#i think i got for $100 even because part of the top ornamentation was broken....

[intertexts]

my room is so cluttered rn but it's so like cartoonishly cluttered. im like a fucking cartoon character. clearing my wooden case of oil pastels & my 120 year old tattered gilded french dictionary & my fountain pens off my bed and onto my steamer trunk, which is piled high with noir novels & poetry books & 80s goth cds, which dont fit on any of my six bookshelves. my harp is blocking two of those bookshelves. there are three discrete statuettes of jeanne d'arc scattered around the room. hello.

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (17/17)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on Tumblr!

a/n: Hi friends! This is the final chapter! Thank you so much for all of your support. I’ve truly enjoyed reading all of your reactions as you’ve re-read or read this story for the very first time. Please raise your hand if you’re interested in an epilogue! I have one written but I’m not 100% on it just yet. Anyway, love you! Enjoy!

///

Seventeen

Top to bottom, the Nolan house is full of the Christmas spirit. They have a tree in their living room, brightly lit with shining ornaments and white bulbs. There are red and green pillows on the furniture and special decorations on every surface available. It smells like gingerbread and peppermint.

Emma’s mother makes Killian a bed in their living room, giving Smee the guest bedroom, but once the lights go out, he climbs up the steps to the upstairs and crawls into bed beside Emma, much to her delight.

Her bedroom is small, but it does its job. Her queen sized bed is covered in blankets, seated on the opposite end of the room from Henry’s crib. The boy rests peaceful, something he’s sure has been a relief to Emma. 

Her eyes brighten and she beams at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She kisses him softly. To be with her again feels surreal, so he’s basked in every second, trying to memorize the way she stares back at him in the quiet moments, the timbre of her laughter when he teases her, the gentleness of her fingertips when she’s finding his, and the way she sighs just a little each time they kiss.

After she pulls away, he brings her fingers to his lips and kisses her knuckles, content in the warmth of her bed and their closeness. It’s been far too long and he’s missed her dearly. 

Even though they haven’t been together for long, it feels to him as if he’s known her for a long time. It’s funny, what he’s missed about her includes all of her frustration and annoyance with him and his behavior. Has it always been love?

“What happened to you?” she whispers, rubbing her thumb over the apple of his cheek. “Tell me the whole story.”

He winces, hesitant. “I don’t know if you want to hear that right now… we should be celebrating being together again. Trying to figure out what life means now that we’re here.”

“I know… but…” Emma stares at him quietly. “I want to know. Tell me.”

Sighing heavily, he inches closer to her under the piles of warm blankets, resting his palm against the mattress between them. He focuses on his hand, thinking back to that day, where he stood on the beach watching her leave on a boat headed to the mainland.

“They came to the island. Outnumbered me.” 

The air on board their ship had smelled thick of smoke, alcohol, and grime. The men had thick accents, but spoke English, and had wasted no time getting to business.

Emma’s fingers trace lines over the healing bruises on his face, tender and worried.

“They wanted to use me as leverage, but I don’t think they knew who I was. Not really. I think they thought, perhaps, I was more important to the government.” He meets her eyes. “They were talking about a nearby cruise ship. Thinking about commandeering it. I’m not sure how, after days of misery, I was able to send an S.O.S., but I did. Then, I was able to do enough damage that the engine stopped. Stalled us for a while.”

He’d been parched and starving, his body numb from the cold air. His fingers were shaking when he sabotaged the engine and his chest ached sharply from a couple of broken ribs each time he took a deep breath.

“They found me and knocked me unconscious.” He closes his eyes at the brutal memory. “And stuffed me into a barrel that they tossed into the water. After that, help came, pulled me out, and they were able to stop them. I guess they’d been trying to put an end to this group for a while.”

Emma covers his hand with hers, soothing him. He meets her eyes, searching them for a moment.

“I just knew I needed to get back to you. You kept me alive.”

She leans into him, their foreheads touching. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Killian murmurs. “Don’t be sorry. It’s in the past. It’s already done.”

“If we’d stayed any longer…” She stops herself.

He kisses the tip of her nose and then her forehead twice. “You and Henry got away safe. I survived. All that happened is just bad memories now.”

He wraps his arms around her when she curls her body into his. He lowers his lips to her head, closing his eyes. She seems to have lost her words, but her being close to him is more than enough comfort.

As time goes on, he finds that they’ve started to breathe in unison.

“I wish we could’ve had a happier beginning, my love, but I promise that we’ll have the happiest future, even when it’s hard.”

She is quiet for a long time, so long that he very nearly falls asleep to the feeling of her breathing evenly against him.

“I love you.” Emma whispers.

That’s all that matters, isn’t it? They have each other. 

“I love you too.”

/

Killian’s arm is draped directly over her belly, which makes Emma’s heart squeeze tightly in her chest. She feels his breath warm against her neck, and their legs are tangled beneath layers of blankets.

Mary Margaret loved him at first sight. Meanwhile, David had kept his emotions close to his chest, hesitant to accept that this was the man Emma had been with for a month. 

They fed him, gave him towels and fresh clothes to shower and change, and when it came time for bed, Mary Margaret practically sang him a lullaby. 

David, not so much. But it was understandable.

Her father has often admitted to her that this is the part of being a parent he had never been certain of: judging another man to be worthy of his daughter. With Neal, he’d been a little too unsure, to the point that he had to keep apologizing for not having protected her enough. 

But with Killian, Emma finds herself worried that her dad won’t accept him regardless of who he is and how much he means to her. 

Turning to face Killian, she still allows him to hold her. His eyes open, one after the other, and a sweet smile dances playfully on his lips. “Morning.”

Emma cards her fingers through his hair, biting at her lip. She hums. “Morning.”

She listens for a few moments, wondering if her parents are awake yet. “Do you think my parents know you snuck up here?”

“Oh, most definitely.” Killian says, making her laugh. “I made a lot of noise coming up the steps.”

Emma scrunches up her nose and puts her hand on his cheek, preparing to kiss him. “Yeah. You kinda did.”

Killian laughs into a sweet morning kiss, one of many she imagines are to come. The hope she has for their future is bright, and she knows he feels the same. 

When they pull apart, Emma whispers, “It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas.”

He awards her a soft smile, “Happy Christmas, love.”

“How does it feel? It’s your first Christmas away from the island in a long time.”

Killian chuckles. He pulls his hand up over his face and lies flat on his back. Turning his head to her, he says, “I’m just happy to be here with you.”

Her heart very nearly melts. “Killian.”

“Emma.” He smirks when she gives him a daring look, her brow raised. “Truly, I am. I don’t need anything special.”

“You deserve something special.”

She can tell he has something absolutely abhorrent to say before he even dares whisper it. “I do have something special. I have you. We have our little family. That’s enough for this Christmas.”

Damn him. He’s far too charming for his good.

“What about next Christmas?” she wonders, poking a little at what he’d said.

“I’ve got big plans for next Christmas.” She lifts a curious eyebrow as he takes her hand. “We’ll be living in our house by then, so I figure we’ll have it decorated like Santa himself lives there.”

Emma laughs. “Yeah?”

“Giant tree,” he says, gesturing out with his left arm, “Of course. In the foyer.”

She hums. “Yes. Of course. Go on.”

“Lights everywhere. Garland will practically grow from our limbs.” She can’t help but laugh at the mental picture of Killian wrapped in garland. Killian smiles. “Oh, and we’ll have this nice Christmas dinnerware that your mum is going to give us as a wedding present.”

Emma can’t help but smile at him silently. He stops orating, staring at her with bright eyes. 

“Did I mention we’re getting married soon?”

She bites on her tongue, keeping her laughter at bay. “Soon, huh?”

The tips of his ears turn pink with the slightest bit of embarrassment. He reaches for his ear, giving the spot behind it a nervous scratch. 

“Well, I think so.”

Emma lets him squirm for a second or two before she kisses his cheek. “What else is going to happen next Christmas, when we’re married and living in our own house?”

He takes a moment to gaze at her, sleepy, with a lopsided smile on his lips. His hair is such a riotous mess first thing in the morning, something she gets very nearly distracted by, were it not that he’s talking to her about their future and it’s the most heartwarming feeling she’s ever had.

“Presents. Loads of them. Most for Henry, but at least half for you.”

Emma gives him a skeptical look. “That’s a lot.”

“Well,” he smirks, “I hate to brag, but next Christmas, I have a wife and I worship the ground she walks on.”

She laughs loud enough that she has a worried thought of waking someone. Emma slides close to Killian, putting her hand against his chest.

“Well, next Christmas, my only requests are that I want there to be stockings that we hang by the fire. Because we’re going to have a fireplace.” He nods in agreement. “And... I expect a lot of mistletoe kisses.”

“Anything you wish.” Killian kisses her chastely. “And magical snowflakes for the stockings will be safely stored in our freezer.”

Her heart squeezes longingly as she thinks about what next year might look like. One year from now, things will be so much different than they are today. Henry will be so much bigger. Killian will have settled into his new life in Storybrooke. They’ll have a baby of their own.

Fondly, she thinks about what Henry might be like as a big brother. She hopes he’ll be gentle and kind. She knows Killian will be amazing. He’s proved as much with Henry.

“Next Christmas, what if we…”

Henry stirs to life, blessedly pulling Emma out of anything she was about to say to Killian. She’s on her feet in an instant, going to find him in his crib.

“Merry Christmas, Henry!”

/

Emma’s mother busies herself in the kitchen even before he, Emma, and Henry join the family downstairs. She wears a bright red sweater and an even brighter smile.

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma’s wearing what she’d dubbed as her “cozy clothes”, an oversized Christmas sweater and leggings below. To his surprise, she dug into her things to find her thick rimmed glasses, something that makes her even more adorable to him.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Emma steps into the kitchen, coming alongside her mother. She’s still carrying Henry, so she’s careful as she gives her a side hug.

“Did you sleep well?” Mary Margaret wonders.

Emma hums. “Yeah. Pretty well.”

When her mother turns back to what she’s doing in the kitchen, Emma meets his eyes and gives him a private smile. He winks back at her.

“Dad still asleep?”

“I’m hoping we can wake him up with some Christmas breakfast. What do you think about cinnamon rolls?”

“Sounds good.” Emma nods. She reaches into a cabinet for a bottle for Henry. “Hey, Killian?”

He moves swiftly into the kitchen, already grabbing for Henry before she can ask twice.

“Thank you.” Emma gives Henry’s fingers a gentle squeeze as she smiles up at Killian. “I almost forgot how well we work together.”

He laughs warmly and carries Henry to sit down at the kitchen island, bouncing the boy just a little trying to distract him.

“So, Killian, Christmas day isn’t usually this laid back…” Mary Margaret says, turning from her bowl of ingredients. “We usually have a lot of guests and family stopping in throughout the day, but this year, we’re going to just keep it simple. We’ve all been through a lot. And I think it’ll be nice for Henry, too. We don’t need to overwhelm the baby.”

Emma hums in agreement. “Last year there were forty people here at once.”

“That’s… a lot.”

Mary Margaret chuckles. “Well, David and I both come from bigger families. I have a lot of cousins I grew up with, and he has a twin with a family of his own. Not to mention all of the friends we have in town.”

It’s not all that surprising to him that they’d be popular. In the short time he’s known David and Mary Margaret, they’ve been more than kind and hospitable. Well, except for David asking some tough probing questions.

He finds that Christmas is far more enjoyable here, amongst friendly faces, than it ever has been. While he doesn’t have any gifts to give or to receive, he does have plenty to be grateful for.

Emma sits at his side for most of the day, both of them loathe to be apart. They’d spent hardly a month together, were separated just as long, and suddenly, they can’t get enough. 

He can’t and won’t complain.

She runs her fingers through his hair, her nails gentle on his scalp, while they watch Henry playing with some toys David and Mary Margaret had given him. Every so often, he’ll look at her, a smile on his lips, and she’ll award him sweet kisses if her parents aren’t in view.

Mary Margaret gives him far too much to eat and drink, and David peppers him with a series of questions that Emma rolls her eyes at.

“So, where are you thinking you’ll live?”

“Dad.” Emma says, offended on his behalf. “Give him a break. He just got to town.”

David returns her frustrated expression with one of his own. “I’m just curious!”

Killian glances at Emma briefly, whose hands cover her face. She’s clearly mortified. “It’s okay. I don’t want to speak for Emma, but I was thinking once I find some work, we could find ourselves a house somewhere nearby.”

David’s eyes widen a little. “Oh?”

Emma sighs. She stands, deciding to clean up the nearby coffee table to busy herself. “Maybe lay off until the holidays are over, okay? Then you can ask your million questions.”

Her father glares at Killian slightly before turning his attention to his daughter. “Sorry, Killian.” He sighs, a playful smile on his face. “I hate to say it, but I’ve been dreaming of this day for a long time. You haven’t given me the opportunity to interrogate any boyfriends before.”

Emma snorts. “Yeah… for good reason. You’re scary when you’re Sheriff Nolan.” She pauses, looking at Killian for a second. “Besides, your interrogating isn’t going to scare this one off.”

Killian winks at her before she takes what’s in her hands to the kitchen in the room beyond.

“She’s my daughter. I have to.”

“Dad… I can hear your glare from here.” Emma’s voice carries in from the other room. “We’re trying to have a nice Christmas.”

“I’m not glaring!” David calls out. He sighs, looking at Killian. “Sorry if I’m asking too many questions.”

“I understand. You’re curious.”

“I’m not…” David stops himself. “Okay, maybe a little. She was in a bad relationship… and I didn’t even realize how bad it was. I guess I’m overcompensating.”

Killian smiles a little. “Rest assured, David. I have no intention of harming either Emma or Henry. I would do anything for them.”

“What are your intentions?”

The abrupt nature of the question is jarring, but he can understand why David would wonder as much. 

Nervously, he scratches beneath his ear. “I don’t think it would come as any surprise if I told you I’m in this for the long haul.” Pausing, he considers his next words with a heavy, cautious heart. “I’ve thought about asking her to marry me.” 

David seems at ease by what he’s saying, but still maintains a fatherly glare as the seconds seem to pass into minutes of silence.

“You know, I think I can ask my friend down at the docks about a job. If you’re interested. Mostly desk work during the winter, but later in the year, you’d be out on the water.”

He smiles, nodding. “That’s awfully kind. Thank you.”

“Well,” David sighs, sitting back. “You’re part of my family now. I have to take care of you.”

Killian finds himself speechless. Years of living on his own, years of his childhood with only his brother at his side… and now, he has become enveloped in one of the most caring families he’s ever met.

He isn’t sure what he did to deserve this, but he’s certainly not upset. If anything, he feels unprepared to give back in kind. 

But, maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe just accepting their kindness and welcoming arms is enough.

/

“I think they like me.” Killian says quietly. 

He sits on the couch with Emma, the room entirely dark with the exception of the television. Her parents and Smee had gone to bed a while ago, leaving them to finish a Christmas movie on their own. 

It had been a wonderful day, filled with sweets and laughs, good conversation and new traditions. And even without a single gift given to him, he feels as if the day had been rewarding in many ways. 

Emma peers up at him. She’s wearing a blanket up to her chin, her head resting on a pillow over his lap. “Of course they do.”

She sits up and decisively stands. Yawning, she asks, “Bed?”

Quickly, and as quietly as they can, they make their way upstairs. Before turning to the bed, they both approach Henry’s crib, settled against the nearby wall. He’s sound asleep, his arms sprawled out around his head while he breathes in evenly.

He’d had a very busy day, filled with new toys and bright Christmas tree lights.

“He’s so tired,” Emma murmurs. “He had a lot of fun today. I’m glad you could be here for his first Christmas.”

Killian smiles softly. “Me too.”

Emma bites on her lip and goes to sit on her bed, playing a little with a string from a quilt. 

“So… how are you handling all of this? Okay so far? You can be honest if you’re overwhelmed.”

Killian smiles to himself. He joins her on her bed and sighs thoughtfully. “I had a perfect day. Thank you for looking out for me.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you made a mistake.”

He tilts his head to the side, upset that she would still think he would be doubting his choice to be in Storybrooke with her. “Emma…”

“I know you love us and you won’t leave…” Emma whispers, “but my parents are the most important people to me after you and Henry, so… if they were too much, maybe we should’ve started out slower.”

“They weren’t. Trust me.” Killian assures her. He shakes his head. “They’re like the parents I’d always wanted.”

Emma sighs with relief. “I’m glad.”

Smiling again, Killian lifts his hand to gently tuck her hair behind her ear. He finds it sweet that she’d care as much as she does about making sure he’s adjusting well to the situation he’s now in.

She hesitates with something in her mind. He can see it, how she bites on her lip and slowly shifts her gaze from the floor to him again. 

“What’s wrong, love?”

Emma turns toward him more. “I have to tell you something.”

He reaches for her hand, shaking his head with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay.” Emma promises, quickly suffocating his fear. She searches his eyes. “Do you know how we were talking about next Christmas?”

He nods, silent. 

“I wanted to ask you this morning…” Emma pauses. She winces a little, lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “How would you feel if… we had a new baby next Christmas too?”

He can’t help but laugh in surprise, lifting his eyebrows. “Erm… that would require… a little extra effort on our part to make sure it happened in time, I think.”

Emma stares at him, nodding. She smiles nervously, as if wanting him to read her mind. He can’t, no matter how hard he tries. 

He scratches beneath his ear, feeling himself get a little embarrassed, though he tries to play it off as coy, “I imagine your parents would hate it if we started trying right this minute, darling.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not...” Emma takes his hand, bringing it over her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes grow wide in shock. His mind races while he tries to calculate what exactly she’s saying to him. “You’re… pregnant? A baby?”

Emma nods and laughs with an adorable wrinkle in her nose. She has tears in her eyes now.  “Yeah. We’re having a baby. You and me.” 

He laughs along with her in disbelief. This certainly wasn’t something he expected to hear from her, much less so soon in their relationship. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. He’s still calculating, trying to understand how. “I… we haven’t… we only…”

“It’s... our gift from the island?” Emma says diplomatically, her eyebrow lifted along with the nervous inflection of her voice. 

Killian laughs again, shaking his head slowly. “I’m shocked.”

Emma nods in agreement, eyes wide. “I just found out and I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around it.” 

She sighs, seeming to have held onto a breath for a long time. “I was going to try to wait to tell you, but I couldn’t. All day, I’ve been thinking how next year, it’ll be so different because there will be a baby, you know? We’ll have a little baby and Henry’s going to be a lot bigger and…”

He nods, chuckling at how she’s started to babble.

“I needed to tell you before I went crazy.” 

His hand is still pressed to her belly, thumb caressing. Emma leans into him, pressing her forehead against his.

“Are you happy?” she asks, clearly uncertain and nervous. 

“Am I happy?” he repeats her question with a laugh. He pulls away just slightly. 

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He joyfully kisses Emma’s forehead between words before kissing her soundly on the lips, hoping she can tell that he’s more than happy. “It’s unexpected, but… I’m very happy.”

Her gaze is soft and her fingers are gentle on his cheek. “I am too.”

He’d lost literally everything he loved before he settled into his life of isolation. The island had given him nothing but dark gray skies for years, until one day, Emma and Henry arrived. And now, a baby.

Killian takes a deep, clean breath of his future. There’s something so wonderful in the air: a new life, a fresh start, a new beginning. He has nothing but time to enjoy it all.

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 9-4

[josephkitchen0]

How to Make a Scarecrow That Actually Works

By Nathan Griffith – The best yields and the best quality of corn come from planting short-, mid- and long-season varieties all at once, not from planting the same variety every week or two. The latter method is just not in tune with nature’s rhythm and the harvest shows it. The real challenge is learning how to make a scarecrow to keep the crows away.

To reap the advantages of this single sowing, the corn should be planted at exactly the right time: when the sugar maple leaves are just about the size of a squirrel’s ear. This gives a window of about two weeks, because the leaves emerge differently at the top of the tree than near the ground.

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If this planting fails, the yields cannot be guaranteed if there’s drought or cool weather in the summer. Only planting on time is proof against weather.

The first planting takes about 10 days to two weeks to sprout.

Between sprouting and about eight inches worth of growth the plant is very sweet.

Learning how to grow sweet corn and keeping it safe from crows can be a challenge. Crows have a “sweet tooth,” along with superb eyesight, and will come from miles around to a newly sprouted early planting. Learn how to make a scarecrow to keep the crows away.

By the time this occurs, a re-planting (which may also be destroyed by the crows) is definitely going to yield less, and probably of lesser quality. This is true of field corn, popcorn, sweet corn and ornamental corn.

For years we tried all kinds of shenanigans to learn how to scare crows away and stop them from destroying our corn plantings. I vividly remember the first year we had trouble from them. One day, just after sun-up, I heard the merry call of “sis’ Crow” out in one of our fields: “Cawn! Cawn!”

“Not to worry,” I thought, “they’ll be gone by the time I get over there while doing my chores.”

I was right about that, but they were only gone because there wasn’t any more corn. The quarter-acre we’d planted for feeding green to our Cotswold sheep flock during the dry times of July and August was totally destroyed.

The crows had walked methodically down the rows, pulling up the just-emerged corn (couldn’t have been longer than a half-inch!) and eating the kernel at the bottom. Easy pickin’s.

Partial Solutions

We’ve all seen a set of old clothes, stuffed with straw, crucified on a pole out in a garden. Sometimes the crows land on them to survey the garden before they set about their digging.

We’ve seen those inflatable eyeballs and owl decoys. How decorative they are with the happy sounds of crows cheerfully bobbing all around them after only a few days!

And how about those rubber snakes? I had never tried ’em. If the other methods didn’t work, why should this one?

One old-timer advised me to soak the seed kernels in Warbex® cattle-grub killer before planting. The way he gleefully described the helter-skelter carcasses of dead and dying crows flopping around his corn patch about made me puke. Besides, just like you and me, plants are what they eat: and I didn’t want to eat that stuff. Unlike animals, plants don’t have livers and kidneys to filter out the poisons from their systems, so I was sure I’d be eating bug killer. (This is one of the reasons to feel safer with store-bought meat and milk than with store-bought vegetables, though we grow practically all we need of both.)

Years ago, a similar treatment was advocated by a so-called “organic” garden magazine. Except they recommended kerosene. I don’t want that kind of stuff in my dirt. We spent years learning to breed our own corn, harvest, select, save seeds, test and improve it. I explained all this in my book Husbandry—I certainly wasn’t interested in messing with all those “quick fixes.”

I sat for hours, no, days, in my old-fashioned slat-sided corncrib, which overlooks the main corn planting. I shot one crow. From that time on, they waited in the trees, just out of range of the old “shootin’ iron,” until I left. (Alas, I’ve never fooled much with scopes, decoys, calls or stuff like that.)

One year I even carefully buried a bunch of steel traps (#1-1/2 and #2 coil-spring and #1-1/2 single-long spring) besides the corn the way you do for trapping foxes, with a treadle-cover and the dirt sifted through ¼-inch rat-wire so stones wouldn’t clog it. Yep, now that surely caught crows. Usually by both feet and never with any broken bones or bloody skin, like the ARPI (Animal Rights Protest Industry) type-folks claim it “always” does. I just came along periodically and put ’em out of my misery. But you know what? That attracted more crows! Not less. Besides, it was way too much work, and quite distasteful at that.

Crow Psychology

Being basically a skinflint, I didn’t want to blow a hundred bucks or so on toy snakes for the whole field. But the toy snakes proved effective for one of our town-dwelling acquaintances, to keep pigeons from roosting on, breaking, and filling up his house’s gutters with the pigeons’ “you-know-what.”

I reflected, “If it works for pigeons, why not crows?”

So I rounded up some of that ubiquitous, brittle old garden hose one encounters on every small country place, and cut it into about eight to ten-foot lengths (guesstimated). I laid them out amid the corn rows, about one every 20-25 feet, each way. Mostly, I arranged them in “S” curves.

Presto! No crows!

Until a few days later. Then the crows pulled up all my corn.

I had to re-re-plant.

I wondered, “If I just stayed in the sweet-corn patch wheel-hoeing or otherwise puttering around, would those crows bother my just-sprouting corn?”

So I started cultivating the rows. To do that, I collected about eight rows worth of “snakes” and dragged ’em to the end of the rows, and began cultivating. Then I put the “snakes” back and went to lunch. When I got back, the crows had been at the other side of the patch, but not a single sprout had been bothered in the cultivated part.

Early next morning, all the corn was pulled up, except in the rows where the “snakes” had been relocated. Those rows hadn’t been bothered at all.

On a hunch, that evening I turned the “snakes” at right angles to where they’ve been that day.

No crows.

Next day, I did the same. Again no crows.

I continued doing it each morning until the corn was about a foot high and the crows never bothered a single stalk.

It was a revelation! If at dawn, the “snakes” weren’t lying in the same position they had the day before, the crows left the place alone. Since discovering on how to make a scarecrow that actually worked, we’ve never had crows tear up our corn, even when they nest and play in the woods immediately adjacent to it.

Deer and Apple Trees

I must say, I left out something else about our scarecrow plan: an old book said to make a scarecrow like this, so I did:

Take an old glass pop bottle, and sliding a metal rod down the bottle’s mouth, tap the bottom out.

Tie some string ( I used 10-pound test nylon fishing line) around the bottle’s neck, and tie it to a pole.

Drop the other end of the string down through the mouth of the bottle and tie a 20d (20-penny) nail to it so it’s hanging halfway past the bottom edges of the bottle, like a bell clapper.

Tie another string to the bottom of the nail, and to that, tie a shiny pie pan (I used one of those CD computer programs that come in junk mail—a good use for it, I think.)

The slightest breeze sets the shiny thing to spinning and flailing, which jiggles the nail, and makes a “tink-tink” noise in the bottle that carries a surprisingly long distance, considering how quiet it is.

Well, I suspended this from a 10-foot rod of common concrete reinforcement bar (rebar) that costs about $2 or $3 new. Mine wasn’t new. This can be easily thrust into the ground and pulled up, as necessary. It’s springy enough that if you lean it at a slant of about 75° it makes the scarecrow bob up and down a bit.

As with the “snakes,” crows will get used to this unless you move it now and then. A hundred feet apart is a good distance to have them. I alternate this sophisticated scarecrow with a plain old aluminum foil pie-pan every 100 feet, by about 25 feet apart, to keep those crows a-thinking.

Once my corn was up high enough to remove these gadgets, I placed ’em under a wild sport apple tree. (Now let me tell you, the apples on this tree are so good that deer come from miles around, forsaking most other apple trees. Even the crows come for them—and the geese wait under this tree to eat what the crows knock loose!) But when I took the pop bottle scarecrow out of the field and placed it so the pop bottled dangled about eight feet away from this tree, the deer left that side alone. In fact, I don’t think they ever really got used to its erratic “tink-tink.”

Conclusion

Growing sweet corn (watch those sugar maples!) on time will always give you more and better corn, especially if it’s unique growing conditions. The biggest problem with pests is they get your planting’s timing out of tune with nature’s rhythm, so you not only get less corn, but of lesser quality, too. Now that you know how to make a scarecrow for garden use that works you can use that instead of poisons, store-bought gadgets, cartridges, traps, or straw men.

Originally published in Countryside July / August 2002 and regularly vetted for accuracy. 

How to Make a Scarecrow That Actually Works was originally posted by All About Chickens