?” “You heard me.” He kissed her instead of answering. Emma didn’t argue. Well, not really. She just told him to take his clothes off.

She tried to catch her breath, some indeterminate amount of time later, staring at the ceiling and she could still feel the flush in her cheeks and moving down while Killian kept tracing out patterns across her collarbone.

“Are you trying to map me, Lieutenant?” Emma asked, whining slightly in the back of her throat when he dropped his head to her neck. “God, you can’t do that.”

Emma pushed against his shoulder, but it was no use. Ruby was going to kill her the next day. She didn’t want to think about Ruby. There was a plan.

She didn’t get to her plan.

“You want to buy a restaurant?” Killian asked suddenly, pulling away from her skin and she couldn’t really think when he looked at her like that.

“What?”

“Well, no, that’s not really what I mean, but that’s what they were talking about before. I have no idea how everyone figured out, but I guess it’s my fault for telling Locksley. Only seemed fair to let him know.” “You’re speaking in tongues.”

Killian grinned at her, that stupid, lopsided look that made Emma’s heart sputter and do several medically impossible things and she understood quickly – again. She must have gasped because Killian moved again, pulling himself down until he was eye level with her and her heart sped up.

“I love you,” he said and her heart beat out of her chest, burst into fireworks and rainbows and then dropped major relationship moment confetti over them.

“Yeah.” “Was that supposed to be a question?” “No.” Killian blinked twice, the ends of his mouth twitching like he was trying to stop himself from kissing her again or actually mapping out the freckles on her skin. He didn’t do either, just reached out slowly, brushing the tip of his fingers across her jaw and Emma’s heart retreated into her chest, desperately trying to keep her breathing even.

It didn’t work.

“I love you too,” Emma whispered. “Should have led with that.” “I got the idea.” She hummed softly, tugging her lip in between her teeth and she wasn’t quite so worried with extra makeup on her neck or even her own half-formed plan when he was still shirtless and staring at her with the kind of hope she thought only existed in dreams. “You’re sure?” Emma asked.

“About wanting to make you an actual partner in my restaurant instead of just a very good sauce chef and sauce packer?” “Don’t forget sauce hawker at network-sponsored events.” “That too.” Emma laughed softly, but it still wasn’t an answer and she couldn’t ever tell Mary Margaret any of this happened. She’d never hear the end of fairy tales and romance and it was such a far cry from the very first Halloween party with Killian, that it was early enough to make her head spin.

Killian moved his hand again, twisting his fingers through her hair and he did kiss her that time, mumbling the words against her lips. “I’m sure, Emma,” he said. “And, really, we should have before. Gowanus is there because of you and all of this is there because of you and if we’re going to do soon, then, yeah, I want that. A lot.

There’s a ridiculous amount of paperwork, but your name will be on all of it and you’ll be a partner and there’ll be profit, hopefully, at least, but if anything happened, then Henry would have some stock...at least biologically or something. I was only kind of half listening to that part of the explanation.” She kissed him that time, nearly laughing when he made that noise, shoulders pressed into the mattress and neither one of them was wearing enough clothes for this to not continue down a very specific type of path.

“Regina’s going to kill you, you’re going to have bags,” Emma mumbled later, tucked tightly against Killian’s side and she was so warm, some kind of comfortable fire settling into the pit of her stomach that she was fairly positive would just like forever.

Particularly after they got to soon.

Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, pressing another kiss to the top of her hair. “She can cope. She’s going to be hungover anyway.” “I can’t imagine that.” “Ah, yeah, me either really, but that would put us on slightly more even footing.” “You guys are going to win.” “You sound awfully sure.” “Confident, there’s a difference.” She wasn’t sure he’d realize, the words echoing in the room, memories of cooking competitions and moments in the Jolly and, now, the future laid out their feet, so of course he realized – arching an eyebrow when she glanced up at him and one of them moved and neither one of them really slept and both of those things didn’t really matter when there was a we now.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #captain swan #did i have an ootfp sequel tag?#i honestly can't remember #i should be more organized #also it's not day appropriate but let's go ahead and tag this....#halloweek

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