#i suppose. but really this pre canon sort of divergence in my head has lived there since 2007 aand I have no idea what to do with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

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all the perfect things (that i doubt)

SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?

Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked.

Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️

Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts

On AO3

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…

Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite.

She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again.

“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?”

Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness.

“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.”

“You’re taking astronomy?”

“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!”

“Um, Carl Sagan?”

“Mom, he’s dead!”

“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.”

Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Hook!”

“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?

“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?”

“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!”

“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.

“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…”

Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.

He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.

And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…

“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”

“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?”

Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.

“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?”

“Like what?”

“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.”

“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?”

“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.”

“Well, how about clam chowder then?”

Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?”

Emma laughed. “Deal.”

…

Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes.

Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.

With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?

She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.

Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.

He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else.

It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did.

Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home.

…

Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate.

His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered.

Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank.

His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open.

“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—you have?”

“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.”

He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”

“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.”

“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.”

He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did.

He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters.

“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence.

“Pardon?”

“Your shirt. Boston College.”

“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.”

“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?”

“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut.

“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.”

“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?”

He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.”

“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?”

“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?”

“Well… I mean…”

He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes.

“You saw that, did you?”

“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.”

“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?”

“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.”

Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.

“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.”

“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.

“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.

Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?”

She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too.

“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?”

“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’ll see you out.”

He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him.

On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath.

There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate.

Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.

She fought the urge to cry all the way home.

…

Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths.

Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there.

Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here.

It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust.

Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again.

…

The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged.

In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself.

And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it.

Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways.

But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.

That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else.

He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day.

He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook.

Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma.

Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled.

“Hook!” she gasped.

“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only.

“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.”

“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer.

“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.”

Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?”

“You know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?”

“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can we—look, can’t we just—”

“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met.

“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear.

“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.”

It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained.

They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him.

With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill.

…

As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him.

Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress.

Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.”

She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to.

“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back.

“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!”

“You too.”

The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall.

“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”

“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming.

“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed.

“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him.

Killian.

Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again.

My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend.

The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation.

Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date.

“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…

Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.

Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm.

“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I just—it just broke.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away.

“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other.

“Ma’am…” he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow.

“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.”

“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—”

“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.”

Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it.

“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.”

“I hate doctors.”

“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.”

“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up.

“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.”

He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.”

Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.

“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare.

Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”

She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.

“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.”

The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.”

For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.

…

Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her.

“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—”

“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—”

She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.”

…

You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff.

He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.

He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?

Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving.

While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her.

He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option.

The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her.

“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed.

In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.”

“You distracted me. While I was working.”

He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”

“You were flaunting that woman—”

“Flaunting?”

“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—”

“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.

Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered.

“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”

“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.”

Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.”

He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?”

“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?”

Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”

“Aye. Of nearly a year.”

“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?”

“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?”

“Of course not! That was never—we were never—”

Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.”

“That’s not what I meant, Killian.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink.

“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed.

“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”

“That’s not true—”

“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.”

“I asked about you, or I tried—”

“You tried.”

“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!”

“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?”

“I just—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?”

She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did.

Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him.

She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.

He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms.

He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.”

He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back.

“No,” he hissed. “Killian.”

Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.

“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.”

She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded.

“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.”

Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room.

Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her.

When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers.

“Curious, love?” he taunted.

“Very.”

He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath.

“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.”

He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back.

“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.”

She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies.

She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself.

“Too much?” she taunted.

“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it.

“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge.

“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand.

Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.

They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest.

“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma.

You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.

He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her.

Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair.

They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up.

He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her.

She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest.

“Emma—” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his.

Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair.

Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy.

She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips.

The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose.

She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb. His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them.

Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell.

She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.

…

A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her.

Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done?

Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more.

She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep.

But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.

“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand.

Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.”

“Killian—”

Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.”

She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.”

“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.”

“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.”

A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry.

…

Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall.

…

Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened.

Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay.

She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed.

...

“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?”

“Killian,” said Emma automatically.

“What?”

She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”

“So you did see him!” cried Henry.

Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”

“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”

“Henry—”

“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”

Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”

“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.”

“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.”

“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”

“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”

“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did.

“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.”

Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?”

“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.”

“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.”

Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?”

“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.”

“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—”

“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.”

“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

…

By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.

It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all.

Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.

Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory.

She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound.

She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them.

It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her.

It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart.

He was in love with her.

Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well.

A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone.

She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell.

Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?”

“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door.

“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed.

“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?”

“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I told you—to talk.”

“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your tattoo.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied.

“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?”

Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.”

“Which one?”

“Swan—”

“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.”

He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—”

“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.”

Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.

Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.”

“Killian—”

“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.”

“Don’t come back?” she choked.

“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.”

Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her.

It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone.

“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house.

…

When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.

“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”

Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!”

“They would. What about Regina?”

“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.”

…

They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.”

Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked.

“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.”

“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly.

“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—”

“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.”

“You’re working with Regina?”

“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow.

“You are? Since when?”

“Um, about two years now?”

“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out.

“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull.

“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”

An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—”

“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?”

“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”

“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.”

“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.”

“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?”

“Captain Hook?” said Snow.

“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief.

“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”

“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.”

“Really?” asked David, still frowning.

“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.”

David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.”

“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.”

“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.”

“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?”

Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.

“Know what?”

Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?”

“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?”

“No. He never said a word.”

“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow.

“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.”

“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?”

“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.”

No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction.

One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.

Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy.

“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates.

“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.”

“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.”

“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“Huh-uh.”

“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.”

“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.”

“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?”

“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.”

“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.”

…

Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.

The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over.

“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back.

“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.”

“That’s new,” he snorted.

“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?”

Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend.

“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.”

Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.

“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—”

“But it still passes,” she said.

“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.”

“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully.

“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?”

Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand.

“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?”

He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Emma.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.”

“You felt that way about Milah too.”

“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement.

“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”

Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?”

He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”

“Two?”

“She already knows about Emma.”

“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.”

Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.”

He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.”

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

…

Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known.

Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home.

And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear.

For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her.

If she had let him in. It was too late now.

She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.

She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink.

The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian.

He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on.

As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door.

Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip.

“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—”

“What?”

“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.”

A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”

“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.”

He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them.

“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.”

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.”

Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?”

Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.”

“You think?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world.

“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”

Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—”

“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.”

“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?”

“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.”

“Killian—”

“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.”

“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.”

…

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

#cs fic #captain swan #canon divergence #3b divergence #angst #smut #angst with a happy ending #cs ff #cs ff au #lots of feelings #some heartbreak #they get there in the end #all the perfect things (that i doubt)#profdanglaisstuff #birthday fic #ohmightydevviepuu

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melimelo-ao3 · 4 years ago

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Answers to the ask

So this is my answer to every ask of the “A Writer’s Ask Game” by agwitow that I reblogged just below.

Yes, I know, people are supposed to be the ones to send a number, and only then am I supposed to answer. But, since this blog has like, very, very limited interaction, and I had nothing to do, I answered them myself.

And I’m putting a time stamp on it: Wednesday 17/02/2021, because for some questions, in a week, it won’t be the same answer.

The Basics 1. Do you listen to music when you write?

I do, yes. I have a couple of playlists with songs – I know some people enjoy listening to music while they write, but only without any kind of lyrics. I don’t care either way. Some days it’s pre-enregistered playlists, others random, and others just piano.

2. Are you a pantser or plotter?

I’m mostly a plotter. I’ve tried to go pantser on a couple of stories (Pretty Boy is the last example that comes to my mind), but I end up knowing what I’ll put in the next chapters in advance. Even if it’s just the main plot point / scene.

3. Computer or pen and paper?

Computer. Except when I have writer block.

4. Have you ever been published, or do you want to be published?

I’ve never been published, and don’t plan on. I write my stories mostly for myself, and to me it’s a bit too over the top to, first, interest a publisher / editor, and then it would need lots of editing and… I don’t think I’m ready yet to see critics on my stories.

5. How much writing do you get done on an average day?

I have no idea xD I suppose I’m happy if I get 1.000 word a day, especially if it’s a day I only concentrate on writing. Sometimes it can be more, but sometimes it can also be nothing at all. On days I have other things to do, I’m happy if I can write one sentence more during the day :)

6. Single or multiple POV?

At the same time? Single. In a story? It depends. Some stories I’ve written in a single POV all along, others I switched between chapters, and others within chapters, with a distinction between the “parts”.

7. Standalone or series?

Um, series as in several “books”? If so, there’s this story I finished last year. At first, it was supposed to be one single book, but things progressed as they did and so I chose to cut the overall, finished epic into three books. So it’s supposedly a series now.

Other than this, I usually cram everything up in one story.

8. Oldest WIP

Oldest oldest? I started a story called L’année scolaire (= School Year) when I was like 10. It’s unfinished, so I suppose I can consider it as a WIP. Other than that, if I’m talking about posted fic, it’s a Harry Potter time-travel fanfic called Une nouvelle chance de vivre (= A New Chance At Living). Same, the fic has maybe ten years now (damn, time flies) and has been untouched for… about ten years I believe xD

9. Current WIP

I have several! On my AO3 profile, there’s Sunkissed (an Achilles x Patroclus Omegaverse ff), The Bravest Belief of All (Amandi) (a Peter Pan x Wendy Darling canon divergence from OUAT) and I Desire You (or worse) (which is an original work with original character that I’ve just started posting) that I update regularly.

There are more on my computer, much more than I can type here…

10. Do you set yourself deadlines?

Not at all. Because I wouldn’t respect them, and it would make me stress.

The Specifics 11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most

Victor Hugo is the main one that comes to my mind atm. I love the way he writes and what he writes about. There’s Emile Zola’s Au Bonheur des dames, too, which is amazing, one of the best books I know of. And, for the beauty of language and the sheer poetry literally pouring from every single word, Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand is. breathtaking. I don’t know if they influenced me, because it sounds a bit pretentious to say that one can find some of these authors in my stories if they look closely, but they definitely represent what I aspire to.

12. Describe your perfect writing space

In a silent room, except there’s music (I know, it’s paradoxical). I have my computer and my head is resting (I mean, I don’t have anything urgent to do, it’s all done and behind me for the day) and I can concentrate on the scene I’ve been imagining for a couple of days / weeks / months / years (pick one).

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished

Usually I have an idea, I play it in my head over and over again until I really like it and I have a couple of things found out (like, scenes or dialogues or narration – depends if the idea is about a story or just a single scene). Then, I write it. Admittedly, the polishing happens mostly when I play it over and over in my mind until it clicks or sticks.

14. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I usually listen to them, because it means there’s something that’s nagging me about a scene, a moment. So I go reread it, I think back on it – what can I change? How can I formulate it in a different way? – and I change it until I’m satisfied with it.

I experience a (lot) of self-doubt at the moment, with the first three chapters of IDY. I chose to post them, but I’m not entirely sure I’d be ready if people began to hate them or find horrible flaws with them. that makes me doubt whether it was a good idea or not, but I know that I can always delete them if it really goes downhill.

15. How do you deal with writer’s block?

I stop writing. For a couple of days, usually, to let my brain the time to relax and focus on something else. Then, I sit back before my computer and I open another word document – like a blank page. I copy paste the scene I’m stuck on, and I rewrite it under, while using a couple of sentences I feel are good. I repeat the process until the words flow back again.

(This sounds a lot like a cooking recipe xD)

For the real, unbreachable writer’s block (like, if the above didn’t work), I try to focus on other stories. If that doesn’t help kick the inspiration back (like for No, but I do – even though the writer’s block was cemented by GOT’s last season but that’s another matter entirely), I push the story to the back of my mind and I give it up.

16. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project?

As many as necessary until I’m satisfied with myself. I can’t give a number.

17. What writing habits or rituals do you have?

I imagine the scene beforehand, I listen to music, I write on computer… I can’t think of any other writing habit I have atm.

18. If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?

I don’t think I could collaborate with anyone, sorry - -’ When I have an idea for a story, I’m excited with writing every single part of it, so I don’t think it’s for me.

19. How do you keep yourself motivated?

With the scenes I want to write.

20. How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?

At the moment (meaning the ones brewing in my mind): 11.

The Favourites 21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

It depends with the story. I liked Weston in Pretty Boy (I like him too in I Desire You), and Wendy in Amandi.

22. Who is/are your favourite pairing(s) to write?

Weston/Edmund. They’re my OTP for now.

23. Favourite author

I don’t have a favourite author, I search for fics / stories mostly.

24. Favourite genre to write and read

Romance.

25. Favourite part of writing

I love writing dialogues, especially when the characters continue to talk on their own and I’m just transcribing everything and the conversation ends up very different from what I imagined.

26. Favourite writing program

None, I just write on Word.

27. Favourite line/scene

That’s impossible to choose! xD

On a writing’s perspective only, I’ll say the end part of chapter 3 in I Desire You (or worse). When I reread it and I could feel what the character is feeling / does (I’m being vague on purpose because I haven’t posted it yet), I knew I had to post it somewhere. I don’t know, I’m just really proud of it (and have the most self-doubt over people’s reaction, which is – as always – very logical of me).

28. Favourite side character

In I Desire You, I like Lucy.

29. Favourite villain

I don’t think I’ve ever written many villains. Ah, yes, Peter Pan in my OUAT fic. He’s a villain, it works.

30. Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

I’ve been beginning a lot of WIP at the moment, precisely so I could start putting down all the ideas I wanted, so I don’t really know what to answer to that…

The Dark 31. Least favourite part of writing

Writing description of settings. I don’t really like how I write those.

32. Most difficult character to write

Edmund. No hesitation.

33. Have you ever killed a main character?

No, and I never intend to. I want my characters to be happy and alive.

34. What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

Chapter 3 of I Desire You? Or maybe the chapter 2.

Or the beginning of Amandi, which depicts the Peter / Fiona relation.

35. What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing?

Um, none at the moment :)

The Fun 36. Last sentence you wrote

I understand how he feels.

But I’ll probably change it. I’m not sure yet. It’s for IDY.

37. First sentence of your current WIP

Well, I have three, so I’ll put the three.

A frustrated scream would have torn the eerie silence and thunderous sound of waves if Peter had any strength left in him to scream anymore. For Amandi

“Where’re y’all running to?” For IDY

Patroclus’ lip trembled when they pinned the crown to his hair. For Sunkissed.

38. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had

Oof, lots. I’ve often imagined confronting two versions of characters. Like, take characters, usually from period pieces or in mindsets that are very patriarchal, and make them see another version of themselves, usually in Omegaverse, in a sort of Harry Potter pensieve or television setting, like they just watch this alternate universe version of themselves as they go on their daily lives. And then I imagine all the ways this character would first be horrified / angered / dismissive of that version of themselves that they’d judge weaker because they’d be Omegas, and then, slowly, they see that they’re really badass and yk worthy of consideration, respect etc. Not just them, but all their mates etc. would too, as well. And then they would come out as this better person, who aren’t as prejudiced as they used to be.

39. Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had

I don’t know, I think it kind of overlap with the precedent question? Anyway, my characters are (only) plain, normal humans. Or, well, there was one time I had an idea to write a story with elves à la Tolkien, but it’s not really a weird character concept (or at all really xD)

40. Share some backstory for one of your characters

Well, all my characters’ important backstories end up being revealed, so I’m not gonna spoil anything here…

I’ll take Curly from Amandi. He grew up in an orphanage, a poor one, which didn’t have proper beds (hence why he calls them pockets, because they look like pockets). He has no memory of his parents because they separated before his birth and his mother died in birth. He comes from a magical land (since we’re talking about an OUAT AU).

The Rest of It 41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?

Write what you want to read.

42. How do you feel about love triangles?

I’m mixed. I’m not a fan of them, but I wrote one once, although it was a bit special because it looked like that: Person A is in love with Person B, and vice versa, Person C loves Person A and Person C (and the entire world) is convinced Person A is in love with them.

43. What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline?

I just go with it. They know better than me xD

44. How much research do you do?

A lot, but it’s mostly on little details. Like, not wars or political situation of the country at the time period, but more like were oil lamps still used for that class of population in said year, and can you snuff them out by turning the button (like in a slide sort of way, I’m not sure how to translate it precisely in English, but in my head it’s crystal clear).

45. How much world building do you do?

I do a lot. When I write a story, I like to know every little detail I can.

46. Do you reread your own stories?

Yes. That’s the main reason why I write them, to be true.

47. Best way to procrastinate

By searching for aesthetic pics on Pinterest. That thing can take hours and you never see them fly. It’s incredible. Worse than Youtube. It takes you from picture to picture to picture without you noticing. Amazing.

48. What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

I give a little bit of myself to every character I write about. Be it opinions, thoughts, childhood memory or taste. For example, Weston doesn’t like chocolate (he hates it with a passion) because I think chocolate has a disgusting taste (and because he never had the occasion of eating any as a kid).

49. Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

Weston, because he’s friendly and extraverted, and I wish I could be more of both, and I imagine that being his friend would make me mimic him in certain ways.

#personal #me myself and I #writing ask

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becasbelt · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 5/12 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: T Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Dr. Mitchell (Pitch Perfect), Beca Mitchell's Mother, Aubrey Posen, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, skateboarder!beca, Romance, Angst

* * *

CHAPTER 5

The fighting starts when she’s twelve.

Beca’s parents have never been perfect. Like all human beings, they made mistakes. They lost their cool from time to time, and resorted to brief outbursts when especially frustrated over something, but never anything serious. At the end of the day, Beca knows that her parents love her and that everything will always work out in the end.

And that has always proven true, ever since Beca can remember. Lately, though things have seemed… tense.

It starts out as just little things here and there. Her dad will get home late from the school, and her mom will say passive aggressive words to him while she’s dishing him up some leftover food from dinner. Beca will hear her dad talking lightly about how her mom should try to look into getting a job to help out with some of the bills. Her parents will walk into the living room after having a private conversation, the air tense around them as they try to act natural.

It doesn’t start as anything major, but the speed at which it accelerates to something big is alarming.

Beca will never forget the first night she ever heard her parents fighting.

Her dad had been working late again. After a quiet dinner filled with uncomfortable angry energy coming from her mother, Beca had rushed off to her room to finish her homework and get ready for bed. Anything to get away from the tense atmosphere her mom was giving off.

It was 10:23 when her dad came home. Beca knows, because she had glanced over to take note of the time when she heard the garage door opening, and the numbers had stuck with her ever since. It was 10:23 when her dad got home, and 10:31 when her parents’ voices stopped being hushed.

Her mom was the first one to raise her voice. Beca had been sort of falling asleep when she’d heard a cupboard downstairs slam shut, followed by a sharp, “How long are you going to keep doing this to us, Warren?” that cut through the house.

Her dad was quick to retaliate. “You know these long hours are only temporary, Tina,” he had responded, sounding as though he was trying to remain calm, but his voice rose in volume to match his wife’s nonetheless. “As soon as I finish my doctorate, I’m going to teach at the college. I’ll be making twice as much as I do at the high school now!”

“Yes, but how much of your time will be spent at the college once you start working there?” came her mom’s exasperated voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you started looking for any excuse to skip out on spending time with your family.”

“I’m doing this for our family, damn it,” her dad argued. Beca’s eyes had widened at that. She’d never heard her father swear before. “I’m doing this so Beca can have a better life. One where she doesn’t have to be worried about money like we are! If anyone should be at blame for not caring about our daughter, it should be you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” her mother had responded, almost quietly enough that Beca couldn’t hear her.

“Maybe if you actually took some initiative and worked on finding a job instead of sitting on your ass all day, we wouldn’t have to be worried about our finances so much. It seems like I’m the only one actually worried about our daughter’s future here.”

A long stretch of silence had followed, and Beca could feel her mother’s anger seeping up through the floorboards and into her room. “That’s a load of bullshit and you know it!” Her mother finally exploded. “You’re the one who’s draining our finances by paying for more schooling! And don’t even get me started on being worried about Beca’s future. I’ve practically raised her all by myself while you’ve been focused on raising other kids for years!”

Beca heard something slam downstairs, maybe a fist on a countertop. “I’m sorry that I wanted to become an educator for a living,” her dad yelled. “You knew what I wanted to do when you met me!”

“Yeah, well I’m sorry that I ever believed you when you said you’d always put your family above your job!”

Her mother’s hurt words hung in the air of the house. The sound of sobbing followed, her mother’s crying, to be exact, although it was at this point that Beca realized she was crying as well. Silent tears were streaming down her face, her parent’s harsh words towards one another resonating deep inside of her.

The sound of stomping feet started soon after her mom’s tears did. “Where are you going?” her mother suddenly demanded, voice strained from emotion.

“I’m going to Darren’s for the night,” her dad replied bitterly, words clipped. “Give Beca a kiss in the morning for me when she wakes up.”

With that her dad left the house with a slam of the door that rattled the house. Beca heard nothing for the rest of the night but the sounds her own quiet tears, and she was left wishing she had already been asleep when the whole fight started.

Their first fight was months ago, and those months had been filled with periodic late night fights between her parents that Beca had been steadily growing used to. She no longer cried at the harsh words exchanged between the two of them; now she just put her pillow over her head and prayed that they would end the fighting soon so that she wouldn’t be too tired to stay awake in her classes the next day.

Beca didn’t know how long this period of conflict between her parents would last, so all she could hope for was for it to end someday soon.

* * *

The smoke fills Beca’s lungs as she inhales deeply from her cigarette. She’s leaning against the wall of the rehearsal hall, collecting herself mentally before practice starts.

She wasn’t lying when she told Aubrey that she needed something to deal with her all those months ago.

Beca spots a head of red hair approaching in the distance and smiles as Chloe approaches. The ginger grins at her in return for a moment before sparing a glance at the lit stick in Beca’s hand. Her expression falls a bit, though she tries to hide it. Beca grits her teeth slightly.

She knows Chloe doesn’t like her smoking habit. The senior has insisted over and over again that she doesn’t really care, and that it’s your body, Beca, but Beca can tell that she still disapproves. But Beca hasn’t stopped because of that. Why should she? She’s an adult, after all, and Chloe can’t tell her what to do.

Chloe isn’t really anything of significance to Beca, so there’s no point in changing the way she lives her life for the other girl.

Still, Beca knows she hates it, so she drops the remaining bud on the sidewalk as the ginger approaches, stepping on it with the tip of her sneakered toe to extinguish it. She looks up at Chloe again. “Hey,” she greets with a grin.

“Hey you,” Chloe replies easily. She gestures to the bud on the ground. “Getting your pre-Aubrey fix in for the day?”

Beca shrugs. “Gotta get through these awful rehearsals somehow.”

Chloe rolls her eyes good-naturedly before reaching down to take Beca’s hand to pull her into the rehearsal hall. Aubrey, who’s busy setting up chairs and writing on the whiteboard, looks up at their arrival. Her eyes flick down to their joined hands for a brief moment and her eyes wrinkle in distaste before she focuses on her task at hand once again.

“I should probably help her with all that,” Chloe mumbles quietly and slips her hand from Beca’s to join Aubrey’s side.

Beca slumps down in one of the foldout chairs and pulls out her phone to occupy herself while she waits for the rest of the Bellas to arrive. She’s mindlessly scrolling through Twitter when the sound of hushed, tense words catch her attention.

Aubrey and Chloe are standing at the whiteboard under the pretense of writing the rehearsal schedule down, but there isn’t actually anything productive going on. Chloe’s arms are folded across her chest while Aubrey bears down on the shorter girl.

“You know she’s trouble Chloe,” Aubrey hisses, causing Chloe to flinch. “I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on her.”

Oh great. They were talking about Beca, which was one of Beca’s least favorite topics. Still, years of experience has enabled Beca with the talent of making out words that aren’t meant to be heard. Her ears perk up to listen.

“She’s not like what you think she’s like,” Chloe insists quietly, causing Beca’s heart to warm. “She’s dedicated, and smart, and caring, and-”

“You’re just blinded by your infatuation,” Aubrey snaps, cutting Chloe off. “She’s lazy and arrogant and nothing but trouble.”

Beca expects Chloe to retaliate, but instead the ginger just looks hurt and stares up at Aubrey with her jaw clenched. Her shoulders hunch and she folds her arms submissively.

“If you knew what was good for you, and for the group, you’d stay away from that no-good-”

Beca decides she’s had enough of listening to Aubrey bash her. She clears her throat loudly, cutting off the blonde captain’s rant. The two seniors look over at Beca as if they’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and Beca raises her eyebrows innocently at them.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt your Beca-hate session,” she says airily, feigning ignorance. “Please, continue to talk about how terrible I am. I don’t mind.”

Aubrey doesn’t even look the least bit ashamed. She squares her shoulders to Beca. “I believe I’ve made how I feel about you clear, Beca,” she says. “Don’t pretend that you care about the group, or about Chloe, in the slightest.”

Anger floods into Beca’s veins. Chloe stands behind Aubrey, remaining silent. Beca clenches her hands into fists and opens her mouth to retaliate, but at that moment the doors open and a few more of the Bellas come flooding in. Aubrey’s eyes flicker from the rest of the girls to meet Beca’s eyes, giving her one last squint of disapproval before she turns to finish writing on the board.

Beca looks at Chloe to see the other girl looking at her apologetically. She looks away and chooses to glare at a spot on the floor instead.

The rest of practice goes on without any more conflict, though Beca does make a conscious effort to act even more reluctant than usual. If Aubrey insisted she didn’t care about anything, then fine.

Beca would simply not care. It wasn’t hard to do, seeing as she really didn’t care.

As soon as Aubrey dismisses them, Beca shoots out the door. She doesn’t feel like dealing with this day anymore. She’s on her way home when a voice calls out behind her.

“Beca! Wait up!”

Chloe.

Beca rolls her eyes. Of course Chloe would try to talk to her.

Beca doesn’t turn around, but she does slow down her brisk pace in order to let the other girl catch up easier.

“Beca,” Chloe tries to get her to turn around again, slightly out of breath. “Bec, hey, talk to me.”

At this, Beca feels a hand grab her arm to pull her to a complete stop. She shrugs out of the grip as she turns to face Chloe. She raises an eyebrow irritably. “What is it, dude? I have to get to work.”

Chloe flinches at the iciness in Beca’s tone, but Beca can’t find it within herself to feel bad. “I just,” she starts out uncertainly. “I just wanted to apologize for what Aubrey said. None of that is true, you know. She doesn’t know you at all and she’s making unfair assumptions about you and-”

“Why do you let her walk all over you?” Beca interrupts, somewhat aggressively.

Chloe looks taken aback. “Wh-what?”

Beca rolls her eyes. “You never stand up to Aubrey,” she says tiredly. “You let her order you around all the time, she never lets you do anything in rehearsals, and she always shoots down your ideas.” Beca laughs bitterly. “Sometimes it seems like you’re more like her pet than her co-captain.”

Chloe’s eyes widen and she crosses her arms protectively around her middle. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Beca,” she mumbles timidly.

Beca shrugs. “I don’t need you to say anything. I just want you to grow a pair and stand up for yourself once in a while,” Beca takes a couple steps away from Chloe’s hurt gaze. “Or at the very least have the guts to defend your friends when she’s talking shit on them.”

With that, Beca turns and walks away from Chloe, not wanting to see the sad look in her eyes anymore. She doesn’t turn around to see if Chloe’s watching her go, and Chloe doesn’t try to say anything to stop her.

Which is good, because Beca isn’t convinced she wouldn’t stop a second time for Chloe. Or any number of times after that.

* * *

Chloe doesn’t reach out to Beca for two days, and Beca tries to ignore the Chloe-sized hole in her heart. She doesn’t understand why there’s even a hole in the first place; she’s never had a problem with being alone before- welcomed it, even. Still, she finds herself missing the crazy redhead and her chaotic goodness for those two days.

She’s working the afternoon of the third day of radio silence. Well, she’s not really actually working as much as she’s just laying down on the couch making fun of Jesse while he tries to move heavy boxes, but still. She’s at work.

The bell on the door chimes, signaling someone’s entrance into the store. Beca looks over, surprised because no one ever comes to the store, and is further shocked to see Chloe standing there. At Beca’s job. After not talking to her for two whole days.

Beca ignores the way her heart beats faster when she sees the ginger and sits up quickly from her lounging position, almost forcing herself to lose her lunch in the process. “Uh, hey,” she greets the other girl awkwardly.

“Hey,” is Chloe’s quiet response.

Jesse looks between the two of them for an uncomfortable moment before clearing his throat. “I’m just gonna,” he picks up two near-empty garbage bags and points to the door. “Take out the trash.”

Beca waits until he’s made his swift exit to speak. “What’re you doing here?” she asks, wincing at how harsh the words sound. Chloe doesn’t seem to notice.

“Can we talk?” Chloe asks as her anwer.

Beca nods her head and moves to one side of the couch to make room for Chloe. The senior perches herself on the edge of a cushion and angles her body towards Beca. “I’m sorry,” she starts after a moment. “For the other day, I mean. And also for not talking to you for the last few days. Um,” Chloe eyes close as she gathers her thoughts. “I don’t know why I let Aubrey push me around. She’s my best friend, and I know that she’s under a lot of stress right now, so I guess I just don’t want to make her even more stressed than she already is.”

Chloe looks into Beca’s eyes then, and Beca can see the remorse in her bright blue eyes. “She’s my best friend, but that shouldn’t mean that I let her treat you the way she does.”

Beca softens. “Chloe…” she trails off, not sure what to say.

“I promise that I’m going to try to work on speaking my mind around her,” Chloe says resolutely. “And I’m sorry for not standing up for you at practice.”

Just like that, the ice that has surrounded Beca’s heart for the last two days melts instantly. She reaches across the cushion separating them to place a hand on Chloe’s leg. “Thank you,” she says softly. “And I’m sorry for the other day, too,” she adds sheepishly. “There’s probably a better way I could have said all that.”

The tension melts away from Chloe’s shoulders. “But it was true nonetheless,” she says kindly, reaching down to squeeze Beca’s hand. They share a smile for a small moment before the door to the store opens again. Jesse stands in the doorway this time, looking between the two of them warily.

“Is it safe to come in?” he asks jokingly.

Beca rolls her eyes. “Yes, dork. Everything’s fine.”

Chloe squeezes her hand one more time before standing up. “I actually should get going,” she says as Beca stands up as well. She winks at Beca. “I’ll leave you alone and let the two of you get to work.”

Jesse laughs. “I like how you think Beca actually does any work around here,” he jests as he walks back over to the boxes he was moving before. Beca glares at him and throws a magazine at the back of his head. “Hey!”

Chloe starts walking to the door. “Oh, and Becs,” she turn around again to talk. Beca hums for her to continue. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to a concert with me tonight?” Beca’s face automatically morphs into one of disgust and Chloe rushes to keep talking before she can turn the offer down. “And I know you don’t really like listening to music all that much, but my friend is in a band, and they’re playing a gig at this bar tonight, so it’s not really a concert, and they’re actually pretty good so-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Beca cuts off Chloe’s rambling with an exasperated sigh, reaching a hand up to rub at her temple. “But only if you promise to never talk that fast again.”

Chloe lets out a happy squeal. “Yay! Okay,” she schools her expression. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

Beca shrugs indifferently. “Sure, whatever, dude.”

The bell above the door to the store jingles as Chloe pushes it open. She smiles one last time at Beca. “You’re the best! See ya!” the door shuts behind her and the store is filled with silence once again.

Jesse is the one to break the quiet, Beca still staring at the door. “You’re gonna go listen to music voluntarily?” he whistles lowly. “She’s got you whipped, Becs.”

Beca whips around and picks up another magazine, throwing it at the back of Jesse’s head again. It joins the one on the floor as Jesse laughs teasingly in response.

* * *

The bar is fairly crowded by the time Beca and Chloe get there later that night. Since she’s still not legal, Beca is worried about getting in, even with her fake ID, but luckily Chloe’s friend in the band, Ryan, shows up to let them in. He only stays long enough to let Chloe hug him and tell him good luck before rushing off for sound check.

Chloe tangles her fingers loosely with Beca’s to keep them together in the mass of people while she cranes her head trying to find an empty table. Beca spots one at the edge of the room near the stage and starts pulling Chloe towards it. They sit down and a worker soon comes up to ask if they want anything to drink.

They decide on just a simple beer each and the worker rushes off. Beca looks over at Chloe when they’re alone to see the other girl already looking at her with a smile on her face. She quirks an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Chloe looks away and shakes her head. “I’m just really glad you agreed to come here with me, is all,” she says shyly. “And a little surprised.”

Beca shrugs. “Yeah, well…” she trails off, not really having a specific reason why she agreed to come. If she was being honest, Beca was surprised herself. She’d tried all day, but could not come up with an explanation for why she said yes. So, she just clicks her tongue to end her unfinished thought and lets the topic die.

They sit and watch the band tune up as people start to settle down into tables around them, drinks in hand. Their drinks are brought to them after a few minutes and that’s when Chloe decides to start up a conversation again.

“Have you talked to your dad at all since your fight?” Chloe asks hesitantly, bringing her drink up to her lips to take a sip.

The question catches Beca off guard. “No,” she replies a little shortly. She sees the apology quickly forming on Chloe’s face and feels guilty. She hurries to fix her answer. “I mean, he hasn’t reached out to me since then, and it’s not like I ever really tried to reach out to him before we fought, so,” Beca shrugs and looks down at her drink, swirling the beer in the bottle for a moment before taking a gulp.

“What did you guys fight about?”

This question makes Beca feel uneasy. Chloe knew they had fought because Beca had told her as much, but Beca hadn’t gone into any sort of details about it. She didn’t think Chloe had really cared at the time, so she hadn’t bothered to explain further.

“Well,” Beca starts slowly, avoiding eye contact and trying to act uncaring about the whole thing. “He yelled at me about the whole jail thing and I tried to tell him what happened, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” Beca sighs and picks at the edge of the label on her beer bottle. “We also had this deal that I could drop out at the end of the year, but now he’s saying that the deal’s off because of everything that happened.”

Chloe remains quiet, so Beca looks up at her. She’s wearing an unreadable expression. For a moment Beca thinks she’s about to get lectured about wanting to quit college, but it never comes. Instead, she just asks, “Do you think he was serious, or was he just mad in the moment?”

Beca shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. His mind seemed pretty made up.”

Chloe reaches over and sets her hand on top of Beca’s where it’s resting on the table. “That sucks,” she says simply, giving Beca’s hand a squeeze. Beca laughs a little in response. “And I don’t know your dad, but I bet if you just talked to him he would come around eventually.”

“I dunno,” Beca says, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

The band starts playing soon after, and Beca had to admit that they weren’t half bad. Their soft, indie vibes were easy to listen to, and Ryan’s lead vocals were soulful and solid. Beca listens to the chord changes and can’t help but think of songs that would go well with them- something she hasn’t done in years. For once instead of fighting it, Beca lets herself relax in her seat and feel the melody surround her.

She’s brought out her trance when she sees Chloe stand up from the table. Beca raises an eyebrow at her when the ginger reaches down to take her hand and start pulling her up from her seat.

“Dance with me?” Chloe asks, her tone a mixture of flirtation and uncertainty all at once.

She briefly flashes back to months ago at the hood night party when Chloe had tried to get Beca to dance with her. She remembers the confusion and hidden sadness in those big blue eyes as she’d turned her down and walked away, trying to shut her out and protect herself.

Beca didn’t want to turn Chloe down anymore, and she was tired of shutting her out.

“Of course I will,” Beca says quietly.

And ultimately, Chloe’s smile is worth any uneasy feelings Beca may have about dancing, or music, or anything else in her life.

Beca pulls Chloe close to her while they sway together to the sound of a soft melody. When she looks into Chloe’s eyes and sees the happiness they hold in this moment, she decides that she would do just about anything to keep that joy there, right where it belonged.

#fanfic #pitch perfect #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #life is not a love song #it's v late right now #at i'm at a conference #but here it is

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thisbluespirit · 5 years ago

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Writing Tag Game

AO3 name: thisbluespirit

Fandoms: my main fandom has always been Doctor Who but I feel v weird about it right now, so: Blake’s 7, Sapphire & Steel, Star Wars Prequels, Spooks (MI5), Once Upon a Time, and a whole load of random other things.

Tropes: honestly, if it seems like a good idea at the time, but accidental marriage, hurt/comfort, time travel, crack-played-straight, crossovers, canon divergence, and no doubt other things I’m forgetting right now.

Number of fics: 576 on AO3 (although there are a couple of vids and 1 podfic in there, plus a handful of fannish origfics, but OTOH there are things on Teaspoon I’ve never brought over and meme ficlets from LJ and Dreamwidth I’ve never posted elsewhere. It’s such a ridiculous no. of works, even though there are quite a few drabbles and ficlets, that I wind up not posting the other drabbles/ficlets out of embarrassment. Like, who has time to read 576 works, think of my Remix authors!)

Fic I spent the most time on: Ha, well, I took 9 years to finish one called Strangers at Fairhurst, but that wasn’t time spent writing it. Probably gift fic for exchanges (and longfic generally for obvious reasons) - many of those took a lot of extra time and research and betaing and things, because, well, it’s a gift. You want it to be special.

Fic I spent the least time on: Probably some of those meme ficlets, because a lot of them were flash fic so speedy writing was part of the point.

I wrote So We Meet at Last for fan_flashworks in about 30 minutes - and then at some point it got recced somewhere and it was my most popular fic for ages, so the moral of the story is don’t angst over stuff, just write Miss Marple dusting Dracula and the world will love you.

Longest Fic: On AO3, it’s The Poison Tree (Dracula 1968, written for calliopes_pen in Yuletide 2016), which makes it look as if I’ve never got to 30k, but ha ahahaha. I’ve been ill since 2011. Before that, I wrote an epic 1980s UNIT series, the final installment of which was 80K +

Shortest Fic: My shortest fic is a drabble, of which I have around 45 on AO3 and while the word count varies on AO3, they were all 100 words exactly in Word, so take your pick.

Most hits/kudos/comment threads/bookmarks: These tend to be exchange fic - by and large that’s the only way anyone knows I exist. (I really miss LJ/DW comms, because a fic announcement on a relevant comm was a really good way to do that and modern fandom has no equivalent and then everyone gets tunnelled into ship tags, all alike.)

hits - Not bad For a First Attempt (actually this might have taken the least time - it was a Heyer double drabble I wrote for, er, wrangling reasons. I’m not sure whether this is true or the hit count has been skewed, but the kudos count is also high, so it might be. Desperate Heyer fans are desperate?)

kudos, comments, & bookmarks - are all The Spirit of St Mary Mead, a Yuletide fic where Miss Marple is a genius loci, which has now overtaken the one where she dusts Dracula. (The universe only loves me when I write Miss Marple!!)

Total word count: 1,371,543 (which does also include c. 300,000 words of origfic for Runaway Tales, although it doesn’t inc. the c.200,000 words of epic 1980s UNIT adventures, so I suppose it’s only c.100,000 out.)

Favourite fic I wrote: argh, idk, I do like quite a few of them still, but it’s all so dependent on mood and how recent it was and if people commented or not (because if they didn’t, I was obv. wrong about the quality).

I usually answer this with Salt of the Earth, and I suppose it’s as reasonable as anything else and very me. It’s about Mrs Tyler from Doctor Who’s “Image of the Fendahl” and how her life went, living by a time rift, fighting evil with folk remedies and rock salt and being 100% better than Torchwood while making a lot less fuss about everything. So I think it’s still one of the ones I like.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I don’t want to rewrite anything! I have moved on. I’ve written a lot of canon divergence AUs since somehow falling into SW Prequels this year and I think there are a couple of those where I thought a lot about where else they might end up, although the moment may have passed, certainly while I’m exhausting myself on exchanges!

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on: Oh, my main WIPs at the moment are for hurtcomfortex so I can’t. But, other things:

I do have a work that I need to check over a bit but which is otherwise a complete draft, which is something I originally wrote for (I think) NYR 2017 but either I was too tired to run with it or I wasn’t sure the original recip would like it, but ANYWAY, it’s Department S and sort of Annabelle/Stewart/Jason but also not:

“Yes, well,” said Annabelle, putting the book down away from her work, “perhaps I would have done if I’d been home any time in the last forty-eight hours, but you asked me to feed Auntie half the London Phone Book to analyse. I’ve been up all night dealing with the ensuing attack of indigestion.”

Stewart perched on the edge of the desk and leant over to kiss her cheek. “Sorry for the inconvenience. Any results?”

“Smith is still the most common surname by a significant margin,” said Annabelle and then put her hand to her head and slumped back in the chair. “The rest is just gibberish, I’m afraid.” She reached out for the Mark Caine novel. “As is this, I imagine.”

Otherwise, I am hoping to be done with hurtcomfortex soon, write my AU meme ficlet prompts from my Dreamwidth flist, and then maybe do intobar because that’s always one of the most fun ficathons.

And somewhere in my notebook I have a crossover drafted out for genprompt_bingo where Barry Allen meets Henry Mills, because I thought that’d be a thing that should happen once (probably pre-canon for OUaT).

But, you know, I need to finish typing up this stupid exchange fic that has gone LONG again and I don’t even know if the recip will even want it... (I love exchanges, honest, but... :lol:)

tags: @pers-books @allegoriesinmediasres and um I think @captain-aralias did most of the other people I know. @luthienebonyx maybe?

#writing #fanfic #the secret to fame and fortune: write Miss Marple #apparently #idk

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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HEY NOT ONLY IS IT LKT BUT IT IS ALSO ZINE DAY BABEY!!!! Please go check out the @seasonsofthecitadel zine! Orders opened today and all profits go to The Trevor Project!

As far as my typical weekly offerings go, I’m on a roll with this fic now, so...

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 7)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [ao3] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: Damien is dutiful as ever, and Rilla- Rilla has the situation under control. She does.

Chapter Notes: Not much to warn for this time, I don't think? They're all still bad at self care, and Arum is still... being passively suicidal, but if you've read the rest so far, I feel like that's expected. Love you! Happy LKT!

Damien wakes after Arum has already eaten, when Rilla is retrieving his dishes, and he careens back into consciousness with a shuddering gasp. His hand clutches his bow like a lifeline, and he springs to his feet in half a heartbeat, kicking the blanket aside without even seeming to notice it, his eyes wild until they land on Rilla.

Rilla, who only raises her eyebrow at him.

"At least you got some sleep, even if it was on the floor," she says mildly as Damien pants, standing and flicking his eyes around the room, looking away quickly when he meets the monster's eyes. "You okay?"

Damien swallows, then tries to press his hand over his heart, but he realizes that his bow is in the way and blinks in momentary confusion. "R-Rilla, I-" he cuts himself off as he remembers the monster watching them, violet eyes drifting between them curiously. "We can- we should discuss- we should move to the kitchen, I think, if we- if we wish to discuss-"

Rilla tries not to make it obvious that she wants to laugh, at that. Damien… it's not unfair for Damien to feel at least a little bit concerned, for him to want to talk to her privately. It really isn't. Even if it feels silly to Rilla, especially with the blatantly amused look Arum shoots the both of them. She bites her lip and nods, instead, then shoots Arum a look in return, both knowing and warning.

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit, okay Arum?" she says, and Arum wrinkles his snout very slightly as he nods. "Just… shout if you need anything."

Damien stares at her through this exchange, that wounded, mournful expression back in force, but she only smiles lightly and takes his hand (the one not still stubbornly wrapped around his bow, of course), and starts leading him back towards the front room. Arum's eyes flick to their clasped hands, his expression going momentarily puzzled before he flattens it out to neutral again, and Rilla doesn't have time to wonder about that because when they exit the exam room, Damien's mouth is already twisting down into a scowl.

"He- that beast- it tricked me into- into-"

"Into sleeping?" Rilla releases Damien's hand so she can go dump the dishes from breakfast onto the counter, and then she turns and leans against it, watching Damien unhappily begin to pace. "You were exhausted, Damien. If you didn't want to fall asleep in a room with him, you should have just stayed in bed with me," she says, and she knows she hasn't quite kept the hurt out of her voice when Damien's eyes dart to her in surprise.

"Rilla," he murmurs, and his pacing falters so he can come close to her instead, lifting his hands to gently touch her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her skin, just gently. "I… I am sorry. It isn't that I did not want to rest with you, my love. I always do. If I had my way, I would never sleep anywhere but beside you. But- but I couldn't- with that creature still beneath your roof, I could not-"

"I know," Rilla sighs, leaning into his touch. "I know once you get a thought in your head, it's hard for you to… I know."

"He is…" Damien's expression twists, his eyebrows furrowing deeply and his lips turning in a frown so deep it approaches a pout.

"A lot," Rilla finishes with a half a smile. "He's a lot."

Damien purses his lips, and then after a moment he nods lightly. "I suppose that is one rather concise way to put it, yes. He…"

Rilla raises an eyebrow. "He… what?"

Damien doesn't seem to know how to continue for a long moment, and then he shakes his head and takes both of her hands in his instead. "Rilla, oh Rilla, I must speak my heart."

"Had you stopped at some point?" she says, but her teasing tone falls a little flat, and his expression goes hurt as well as pleading. "Sorry. What- what do you need to say, Damien?"

"You know that I love you," he says, almost tearfully, "and I trust you. I trust your brilliance and I trust your judgment, but I am terrified, my love. I trust you with the whole of my heart, but- but I could not possibly trust him."

Rilla clenches her teeth, exhaling sharply. "Well, good. You don't have to trust him. All you gotta do is trust me, and everything will be fine. I have the situation totally under control."

"But…" Damien trails off weakly. "But what do you plan to do with him, Rilla? Surely- surely with your skill he will be mended in no time at all, but what happens then, my flower? You cannot keep him here like some sort of- of broken-winged pigeon, like some sort of pet-"

"Damien, he's not an animal-"

"Exactly, Rilla. What will you do , when he is healed? Do you intend to mend him and then let him traipse out your front door, to send him on his merry way? Do you intend to escort him home, to keep other knights at bay? What will you do?"

"I-" Rilla laughs uncomfortably, pulling her hands away. "Look, he's in no state to be considering all that just yet, Damien. He still can't even get out of the cot, really. There's no reason to get ahead of ourselves-"

"Rilla."

"That's so far down the line, Damien, you can't expect-"

"You cannot continue to treat him without a plan, love. An injured monster-" he sighs. "This creature… he does not currently pose a threat. That, I will concede. But when he is well again, you cannot know what he will do. Even if he feels he owes you to the point where he shall not harm you, how can you know he will not harm others, Rilla? How can you be certain that your kindness will not visit misery and death upon others?"

"He hasn't tried to hurt you either, Damien."

"I am armed, Rilla. It would be foolishness itself to attempt to-"

"Wouldn't be that hard to kill a man while he's asleep," Rilla says.

"I-" Damien pauses, swallows, looks decidedly uncomfortable. "I… I will concede that point as well. Though, it may be for your sake alone that he did not harm me. Clearly the debt he owes you is enormous, perhaps even a monster would understand the weight of such a mercy. But you cannot know he will not harm others when he is- if you allow him to leave this place."

Rilla narrows her eyes, just slightly. "Alright. So far, you've basically said that I can't keep him here and I can't let him leave, either. Kinda get the feeling that you're trying to paint me into a corner here, Damien."

"Rilla… my dearest, my love, you know what I must do." He gives a shaky sigh when she scowls and looks away from him. "Rilla, he cannot be allowed to live. It is far too dangerous-"

"Oh, so you're back to calling Arum an it again, now that you wanna talk about killing him?"

"N-" Damien cuts off, winces, then wrings his hands for a moment before he continues in a muted voice, "n-no, I- I was referring to- to the situation, not to the b-beast himself." He pauses again, visibly uncomfortable. "His… Ar- that is his… his name, then?"

"Yeah," Rilla says, still frowning. "It is. Though sometimes he gets pouty if you don't put Lord in front of it."

"Lord?" Damien echoes in surprise. "You- he- a Lord?"

"I mean, I don't know exactly what it entails, but apparently he rules that big swamp up north."

Damien blanches. "The Swamp of Titan's- that swamp? A deadly, dangerous, dire place! Oh, all the more reason for caution, for fear! Oh Saint Damien above, oh grace us with your Tranquility and wisdom, protect us from the cruelty of a beast who could tame such a place-"

"Alright, that doesn't seem fair. The jungle around the Citadel is dangerous too, Damien, but that doesn't mean you'd call the Queen cruel."

Damien swallows, his wild expression calming slightly as he fixes his eyes on her again. "I- I suppose that is- but, but! Rilla, that swamp has been even more dangerous than in the past, as of late. There are rumors, there are some truly frightening tales coming from the north recently-"

Damien pauses, then, and Rilla's face has gone blank as well. They stare at each other for a moment, both thinking quite similar things, and then Rilla's eyes flick to Arum's door, which is-

Still cracked open, just barely. Rilla swallows, uncomfortable, and when she speaks again her voice is more muted.

"That seems well beside the point, Damien, and I think you know that."

"Very well," Damien says, equally uncomfortable. "But you have not offered any solutions either, my love. You may say that the time when the beast will be well again is distant, but such time will slip past long before you are ready for it if you do not have a plan."

"My plan, Damien, is definitely not gonna be you killing him, even if I don't have another answer for you right now." She crosses her arms over her chest, trying not to let her voice become a shout. "I've been a little busy, if you haven't noticed, just keeping him alive in the first place. I haven't exactly had any time to plan out something that won't be an issue for- for a while, yet."

"A while," Damien echoes. "Do you not have an idea of how long, then? Is his situation still so precarious that you cannot speculate yet upon that?"

"He- I mean, his progress is still slow. It might speed slightly after I treat- well, there's a chance he'll start improving faster soon, but I don't exactly have a lot of experience with patients like him. It's not like I have a great idea of how long lizard-dragon-bugs take to get back on their feet, you know?"

"Indeed," Damien says. "Is that not all the more reason to be prepared, in anticipation that he may heal faster than you expect?"

"I haven't talked to him about it," Rilla admits. "I just- I'm not sure he trusts me completely yet, and there's a decent chance that a question like that will make him suspicious."

Damien blinks. "He does not trust you?" He scoffs, then shakes his head. "Of all the absurd-"

"I'm engaged to a man who's practically begging me to let him slay the beast," Rilla drawls. "If I were a monster, I wouldn't be the most trusting of someone like me either."

"But you saved the creature," Damien says dismissively. "Surely that-"

"Yeah, and I'm still trying to save him, Damien."

Damien inhales as if preparing to counter that, but then his eyes flick to the window, to the morning light outside, and he sighs. "I- I cannot stay much longer. I am- I intended to mention, last night, but my mind-"

"What, Damien?"

"I will be leaving, for- for a few days, at the very least. The new Investigator General will be bringing a rather small team to- to resolve a situation a little ways north." He pauses. "Not- not quite so far north as our previous discussion," he adds. "But- I am needed. As much as the idea of leaving you alone with such a creature terrifies me-"

"I don't know how many times I gotta say that he's not gonna hurt me before you get it, Damien."

"I don't know how you can be so sure, my love," Damien says softly, achingly. "I trust enough that I- that I will leave, I will leave you with the creature under your roof and your care, and I will not… I will not harm him, this day. But when I return… when I return, we will need to… to resolve this discussion. A decision must be made, and I think we both know that there is only one possible outcome. There is only one way to return our lives to normalcy, to ensure safety for the people it is both of our duties, in our own way, to protect."

"Uh." Rilla scowls. "We definitely don't both know that," she says, tone going sour with mocking. "Saints, I should make you a recording of me saying all the shit you seem determined not to understand. Maybe on the twelfth repeat you'll get the picture. He's my patient, Damien, which means it's my job to keep him safe. And if you want to hurt him so badly, that means I'll have to keep him safe from you, too."

"Rilla, please don't- don't-" he pauses, furrows his brow, and then sighs deeply. "No."

"No?"

"I cannot stay but a few minutes more. I believe this conversation is larger than our current time will allow. I do not enjoy the thought of leaving words unsaid-"

Rilla snorts a laugh. She really can't help it. She winces when he gives her an injured look.

"Er- yes. Regardless. We will resume this… discussion upon my return. Please, love, just- please do not grow complacent with this creature. Please take care. I love you too dearly to think that you could be in any sort of danger, but especially not danger that could be easily avoided with just the barest breath of caution. Please, love."

Rilla stuffs down her frustration, and instead comes close to him again. She touches his shoulder, and then just damns the whole situation and slips her arms around him in a hug instead. "I love you too, Damien," she sighs. "And you damn well better be careful out there too, whatever it is you're gonna be doing. Promise me you won't let yourself be distracted by this when you should be worrying about what's out there," she says, and then she pulls back enough to meet his eyes. She wonders for a moment if she looks quite as worried as he does. "I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, Damien."

"I promise," he says gently. "I assure you that I will be entirely focused, entirely engrossed in my mission until it is complete."

Rilla doesn't really believe that. Damien isn't exactly the best at keeping his mind from running away with him, but- it's nice to hear him say it, anyway. She sighs.

"C'mon, then. I'll help you get your armor back on, and then I'll walk you to the bridge, at least. I could do with a bit of fresh air."

Arum curls his claws in the sheets when he hears the door click shut, when he hears two distinct sets of footsteps maunder off into the day. Ten minutes or so, Amaryllis had casually (or less than casually, if the light strain in her voice had been any indication) called out to him through the door before she ran off with the knight. Ten minutes. That is how long she will be gone.

Not enough time to do everything he needs, but-

He waits only until he can no longer hear them, and then he pushes the blankets off. With a care bordering on the absurd (he cannot risk falling, he refuses to be set back again), he swings his legs out, letting his claws click on the hardwood below. Behind him, he curls his tail down and retrieves the first of his stolen prizes from beneath the bed. A crutch: primitive, so far as such tools go, but just tall enough to be useful to him, and he positions it beneath his lower right arm and grits his teeth and he stands-

He stands and does not fall, this time.

(Kicking the crutch back beneath the bed when he had fallen two days ago had been an exercise in flailing panic. He has rarely been more mortified.)

Arum stands, balancing carefully with the help of the crutch and his tail, and he breathes unsteadily for a long moment before he does anything else.

He has his goals in mind. He knows precisely where this little creature keeps everything he will need, even if he is not entirely steady enough to enact his plan just yet.

He has a deadline, now. When the knight returns from his newest expedition, Arum does not think Amaryllis will be able to keep him from slaying Arum, and- and now that Arum's suspicions about the Keep are all but confirmed-

(Rumors. What rumors? When Arum overheard those words he wanted to tear the blankets apart, wanted to roar and rage and demand that the knight explain- what does he mean, that the swamp, Arum's swamp, is becoming more dangerous? That it is growing more frightening? What does he mean? What is the Keep doing? What is happening to Arum's home, in his absence?)

He has a deadline. Arum will not wait, not a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Either he will die in his planned attempt, or he will return home. One way or the other, his Keep will have a familiar again.

He grits his teeth, focuses on his balance, and step by careful step he begins to cross the room.

Arum is still safely in his cot, giving Rilla a baleful glare as she returns, and she stubbornly pretends that she hadn't been worried about that. It wasn't like she expected him to disappear, or to hurt himself by accident, but- Rilla hasn't really left the hut since she found the lizard. It just feels weird, to leave him alone.

"Here," Rilla says brightly, pressing a vial into Arum's hand as he blinks up at her, startled. "Take that, please."

"Wh-why?" he barks suspiciously, holding it away from himself. "What is it?"

"The antidote. It should neutralize what's left of the poison from that basilisk," she says, and she grins sharply when Arum flinches in surprise. "Yeah. I told you I was gonna figure it out. Honestly, it's a good thing I did, because even without that talon still in there, the poison would have taken a while for your body to naturally work through. So yeah, I'm just gonna reiterate the whole, it's important to just tell me things, thing. Y'know. If you actually want to get better."

Arum wrinkles his snout, narrows his eyes at the vial, then uncorks it and takes it in one go. His expression goes even more dour at the taste (understandable, Rilla thinks), and then he presses the empty glass back into Rilla's hands. "I would say I apologize, but I would be lying," he hisses. "Perhaps I would be more likely to trust if I were not receiving such wildly different messages from my two ambassadors to humanity."

Rilla snorts. "Yeah, that's not entirely unfair," she says. "Damien's not gonna be back for a few days or so, though, so you don't have to worry about him hovering for a while."

Arum raises an eyebrow. "Hm."

Rilla tucks the empty vial into a pocket and starts the routine of checking the monster over. It's becoming almost too familiar, by now, she thinks. She talks through it again to keep him comfortable, and he frowns deeply when she tsks at him over his frill, which she is beginning to worry might permanently bear some nicks and tears if he can't stop flaring it so frequently.

"It hardly matters," he mutters, looking away from her. "It's not as if it will kill me. It is only a frill."

"Yeah, but- well, I'm sure it still hurts, and whether or not you care about the aesthetic appearance, reopening the wounds over and over certainly isn't good for you. Just- try your best not to move it if you can, okay?"

Arum rolls his eyes. "Yes, doctor."

He tugs the blankets back up on his own (he's getting stronger, she notes with some satisfaction) and then he sighs, frowning and looking towards the window, despite the curtains in the way of his view.

There's something elegant about him, a sad sort of tension to his stillness, and Rilla has to bite back the urge to just ask-

What happens when you're healed?

She wishes Damien hadn't stuck the question in her head. It's just- a pain in the ass, really. She picks a different question instead.

("I think the creature is… I think he is restless," Damien says uncomfortably, when they are in sight of the bridge.

"Of course he's restless, Damien, he's barely better than bedridden."

Her voice bounces on the b's, and she smiles as she sees Damien tilt his head and file her words away for some later composition.

"Yes, needless to say," he says after a moment. "But what I mean is that he seems… understimulated? Or- bored, I suppose," he says with an awkward smile. "Perhaps it would be worthwhile to- to provide him with something to occupy his mind. To keep him out of trouble," the knight mumbles, his soft and calloused hand lightly squeezing her own.

Rilla wonders, brow furrowed, why she hadn't thought of that already.)

"Hey," she says, and he turns his face back toward her with a suspicious look. "Do monsters have their own written language?"

"No," he says, less suspicious now but certainly more concerned. "We have several. Many of them complex and individual and private and certainly not the business of some nosy human."

"Can you read our language?" she prods, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," he grumbles. "It is only one language, it is easy enough to understand."

"Huh," she says. "Good to know."

He looks suspicious again at that, but he also looks tired, and she's familiar enough with that expression on his face to know that he'll probably be asleep again in ten minutes or so. That's fine. She's not sure exactly what kind of books a monster like him might enjoy reading, but Rilla can use his time napping to sift through her little library and find something that might just catch his interest.

Hell, if she's already going for treason, she might see if he'll have some insight into some of the books her dads left behind, while she's at it.

[->]

#<3<3<3 #elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #sir damien #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #Yell Heah Baybee #scattered on my shore

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bluelovesstufff · 6 years ago

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Favorite Bagginshield Fics I’ve Read/Currently Reading (in no particular order) Part 2/?:

It’s been a little over 6 months since I gushed Bagginshield fic rec and I decided a few weeks ago while reading my pile of bookmarks on AO3 that I need to post a new one. I have 33 fics below out of the 9,085 fics on Bagginshield’s AO3, so I’d recommend taking a look there as well for those I’ve missed. As always, buckle in boys.

Part 1 Ask

^^ rating descends from G to E this time for organizational purposes! also, a lot of these are all complete because I have no patience and have to read an entire 100k fic in one sitting like a maniac.

** (to reiterate) are extra, extra favorites, but these are all absolutely incredible fics worth every second of your time.

Call You Home by northerntrash - 12k, rating: not rated, complete, hobbit culture, everyone lives nobody dies au, it’s all fluff folks, Thorin’s making puppy-eyes at the Burglar again, hobbits have a secret language (sign me up!)

Summary: In which the Company are entirely too nosy about matters that are supposed to be a secret, and Bilbo learns that being concerned about propriety is overrated when you could be making friends instead.

** Wasteful by northerntrash - 6k, rating: not rated, modern au, coffee shop au (squeeee), in which awkwardly staring does not make for good flirting, and you should probably just tell people when you are interested in them, fluff, author writes modern Thorin so goddamn well!

Summary: Bilbo just didn't understand; why would anyone come in every day, order cake, and then not eat it?

** Customary by an_odd_ducky - 3k, rating: G, fluff, hobbits rub noses as a greeting!, thorin is jealous!, Fili and Kili insist on learning!

Summary: Hobbits rub noses to greet each other - a fact the dwarves don't know until they arrive in Rivendell and Elrond greets a surprised Bilbo by rubbing their noses together. Some of the company find it quite amusing, but Thorin is less than pleased. Fluff! Fill for the Hobbit Kink Meme.

** Para Bellum by RyuzzaKochou - 4k, rating: G, complete, basically hobbits are secret kung fu masters, company bonding, humor.

Summary: Hobbits always survive; even where trained and experienced soldiers don't. Has no one ever wondered about this? Thorin and the Company learn that it takes more than luck to be small in a big world. OR - Bilbo has unexpected skills and Thorin finds he likes them.

Silly Trinkets by The Feels Whale (miscellea) - 16k, rating: G, complete, fem!Bilbo, Thorin has no game, lies of omission, part of a two part series.

Summary: There are no words adequate to describe the Last Homely House or the wonders of Lord Elrond’s hospitality, which seems impossible to strain even under the burden of thirteen empty dwarfish stomachs and their even more trying attitudes.

Having played hostess to those same stomachs in her time, Briar is duly impressed and endeavors to add to the burden as little as possible. This is made somewhat more difficult by the fact that elves, apparently, are better able to differentiate between hobbit gentlemen and hobbit ladies that dwarves seem to be. A fact Briar learned when Lord Elrond pulled her to one side after their meal and put her into the hands of his daughter and her women with a gentle smile.

Briar feels that she probably owes him a swift kick in the shins for that.

You Got Me by drunkonwriting - 19k, rating: G, complete, dwarf culture & customs, everyone loves Bilbo and gives him shit, fluff, everybody lives nobody dies au.

Summary: The Company shows their affection for Bilbo in accordance with dwarvish tradition. Bilbo... has no idea why everyone keeps giving him gifts.

Comes Around Again by scarletjedi - 205k, rating: T, complete, a fandom favorite obviously, Gimli and Legolas are the main pairing, lovely art!, time travel fix-it, established relationship.

Summary: Gimli closes his eyes, an old Dwarf on the brink of death in the home he had built with his husband in the Undying Lands, and opens them again as a young Dwarf in his childhood home in Ered Luin. He's returned to the tumultuous week before The Company set out to recruit their Burglar from his cosy hobbit hole. Gimli, once again a impetuous teen in the eyes of his family, must get into that Company--the lives of his loved ones, and the very fate of Middle Earth--depends on it.

** A Dragon’s Tale by vtforpedro - 132k, rating: T, complete, canon divergence au, dragon Bilbo, timeline? what timeline?, Bilbo is so Done (same), Thorin is an Idiot, emotionally constipated Thorin (my favorite, jk), everyone is dramatic, lore? what lore?, minor character death, minor war violence, minor ring influence.

Summary: Bilbo Baggins has been a hobbit for many long years and he should very much like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

An old friend drops by Bag End with the offer of an adventure and despite Bilbo's refusal, the idea of only thirteen dwarves and a wizard facing a dragon may just convince him yet. After all, he has experience with the Great Dragons of the North. Once upon a time, he was one.

An Eye For Quality by Linelen (Linelenagain) - 85k, rating: T, complete, fem!Bilbo, au canon divergence, wonky timeline, family by choice, crazy courtship rituals (we love a good courtship).

Summary: Fíli lived his life by an old dwarven proverb: when a fool drops a treasure, a wise man picks it up (it sounded better in the original khuzdul).Bella Baggins never quite fit in the Shire. Perhaps she was made for the mountains, instead.

** A Shot in the Dark by Silver_pup - 213k, rating: T: complete, I read anything this author writes basically, time travel (I love this trope), fix-it fic, au, bamf!Bilbo, bamf!Dwarves, Bilbo is determined to save everyone, friends to lovers, eventual happy ending.

Summary: When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself in his old bed in his old home in his old body. Is this death? Or a trick of magic? Either way, Bilbo recognizes a second chance when he sees one, and this time his adventure with Thorin is going to go a bit differently.

** Flowers and Ice by BlackSmile - 54k, rating: T, complete, fem!Bilbo, frozen au (she has gloves, I repeat, Bella has to conceal don’t feel), some angst, author blames tumblr, no ring au.

Summary: Thorin wasn't really impressed with the idea to hire a burglar for their quest. He was even less impressed when he found out this burglar was a Hobbit. And all his hopes were lost when he found out their burglar was a woman. But still he can't help himself but to feel a bit attracted to this damned sweet Hobbit. Just why does she have to be so stubborn? And why does she wear gloves all the time anyway?

** Flowers of Yavanna by SOABA - 22k, rating: T, complete, overprotective dwarves, dwobbits!, fem!Bilbo, post BotFA, magic, families of choice, assassination attempts, Bilbo remains in Erebor au, cabbage patch hobbits (yesss)

Summary: Because the belief that Hobbits grew their babies in a cabbage patch had to come from somewhere.“What’s on your wrist, Bella?” Tauriel asked from her place at the dining table when Bél walked past her, nodding toward Bella’s right side.

Bella frowned and looked down at her right hand and then her mouth fell open in shock. Printed on the inside of her wrist, directly underneath her palm, plain as daylight, was a circlet of lily-shaped blossoms connected by an emerald green vine.

lay down your sweet and weary head by Elenothar - 125k, rating: T, complete, very slow burn, more pining pre-slash actually, time travel (again, a gift to this fandom because BotFA broke all of us), fix it yet not really fix-it it’s complicated, durin family, thorin-centric.

Summary: Thorin dies. Thorin wakes up. He is understandably confused by this, especially since he appears to be in the Erebor he knew as a young dwarf, about to be attacked by a dragon.A time-travel fic with Thorin as the one living his life twice.

The Nine Lives of Bilbo Baggins by captain (theoddoodisnude) - 15k, rating: T, complete, community: hobbit_kink, AU (sort of), multiple temporary character deaths, slightly gory, descriptions of death and dying, THERE’S A HAPPY ENDING FOLKS.

Summary: He's not scared, but rather resigned. He doesn't want to die, not when he knows that it will be permanent, but he doesn't regret his actions. He's died many times on this journey; first for his Company, and then for people he could proudly call friends, who then turned into family.

And now Bilbo will die for them again.

For the first time in his life, he will also die for love.

Nugel (Flower of all Flowers) by aquileaofthelonelymountain - 2k, rating: T, complete, post BotFA, everybody lives nobody dies au, fluff, flower language.

Summary: Recently, Bilbo seems distracted, even unhappy. But what Thorin interprets as homesickness is something different. And although Bilbo knows very well why he feels so strangely out of place, he lacks the courage to tell Thorin. It's only good that even dwarves know a thing or two about flowers...

** A Passion for Mushrooms by Chrononautical - 90k, rating: T, complete, all the dwarves, dwarf culture and customs, cultural differences, gift giving, language of flowers, flower crowns, everyone lives nobody dies au, Bilbo remains in Erebor au, slow burn, need I say more folks?

Summary: There are many trials for a hobbit attempting to make a life among dwarves. A hobbit wants a garden. A hobbit wants to eat regular meals. A hobbit wants friends, good books, and comfortable chairs. Bilbo does his best to carve out a little hobbit life for himself in the mountain. If only there were not one final obstacle. For a hobbit heart wants love, and among dwarves that is a sticky subject.

"Hobbits have a passion for mushrooms, surpassing even the greediest likings of Big People." - The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

** Plaits and Weaves by ArgentAconit - 53k, rating: T, complete, braids, hobbit culture, dwarf culture, fluff, listen Bilbo goes through most of the company and gives them each Hobbit worthy braids (??? that’s fucking adorable bro), grooming, cultural differences, Thorin is jealous (big surprise), sort of a fix it.

Summary: Bilbo misses home, he misses his armchair and his books, but right now he misses his kitchen the most. If only he had something to keep his hands busy, he wouldn't so dearly wish he could turn back and delay their quest even more.

Fili is the first to take notice how restless he is, and quickly comes up with a solution. Bilbo, of course, doesn't seem to understand what he is being asked and how it would affect the company over the course of their journey. Or how it would affect one Thorin Oakenshield.

Raven: An Unexpected Adventure by Aerlinniel722 - 165k, rating: T, 32/? chapters completed, fem!Bilbo, everyone lives nobody dies au, post BotFA, overprotective dwarves, family feels, there’s a MINI, female dwobbit Thorin and you expect me not to read it, as if, Bilba really struggles in this one folks.

Summary: After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilba Baggins fled Erebor and her new King in disgrace with a secret. Fifteen years later, when Dís swears she sees a hobbit who looked like her brother… well, perhaps a certain burglar isn't as dead as it was initially assumed.

** Recovery, Redemption, and Romance by Moonbeam - 118k, rating: T, complete, Bilbo is a surprise healer, injured Thorin, rebuilding Erebor, Bilbo is awesome, Thorin is smitten, Dwarves are amused and sneaky, gifts and courting, slow build. everyone lives nobody dies au, developing relationship.

Summary: When Thorin is injured in the Battle of the Five Armies, Bilbo surprises everyone with his healing abilities.

Then as Erebor starts to rebuild he continues to surprise people with his knowledge and skills. On top of everything else that is occurring there is a dwarf king and a hobbit who might be trying to court one another without the other knowing - while their companions are either helpful or confusingly gleeful.

An Unexpected Proposal by Earenial - 100k, rating: T, complete, romance, character study, oblivious!Bilbo, frustrated!Thorin, Kili is a flirt, Bilbo-centric, fic follows (most of) the canon events of the book ( = no hug on Carrock), slow Austen-type romance, slow burn.

Summary: As Bilbo sat smoking in his empty hobbit hole, he couldn’t help but wonder – when did his life become so boring? Or better yet – when did his old life stop being enough?

He suspected the answer to that question lay somewhere around the time when he had refused Thorin Oakenshield’s offer of marriage.

** Feathers that Flutter and Fly by orphan_account :( - 14k, rating: M, complete, wing!verse, Bilbo’s wings are beautiful and I’m in love with wing fics sue me.

Summary: The Shire is taken by Orcs, ravaged and destroyed but Bilbo, who is still very young, managed to escape. He runs, travelling through Middle Earth until he reaches Erebor, where Thorin finds him, cold and starving.

Good Morning by Luckyhai5 - 57k, rating: M, complete, fem!Bilbo, major character death warning, imprisonment, PTSD, it’s really a nice story I swear, it has a happy ending.

Summary: There was a strange, tall man walking up the path. Bilbo recognised him, of course; how could one forget that tall, grey silhouette now making its way up towards her? Gandalf.

AU. What if Bilbo had already left the Shire once before? What if she had seen things she could never forget, and lived through things she couldn't speak of? In this world, Bilbo has a secret, a secret waiting for her in Rivendell, a secret that has changed, and will change, everything...

A Home for my Heart by Moonrose91 - 54k, rating: M, complete, social isolation, character death, miscarriages, infant death, barrenness, body shaming, bullying, mention of mpreg, Erebor Never Fell au, smashing of timelines, canon what canon?, slow build.

Summary: For things Bilbo could not change, he was condemned to a life of isolation, with the belief that none could love him. And then a Dwarf came to Hobbiton.

** Hurricanes in Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire by 61Below - 126k, rating: M, complete, fem!Bilbo, post BotFA, pregnancy!, language barriers!, cultural misunderstandings!, durin family feels, tbh if Dís is in it I’m in love, ALSO author pictured Bilbo as Margret Hale from North and South??? that’s beautiful.

Summary: Bilbo was banished. That's it, the end. She wants nothing more to do with dwarves. Now all she needs to do is get back home, but there may be some complications along the way.

** The Oak and The Ash by sunryder - 67k, rating: M, complete, timeline? what timeline?, au sentinels and guides, sentinel/guide bonding (I love this idea of sentinels and guides, it’s like soulmates but more intricate?? and better almost?? read it, it’s fantastic).

Summary: Bilbo Baggins was not a particularly talented Guide. He knew that. His family knew that. Every last Hobbit in the four Farthings and Bree knew that.

But that meant nothing when one morning an agony that wasn’t Bilbo’s ripped right through him, dropping him to his knees with a scream. Wrapped up in the pain there was a presence. Someone fierce and determined, nestling himself in the blank space in Bilbo’s mind for the barest of moments before he slipped away. It was like fingertips brushing across the outside fringe of his soul, and Bilbo wanted it back. Wanted him back.

And so help him, Bilbo was going to find him. His Sentinel.

Something Blue by Lapin - 34k, rating: M, complete, fake relationship (ayyyyyy) au canon divergence, politics, gardens & gardening.

Summary: Thorin marries Bilbo after the Battle of Five Armies, a marriage of convenience, not love. Slowly, they must come to make the best of it, Bilbo resolves. After all, he's a Hobbit. They make the best of things.

** An Expected Journey by MarieJacquelyn - 295k, rating: E, complete, time travel, sex and violence, fix it, eventual happy ending, temporary character death, BotFA fix it, everybody lives nobody dies.

Summary: “I just wish…”

“What do you wish?”

“I wish I could have changed it all.”

For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right?

Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

** Durin’s League by hobbitgrl - 73k, rating: E, complete, superheroes/superpowers au, fem!Bilbo, angst, romance, all the dwarves all the things all the feelings.

Summary: When the mysterious Durin's League takes the national spotlight in the battle against the super-powered villains of the Smaug Corporation Bilbo Baggins doesn't think much of it. At least not until Thorin Oakenshield crashes through her living room wall and Gandalf tells her she's their only hope.

No Matter What We Breed by fideliant - 37k, rating: E, complete, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omegaverse, alpha Thorin, omega Bilbo, courtship, cultural differences, love at first sight, implied mpreg, a lot of sex folks, angst, attempted rape/non-con, Gandalf is a mega troll.

Summary: In a world where omega males are slightly less rare than Arkenstones, Thorin doesn't do himself much of a favour by falling in love with the first gentlehobbit he lays eyes on. Much more is expected of virile alpha male dwarves, after all, even more so for kings, but when Bilbo is revealed to be the first omega male in centuries, Erebor is suddenly not the only prize that Thorin has set his sights on winning.

** Office Hours by lilithiumwords - 9k, rating: E, complete, takes place after What Happens in Gondor, modern au, college/university au, Kili is a literature student and Bilbo is his professor and Thorin is a jerk (not really), smut, Thorin might be deranged, (I love the ending to this, read it).

Summary: When Professor Bilbo Baggins sent Kíli Vinson's paper home with a bad grade, he never imagined that his relaxing office hours would be interrupted by Kíli's terribly rude uncle.Whom, incidentally, Bilbo had met before and knew rather, er, intimately.

** The Riven Crown by The_Kingmaker - 254k, rating: E, complete, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, mutual pining, middle earth politics, everyone lives nobody dies au, hurt/comfort, nightmare, alternating POV, slow burn.

Summary: ‘We may have won the battle, but I fear the war with winter is just beginning.’

The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place.

Then there is the matter of the gold...

Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

Safe and Distant by Lindzzz - 45k, rating: E, complete, slow burn, everyone lives nobody dies au (everyone knows but bilbo), thorn is an idiot, post BotFA, cultural miscommunication, 50k sequel!

Summary: "Bilbo never bothers denying that he is a slight, little bit, probably infatuated with Thorin. It’s not something that bothers him. Really. He’s pretty sure that everyone very likely has a little flutter in their chest for the dwarf. He’s something grand and unattainable.And it’s really much safer if it stays that way."

** What Happens in Gondor by lilithiumwords - 15k, rating: E, complete, modern au, smut, one night stand, REINCARNATION, anyone?, Gandalf is a troll, Thorin and Bilbo are beans, so much sex, prequel to a 3 part series.

Summary: The one night stand that Bilbo will always regret leaving behind.

#bagginshield thilbo thorin oakenshield bilbo baggins fic recs bagginshield fic recs my post #bagginshield #thilbo #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #fic recs #bagginshield fic recs #bagginshield fic rec #my post #mine #text #fic rec #fem!bilbo #this is a long one folks #ao3 #bagginshield fic

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wanderingcas · 8 years ago

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Week 7: Season 12 Inspired Destiel!

[Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful submissions to Week 6 of Spn Fanfic Submission Thursday!! There’s some absolutely quality fics in this list, so check them out. If you want to participate in next week’s fic submissions, check out the schedule!

Please signal boost so we can get these great fics circulating!]

Things That Will Probably Not Happen in Season 12 by @expatgirl

Three fics from Mary’s POV as she tries to adjust to being alive again, tries to understand her sons, and the guy that seems to live with them. The fourth fic is from Dean’s POV, as he tries to understand the same things.

Teen and Up; Mature for the 3rd fic, 8.7k words. (Complete)

[POV Mary Winchester, POV Dean, Weird family dynamics, Hugs, Swearing, Dissociation, Blood, Prayer, Blow Jobs, Feelings]

Warnings: Mild eye trauma/ mild body horror (not shown), brief suicidal thoughts

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx by @pantheonofdiscord

Dean eases Baby down the frontage road, trying not to look in the rearview mirror as his home gets smaller and smaller behind him.

He’s done this a hundred times. He’s driven down this road in the soft morning light, heading out to some little town in some distant corner of the country. This is a job like any other.

“It’s not like we’re never coming back,” Cas says from the passenger seat.

Dean and Cas and the open road, to the tune of Led Zeppelin. A post-series story in thirteen parts.

Explicit. 82k words. (Complete)

[Dean/Cas, road trips, mutual pining, getting together, case fic, post-series, angst, fluff]

And Back Again by @funnywings

Takes place after the finale. Mourning, loss, and a game of spot the difference between the Cas that used to be and the one Jack brought back. Happy ending guaranteed.

Teen and Up. 4k words. (Complete)

[Angst, Happy Ending, Dean’s POV, 12.23 Coda]

Warnings: Temporary MCD

This Isn’t How It Was Supposed To Go by @nox-lee

It’s been excruciating all this time without Dean and now he’s finally here. Cas wants to soak Dean in, wants to scrub him clean of the prison grime and smooth away the new lines that have formed on his hardened face. He wants to breathe him in and re-catalogue every freckle. Instead he watches Dean disappear down the hall and slam his bedroom door.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Explicit. 3k words. (Complete)

[12x09, 12x10, coda, angst with a happy ending, smut]

Heaven Help Me by @righteousdemondean

Coda to 12.23 “All along the watchtower” Teen and Up. 647 words. (Complete) [angst, hurt no comfort, dean-centric, drinking mention, alcohol abuse mention, character death]

Please Come Back by @spn-akf-yana

Even months after the events with the portal, neither Sam and Dean have given up on bringing Cas back. Jack doesn’t to begin with know his true heritage so he tries to help, but not knowing how to raise the dead, he opens the portal again, which just brings up bad memories and things become even more complex when he finds out who he is.

Teen and Up. 9.9k words. (Complete)

[angst, post-season 12]

Rebirth by @mrswholmeschester

Set right after season 11, this story explores the new dynamics now that Mary is back. Dean finds out something about himself as he and his family try to find Pandora's box to trap Lucifer.

Teen and Up. 16k words. (Complete)

[Destiel]

Rage by @darkheartinthesky

Castiel was always too stubborn for his own good–too stubborn to die, even. As Castiel sits recovering, Sam and Dean prepare for their biggest fight yet. Meanwhile, come Hell or high water, Mary Winchester is getting back to her home world.

Teen and Up. 50k words. (WIP)

[S13 Fic, Hurt!Castiel, Caretaker Dean, Dean Winchester vs Feelings, Supportive Sam, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF!Mary Winchester]

Warnings: Graphic imagery, violence

Feather by @ialwayscomewhenyoucall

Dean mourns Cas after the events of “All Along the Watchtower”

Teen and Up. 336 words. (Complete)

[12x23 coda, angst, grief]

alive by @babybluecas

Cas is standing right before him: same coat, same blue eyes—so radiant and alive, as if they have never lost their light.

Teen and Up. 898 words. (Complete)

[Angst, Castiel’s return, post-season 12, pre-slash, pining]

Warning: Major Character Death

You’re Me and I’m You by @deservetobesaved

A witch’s spell causes Dean and Cas to switch bodies, much to Sam’s amusement. Dean pretends he’s super annoyed about it (not really) and Cas is just adorable.

Teen and up. 1.5k words. (Complete)

[fluff, crack, body swap, s12, canon divergence]

Conversation Hearts by @mittensmorgul

Following the events of 12.11, Dean takes stock of the things he remembers, and the things he’s always tried to make himself forget. If he can’t make his own words, maybe store-bought is fine.

Teen and Up. 4k words. (Complete)

[Valentine’s Day Fluff, Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, Dean Uses Actual Words, even if he has to borrow them from terrible candy, Fluff, Dean rode Larry, and squished a bunny, Love Confessions, First Kiss]

Welcome home, Cas by @xbooksandtea

“Cas,” he whispered, and he was able to hear the blood rushing through the veins in his ears. Shimmering lights were dancing at the corners of his vision. His skin felt both burning hot and ice cold at the same time, the way he imagined it would feel if you dove into a pool while someone branded you with a burning claw – the way that left scars.

General Audiences. 1.6k words. (Complete)

[fluff and angst, reunions]

Memento Mori by @cas-essence

Dean is annoyed to find out that they forgot to wrap up the case of Benjamin’s stabbing. Still, he finds himself intrigued as he is told that the dead angel had owned an apartment and he, Sam and Cas drive back to have a look around. Old wounds are opened and start to heal as Cas is finally able to say goodbye to one of his siblings properly.

General Audiences. 8k words. (Complete)

[ep 12x10, hurt Castiel, hurt/comfort, team free will, pining dean, fluff and angst, Angel headcanons]

Good Scotch (Is the Way to Dean’s Heart) by @braezenkitty

A sort of coda to 12x13, inspired by 12x14 and this post, and set between the two episodes. Dean’s pissed about Mary lying to them and putting lives in danger—for putting Cas’ life in danger. He’s angry and he needs some comfort and distraction. He also needs another bottle of scotch. Castiel provides.

Teen and Up. 3.5k words. (Complete)

[Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, First Kiss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant]

Careless by @lies-unfurl

Castiel has always obeyed Ishim.

Explicit. 1.5k words. (Complete)

[Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Castiel Whump, Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets]

Warnings: rape/non-con, suicidal thoughts

Angels Calling by @hefellfordean

Post s12e17: Castiel has tracked down Dagon and Kelly Kline with the help of other angels, after the Winchesters and Eileen let her go, and calls Dean for help. Dean has to deal with Cas’ return to Heaven and is worried about what that means for their relationship.(Basically my guess about what would happen to Kelly Kline before the final episodes aired)

Teen and Up. 2.7k words. (Complete)

[Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF!Cas]

Just Pretend by @thursdays-fallen-angel

After Sam’s footsteps crunch over the gravel and disappear into the house, the only sound remaining is Dean’s ragged breathing, and the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears.

General. 2k words. (Complete)

[Angst, 12x23 spoilers, Fix-It]

Hymnal by @humanformdragon

When Castiel meets Mary on the way to the Bunker, they end up talking about the past, and about doubt, and about decisions. Castiel recalls a past Christmas, one where Anna was ordered to carry out God’s will in a village no-one now remembers, and he finds he isn’t so sure of when his first steps towards Falling were taken.

General Audiences. 7.8k words. (Complete)

[Castiel and Mary talk, Conversations, Destiel is background, Mostly me musing on Castiel’s past, s12 time frame]

May I Have This Dance? by @thefiendishfangirl

Mary takes a quiet moment to teach Castiel to dance.

Teen and Up. 1.1k words. (Complete)

[slow dancing, fluff, implied smut, supportive mary, cockblock sam]

Untitled by @deanwinchcester

Based on this post. Cas can sense lies and confronts Dean on the “you’re our brother” line.

General Audiences. 369 words. (Complete)

[first kiss, 12.19 coda]

lifeless by @casitels

Dean brings Cas’ hand to his lips, and for a moment, he leaves it there.

General. 196 words. (Complete)

[Coda, Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower]

Warnings: Major Character Death

the (not so) reluctant big spoon by @woefulcas

dean and cas get some much needed time together while sam works a case with eileen - sleepy morning cuddles ensue

General Audience. .5k words. (Complete)

[hunter husbands, extreme fluff, sleepy morning cuddles, dean likes being the little spoon but he wants to wrap himself around cS ok, it’s a struggle, s12 should have had more fluff and cuddling and i’m bitter about it]

The Way Out by @awed-frog

Things are going pretty good, which is why Dean should have seen it coming. Sam and Toni are so in love it’s disgusting, the big monsters are all gone or dead, and Dean and Cas - yeah, okay, so they kissed and now they’re kind of together, okay? Shut up.

No, the second Dean had caught himself thinking about food processors and beach holidays, he should have fucking known his happy ending would turn around and kick him in his fucking teeth. And now it has, and they’re supposed to get on a damn plane and put on monkey suits and have Christmas dinner at Lord and Lady Bevell’s, and Dean just can’t - he can’t face it, he can’t breathe, he can’t even see through the injustice of it all, because Cas - Cas -

Mature. 67k words. (Complete)

[Angst and Feels, Pining, Friendship, Time Travel, First Kiss, First Time, Declarations Of Love, Team Free Will, Young Winchesters, Profound Bond, Canon Compliant]

softly; because we are screaming by @cuddlemonsterdean

He’d tried, all through dinner. Fuck, did he try. They’re a family and families eat together. But the food just didn’t wanna go down. As if there were still words locked in his throat, words of hurt and accusation, and they were in the way. The more he tried to get past them, the harder it got to talk. Like his insides were torn between heaving it all up and keeping everything inside.

Teen And Up Audiences. 1k words. (Complete)

[implied/background Deancas, implied one-sided Crowley/Dean, 12x14 Coda]

Warnings: implied panic attack, implied selectively mute!Dean

Season 12 episode codas series by @whichstiel

A series of 24 episode codas for season 12 - one unique story for each episode, plus a bonus story for that Endverse prop photo from episode 2. Features Destiel, Rowena, Mary, Crowley, Lily Sunder, the Banes twins, and Saileen.

Generic to Explicit, 32.5k words. (Complete)

The sun cannot fall from the sky by @the-idiot-under-your-bed

Coda for 12x23. “Just know that no matter what anyone says, they love you. I love you, and Dean loves you. Just, don’t give up, ok? Come back home.”

Teen and Up. 1.3k words. (WIP)

[12x23 coda, angst, wayward sisters are there too, anger, canon character death, character return?]

The Death of Reservations by @60r3d0m

Maybe at some point, he had stopped believing. But not believing hadn’t stopped him from ducking into the room that he had prepared for Cas’ return every month. Not believing hadn’t prevented him from dusting the shelves and washing the sheets and accumulating stupid knick-knacks for Cas to have because they had reminded Dean of him.

But now Cas is back.

Before Dean can call him, he’s standing in the doorway (coda to 12.23).

Mature. 616 words. (Complete)

[Love confessions, caretaker Dean, Castiel in the Bunker]

All Was Well (Previously: Fuck You) by @hunterangelkisses

Dean might never admit it, but this was all he needed in life: him and his Baby and Cas (who was his second Baby, really) and his brother and Eileen, his mom would be back in a few days… Jody had called to check in earlier with stories about the girls, and even Donna had called the day before to tell them how things were going in Stillwater. In other words, here it is, the sweetest, fluffiest fic ever as a giant FUCK YOU to Bucklemming (or Fucklemming, as I’ve been calling them) and the other SPN writers.

General Audiences. 1.7k words. (Complete)

[fluff, established relationship, marriage proposal, fix-it for 12x21 There’s Something About Mary]

Balance And New Beginnings by @hekate1308

Dean turns his back on his family and the legacy of the Men of Letters when he learns Sam and Mary have been working with their British counterparts behind his back. Joining Cas on good-old-fashioned hunting trips, occasionally aided by Crowley, he soon learns there are more good monsters out there than he ever thought possible. And they need a protector.

Meanwhile, Sam is growing more and more lonely until one day, he looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him. Is it too late to return to the brother he’s let down so many times before?

General Audiences. 54k words. (Complete)

[Dean/Cas, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Season 12 AU, post-12x14]

You, You’re Everything by @spearywritesstuff

Castiel tells Dean about his last days in his female vessel. Ishim said that humans were dangerous and that being close to them made one weak, but twice now Castiel has tested that theory, once in 1901 and now with Dean.

General Audiences. 1.7k words. (Complete)

[Coda for 12x10, Lily Sunder Has Regrets]

Say it Again? by @a-fandom-life-for-me

Back in the bunker after the events of 12x12, Dean is furious with Castiel and his deathbed “I love you.” The sexual tension reaches its breaking point and Dean discovers just how much Castiel actually loves him

Mature. 8k words. (Complete)

[Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Season/Series 12, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Wingfic, Angel Wings, Men of Letters Bunker, Bunker Sex, Castiel in the Bunker, Sam Ships It, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Angelic Grace, Grace Kink, Soul Bond, Love, Anal Sex, Rough Sex]

O’ Christmas Tree Series by @osirisapollo

This series was written before we really knew how terribly anti-family Mary was going to be. It’s based around Christmas/New Years and has the whole Winchester family (including Cas!) happily celebrating the holidays together. Dean/Cas get together series, starting with a ficlet on how Dean figures out his feelings for Cas.

Teen and Up. 13.5k words. (Complete)

[Tooth-rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Sam Ships it, Mary Ships It, Holidays, Humor, First Kiss, Family Feels, Everything is Fine and Nothing Hurts]

Still Missing (Gotta Tell You Something) by @profound-boning

“I hope they don’t come for you, Cas. God knows what would happen if they somehow found out about the Bunker. If they…”

Dean cuts himself off and Castiel strains to pick up more. Dean’s longing is still strong, and a tug from Sam’s soul echoes in Castiel’s grace. After so many years, Sam is a brother in all but blood to Castiel. And Dean, well. Dean says “you’re our brother” and also “I need you” and Castiel can’t help but think maybe Dean doesn’t always say what’s really in his heart.

General. 2.4k words. (Complete)

[Canon Compliant, Episode: s12e09 First Blood, Coda, POV Castiel. Mutual Pining, Love Confessions]

#fanfic submission thursday #week 7: s12 inspired #thank you to everyone who submitted!!#i couldn't tag some blogs #but hopefully you see the post:)#signal boost

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phantomchick · 4 years ago

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Naruto Fic Rec Masterpost!

The Last To Know by KuriQuinn Oneshot, Gen, Teen and Up, Team Seven, Sakura and Sasuke, Sakura and Team 7, Canon Compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending, trust, broken trust, forgiveness, hurt/comfort, this fic is fantastic and made me have so many feels for the characters as well as the bonds between them, Character Dynamics,

Summary: As usual, telling her the truth happens as though by afterthought. And this time, she's not taking it.

i'll always be there for you by RecklessWriter Oneshot, Gen, Itachi and Sasuke feels, sibling feels, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Uchiha Sasuke Needs a Hug, Big Brother Uchiha Itachi, a part of me niggles over team 7 failing a mission but I pretend that they ran into the hunter nin afterwards and Kakashi got the scroll back, it do be like that sometimes, Good big brother Itachi, Bad big brother Itachi, it’s complicated, Feels,

Summary:

He’s pressed against something warm. There are fingers carding gently through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Nii-san,” Sasuke whispers.

The hand in his hair freezes.

Sasuke gets thrown into a frozen lake. Itachi doesn't know how to stop being a big brother, even when he's supposed to be pretending he doesn't care.

The Beautiful Orange Thing by zafiro Oneshot, Gen, Naruto and Kurama, Naruto is a very lonely kid and the kyubi is a very lonely bijuu, Pre-Naruto Canon Era, chibi-Naruto, Naruto loves Orange, Kurama tolerates Naruto because he is Cute, sweetness and light, angst and fluff, so cute I wanna physically hug this fic to my chest

Summary: Naruto arrives at a weird place and finds something wonderful there.

Maslow by FriendshipCastle Oneshot, Gen, T for cursing, canonical child neglect, Iruka feels, Naruto feels, implied/referenced child abuse, but nothing worse than what’s in canon, angst, hurt/comfort,

Summary: The first four tiers of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Human Needs applied to Naruto’s depressing childhood. Alternatively: Iruka slowly becomes the best replacement mother a ninja could have.

take the fight from the kid by theformerone Oneshot, Gen, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Team 7, Canon Compliant, but can be read as divergent, Post Wave arc, Pre-Chuunin Exams,

Summary: Training with his team is different than it was before the mission to Wave. Sasuke notices how things have changed.

A Clean Break by GwendolynStacy Oneshot, Gen, Teen and Up, Hatake Kakashi and Team 7, Team as Family, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Team Fluff, Kakashi feels, Self-Harm via compulsive hand washing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Happy Ending,

Summary: Every member of Team 7 has their personal set of demons to haunt them. While Kakashi is always prepared to lend his students a listening ear, he still hasn’t quite figured out how to ask for help when he’s the one crumbling.

The Beginning and the End by QuinsValoria Oneshot, short oneshot, gen, THIS HAD ME SOBBING OVER KUSHINA AGAIN EVEN THOUGH IT’S SO SHORT, pre-canon era, angst, Dont worry kushina, Your baby makes it out just fine, cries into laptop screen, Hurt/Comfort,

Summary:

“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.” —Robert Browning

Uzumaki Kushina is an amazing mother, even in the very short time she has left.

Kushina comforts her baby.

The Prince Of Leaves And Deep Water by RayShippouUchiha Ongoing, 3 chapter fic, do you ever read a fic with language that is so pretty and evocative that you just want to lean into it, like a kid listening to a piece of folklore that’s been passed down, it’s just beautiful to read? And the words slice and cut into your feelings in the best of ways, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, Kushina feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Uzumaki Lore, well worth the read even as a stand alone should it never update again, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Neglect, Uzushio feels,

Summary: ‘Protect him,’ Kushina prays in the quiet of her own mind as she leaves; pleading silently to the old spirits from her childhood, to the things that the Uzumaki Elders used to whisper about in hushed tones.

‘Love him,’ Kushina begs of the things she only knows from instinct and half remembered stories, those things filled with the power of salt and sun and deep deep waters. Those things that live and thrive in the heart and soul of every Uzumaki who has ever breathed and battled and bled. 'Guide him, keep him safe for always. But love him most of all. My little prince of eddies and leaves.’

Left behind, left alone and cold where before there was only a soft sort of warmth and a steady kind of safety, Naruto wails.

Final Evaluation by Do_the_Cool_Whip Completed, 5 Chapter Fic, Gen, Umino Iruka & The Rookie Nine, Iruka-Sensei, Feels, fluffy, I have so many emotions about Iruka being the best teacher in the elemental nations and this fic brought them all out to play, Excellence, Kakashi is a troll, a huge troll, like, he’s such a troll he’s a mountain troll, Asuma is a lesser troll, like he’s mostly decent but still infuriating so he’s a bridge troll, Kurenai is so cool that even when she’s trolling as is her right and duty as the jounin elite she is, the person she’s trolling still respects her for it, a river troll, the kids are so cute and young here, you can really feel Iruka’s affection for them, please revel in the wonderful that is this entire fic, revel I say

Summary: Progress evaluations are one-on-one consultation meetings between academy students and their teacher. Their purpose is to inform academy students of their strengths and weaknesses and guide them down their ideal path to becoming a strong shinobi. Upon graduating the academy and passing their jounin-sensei test, new genin return to the academy for one final consultation. (Or: The story of what happens when Umino Iruka uses his final meetings with his students as way to send them off to become the best shinobi they can possibly be.)

it takes a village by quillofferings Oneshot, Gen, snapshot series, angst, character insight, konoha 12, rookie 9, team Gai, team 10, team 8, team 7, repeating patterns and revelations, kinda gives a sense of the culture of a childhood in Konoha in a way that’s very quietly tragic, this story was written well before shippuden came out but it still reads mostly true to me, A Classic of the Fandom,

Summary: A Naruto snapshot series in the form of a oneshot.

spirals by nescione Gen, Oneshot, Team Seven, Generations, Team 7, Dai Nana Han, Spirals, Repeating Patterns, things happening the same across generations in repeating patterns is a big theme in the canon and lots of fic delve into it and play with the whole idea as a result, but this fic does it especially well, Team as Family, Angst, Fluff, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, A Classic of the Fandom, Summary: From the sannin to the present- a look at how history repeats itself, and how it doesn't.

this, and love too, will ruin us by RecklessWriter Oneshot, Gen, Itachi and Sasuke feels, Naruto Feels, Short and Sweet, Angst, Whump, Brother Feels, Sibling feels, Uchiha Sasuke Needs a Hug, Naruto Uzumaki Needs a Hug,

Summary: Naruto remembers the first time he saw Sasuke and Itachi.

He remembers looking at them and thinking, I wish I had someone who loved me like that.

Ten Facts About Team Yamato by Lisse Oneshot, Gen, short and sweet, Team 7 feels, Team as Family, Dai Nana Han, Team Seven, Team Yamato, characterisation, short but solid, Ficlet,

Summary: On paper, their team doesn't exist.

Troubling New Developments by SicTransitGloria Oneshot, Teen and Up, hilarious, pre-shippuden, Team as Family, Kakashi pov, Team 7, AHAHAHAHA, Puberty hits the genin,

Summary: Kakashi takes a moment to wrap his mind around equating Ino’s chest with enemy shinobi while Asuma begins beating his head against the table and groaning about how he didn’t sign up for this. Rated for language and the general horror that is puberty

Of Harrowed Hearts by Sable_Scribe Ongoing and possibly (probably) Abandoned, Gen, Long Fic, we’re at 36 chapters in as of the time I’m posting this, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix It, Families of Choice, Team Seven, Team as Family, Bamf Kakashi, Good Teacher! Kakashi, Angst, Uzushio Lore, Fluff, Uzushio Feels, Uzumaki heritage, Bamf Team 7, BAMF Rookie Nine, Naruto's ability to make friends with giant chakra demons surfaces early, Rookie Nine, Rookie 9, Konoha 12, Naruto and Kurama,

Summary Naruto has been hearing the rumbling growl in the back of his head for as long as he can remember. He’s seven when he tries to talk to it for the first time. He’s the dead last, the failure at everything, so he doesn’t actually expect to succeed. And when he’s suddenly standing, knee deep in murky water and face to face with a demon, he has no idea what to expect. As it turns out, the world could use something unexpected.

Automatic by Dayadhvam Oneshot, Gen, Sand Siblings, Fluff, Team as Family, but also, Family as Family, Short and Sweet, A Classic of The Fandom

Summary: Gaara's shield defense is automatic: he has never had to consciously think about ordering the sand where it is needed. Kankurou and Temari have always known this.

As Is the Sea Marvelous by blackkat Mature, Gen, Eleven Chapter Fic, Warring States Era, Uchiha Madara/Senju Tobirama, Izuna Lives AU, everybody lives nobody dies, Hurt/Comfort, brotherly feels, sibling relationships, Angst With A Happy Ending, Insecurity, Self-Sacrifice, Imprisonment, Fix-It

Summary: Tobirama is willing to give absolutely anything for Hashirama and his dream. Including his life.

A Lesson In Trust by Live Gen, Oneshot, Shikamaru & Naruto friendship, academy days, trust exercise, fluff

Summary: All Iruka wants is for his class to start trusting each other, too bad Shikamaru would rather watch the clouds...

Snow Is Serious Business When Your Business Is Being A Kid by vulcanhighblood Gen, Oneshot, Iruka and Naruto, Umino Iruka is a Good Teacher, Uzumaki Naruto Needs a Hug, Fluff, Snow

Summary: Iruka's trying to teach his class, but the first snowfall of the year makes keeping their attention more difficult than he would have liked.

The Consequences of Winning by tabjoy13 Oneshot, Gen, Team 7, Protective Hatake Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi is a Good Teacher, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Hatake Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi Is Trying, Wave Mission

Summary: Three days. It had been three days since Zabuza’s attack, since Kakashi passed out, and since Team Seven took refuge in the bridge builder’s home. Three days and Kakashi hadn’t shown a sign of stirring. Three young genin are left with the question: now what? Cross posted on FF.net.

discendo docemus by llamallamaduck Mature, Ongoing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Trauma/Ptsd, Uchiha Sasuke-centric, Good Orochimaru, A lot of talk about depression and mental instability, Also Sharingan fuckery and assorted eye-trauma, rarepair, Itachi & Sasuke, eventual Sasuke/Ukitake, Itachi & Tsunade,

Summary: There are some things a seven-year-old psyche is not ready to endure. An S-ranked torture technique preformed by a traumatized thirteen-year-old is one of those things. Sasuke doesn’t enjoy hallucinating memories of his murdered family day in and day out, but he’s learned to be philosophical about such things. It’s everything else that’s the problem, really.

Nidaime Otokage by DuskBeforeDawn Ongoing, inspired by nukenin, Time Travel, Dimension Travel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Hatake Kakashi, BAMF Hatake Kakashi, BAMF Dai-nana-han,Team 7, Team as Family, Non-Konoha Shinobi Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi is a Troll, Kage level Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi-centric, fluff, adventure, crack, mature, fun read

Summary: No one knew him.His father was still alive.His Sharingan acted like it had always been his.Kakashi was twenty-two years in the past of a different world.

French Kissing, the End of the World, and Other Impossible Ordeals by Tsume_Yuki Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Female Uzumaki Naruto, Time Travel, Uchiha Sasuke Being an Asshole, Protective Uchiha Sasuke, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, Time Travel Fix-It, Smitten Uchiha Sasuke, grumpy asshole/cheerful optimist, this fic is literally just Sasuke being soft for Naruto, Mature but like it’s fiiine the author could’ve left it at teen and up and it would’ve gotten a pass at least from me

Summary: This is it, centuries of excellent genetics, of carefully selected marriages to maximise the potential of future generations and it’s going to be Sasuke who introduces idiocy to the Uchiha bloodline. The ancestors must be rolling in their graves. In which Sasuke is smitten, Naruto is a badass, and time travel happens.

No Tomorrow by Authorship Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Clan, Shisui Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Longfic, Completed, Found Family, Fix It, Mature, Time Travel, Fuck Danzo

Summary: The water was crushing, pummelling Shisui's broken form, even as it swept him further and further from Konoha.

And then Shisui woke up.

It's two months until the day he died. Two months to change the current of his life, of his Clan, of his village. And Shisui has no intention of letting history run its course.

¦ part 1 ¦ part 2 ¦ part 3 ¦

#Naruto #fic recs #fic rec list #fic rec masterpost

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 8 years ago

Text

Getting to I Do, pt. 4

In a few days we’ve all got a very important wedding to (virtually) attend! I thought it might be appropriate to “re-release” Getting To I Do, my collection of one-shots dealing with the trials and tribulations Emma and Killian go through while trying to plan their wedding amid a town full of friends and family who all have their own ideas about how the wedding of the century should go. This story was originally written during 3b, and it is the sequel, of sorts, to my first long MC, A Wish Your Heart Makes. As such, it diverges from canon as of 3x11. It’s not necessary to read AWYHM to understand what’s going on, but if you want to check it out as a bit of “background reading”, you can find it here.

Missed the beginning? Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Chapter 7: The House

"Hey Emma, pass the butter."

Emma looked up at the sound of her father's voice and then reached for the tub she'd just used to butter her toast. Turning around to pass it to her father, she ran right into her mother who was preparing a sack lunch.

"Uh!" Emma grunted. "Sorry Mary Margaret."

Her mom waved her apology aside and then went on with her task.

This kitchen was way too small for three adults to occupy at once. Emma continued her preparations for her and Henry's breakfasts, trying valiantly not to run into (or be run into by) David or Mary Margaret.

Speaking of her son, where was he? If he was still in the shower, she was going to be a seriously unhappy camper. She had yet to shower and prepare for the day, and they were already running late! This was becoming a daily occurrence!

Emma stepped carefully past her parents and over to the bathroom where she heard the water running. She wrapped sharply on the door.

"Hurry up, kid," she said irritably. "We're going to be late."

"Almost done, Mom," he shouted back.

Emma wandered back toward the kitchen, snagged her coffee and plate of toast, and sat down at the table. She sighed. She couldn't really blame Henry. The two of them shared a loft the size of a postage stamp with her parents. A loft, she might add, that sported only one full bath! One bathroom shared among four people was a recipe for disaster when it came to preparing for the day in the morning.

Just imagine what it would be like when the baby arrived…and when Killian moved in! She and Killian hadn't ever really talked about living arrangements, but Emma assumed the loft would be their home. After all, much as she liked the Jolly Roger, it (she, Killian would correct her) wasn't a home.

Henry finally emerged from the bathroom, clean and fresh, and wrapped her in a hug.

"It's all yours, Mom."

Emma brought his head down for a quick kiss. "Eat up, Henry. Don't want to be late for school."

Emma glanced at the clock as she gathered her toiletries and clean clothes…and she groaned. Ten minutes! Well, so much for washing her hair this morning. Looks like it was going to be a pony-tail day.

Turning on the tap, Emma glanced absently into the mirror. It wasn't just the one bathroom situation or the general lack of space (which was getting to be more and more of a problem every day as David and Mary Margaret continued bringing in more baby items) that was bothering her. It was the sleeping arrangements. The upstairs of the loft was just one large bonus room that she shared with Henry. She had a queen sized bed in one corner, and he had a twin in the other. The arrangement worked fine for the two of them, but in a month, Killian would be sharing her bed. Probably nothing could scream awkward and just plain wrong more than being a newly-wed and sharing your bedroom with your husband and your preteen son!

As Emma finished her shower and quickly threw on her clothes, she realized it was definitely time for a change. It was time she and Killian start looking for their own home.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The bell over the door of Granny's rang, and Killian looked up from his booth. Swan. Even after all the time they'd spent together, he still got the same jolt of awareness every time she walked into his line of sight.

"You're doing it again," Henry said from his perch on the other side of the booth.

"What's that lad?" Killian said tearing his gaze from Emma. She'd stopped to talk to Dr. Hopper, and the man laughed at something she'd said.

"Wearing that look," Henry said. "You know, the dorky one you get whenever my mom walks into the room."

Dorky? Hm…he'd wager that wasn't a compliment. He'd yet to master pre-teen vocabulary, but then, it seemed many adults in this realm had the same difficulty.

"Ah," Killian said leaning back and winking at the boy. "Would that be the same dorky look you wear when a certain young miss named Grace comes into your presence?"

The boy's face flamed. "Killian!"

He chuckled.

Emma walked up, leaned down, and gave him a quick kiss before sitting beside the boy.

"Henry!" she said in surprise, "what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Henry grinned at him. "See, Killian," the boy said, "I told you she forgot!"

"I forgot wha…" she said, and then her eyes widened. "The teacher work day! You got off at noon today! Sorry kid; I got so busy I totally forgot."

"No problem, Mom," Henry said taking a sip of his cola. "I called Killian and he came and picked me up."

Emma turned toward him, her eyes narrowed. "Since when do you have a phone, and why didn't I know about it?"

Killian grinned, raising his hands in surrender. "Easy, love. I am as yet still resisting the pressure to get one of those infernally complex contraptions. Bloody nuisance, they are."

Henry laughed. "I'm still working on him, Mom," he said in a conspiratorial tone. "I'll convince him to get a phone yet, and then you'll be mad because we'll never get him off of it!"

"Not bloody likely!" Killian growled in mock outrage. "I far prefer speaking to people face to face."

"Yeah?" Emma asked leaning forward, "and why is that?"

He closed the distance until his face was less than a breath from hers. "On the telephone, my love," he said gently, raising his good hand to cup her cheek, "I cannot see your lovely face. I cannot read the earnest expressions as they pass across your delightful features. You cannot see the utter devotion in my eyes; how much I completely and utterly adore you. On the telephone I cannot do this."

Killian watched her eyes soften and her breath catch as he leaned forward, obliterating the last whisper of space between them. The kiss was slow, sweet…and far too short.

"Ugh," Henry said with a theatrical sigh. Killian broke the kiss and sat back, turning amused eyes toward his soon-to-be step-son.

"And what precisely do you mean by that, lad?"

"I'm glad you and Mom are in love and getting married and everything, but geez!" he rolled his eyes, "you guys can be so embarrassing!"

Killian winked at the boy. "From what I've gathered from those in your realm, it is the prerogative of parents to utterly embarrass their offspring."

Emma giggled. It was that small, delighted giggle she reserved for those times she was thoroughly happy. "Sorry, kid," she said, smile still draping her face, "you're going to have to get used to PDA. It's what engaged couples and newly-weds do. Besides, one day you'll fall in love, and then you'll be just as 'embarrassing' as us."

"Ugh!" Henry said again. "I hope I'm never as bad as you two! I'm telling you; Killian, sometimes you can be so cool, but then you get around Mom and you get completely sappy!"

Cool. Now, if he wasn't mistaken, the lad was not speaking of the temperature of his person but was rather paying him a complement of sorts.

"Killian's always cool," Emma said breezily as she took a sip of the ice water Ruby set before her.

"So, what can I get you love-birds today?" Ruby said perkily. "I already know Henry'll go with the 'pirate special'."

Killian watched the grin flit across Emma's face and remembered the day the wolf-girl had first used the phrase 'pirate special' before her.

"Let me guess, Killian," Ruby said, pad of paper at the ready, "Pirate special?"

"Aye, lass," Killian answered lazily. "That will suit me perfectly."

As Ruby walked away, Emma leaned forward. "Alright, so now I'm intrigued. What exactly is a 'pirate special'?"

"'Tis what Ruby has chosen to call my most frequent order."

"And what might that be?" Emma asked, taking a sip of her water.

"Well, love," he said, leaning back lazily, "ever since your lad introduced me to the joys of peanut butter, I cannot get enough of it. A 'pirate special' is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, potato chips, and chocolate milk."

Emma snorted and only narrowly avoided spewing the sip she'd just taken all over the table. "A peanut butter sandwich?!" she laughed. "The fearsome Captain Hook, terror of the high seas orders a peanut butter sandwich so often that it's come to be referred to as a 'pirate special'?!"

"Aye, lass," he said with a grin.

She laughed long and hard. "Killian, I think you just pretend to be an adult," she said. "You're really just a big, overgrown five-year-old."

He leaned forward again, sporting a grin that was anything but innocent. "I can assure you, darling, my tastes may, at times be infantile, but I am all man."

"Aye," Killian finally answered Ruby. "The pirate special it is for me as well."

"Well, I guess it's up to me to be the adult around here," Emma said with a grin. "I'll go with a burger and fries."

Ruby scribbled on her pad of paper and then headed off to the next table. "So," Emma said, "you two never answered my question. If Killian doesn't have a phone, how did you call him to come pick you up?"

"I called Grandpa's phone," Henry said with a shrug. "I figured wherever Grandpa was, Killian had to be near-by."

"Aye," Killian said, grinning. He was more relieved than he could say that he and the prince had reconciled. He had found the prince's anger and disapproval agonizing.

"Well, thanks for picking him up, Killian," Emma said. "I should have remembered."

"'Twas no trouble, Emma," Killian said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I was pleased to be of assistance."

"Yeah," Henry said, "besides, he's practically my dad anyway. It's what parents do."

Killian felt the lad's statement warm his very heart. Parents! How long had he wished for a son? And now, his wonderful Emma's son thought of himself as a father!

"So, Mom," Henry said, "what were you so busy with that made you forget about me?"

Emma blew out a breath. "What else? The wedding."

"What lovely details were you and the princess attending to this morning?" Killian asked.

"Flowers," she said, biting into her hamburger with a contented sigh. "Mary Margaret and I had an appointment with Mr. French at Game of Thorns. I think we looked through every book and every flower he owns, but we finally found the perfect bridal bouquet."

"Did Grandma finally agree to your color scheme?"

"Yeah," Emma said. "I am eternally grateful to my soon-to-be-born little brother. Mary Margaret is so into 'nesting' right now that she has backed way off of the wedding stuff. Red and black it is!"

"Speaking of that, love," Killian said, "your brother's crib arrived this morning. I left your father wrestling with the directions. I fear the little lad will be grown before his bed is constructed."

Emma laughed. "When is David going to face the fact that he's not a handy man? Mary Margaret and I told him he should have hired Geppetto to put the crib together, but sometimes he can be too stubborn for his own good."

"Come now, darling," Killian said, feeling the need to defend his mate. "'Tis a man's prerogative to provide for his family."

Emma merely rolled her eyes.

"Where are they even going to put the crib?" Henry asked. "There's so much baby stuff in the loft, we already can barely move around."

"About that," Emma said turning suddenly serious. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Killian, and it's good you're here too, kid."

"What's that, love?"

"We're bursting at the seams in that loft!" she answered in obvious annoyance. "Once we get married, well, things will get completely out of hand."

"There's always the Jolly."

There was that exasperated look again. "Really? Killian that one night we spent together on your tiny bed left me with a stiff neck for two days! We need a much bigger bed."

Killian grinned wickedly. "Oh, aye, love," he growled low in his throat. "A comfortable bed is of utmost importance. Should I get my way, we'll spend copious amounts of time within its confines."

"Ew!" Henry said, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. "I do not need to hear about this!"

"My apologies, mate," Killian said, knowing he sounded anything but repentant.

"As it turns out," Emma said, "I have another idea. Killian, I think we should buy our own house."

"Really?" Henry asked in excitement. "Can I have my own room?"

"Sure," Emma said. "I figure we'll need at least three bedrooms. One for me and Killian, one for you, and a spare room."

"Oh no, Lass," Killian said with a grin, "three will not be nearly enough. We will need far more than that."

"Why?"

"We will need room for the houseful of lads and lasses we'll make."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I assume by 'houseful' you mean two or three?"

"Of course," he said, grinning still wider. "Two or three will be sufficient to start. And they will pave the way for all their brothers and sisters!"

Emma closed her eyes and groaned. "We need to have a serious discussion about this, Jones!"

"Oh, darling," he purred, "I look forward to discussing this topic in great depth."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Turn left in five-hundred feet…one-hundred feet…turn left now…recalculating."

"Now see here!" Killian thundered from his perch in the bug's passenger seat, "there's no call to use such a tone! You will treat my fiancée with respect or you'll find my hook through your metal cover!"

Emma rolled her eyes and then giggled. Killian versus the modern world was priceless! "Killian," she said, still giggling, "I appreciate you wanting to defend my honor, but I doubt my parents would appreciate it if you destroyed their GPS."

"I don't appreciate her demanding nature, lass," he said in exasperation. "She demands you follow her directions to the letter. She's worse than a naval captain!"

"Welcome to the wonderful world of modern technology!"

It was actually their second foray into the world of modern technology in as many days. Yesterday, after their lunch at Granny's, they'd returned to the loft and discussed their idea with David and Mary Margaret.

"You…you don't want to live with us anymore?" Mary Margaret asked in a small voice.

"It's not that, Mary Margaret," Emma had hastened to reassure. "It's just…do you think this place can really house four adults, one pre-teen and a newborn?"

"But," Mary Margaret continued, "we finally found you. We finally have peace without villains or evil spells. We've finally gotten time to bond as a family. Being together has been nice, hasn't it?"

"Of course, your majesty," Killian answered smoothly, "and our commitment to spending time with the family will not cease, but look at it from our perspective. As a couple newly wed, we should like our own space."

"Yeah," David said, sighing. "Snow, they'll need their privacy. Sharing a loft bedroom with Henry isn't exactly going to work for them."

"I suppose you're right," Mary Margaret said glumly.

"Don't worry…Mom," Emma said, hoping the term would mollify Mary Margaret. Judging by the light in her eyes it seemed to work. "We'll still see you every day. Not that much will change."

"In the meantime," Killian said, stepping in, "we've come to ask your advice."

"Yeah," Emma agreed. "Do you guys know of any good real estate agents?"

Her parents looked at each other for a moment, and then turned back to her.

"Well, Emma," David said, "you ought to try Roberta Goldenen-Harr. Most everyone around here's bought and sold their houses through her."

"Yeah," Mary Margaret agreed, sitting beside David on the couch and lacing their fingers. "Roberta is the best. She's an expert at finding people a house that's just right for them."

And so Emma and Killian had proceeded to the computer to Google said Ms. Golenen-Harr.

"The Internet," Killian said, as Emma typed the real estate agent's name into the search bar. "This is the device Henry spoke of, is it not? The device that can speak to other computers and find any information one might wish to access?"

"Yeah," Emma said clicking on the link for 'Goldenen-Harr Real Estate Agency.' "I guess that's one way to describe it."

Ms. Goldenen-Haar's website sported a colorful drawing of three bears having tea just outside of a picturesque cottage.

"Let's look at the reviews," Emma said.

"Reviews?" Killian asked, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," Emma explained. "That's where people write about what they think of her. You know, let people know whether she's really any good or not."

For the most part, the reviews were positive. Homeowner after homeowner spoke in glowing terms of Ms. Goldenen-Haar's knack of finding the perfect home to suit their needs. There was only one less-than-glowing report.

"Emma, love," Killian said pointing to the screen, "take a gander at what this gentleman has to say."

Emma dutifully read the review posted by one Vater Bar.

"This woman is an absolute disgrace! Her utter lack of professionalism knows no bounds! When my wife, my son and I decided to put our cottage on the market, we hired Roberta Goldenen-Haar, who came to us highly recommended. One morning, she insisted we leave our house at a moment's notice for a showing. She didn't even give us the time to finish our breakfast! Putting our faith in Ms. Goldenen-Haar, we went for a walk in the woods. When we returned an hour later, we found she had sampled our porridge (finishing my son's), sat in our chairs (breaking my son's) and tested our beds (not that it's any of your business, but yes, my wife and I sleep in separate beds; she snores loud enough to wake the dead, and, well, I need my sleep!). We found our disgraced real estate agent asleep in my son's bed! Needless to say, we fired her on the spot. Not only that, but I grabbed my shotgun and chased that no-good squatter out of my house, and out of my woods! We haven't seen her since. Looking for a good real estate agent? My advice is to stay as far from Roberta Goldenen-Haar as possible!"

"Well, that's…weird," Emma said.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Emma," Mary Margaret said with a wave of her hand. "Vater Bar's crazy. Everyone knows that. He and his family are real bears."

So, Emma had called the agency (Killian still refusing to have anything to do with the telephone) and set up an appointment for the following day, and here they were.

No thanks to the GPS which attempted to get them lost no less than three times, Emma managed to pull into the parking lot of the Goldenen-Haar Real Estate Agency with five minutes to spare. When they walked through the doors, they found themselves face to face with a perky middle-aged blonde. Her wavy hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she wore a demure gray business suit. No sooner had Killian issued Emma through the doorway with a hand to her lower back than the woman, who could be no other than Roberta Goldenen-Haar rushed up to them, pumping their hands enthusiastically.

"You must be Miss Swan and Captain Jones!" she said with a wide, toothy smile. "Lovely to meet you. And you're getting married? Lovely. You'll make such beautiful babies!"

"Um…thank you…I think," Emma said. Was this woman for real? Who said something like that to a pair of strangers?

"Now come with me," Roberta said, herding the two of them out the door. "We've no time to spare. Chop, chop! You're not too early and not too late. You've come just on time. I have three simply lovely properties to show you, and I know one of them will be just right for your new family."

The first property Roberta drove them to was deep within the woods. It was a huge, gothic mansion shrouded in mists and eeriness. This place is creepy as hell. It looked like the set of a bad horror flick. Almost unconsciously, Emma clung tighter to Killian's hand.

"Not scared, are you, lass?" he said with a teasing grin.

"You wish!" she shot back.

The inside was no more welcoming than the outside. Stuck in this house, Emma would be plagued by nightmares every single freaking night!

"What is the history of this domicile, if you wouldn't mind," Killian asked politely.

"I'm glad you asked," Ms. Goldenen-Haar said with enthusiasm. "This particular property was built 150 years ago, and has been kept solely within the possession of the Dracula family."

"Dracula? Really?" Emma asked with a raise of her eyebrows. "What happened? Did the last Dracula end up with a stake through his heart?"

"No," Ms. Goldenen-Haar said. "As it turns out, he was stricken with a fatal bout of food poisoning when his butler mistakenly served him a slice of garlic bread."

What even is my life?

Needless to say, Dracula's creepy mansion was out of the running.

Next they were ushered into a tiny little ranch style house in the middle of town. Emma had thought David and Mary Margaret's flat was cramped, but compared to this, it was a palace.

"This quaint little place, nicknamed 'The Shoe', is simply perfect for a young couple just starting out!"

Not sure we qualify as a ‘young couple’, considering Killian’s like 300…

"Might I inquire why the last occupants vacated the premises?" Killian asked, peering into the master bedroom which was barely large enough for the two of them to lay down in, let alone put a bed in.

"Well," Ms. Goldenen-Haar said, "she was a rather old woman, and she had a ridiculous number of children. Poor dear. I think she simply got to the point where she didn't know what to do."

By the time the three of them left 'The Shoe' behind, Emma's head was aching and she was beginning to profoundly regret this real estate venture. Maybe Vater Bar had it right about this woman!

But then they reached the third property, a homey, two story house with a white picket fence situated beside the sea. The moment they walked through the gate, Emma knew she was home. This place was perfect!

"Given your expressions," Ms. Goldenen-Haar said with a grin, "I think it would be safe to assume this house is just right!"

xoxoxoxoxoxox

Several hours later Killian sat on the deck of the Jolly, his arms wrapped around Emma. They'd put what the shockingly perky blonde real estate agent had called 'an offer' in on the little house by the sea. Now they must simply wait to see whether their offer was accepted.

"You do like it, don't you Killian?" Emma asked, looking up and absently caressing his face.

He smiled, turned his head and placed a burning kiss on her palm. "Aye, love," he said. "I would be content living anywhere as long as it's with you."

She sighed in what he could only consider contentment. "How do you manage to pull off such obviously cheesy lines?"

"'Tis a gift, darling," he said with a grin. She swatted him. He reached up and grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"But seriously," Emma said, "I feel like I'm always stepping in trying to make all the decisions. This will be your house too. Do you really like it?"

He smiled and laid his cheek on top of her head, savoring the silky feel of her hair. "It's perfect, love. When I toured the master bedroom and saw that the window looks out upon the sea, I knew I'd found the perfect house. Emma, there's nothing like the lapping waves and the salty sea breeze to relax you and help you fall asleep. And with you nestled in my arms, it will be heaven."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 8: The Bridal Party

"Let the first annual bridesmaids games begin!" Ruby called excitedly.

First annual? How many times did Ruby think Emma and Killian would be getting married? If the number was any higher than one, they were going to be having words. Emma still wasn't completely convinced she would survive planning her first trip down the aisle.

The bridesmaids’ games were her own fault, really. If she'd just picked a maid of honor to begin with, none of this would have happened.

It all started about three days ago when Emma and Killian were at her parent's flat for a dinner celebrating the purchase of The Pirate Cove, as Killian insisted on christening their new home. Mary Margaret had mercifully avoided any topic related to wedding planning until after they'd finished dessert.

"Only two and a half weeks to go!" she'd said once the last plate had been placed in the sink. "I can't believe it; the time has flown. And we still have so much to do!"

"Oh, I don't know, Mary Margaret," Emma said. "I think we're in pretty good shape. I mean, I've got the dress, we've booked the chapel at the convent for the ceremony and the town hall for the reception. Regina's agreed to officiate, since she's the mayor. We've chosen colors and bought all kinds of stuff to decorate the hall with. We've picked out music and sent out invitations. What more is there to worry about?

"Speaking of invitations," Mary Margaret said, jumping to her feet, somewhat awkwardly due to her rapidly increasing girth, "we got ten more replies today."

Mary Margaret set a stack of cards down before Emma and Killian. Emma couldn't help but admire the header, despite its cheesiness. Their names were embossed across the top in flowery script. The names were separated by a red and black heart, the left half of which was a hook and the right half a graceful swan's neck.

"Ah," Killian said with only a hint of sarcasm, "so it appears the Crocodile will be attending."

"Of course!" Mary Margaret said. "You know Belle wouldn't miss the wedding for the world, and she's not exactly going to come without her husband!"

"And look at this one!" Emma exclaimed pulling a card from the middle, "It looks like Neal and Tinkerbell are coming together!"

"Hardly a surprise, love," Killian said. He draped his arm around her shoulder and absently began stroking it. "The two have been courting quite seriously for some time now. I'd not be surprised if they are the next to follow us down the aisle."

Emma laughed.

"What's funny?" David asked.

"I'm just imagining explaining my life to some of my friends back in Boston or New York," she said. "Can you just see it? 'Yeah, so I'm marrying Captain Hook and the father of my son might marry Tinkerbell.' They'd probably drag me to the nearest shrink by sheer force!"

"Hmm," Mary Margaret said reflectively, "things certainly are different than we thought they were back before the first dark curse was broken."

"Aye," Killian said, "but strange though they may be, I'm grateful they have transpired as they did. If it weren't for the queen's curse, I never would have met Emma."

"I guess things just have a way of working out the way they're supposed to," Emma answered.

"But anyway," Mary Margaret said, coming back to her first topic of conversation. "With just over two weeks to go, we're really down to the wire."

"But again," Emma countered, "what more is there to do really?"

Mary Margaret's eyes widened, and she stared at Emma and Killian in dawning horror. "Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, "the bridal party! Emma, Killian you haven't chosen bridesmaids or groomsmen!"

Emma groaned. "Ugh! I should have known there was something big we were forgetting!"

Killian looked down at her in confusion. "What are bridesmaids and groomsmen?"

"They stand up with a bride and groom at a wedding," David answered. "The bride and the groom pick people who are close friends or family to be their attendants. It's a great honor to be chosen. Particularly if you're chosen as the maid of honor or the best man."

"Ah," Killian said, nodding sagely. "Then for me, it is a simple decision. David, mate, I would be honored to have you as my best man. You are, after all my best mate, and in little more than two weeks you will be family."

Emma looked over at her father. He looked truly affected by the request.

"While that's very nice, Killian," Mary Margaret said firmly, "it just won't work. David's the father of the bride. He'll be otherwise occupied throughout the day."

"Hmm," Killian said, "that is unfortunate."

There was silence in the small kitchen for several moments, and then Killian's face lit up with a gentle smile. "There is one other I should like to ask," he said looking down at Emma. "Love, would you have any objection to my asking Henry to be my best man?"

Emma felt tears prick her eyes. "Killian, that would be wonderful!"

"Yeah," Mary Margaret agreed, "Henry obviously adores you. What a wonderful way to celebrate the blending of your family!"

"Alright," David said, "best man, check. How about a maid of honor, Emma?"

Who did she want as her maid of honor? Well that was easy, really, but at the same time as much of an impossibility as Killian's first choice. "Well," Emma said finally, "My first choice, would be you, Mary Margaret. You've been one of my best friends since the day I first drove into Storybrooke, but I guess that won't work, either."

"Oh Emma!" Mary Margaret said with a small cry. She awkwardly got to her feet and threw her arms around her daughter. "That is the nicest thing you could have said to me! If I wasn't busy with mother-of-the-bride duties, I would be honored to accept"

Emma hugged her mother back. "But you will be," she said, "so I'm back to the drawing board."

"Maybe you should just start by picking bridesmaids in general, Emma," David said. "Then from there you can decide on the maid of honor.

It was as good a plan as any.

"Well," she said slowly "I guess, I want Ruby and Belle and Ariel and Tinkerbelle. I seem to spend the most time with them."

"Excellent," Mary Margaret said writing down the names. "Now your turn, Killian. We need a matched set of bridesmaids and groomsmen. You already picked Henry. Choose three more."

Killian stared sightlessly into the distance, obviously in thought. The hand on Emma's shoulder stilled momentarily and then began its caresses once more.

"That is a matter of more difficulty," he said. "I did little to ingratiate myself to those in this town when I first arrived. I fear few would find such a request from me welcome."

Mary Margaret laid her hand on Killian's arm. "Don't worry," she said, "the people of this town are big into giving second chances. Though you might have been a villain in the past, you've more than proven yourself a hero. I think you might be surprised how many people would jump at the chance to be your groomsman."

Emma looked up into her fiancé's face. It shown in a way she'd rarely seen. He may act strong and self-sufficient, but he didn't fool her. He craved the approval of family, and Mary Margaret's words touched him deeply. Looking across the table, she caught her mother's eye and mouthed "Thank you!"

"Thank you, your majesty," Killian said, his voice having gone slightly husky with emotion. "Perhaps I should ask Bae, if it wouldn't be too awkward for you, lass?"

"Not at all," Emma answered. "Neal and I are on good terms now, you know. All that happened between us is long in the past. There's no…I don't know…lingering hurt or anything left."

"Good," Mary Margaret nodded once again scribbling on her piece of paper. "So Neal's the second. We need two more."

Killian thought for a second. "I cannot forget my faithful companion throughout my pirating days. Mr. Smee shall be the third."

"Smee," Mary Margaret muttered absently as she wrote.

"And," Killian finished reflectively, "I suppose aside from those I've previously mentioned, the man I've had the most interaction with would be Leroy. He shall be my fourth."

"Excellent!" Mary Margaret said, clapping her hands. "We've got bridesmaids, we've got groomsmen, and we've got a best man. All that's left, Emma, is for you to choose a maid of honor!"

Did she even care who her maid of honor was? "I don't know, Mary Margaret," she said with a sigh, "maybe I'll just let the four of them fight it out amongst themselves."

And so here they were, three days later preparing for the start of the bridesmaids games, a novelty of Ruby's concocting, which would hopefully lead in the end to the selecting of a maid of honor.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"The first event," Ruby said looking around at the crowd gathered within Granny's, "is entitled 'care of the dress.' Each prospective maid of honor will be charged with the task of keeping the bride from tripping over the train. When the bride has finished walking, the prospective m-o-h will need to position the train so that it is shown off in its most artistic light."

"Shouldn't you be donning said dress, darling?" Killian whispered to Emma from where they sat in throne-like chairs Ruby had dubbed the seats of honor.

Emma elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't give them any ideas!"

Killian leaned down and kissed her simply because he could.

"None of that!" Ruby said with a grin. "You guys have to pay attention. This is your wedding after all!"

"My apologies lass," Killian called good-naturedly. "I shall attempt to keep my hand to myself, despite the fetching woman beside me."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You are so full of it."

Killian pecked her once more on the lips. "And yet, darling, you love me still."

"True," she agreed, settling more firmly within the shelter of his arms.

"First up is Belle!" Ruby announced. She rang a bell and Ashley, wearing an intricate wedding gown, walked down the "aisle." Belle waited at the "altar." When Ashley reached the dummy, obviously meant to represent Killian Jones, Belle, dropped to the ground and fanned out Ashley's train behind her.

The result looked sufficient to Killian; after all, what did he know of the intricacies of women's fashion? But the judges—Regina, Mary Margaret and Granny, tutted in disapproval.

"Come on girl!" Granny growled, "you can do better than that. Look at all the creases!"

"Watch it Granny!" the Crocodile hissed, "that's my wife you're talking to."

"Well I meant no offense," Granny huffed, "but truth is truth no matter whose wife she is."

At first glance, Killian believed Ariel's attempt had been more successful. There was not a wrinkle to be seen on the delicate white train. But Regina, it seemed, was less than impressed.

"I'm guessing Ms. Swan and the Pirate want to be married sometime this century," she sneered. "If you take that long every time you arrange the train, we'll all be old and gray before the wedding comes to an end."

Tinkerbell and Ruby put forth valiant attempts, but in the end, it was determined that Ruby was the victor in the first round.

"Next," Ruby said, face flushed with her first victory, "is the juggling of the bouquets."

"Love," Killian said greatly amused, "please tell me that in this realm brides and their maids are not expected to juggle their floral arrangements?"

"I certainly hope not!" Emma said, returning his grin. "But then again, we are in Storybrooke. Not much would surprise me anymore!"

To the lass's obvious relief, "the juggling of the bouquet" merely consisted of holding the bride's bouquet while she was otherwise occupied within the ceremony. Belle and Ariel were singularly successful.

"It's as though you've been a maid of honor all your life!" Mary Margaret said, gushing after Belle's performance.

Unfortunately, when Tinkerbell's turn arrived, disaster struck. The fairy accomplished the first pass off with aplomb, but then came the second. There was a collective gasp within the diner as the colorful bouquet slipped through her fingers and fell with a crash onto the floor.

The wolf-girl was marginally more successful, but her performance was not without flaw. On the third pass off of the bouquet, Ruby bobbled it, and it was only with some fancy juggling of her hands, she kept the arrangement from dropping.

By general consensus, it was decided the second round of the bridesmaid games went to Belle.

"An all important part of a m-o-h's job is the toast," Ruby declared once the cheers had stopped. "The third task for the prospective maids of honor is simple. Give a two minute impromptu toast to Emma and Killian."

This ought to be interesting. Belle began.

"The Webster's dictionary defines love as…" The speech went on and on comprising, from the best Killian could determine, literary references from this realm. It was certainly par for the course for the librarian.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Of course you would quote the dictionary! Next time, if you can't find something interesting to say, don't say anything at all."

At which point, the Crocodile leapt to his feet. "Watch your tone, dearie! No one insults my wife! I'll curse you into oblivion."

Regina rolled her eyes again. "Save it, Gold," she said in a bored tone. "If anyone's going to be cursing people around here, it's me."

Tinkerbell's toast was rather ordinary, a paean to the glories of love. Ruby's toast was…well pure Ruby. Well versed in innuendo though he was, even Killian blushed at some of the suggestions and implications the wolf-girl gave.

"Please, tell me Ariel has something halfway decent to say!" Emma whispered, clinging to his arm.

"She can't help but be better than what we've already heard, love," Killian responded.

"I first met Killian and Emma in Neverland," Ariel began sweeping the entire diner with her gaze, "and from the first moment I saw them together, I knew they shared something special, something I'd rarely seen. The love I saw shining out of Killian's eyes every time he looked at Emma brought tears to my eyes. This was a man so devoted to the woman he loved, he would do anything for her. No sacrifice would be too great. And Emma too! Though she fought it with every fiber of her being, it was clear Killian's love was not unrequited. In quiet moments, moments when none were looking, the looks she gave him spoke of devotion, a devotion that ran deeper than she could have ever believed possible. And now here they are. The product of true love, the savior, has now found her true love. May you have many many years of love and joy and happiness! Please join me in raising your glasses to Killian and Emma!"

Emma surreptitiously swiped at her eyes. "It's kind of creepy how much that mermaid spied on us in Neverland," she said with a smile.

"Aye lass," Killian smiled back at her. "But as all she seems to have seen is how utterly and passionately we were falling in love with each other, I suppose we must forgive her."

It was certainly no surprise to anyone that Ariel won that round.

"Alright folks," Ruby piped up again, "we're down to the final event! You never know when your wedding might be crashed by an evil queen with an axe to grind."

"Oh for the love of gods, that was one time!" Regina muttered. "And I had provocation. It was the unCharmings after all!"

"Now, Regina," Mary Margaret mollified, "I'm sure no one thinks you're going to do anything to disrupt Killian and Emma's wedding."

"Well, you never know!" Ruby said.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "I promise not to threaten the entire kingdom with a dark curse during Killian and Emma's wedding. Happy?"

"Well, it doesn't have to be an evil queen, anyway," Ruby said. "This is Storybrooke, after all. Who knows what villain may show up."

"I hate to admit it," Emma said, leaning toward Killian, "but she's right."

"The maid of honor needs to be prepared to handle any situation that arises. Now is the contestants' opportunity to show their stuff. How will you handle a villain crashing the wedding?"

Killian watched with amusement as Ruby ran forward and tackled the dummy set up to represent the new villain. Ariel tied up the villain with rope, and Belle, ran to the Crocodile for assistance. Tinkerbelle employed the most creative strategy. Using pixie dust, the fairy rose into the air and then sprinkled squid ink over the villain, effectively immobilizing him.

Tinkerbelle was named the victor of the fourth task.

"Well folks, it seems we have an interesting situation," Ruby announced once the fourth task was decided. "We have a four-way tie! I don't think we've ever seen something like this in the history of the bridesmaids’ games!"

"Considering no one in their right minds has ever before thought of playing the 'bridesmaids’ games'," Regina drawled, "that's not saying much."

"So," Ruby said as though there had been no interruption. "it looks like the ball's back in your court Emma. Who do you choose as your maid of honor?"

Killian looked down at Emma and squeezed her hand in support. Emma closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head.

"Killian," she whispered, "you're sure you're not up for elopement?"

"I'm afraid not, love," he grinned down at her. "We must proceed forward manfully."

"I thought you'd say that."

Emma took one more deep breath and then looked up. "This has been a very…um…interesting afternoon," she said aloud. Every eye in the diner was focused on her in rapt attention. "I'm not going to pretend I don't find the whole thing kind of weird, but, you know, I just realized something. Ruby really showed a lot of initiative in thinking up this whole elaborate game. That's what I need in a maid of honor, someone able to think on her feet no matter what crap is going on around her. So, provided you change every single word of your toast, Ruby, I'd love for you to be my maid of honor."

Ruby squealed and threw herself into Emma's arms.

"You won't regret this! This is going to be so much fun! I'll be the best m-o-h ever!"

And so, the last piece of the wedding planning puzzle was put in place.

#cs ff #cs canon divergence #cs wedding planning fic #my fanfiction #getting to i do

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