#just sitting at the table and quietly weeping LMFAO

[macroglossus]

having to wait for nausea to subside before taking anti-nausea medication is like. SO awful i wish it came in a patch

[qualquercoisa945]

When You’re On Your Own

Title Inspiration: When The Sun Goes Down from In The Heights

lmfao literally n o n e of you are ready like this is just pure angst have fun y’all

trigger warnings- alcohol mention, illness mention, death mention, none are discussed in heavy detail but they’re mentioned so yeah

In between rehearsals, then touring, then shows, and then moving in together, the six queens didn’t have a lot of time where they were completely alone. Not that they minded, really. Still, there were those rare moments where one of them would be able to be on their own.

Catherine actively seeked out alone time in the beginning, but often times those plans were foiled. And when they did succeed, the consequences rarely made it worth it, which was why she had begun to try to become closer to the other queens.

Still, even then there were moments where silence filled the house, and Catherine’s mind began to run wild with thoughts that her logical side desperately tried to fight off. And of course, it just had to happen when no one else was around- not that Catherine would reach out, mind you, but knowing that she could go be with them afterwards to get her mind out of it always seemed to make it just that tiny bit easier, even if she’d never admit to it.

Images of Henry, flirting with her in the earlier stages of their relationship; of her in the castle, capable of hearing Mary’s cries and whimpers of pain when she was sick but unable to do anything to comfort her; of Henry’s servants, coming to her chambers to inform her of the divorce and of Henry’s plans for her; of herself on her knees before Henry, begging him to let her stay; of her servants, following her to her new residence once the annulment was finalized.

And, of herself, laying on her deathbed shivering, feeling like, if for whatever reason she went to Hell, it wouldn’t affect her, since she was experiencing it in that very moment.

She hated herself for not being able to control her mind, for letting herself wander back to those memories whenever she wasn’t focusing on anything else. She was supposed to be the one that kept her head cool, not the barely contained mess behind a well practiced facade that she forced herself to keep up.

Still, after all those images flashed through her mind, and (although she’d never admit to it) after wiping away tears, upon hearing a voice call out “I’m home!” (was that Jane? She wasn’t sure, but not that it mattered much) she’d take a deep breath, wash her face, make sure there was no way of telling that she’d just been crying, and then go down to meet her fellow queen

After all, one of them had to keep their cool, right?

Alone time was something that Anne had despised since she was a child. She couldn’t help it, she was an extrovert, being around people was as natural to her as it was to breathe. Alone time felt rather suffocating, if she was being honest, and it only got worse after she’d been reincarnated. And God, she sometimes wished she hadn’t. The memories were too strong- of her siblings, of her daughter.

Elizabeth… Anne was oh so proud of her, there was no denying it. And yet, the pang she felt in her chest every time she thought about someone sitting her down, at only two years old, and explaining to her that Mum wasn’t coming back… Well, it wasn’t uncommon for Anne to have to excuse herself from the room when it happened, to have to take a few minutes to collect herself before walking back like nothing had ever happened.

And this was one of those days, where she’d excused herself from their designated table at the bar when the six of them went out for drinks after their last show of the week and fled to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall like some teenager in a dramatic coming of age movie.

And often she’d reach up to her neck and scratch at it, but she knew she had to make sure she could come out without anyone noticing she’d been crying, so instead she just pressed her fingers against the back of her neck, keeping them there until the pain became too much and she had to lessen the pressure, hissing quietly while rubbing the spot lightly.

And then she’d unlock the stall and leave, looking at the mirror in the bathroom to find her makeup pretty presentable. Thank god for waterproof makeup. She examined her reflection, making sure you couldn’t tell she had been crying. And then, as she always did, she walked back to the queens with her usual cocky smirk.

Had to keep the mood up, right?

Company was something that Jane had always enjoyed. Although she didn’t come from as large of a family as some of the others, time spent together was always treated as a good time in her house, and thus she had those values engraved into her.

Still, it’s not that she disliked alone time. Love them as she might, the queens could be a bit much sometimes, and she needed a break from them every once in a while. However, every now and then (which was more often than she’d like), her mind would wander off to unpleasant memories and thoughts. And today seemed to be one of those days.

Specifically, Edward. She regretted not being able to raise him- to see him grow into the bright young man she knew he became. Not to say that she didn’t love her daughter- she’d sacrifice the world for Kat, but that didn’t erase the agonizing pain that came with everything related to her son.

And then there was the subject of Henry. After Kat’s outburst, she’d been mulling over her claim that Henry had never loved any of them. Even after Kat had apologized, it just stuck with her, because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she was right.

Or better yet, accepted. Yeah, Henry didn't love her. He loved her son, but not her. And that hurt. But, while it hurt, she didn’t let herself cry. It wasn’t that big of a deal. The others had it far worse, she had no right to complain.

So, when she heard Kat call her name from downstairs, she swallowed, to stop the knot in her throat from getting any tighter, called out a soft “Coming!”, and then stood up and left her room, heading downstairs like that whirlwind of emotions hadn’t just hit her. She couldn’t let the others see her like this, had to remind them that they could always count on her.

That they would always have her support.

Like always, Anna was the last one in the dressing rooms, still getting ready for the show. She stood in front of the mirror, staring judgingly at her reflection as she made sure her hair was perfect, as well as her makeup, outfit, and just about every aspect of her appearance.

As much as, during the show, she acted like what had happened between her and Henry didn’t affect her, that was a complete lie. Every single comment that she’d heard about her appearance stung, and although she knew her band mates wanted to help with their kind words, they fell on deaf ears.

That was the problem with trying to seek out comfort, wasn’t it? Any words that loved ones tried to use to comfort you felt fake- forced, even. Logically, she knew that wasn’t the case, but that didn’t change the way her heart felt. It was tiring, honestly, to drown in self hatred everyday, but what else could she do?

She heard the intercom turn on, hearing their stage manager call for places. She sighed softly to herself, then turned around as she heard the door open. “C’mon Anna, we gotta go!” Kat called, smiling kindly at her. Anna chuckled, glancing at her reflection one last time before following the girl, chin up and lips quirked up in her usual cocky smirk as if her entire self deprecating inner monologue was non existent.

Staying confident was key to keeping up appearances, after all.

Kath actively avoided staying alone. Being alone meant being vulnerable, and although logically she knew the girls would never do what they did to her, the paranoia was harder to get rid of than simply using logic.

So whenever she actually was alone, she’d grab her phone and put something on, be it a silly cat video, or a conspiracy theory, or whatever. She just needed something that made noise, to give her mind the illusion of not being alone.

However, sometimes not even that was enough, and today seemed to be one of those days. Thoughts swarmed around her mind, of hands roaming all over her body, groping and rubbing all over.

She shivered, trying to shake the thoughts away before she begun actually feeling their touch- it wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be nice, at all.

She heard the front door open, and took a shaky breath, trying to keep herself collected. A few tears fell, but she quickly wiped them away. And when she actually went down and sat near Jane and Cath, she kept a healthy amount of distance between them.

After all, getting too near just meant getting hurt.

And although I pretend to not be affected, every night your voice and memory come back to haunt me, never letting me rest until the witching hours, by which I grow too tired due to weeping to stay up. And yet you taught me that silence is survival, thus building up walls that I had no choice but to help construct, trapping me inside my mind. And walls are so much harder to tear down when you’ve helped build them up.

Catherine hadn’t even noticed she’d begun crying until a tear fell onto the paper. She blinked, then pushed the chair backwards, wiping tears away while she looked up, waiting a few minutes to collect herself before pulling the chair forward with her, staring back at the sheet of paper she’d been working on.

And so you trap me again, centuries after your reign over both this country and my life. It frustrates me, to not be able to be rid of your tight grip on me even after all this time. I must assume the others also feel it. I just hope it isn’t as strongly as I do. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

She set the pen down on the paper, before folding her arms on the table and burying her face in them, letting out a quiet sob. She just cried, feeling utterly exhausted of keeping it all in, and yet seeing no way out.

Once tears stopped streaming, Catherine looked up, wiping away at tear tracks before looking back down at the paper, picking up the pen again as inspiration struck.

And when I see even the smallest of cracks, my first instinct is to cover it up. I’ve been living under the assumption that silence is survival, and as one says, old habits die hard. So to be rid of that is to be rid of a big part of me. And if I am truly being honest, I do not want to be rid of it. It keeps me grounded, keeps me safe.

And at the same time, I just want it gone and I want it gone now. Because it traps me, and holds me back from pursuing new friendships, and from deepening my bonds with those I care about. I love the others, but at the same time I cannot help but to hide from them. Because those walls are still there. And you’ve left me with one rule.

Silence is survival.

[hencethebravery]

The CS Writer’s Hub has spoken. Killian Jones vs. the very surprising text message. If I say anything else it’ll give away the surprise. I don’t wanna give away the surprise. Also, I've had a really fucked up couple weeks and these ladies kind of saved my butt so, thx for being nice to me even tho I am kind of an asshole. xo @mahstatins @winterbythesea @seastarved @dassala @katie-dub @the-reason-to-sail-home @killiancygnus @justanotherwannabeclassic @sambethe

+ The problem with not planning things from the get-go is that inevitably, everything following that initial act of ill-advised spontaneity will also go horribly wrong.

“Not off to a great start, seems like.”

“Yeah, no, not really, Lily. Thanks for the help.”

Rekindling her friendship with Lily had not been an easy thing, and she’d been dissuaded from trying to do so by nearly every person in her life. Her parents were a bit biased by way of their own guilt, so she didn’t really pay attention to them or their concerns on the matter. And even Regina, who should by all accounts be the Queen of Second Chances, couldn’t seem to resist making snide little comments about “that girl’s attitude.”

“Seems to me as if she’s lived a harsh life,” Killian had observed when she’d asked for his opinion. “I’m not one to judge, aye?”

He had this way of doling out advice or perspective as if he wasn’t really allowed to have either because he’d done so many fucking things wrong in his life. It was both sad and charming all at once—all that wealth of experience gained by living longer than most of them, only he can’t seem to stop punishing himself long enough to appreciate it.

“I think that too,” she answered, smiling and planting a gentle kiss against his cheek. “Thanks.”

“Not sure what I did, love.”

“Yeah,” rushing to grab her jacket off the back of the couch, one foot already out the door. “That’s the point. Be back later—love you!”

Anyway, she’s kind of regretting the whole “friendship” thing at the moment, and she could smack Killian silly for giving her such terrible advice.

“Listen, what’s done is done. I don’t know what I could say to make you feel even the slightest bit better about this.”

“I am such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Lily said stiffly, a long string of noodles hanging rather indelicately out of her mouth, “understatement.”

“The smell in here is making me nauseous.”

Which she’d definitely have to get used to. With Henry, most smells had made her nauseous. Granted, she’d been in prison at the time and it didn’t really smell great most of the time, but still. Seemed to be two-for-two currently. Maybe she’s just one of those people—everything makes her want to vomit. Lucky her.

The point is, if she hadn’t rekindled her friendship with Lily, she wouldn’t have added her number to her phone and Lily’s name wouldn’t have shown up right under Killian’s name in her Contacts. It’s a rookie fucking mistake, and her younger self would have been disappointed in her carelessness.

“Maybe—” Emma starts, licking her lips, trying to avoid breathing through her nose, “maybe he won’t even know what it means.”

“You’re the one who goes on and on and on about how quick the guy is.”

“Yeah, well. First time for everything.”

As it happens, Emma Swan’s luck is actually as bad as she thinks it is, because he just happens to be spending the day with her father when it happens. Idiot.

“Dave?” Killian asks, pausing in his slow, careful brushes alongside the horse’s flank.

“Yeah?”

“Emma’s sent me a message, and I’m not quite sure what it’s supposed to mean.”

David chuckles to himself and grins. It’s always a bit satisfying when he has to explain something to his son-in-law. His son-in-law who is a ridiculous number of years older; who is inexplicably adored by his son, and his daughter, and sometimes even his wife, and at least he can take pleasure in explaining texting lingo that most twelve year olds understand.

“Let’s see it,” he says playfully, taking full advantage of Killian’s bruised ego as he drops it into his hand. He looks down, expecting to see an “istg,” or a “lmfao,” or an Emoji or whatever else Emma’s sent, only it’s a picture and it seems to have been sent by accident and—

“Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ ‘Oh,’ what, mate?”

“Uh, I think,” he pauses and grunts, quickly shoving the phone back into Killian’s waiting hand. “I think you should talk to Emma.”

“Dave, do I need to be worried?”

“No, no,” David says quickly, laughing uncomfortably.  “Just... go home, okay? Talk to your wife.”

Emma’s been staring at her cold, congealing bowl of noodles for about 25 minutes when Lily’s had enough, tapping her chopsticks along the rim of Emma’s dish.

“Hey there. Swan. You with me?”

How could she fumble such an unbelievably important moment? Nothing in either of their lives has ever been simple and easy. She had hoped that if or when this were to ever happen, it would’ve at least happened in a somewhat normal way. Could have broken it to the guy gently, with candles and flowers and maybe they both would’ve had a good cry afterwards.

Emma groans and drops her head to the table, caring not a wit that some of her hair’s fallen into her cold soup.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?” she asks, her voice muffled thanks to the proximity of the table to her face. “How could you possibly know what I’m thinking right now?”

Lily sighs. “You’re thinking about how you’ve never had a chance to do anything the ‘right way,’” her voice droning on as if she’s said all this before, “how you’ve finally made it to the perfect life and even now, you’ve fucked it up.”

Emma sniffles and lifts her head, tries to ignore the pressure behind her eyes.

“Your life’s never gonna be perfect, Em.”

“I know that.”

“And don’t tell him I said this, but I think you’ve got a really good guy. And he’s not gonna care how he knows, only that he does.”

They sit quietly for a few moments; Emma vaguely hears Lily ask for the check while she tries to keep herself from weeping in public where any nosy Storybrooke resident can see and then run off and tell her mom. Her phone buzzes and it’s David, a very brief, “Hook’s on his way home.”

“I need to go,” she says, standing. “Thanks... for lunch. And everything.”

“Calm down, don’t get hysterical,” Lily says with a smirk on her face, her own eyes suspiciously shiny. “And congratulations.”

He’s wearing a hole in the floor when she gets home, his face adorably scrunched up as he stares down at his phone. She hadn’t responded to the question mark, feels a bit bad for making him wait longer than he had to.

“Hey,” she says on a sigh and a smile, her stomach settling with the comfort of being home. It’s quiet this weekend, especially with Henry at Regina’s (thank goodness for small miracles). There’s a large grandfather clock ticking down the hall, and the floors creak under both of their feet. She’s never been so grateful to be able to come home.

He sounds relieved when he breathes out a, “Swan,” rushing to her side and looking her up and down as if expecting to see a gaping wound somewhere.

“Are you alright, love? Seems you’ve inherited your father’s infuriating vagueness.”

“Everything’s fine,” she grabs his hook and pulls him towards the couch, “come sit.”

She’d thought about it on the way over, how she might go about explaining that their small family is about to get a little bit bigger. About how they’ll both have to confront their various childhood traumas if they don’t want to fuck up their kid. How they’ll finally have to paint that room upstairs. How she can’t split a bottle of rum with him for a few months. He’s not gonna like that. There’s so much she could say, but now, in the moment, all she really wants is for him to be in the know with her.

“The text was a pregnancy test.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The picture I sent you? It was a picture of a positive pregnancy test.”

For a moment the sound of the grandfather clock ticking at the back of the house sounds unbelievably loud. Her fingers tighten around the metal of his hook, as if there’s still a part of her worried about having to keep him there. With her.

“I sent it to Lily by mistake,” she explains, starting to ramble. “Her freaking name is right beneath yours and I got... nervous, I guess? And I needed to talk to somebody and I sent it to you by accident.”

“Emma—“

“I never wanted you to find out like that,” continuing as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m so sorry, Killian. I love you so much, I’m just... scared, and I didn’t mean—“

“Emma,” he says again, interrupting with a hand against her cheek. “I don’t bloody care about that.” His eyes start to shine and crinkle with the shape and warmth of his grin, “You’re...” he nods towards her flat middle, a hint of hysteria in his voice.

“Yes,” she nods, relieved at the sigh of his smile. “Yeah, some poor, unfortunate baby is gonna have to deal with the both of us.”

He lets out a loud, booming note of laughter, as if all the tension he’d been carrying since she walked in had been released into the air. “I love you,” he whispers, resting his forehead against her own, both their cheeks wet with tears, “so very much.”

“Yeah,” she answers with a soft giggle, “me too.”