#love tiana's hair and and the way her necklace matches her eyes

[popfishjr]

Made some doodles of some of my friends' ocs!

@nicoriice @alive-currently @royal_jules_parker on instagram!

(Was debating posting this on tumblr, and i finally came to a decision)

[kunderdogs]

Take A Chance VIII Finale

Simon Dominic (AOMG) x Y/N (Reader) Genre: Romance / Angst Count: I didn’t count lol sorry  Warnings: None Rating: Mature (suggestive, swearing) Summary: Who would’ve thought a one night stand with Simon D would turn into FWB? It only gets more complicated when you developed feelings, against your better judgement.

Sorry for the late update! I lent my laptop to my friend and I didn’t get it back until after 3PM! ^-^’ anyway, I hope you like the finale! I’ll be posting a epilogue next week but that’ll be the end! This is shorter than I wanted but I’ve been in stump for a few weeks...

Finally after years, this has come to an end...I was going to add more drama and twist and turns but my life is about to get crazy with my job so I thought it’s best to end it here before I’m too busy to update :(

Chapter One. | Chapter Two. | Chapter Three. | Chapter Four. | Chapter Five. | Chapter Six. | Chapter Seven. | Chapter Eight (Finale). | Epilogue

“Kiseok...we can’t...we can’t be together.”

The way Kiseok sat up straighter, brows frowning and eyes narrowed on you told you that he was in defensive mode now.

“You don’t feel the same,” he concluded, jumping to the wrong assumptions.

You felt your eyes widen to almost impossible degrees at that point. That was so far off, it was ridiculous. “No! I-...I do. I like you too.”

“Just not in the way I feel about you, huh?” With that, he stood and made a beeline for your front door.

Without thinking, you jumped up and caught his wrist to stop him. Panic rose in your chest as you saw how defeated his eyes were as they stared at you. In the back of your mind, you knew now was the time to come clean about your feelings. It wasn’t a good time to hide and cower.

Whatever happened after this was meant to be. You took a breath and Kiseok waited with his eyes trained on your face.

“I’ve liked you for months.” You confessed, and it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders.

“I tried my best to keep my feelings hidden but it was so hard. When you would listen to me, or send me cute messages like ask me how my day was going...I-I don’t even know when it happened, but it just did and I was content having you just as a friends with benefits but then...”

With your head tilted down, you missed the passing emotions that crossed Kiseok’s face. Right now, you didn’t have the courage to peer at him anyway. It was hard enough talking about your feelings, but to do it with the person causing you so much heartache was a new level of vulnerability.

Sensing that you needed some comfort, a hand came to your jaw and softly caressed the skin before tilted upwards. You hadn’t realized there were tears in your eyes until you saw Kiseok’s face soften at you. He raised his eyebrow, as if asking you to continue.

You took a breath, hating the way your voice shook, “Then I saw you at the restaurant with that girl and I just felt like my heart had broke, like I just missed my chance. I should’ve told you my feelings earlier, but I’m so scared.”

He heard your whisper, even if it was hardly detectable. You weren’t surprised. Kiseok always listened to you, no matter what. “What are you scared of, angel?”

His use of the nickname calmed you a bit. Both of your hands came up to his chest and slowly curled into fists of his sweater. With his hand still tilting your jaw up, the other found it’s place rubbing comforting circles on the curve of your back.

“I’m scared of it all - Falling and having no one to grab me. What if we get together and it doesn’t work out? What if you meet my daughter and then we-we break up? I’ve never been with anyone since she was born - what if she likes you and it doesn’t work out between us? I don’t want to bring a man into the dynamic and confuse her if this isn’t...isn’t a long-term commitment for you. Plus you’re a celebrity. That’s a new set of challenges in itself.”

“We can make it work, angel.” He finally understood. His eyes searched yours and was going to say something but you had more to get off your chest. “I can work around my schedule.”

Your grip on his sweater got tighter as you tried to articulate everything on your mind. “I can’t have someone who isn’t serious. It’s not just me. It’ll never be just me. I come with a child, and an ex who is very involved with my daughter. You’ll have to accept that all. I need someone whose ready for that, not just a fuck buddy.”

You pulled away from him gently and he let you before examining your expression again, “Why are you assuming I just want a fuck buddy?”

“You haven’t exactly implied you wanted more,” you stated, wiping the tears that leaked from your eyes.

Those dark eyes of his hardened slightly. “You think I’m going to just bounce if shit gets too hard? I’m not that kind of man.”

You shook your head, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s not that. I mean- I can’t have someone around if they won’t be here for the long haul.”

“And you don’t think I will.”

“I don’t know if you will!” You huffed, irritated that he wasn’t seeing where you were coming from. “I don’t know. And that’s why I’m scared. What if we get into a relationship and it doesn’t work out? I’ll have to explain to Cookie and what if she takes a liking to you? Then it’ll be another father figure who she won’t see! She barely sees her father as it is! I don’t want to hurt her like that! I don’t want to be hurt like that too...”

“Can’t you just take a chance on me?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in those sharp features. “Because I’m selfish. I want all of you.”

You stopped venting, “What?”

Kiseok took a step towards you cautiously, large hands out to grasp the swell of your hips. Your body relaxed against his automatically, like you were meant to be in his arms forever. “Take a chance on me, ___. Give me a chance to prove to you that I want you - all of you. The goofy side, the business woman, the horrible baker that you are, the woman you came to be, the mother that you are - I want it all. That includes your daughter too.”

You were crying at this point, thankfully it was silent as you watched in amazement as Kiseok poured his heart out for you. “Those things made you into the woman you are and I want everything that comes with you. All the baggage and emotional trauma. All the ex’s and all the kids you have.”

Finally, he got you to crack a smile and giggle at that. Resting your head on his chest, you felt him wrap one arm around your waist and the other loop around your neck to snuggle you into his body more. “I only have one daughter.”

“Even if you had four, I would still want you.”

Securing your arms around him, you sighed deeply. Without much difficulty, he guided you to the couch and sat with you on his lap. Resting your nose in his neck, you wondered what the next step would be.

Kiseok didn’t give you long to think it over when he pulled back, dark eyes searching your face. “So. Are you free tonight? I want to take you out - on a real date. Dinner if you want.”

You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading like wildfire on your lips. “Okay, I’d love that.”

He pulled you back, lips lightly grazing yours in a soft kiss, “Good, because I have a lot of making up to do.”

Seven months later, you sat on your couch, head thrown back in laughter as you watch Kiseok walk into the living room, decked out in a fluffy pink boa necklace and a matching tiara while Cookie pranced behind him in her Princess Tiana costume.

“Kiki, you have to go down the runway first!” Cookie whined when your boyfriend remained motionless in the door way.

His glare held heat to it as he stared at your laughing figure. With a sassy flip, he tossed the end of the boa necklace over his shoulder. “I would’ve preferred the purple but the show must go on, darling.”

With a hand on his hip to exaggerate his “model walk”, Kiseok strut down the runway that was behind the couch. He spun on his heels at the end, posing a few times before wrapping the fluffy accessory around your neck. Another imaginary hair flip later, the rapper was seated next to you, making sure to slide the tiara onto your head.

He smiled when he noticed the tears in your eyes from laughing so hard but didn’t comment. Cookie completely crushed her walk, with you and Kiseok clapping enthusiastically as she flipped her curls over her shoulder to give the audience a fierce pose.

“That’s my baby! A true model! ___-ah, let’s put her in some modeling classes!” Kiseok exclaimed before swooping down to wrap Cookie in a tight hug.

She giggled when he nuzzled his face on her cheek but didn’t push him away. From your position on the couch, you watched with a smile on your face and a light heart.

You didn’t know it months ago, but Kiseok was great with Cookie, kids in general actually. Seeing them bond and play together was probably the most fullfilling thing you’ve got to witness. You were too caught up in watching them with hearts in your eyes, that you missed how they whispered to themselves, sneaking glances at you.

By the time you did notice, Kiseok had a shit-eating grin on his face, while he adjusted Cookie on his hip. “I think it’s mommy’s turn to be Sven.”

Without further ado, you promptly jumped over the couch and booked it, the two loves of your life hot on your heels to force you into a reindeer onesie.

[awriterincrime]

Committed : Part Three (Harry Hook)

Prompt : Aaliyah(reader), the daughter of Princess Tiana and Prince Naveen, is arranged a husband to maintain the legacy of Maldonia. What she didn’t expect was who she would be arranged with.

Warnings : Cursing?

A/N : So I somehow got chapter 3 done! I was actually inspired by a post I saw in the Harry Hook tag, and I make reference to it in the chapter! So if you want to see what imt talking about (its a map)) click here! It was someone else’s idea, so all credit goes to them ! I just adapted on it.And thank you to everyone who sends me lovely messages it honestly makes my week. If you like the chapter, please message me your feedback! What you like, what you don’t like, what you want to see in the next chapter. I need to know!

Part 1 / Part 2

Get out. Get out right now.

Those were the few words running through Aaliyah’s head as she frantically scattered the dark alleys of the Isle. She was cold, alone, and roaming one of the most dangerous islands to ever be inhabited. Fun.

Wandering alone in the middle of the night didn’t seem safe, but she didn’t have much of a choice. It was all a mistake, coming to the Isle to meet Harry. She should’ve listened to Evie and stayed with her on Auradon. Maybe she wouldn’t have been caught up in this mess. Her little adventure was over, and all she wanted was to be home.

Her whole body ached after the fight. A harsh pulse flew through each muscle in her body, and she had one agonizing headache. She never has to push herself that far in training with Lonnie, but a fight for her life was anything but a simple sparring match. Every step felt like knives being pressed into her skin, but she kept trudging on.

“Just get to the bridge.” She muttered to herself, dragging her feet from behind. If she could get to Auradon by morning, maybe she would be able to get to the dorms before Evie woke up and her little ‘adventure’ would be a distant memory.

Following some old signs to the Pier, Aaliyah found herself back where she had started earlier that day, yet something was missing.

“No, no, no.” Her soft cries grew into screams as she frantically searched for her bike she had left behind. Her plan to lock and hide it behind the dumpster has ultimately been foiled by someone pathetic thieves.

“Fuck.” There was no way she was getting home to Auradon anytime soon.

Being on lookout was one of the most annoying jobs for Harry. It wasn’t exciting or thrilling at all. Not like training where Harry was at his prime. Using his sword to fight off Gil, or terrorizing the new recruits that dared to come on the ship that day was the highlight of his day. But now, he was slugging across the Isle, just looking for trouble.

However, his focus wasn't on the job today, but a girl. Harry couldn't even help but drift his thoughts back to the stranger he had met the night before. No, not a stranger. Lia. He recalled every moment of her slicing at dangerous pirates with ease, and the way she looked at him when he stood close to her. His heart had never beaten so fast. He kept his confident facade on for her, but inside he was melting. She pulled him in, and didn’t know why.

He had stayed up all night, staring down the double doors of the Fish and Chip shop, anxiously waiting for her to step in. Imagining all the things he would say to her, the angry look in her eyes when she tried to fight him for her necklace back. He wanted that so badly, but had no idea why. It wasn't until Gil woke him from his unexpected slumber on one of the dining tables the next morning that he realized she was a no show.

He expected himself to be upset, angry even. How could his plan to lure her in not have worked? Maybe she had outsmarted him somehow and was planning her revenge. Either way, Harry was even more curious now.

Uma, however, was less than pleased. The word of another stranger roaming the Isle made her feel exposed, which was probably why she had sent Harry on lookout duty. He had shown Uma the necklace he had stolen from earlier, but she wasn’t merely as impressed. She took the locket for ‘safe keeping’, she told Harry. He didn’t mind though, the more he looked at it, the more he got lost in his thoughts and he didn't need the distraction.

And now here he was, stuck on the main pier of the Isle, staring at the grimy black water that surrounded them. The Isle was nothing spectacular, it was barely a home. It as a prison. It was no secret that everyone wanted off the Isle, even him.

Across that murky water was Auradon, the most beautiful place on Earth. At least, in comparison to the Isle.  Stories had been told about the beauty of Auradon. As a boy, Harry and his friends would pretend they could cross the bridge and live like true princes and princesses. But as years passed, he knew that dream would stay just a dream.

As he walked, Harry stumbled to the side, tripping over what he thought was a log on the sandy beach. He looked down to see a person, curled into a tiny ball. “Aye!” He shouted, moving to kick the still figure before quickly stopping himself. It wasn’t just any person, it was her.

“Lia?” Harry kneeled down to her sleeping body, softly tugging on the hem of her shirt. She shifted slightly under the newspapers that were covering her like a blanket. The Isle was freezing at night, and she was barely covered. Harry noticed her shoes and the cuffs of her jeans were soaked in mucky sea water, the crashing waves from under the pier must have hit her through the night.

“I don’t have any money,” She muttered in a sleepy tone, rolling over and turning her back to Harry. “Go away.”

Harry smiled to himself, tapping her sleeping body again, this time waking her.

Her body shifted again, this time sitting up from her slumber. She rubbed her sand covered face, her sleepy eyes meeting with Harry's. Her sand coated hair fell onto her shoulders, a knotted mess from her rough night. She was fairly pale from what Harry deduce as a lack of food and a proper sleep.

“Harry.” Her deadpan voiced brought the pirate back from his daze. She knew his name. “What do you want?”

“Lovely to see you as well, lass.” He mimicked her actions, standing up from the sandy beach. Harry’s eyes followed her as she stood from the dusty ground. The sight of her attempting to comb through her knotted mane with her fingers made Harry smile. How could one who has slept on the ground all night still look so astonishing? He pushed away the thought away with a shake of his head, feeling a bit dumbfounded by it.

“I’m disappointed you missed our date last night. You know it's rude to ignore an invitation.”

She brushed off her dirt covered clothes, responding to Harry with an attitude. “I don’t usually date guys who hold me captive.”

“From what I recall darling,” Harry said playfully, tapping her cheek lightly. “I saved you.”

She rolled her eyes, walking away from the pirate. She didn't seem to have any certain direction, just wanting to get away. Though Harry wasn’t going to let her go that easily. Quickly chasing after the mysterious girl, he rushed to her side, following in her quick stride.

It was strange to see someone so resistant to Harry's charm. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been able to allure women and men with it, but not her. He liked a challenge though, and she seemed to be one.  

“Why are you resting here?” Harry questioned, motioning to her temporary living space. “Surely the Doctor would find you something, eh?”

“I’m a big girl.” She growled, making Harry jump with delight.  “I can take care of myself.”

“I see.” Harry nodded, keeping in step with her quick stride. “So, where are you staying tonight?”

Her face folded as she tried to think of an answer, but Harry could tell.

“I'll just find another place to crash.” She seemed unsure about herself, but gave off a confident presence. “I'll stay at the Inn.”

Harry’s grin had formed into a frown at the mention of the Inn. It was a known spot for Sylvester’s crew, and if they attacked her once, they’d do it again. Harry's enraged instincts got the best of him as he stepped in front of Lia, stopping her in her tracks.

“No.” He grabbed the wrist of her sleeve, pulling her back into his chest. Her eyes gazing deeply into his made him almost speechless. He didn’t know why he had grabbed her, it was instinct. She was the first girl to ever make him nervous. Not even Uma made him feel this way.

“I mean, stay here.” He breathed, surprising himself with his force. “With me.”

He watched as her eyes widen, slowly processing this suggestion.

“No, thanks.” She scoffed, pulling her hand back from his grasp. “I'll take my chances at the Inn.”

Stubborn. He needed something to get her out of it. “Well, how do you plan to pay for your night with no money?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but soon realized her predicament. “I don't know...”

“Then, I don't believe you have much a choice, love.” He pointed to her soaked shoes and messy clothes.

She sighed, succumbed to his suggestion. “So where do you live?”

Harry’s quarters weren’t anything more than Aaliyah had expected. The room was small, grimy and old. It was barely a room, honestly. With only one porthole window that looked out into the horizon, a claustrophobic feeling was inescapable.

It was fairly empty, only a small bed, desk and a few of his belongings. His closet had some fairly ripped shirts and pants and a couple damaged swords from over the years. The dry smell of ship water and rotting fish had filled the room, making it harder to breathe. Aaliyah coughed at the feeling of dust filling her lungs as she stepped in the room.

“You would think the Captain’s donkey would have a better place to live than this.” Aaliyah quipped at Harry before entering the small barracks.

“I’m sorry the room isn’t up to your glorious standards.” Harry mocked, rolling his eyes as he pushed her further along into the room. “The cleaning lady missed her appointment last week.”

Aaliyah folded her arms against her chest, leaning her body against the splintered door frame. She watched as Harry walked around the room, placing his hook on a small broken desk. From the wear and tear of the place, it seemed he had been living in such a hovel for years now.

“So, am I to make myself at home?”

Harry grinned at her sarcasm, nodding his head. “This is home now.”

She frowned, her thoughts flashing back to her dorm in Auradon. “Well, I don't intend to stay long.”

“That's disappointing, darling.” Harry said with a familiar grin. “We were just getting acquainted.” He added, pulling off his large pirate coat and placing it in his closet, exposing his war torn skin.

Aaliyah’s eyes trailed on the injured pirates body. His thin white t-shirt could barely cover the scars that encased his bare skin. Mangled lines of inflamed and bruised skin traced the lines on his skin. Some cuts looked fresh, dried blood stains still brushing the surface. Other had history, or so she assumed. A large brown scar traced from the top of Harry’s shoulder to his lower hip, skeptically forming the shape of a hook. It was too deep for him to have done to himself, it had to have been someone else.

But what caught her eye was the tattooed map that covered his entire back. The map stretched across almost the entire world, or at least what had been discovered. She noticed small checks and X marks that she assumed marked sunken treasure. It was beautiful, stretching farther than anything the Isle and Auradon had ever seen.

“I could give you a picture if you want to keep staring, lass.” Harry spoke as he turned around, interrupting the silence. Aaliyah’s face flushed, turning her face away from his boasting smile.

“What’s the map for?” Aaliyah asked, trying to avoid further embarrassment. She watched carefully as Harry’s face fell. His childish grin had disappeared and was replaced with somber grimace. She could tell he was in deep thought as his gaze left hers, staring down at the creaky floorboards.

“It was my father’s.” Harry muttered, shoving his swords aside in frustration. “It was supposed to be his big score. Millions in gold pieces.”

“Ok, then where is it?”

“I don’t know. He never returned.” Harry sat down on his small bed frame, his arms resting comfortably in his lap. He was biting at his cheek nervously. He tried to hide the pain, but wasn't doing a very good job at it. She could tell he was recalling whatever memory over in his mind.

Slowly, she made her way over to him, placing herself beside his stiff figure on the bed. “What happened?”

“It was a trip gone bad. He had gone on so many others like it, but the storms were unforgiving that night.” Harry’s hands had clenched into a fist, his body softly shaking in pain.

“I was only a lad when he left. My mother had left years ago, it was just him and I. I told him, begged him not to go, but all he cared about was the damned treasure. It was supposed to set him for life. He was only supposed to be gone for two weeks, but no one has heard from him since.” His confident demeanor was far gone now, and an innocence had overtaken. Aaliyah felt she were talking to the small child Harry had described sadly sitting on the pier, waiting for his father to come home.

“Harry,” Aaliyah spoke soft enough for just him to hear. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling his pain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Aye, I don’t need your pity, lassie.” He grunted, pushing her hand off his shoulder. She noticed the flush in his cheeks, and the redness in his eyes. “You asked. I answered.”

“Fine.” Aaliyah huffed, stepping away from the enraged pirate. The two stayed silent for a while. Aaliyah couldn’t tell if Harry was truly mad or just embarrassed by his vulnerability. It made sense to Aaliyah though. She felt strangely comfortable with the pirate, even with his hook to her throat. She felt safe.

Harry spoke first. “Where are you headed to in such a rush?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Nowhere certain.” A damn lie.

He nodded, seemingly skeptical. “That's too bad. The Isle would enjoy someone like you.”

“I'm surprised you would leave without your necklace, though.” Harry added. Aaliyah's hand traced up to her neck, feeling the empty spot that previously carried her locket. She had completely forgotten about it.

“Oh,” she paused. “Well, I could always come back for it.”

“Ah, so you wish to visit me again?”Harry said with a grin. Aaliyah rolled her eyes, shoving the pirate in the shoulder playfully.

“Only for the necklace.” She said sternly as Harry laughed, smiling at her.

“So,” Aaliyah started, clearing the strange tension in the air. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

Harry patted softly on the creaky bed beneath him. “Right here, darling.”

“Oh no,” Aaliyah shook her head vigorously. “I'm not sleeping with you.”

“Well, I hadn’t asked but..” Harry’s eyes wandered up and down her figure before letting out a hearty laugh. Aaliyah crossed her legs in embarrassment.

“Gross.” She muttered, placing her hands on her hips.

“Aye, there’s always the ground, princess.” Harry joked, motioning toward the infested ship floor. Aaliyah could see the small bugs crawling in and out of the floorboards, and the dried blood stains that she wanted to avoid thinking about.

“God, I hate this.” Aaliyah sighed, quickly climbing into the twin bed, ducking under the thin sheet. Her back was pressed against the chipping wooden boards behind her. She could feel the soft push of the ocean waves against the  deck, slowly rocking her back and forth. It was soothing.

Harry fumbled around the room for a few more minutes, awkwardly adjusting clothes and miscellaneous objects in the room. It was obvious he was avoiding going to bed, which made Aaliyah laugh inside.

“Either get in the bed, or stop making noise. I’m trying to sleep.” Aaliyah said roughly, attempting to get comfortable on the worn bed.

Aaliyah heard a soft chuckle come from Harry before feeling the springy mattress move slightly, with Harry resting beside her.

He had turned his body to face Aaliyah, their noses barely brushed against each other in the small bed. He grinned as Aaliyah rolled her eyes, stuck staring at his charming face face.

She felt a flutter in her stomach for the first time she had been with Harry. Being so close, and intimate, she couldn’t help but admire everything about him. His chiseled body was pressed against hers, barely any room to move or breathe, but she didn’t mind. The urge to run her fingers through his luscious brown locks was almost overwhelming, she had to distract herself.

“So why don’t you wear an eye patch?” Aaliyah joked, breaking their silence. His eyes squinted at her in confusion for a mere second, before he chuckled giving her a grin.

“You’re an interesting las, Lia.” His smile was as radiant as before, but now more genuine. He wasn’t smiling for himself, rather for her. She smiled back at him, she couldn’t help it.

Her heart began to flutter as she felt the soft brush of Harry’s fingertips on her hands. His hands trailed her skin softly, like he was inspecting her. It seemed so natural though, as if he didn't even know he was doing it. Every touch left an electric feeling on her skin and made her want more.

“For a villain's daughter, you’re very proper, eh?” He raised an eyebrow at her. It was more of a question than a comment. Aaliyah had almost forgotten about her incredulous lie. It’s what got her stuck in this tiny bed in the first place.

“My father likes to be clean, even if he is a villain.” Aaliyah replied, another lie adding onto her list.

Harry nodded, his fingers still trailing up and down her sides. She didn’t mind it though, it was comforting, like home.He seemed to be lost in his touch, his eyes now shut, just following the rhythm of her skin.

“Harry?” Aaliyah said softly. He merely hummed in response, clearly drifting into sleep. Aaliyah brushed the soft brown curls out of his face instinctively. His face shuddered at the first touch, mostly in surprise. The touch became comforting after a while, she watched as he sunk into it.

“Yes, darling?” His voice was low and hoarse, drifting in and out of sleep.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For taking me in.”

Harry was silent. His eyes still shut and his fingers continued to dance across Aaliyah’s skin so melodically, it felt as if he were playing a beautiful lullaby. She watched a smile grow on his face.

“Promise me something.” He said quietly, only the sound of their soft breathing could be heard over the rushing waves beneath them.

Aaliyah hesitated, a bit surprised. “I guess.”

A long pause stood between them before Harry opened his piercing blue eyes to look back at her. “Don’t leave yet.”

A/n : It’s a little slow, i know. But I hope you liked it! And feedback always helps! I’m not sure if i should continue this, lemme know. c:

Taglist : @lyssafarnzie @tahreemhaq576 @booktvmoviefangirl @ronijdubb @emilielskov @bellisis @candyapplegirl @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @ilikechocolatemilkh @green-spotlight@asexualmarauder @ninquellote @spiderlingh @catcherintheclifford @thejourneyofabrokenheart@krazykat16 @callme-crowley @nitakali @badassbeckettswan @theladiesofliterature@princess7184 @magicandmystery @bellmorely @fandomrelative @lovepizza-cake11@myfavoriteimaginesblog @little-miss-quicksilver @tfandom101 @happytrekkieworld@dizzymemories77 @maddiiieeee1 @travelnottogoanywherebuttogo @heyya352 @frozenhuntress67@rebloggedimagines @youdrathetwatchatvshow @broadwaylover24601 @fulltime-fandomwriter @brittymolly @annabelle5724 @hufflepuffle97 @gucci-zjm

[lighthouseroleplay]

ISABELLE ‘IZ’ PARK

                          ( 21 ,  cis woman , she/her )

♪♫ currently listening  ⧸⧸  stupid girl by garage

the bitterness of black tea, worn-in leather boots that stomp on the floor, killing every plant she owns but buying more just to try again. old t-shirts, the crunch of a popsicle on a warm day, neat, handwritten notes. the rattle of a windowpane as rain pours from dark clouds, a silver necklace with matching bracelet. evenings spent buried in history documentaries, stubborn frowns, flickering neon.

    •  moon started off as a lab partner your junior year; never much of a thought in your mind unless you were working on anatomy homework. you don’t mean to stumble upon your mother’s past, the future your father took on while forgetting all about you. he’s happy with his real family, his seemingly perfect daughter that you somehow happened to be paired up with in class. you can’t help but turn a cold shoulder to the girl you’ve paid only a little attention to for most of your life. as much as you want to let go of the bitterness, it hurts to think that she’s the one your father chose to care for.

    •  ackerman has been your closest friend for as long as you can remember. of course you heard the whispers about her family, the rumors about her that swirled through your small town, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. she’s been by your side through everything, from first crushes to revelations about your family you never really expected. she softens your rough edges, brings caution when you’d rather throw it to the wind. even with her miles and miles away, she is a constant comforting presence in your life. 

taken by v/sloth  ⧸⧸  tiana tolstoi

tw: depression, cancer mention, attempted suicide

Y’know, you came out swinging, her mom said quietly, holding in a laugh. She dabbed a cotton swab soaked with iodine onto her daughter’s scraped knee and smiled at some far-off thought. Grandma had been the stern one. She’d seen the teacher’s note about “behavioral misconduct” and her wrinkled, fleshy face had gone hard. You’re too old for this, Isabelle Park. Brawling on the playground like I didn’t raise you better. Izzie had felt her eyes burning, but she’d been unable to find the words to explain what had happened: how some boys from her class had circled her like a pack of dogs and jeered, Where’s your dad? Where’s your dad? until she had felt that terrible shame bringing heat to her face, blood rushing behind her eyes, turning her sight dark. She had decked the biggest of them with a closed fist and left him crying in the dirt. Now, her mother applied the bandaids and smoothed the flyways at her temple. She kissed the cheek where tears were still drying. You weren’t a screamer, but I remember those tiny, tiny fists, swinging at anyone in reach. Izzie could see the memory that wasn’t even her’s: the tiny infant lifted up against the bright lights of the delivery room, batting the air as if to clear everyone away— the doctors, the nurses, even her own exhausted mother, watching in awe.

She isn’t sure when she realized that her mom wasn’t like other moms. She knew, as early as childhood awareness would allow, that her family wasn’t like other families. There was an absence in photographs and on parent signature forms where a father should have been, but that didn’t bother her; it wasn’t an ache she would feel until much later. Instead, Izzie grew up knowing mostly warmth and happiness in that run-down Victorian where the shingles slid off the roof every rainy season, and the gutters were constantly clogged with putrified leaves. She lived with her mother and her grandmother and the old, bristly fox terrier that her grandfather— long-dead before she was born— had left behind. Her grandmother was a fearsome pillar of a woman: stocky and broad-shouldered, her dark hair shot through with streaks of iron and pleated down her back. Nothing feeble about her; she seemed to grow more solid with each passing year, like an ancient oak. Often, she took Isabelle by the chin and turned her this way and that, saying, God broke the mold with you. But Izzie secretly liked to think God had re-used one of his favorite molds, the same one that he’d made her grandmother with. There was no one in the world she more reverently admired, no one she more fiercely wanted to become.

It was her mother who was the anomaly. She was different in a way that defied easy explanation; for many years, Grandma would not answer questions whenever Izzie ventured to ask them, instead ordering her to peel some more carrots in that clipped tone of voice that left no room for argument. But Izzie was an astute child. Nothing escaped her notice. She saw that her mother had a tendency to feel things in extremes; a soapy glass would slip from her grasp and pop into shards, and Izzie would watch her mother’s face crumple like cardboard left out in the rain, as if she’d just broken something irreplaceable. There were weeks of vegetative sadness, and dinners that Izzie and her grandmother ate alone because her mother refused to leave the darkened bedroom. Other times, she became sensitive and wild, highly reactive to the world around her. She’d throw fits at the blinking cashier who’d given her the wrong change, and snap unkindly at her daughter or her mother over minor grievances, making mountains out of molehills. Some days, though, she was transformed. The heavy clouds would shift; a burst of sunlight would bathe them all in warmth. Her mother would float into the kitchen and dole out kisses on the cheek, her face radiant with a pure, concentrated happiness— those were the times Izzie loved her the most. She loved her mother so hard in those episodes that later, she’d look back on them with a certain guilt, recognizing them for the mania that they were: her mom taking her out of school early, face flushed as if she’d been infused with someone else’s blood, taking her to the park to feed the ducks or to the aquarium three towns away. Always, she promised better adventures. Vacations to the redwood forests of California. Trips to see the mirrored skyscrapers of New York.

All throughout her childhood, Izzie was merely a spectator to the unpredictable moods her mother cycled through. She never paid much attention to how her grandmother handled them, the way she’d take her grown daughter into her arms like a child and coax her back from the brink with soft words meant only for her. Her grandmother was a good caretaker. She was the mast they could all lash themselves to in a storm. Because of her, they weathered each gale and came out on the other side, shuddering, shivering, but still whole. Izzie, meanwhile, had sprung up two inches above her classmates and stopped dealing black eyes to anyone who incurred her wrath. Instead, her anger had refined itself into a sharpened point; there was a condensed, dark kernel in the very center of her, and from it she began to cast a sort of furious solitude around herself, a shield that very few could penetrate. By late middle school, she wore only black. She found a pair of men’s Doc Martens at the thrift store and was thrilled by their thick-soled meanness, even if she had to double up her socks to compensate for the size. And she no longer went by Isabelle, or Izzie— it was Iz now, her elegant name shorn to a single brute syllable. It suited her. With that keen elfin face always watchful beneath eyebrows thin and arced like scythes, you could tell that she was a sharp one. She had edges to watch out for.

You might have an artist’s temperament, her grandmother noted one day, raising her eyebrows at the smudged ink sketches that Iz had scattered throughout her math notebook, which had been sent home with another exasperated note from her teacher. But not the talent. Her grandmother’s truths never concerned themselves with what they happened to destroy. Still, she was right; Iz was not an artist. She’d quit piano after a month, too impatient with her clumsy fingers, and her drawings, though painstakingly done, were flat and lifeless on the page. But while she didn’t have the ability to make art, Iz felt that she could still appreciate it. That had to count for something— she was desperate to distinguish herself from the small-town folk of Tennebrin Port in some way, convinced that their dull inner lives were nothing like her own bone-deep hunger for more. Movies in particular captivated her. When she had money, she spent it on DVD rentals or movie tickets. When she didn’t have money, she pestered the concession boys until one of them let her sneak in through the theater’s back door. Then she would creep from one back row to the next, watching movie after movie until all the enormous screens flickered to black, and only stopped doing this once the manager threatened to ban her. She consumed books and articles and Wikipedia pages with a voracious appetite, determined to know every little fact, to understand every intricacy of the film-making process. She began to worship her favorite directors; the walls of her bedroom became plastered with posters for Carpenter and Kubrick, Wong Kar-Wai, Fincher, Kurosawa. Once she started taking French classes in high school, she framed the poster for Jean Luc Godard’s Breathless above her bed.

When she thinks back on that summer, the summer that ushered in the worst year of her life, she remembers only pale, bled skies and unbroken heat, black flies stewing in the air, the briney smell of the ocean stinging her nostrils more sharply than ever before. Memories can change depending on what meaning we assign to them; even before Andrea Clare drowned, Iz remembers how that summer felt wrong, like a stagnant pool of water brewing disease. She had never known the girl that well— besides Angela, her friendships were limited to those she exchanged a few words with at lunch or in study hall, or those she negotiated with during the terse diplomacy of group projects. Iz would not disrespect a dead girl by pretending they’d ever been friends. But the looping footage of her death— and all the sound and sensation she came to associate with it— shifted something inside of her. She’d come to think of herself as an impenetrable fortress; she’d felt protected by the aloofness that kept her apart from the world. But as the days of July and August crawled by, with Tennebrin Port stunned into a stupor of grief, she was beginning to understand what death was and what it did. All of them on the shore shared in this terrible knowledge together; she wondered often about the others and how they were able to find space for it inside themselves, but never did she have the nerve to ask.

If Andrea’s death didn’t feel like an omen at the time, it certainly became one in retrospect. Her grandmother coughed blood into the sink one morning, as the leaves outside the window rustled in shades of copper and gold. Then came the quick raging of her cancer, an illness like a wild animal tearing through her body, and then she was gone, leaving only Iz and her mother behind in the old house, listening to the wind moan despondently through the attic. Iz took the death hard. She sank so deeply into herself that she emitted no light, becoming a hermit within her own body. Her grief made her turn teeth on well-meaning neighbors and teachers and classmates. She told Angela to fuck off so many times that the poor girl— her only real friend, the only one who understood the totality of her loss— finally did, and Iz wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself after that. Through that long, brutal winter, she’d come home from school and find her mother in bed as she’d been for weeks, her face swollen with tears, the ashtray by her bedside overrun with ashes, the acrid scent of pot smoke in the air. Iz would linger in the doorway and watch the blue light of the TV bouncing off her mother’s vacant gaze; then she’d close the door, and feel the gulf between them widening each time she crept upstairs, ashamed, in the dark. There was no way across it. Without her grandmother, the remaining Park women were as separate as two ice floes on the black Arctic sea. Each was now alone in a way that was permanent.

In the blue-and-red strobe of the ambulance, Iz wore a mask of calm just as her grandmother had, so many times before, and spent a week with her mother in the hospital watching monitors zig-zag like seismographs measuring aftershocks. Then she brought her back to the drafty, creaking Victorian under strict orders to never leave her unsupervised. Difficult to do, considering she was still in high school. Neighbors stepped in to help when she finally broke down enough to ask. Friends squirreled her study notes and cheatsheets for all the classes she missed, but still her grades— never better than average— began a slow descent towards rock-bottom. Her dreams of college felt laughable now; all the possible outcomes, all the imagined opportunities, all of them dwindled to nothing. She saw a long, dark patch of life waiting for her like a mile of black ice up ahead. This would be it: she’d be her mother’s sole caretaker, managing medications and hiding the alcohol, forcing her outside for some fresh air, cooking meals that she wouldn’t eat, steadily accumulating resentments like tallymarks on a prison wall. On and on, ad infinitum, until maybe she too succumbed to whatever sleeping gene had made her mother this way. Then they’d both be rattling around this old house, as crazy as two cuckoos. The future was almost as comical as it was bleak.

Somewhere around this time, her partnership with Moon began. The girl was a perfect example of how kind life could be to those protected from its worst blows: she was pretty and popular, never at a shortage of friends, never at a shortage of admirers. Things seemed to come easily to her as a virtue of her privilege. Once, this might’ve prompted nothing more than an eye-roll from Iz— and maybe some snide comments to Angela about the bourgeoisie— but now, Moon’s easy, effortless existence confronted her on a daily basis with just how shitty her own circumstances had become. The contrast was as plain as night and day when they sat next to each other in class: Moon lovely and immaculate in her expensive sweater sets and designer-brand jeans, Iz pale and fatigued in her ratty Goodwill finds which only came in mismatched shades of black, her stomach curdling with a childish bitterness that couldn’t be helped. But it turned out that Moon was also unexpectedly kind; whenever Iz didn’t show up for class, or didn’t have the energy to complete her portion of a lab report, Moon would cover without needing to be asked. It was this— the sparing of her sensitive pride— that she was most grateful for. As winter thawed into a more merciful spring, a tentative friendship took root, and began to grow.

They’d met at the Has Bean to cram for finals, and ended up lingering long after their study group disbanded, notes pushed to the side and dregs of coffee growing cold. Once the sole barista began sweeping the floors and shooting them looks of increasing urgency, Iz offered Moon a ride home in her rust-flecked Pontiac; the girl declined, saying that her father was already on his way. They waited outside. April was raw this year, blustery and cold. The wind rattled all the empty branches on this quiet street. Mr. Moon pulled up in his sleek car and rolled down the passenger side window to call to his daughter; when he put his eyes on Iz, she felt their weight and raised her own. The gaze she met was unsettlingly dark, just like hers. He stared. She stared back. They looked at each other like two startled animals caught under the same porchlight. She saw the pointed features and almond eyes, the parts of her which had never belonged to her mother’s side of the family, the strange, subdued fear waking in Mr. Moon’s expression. Instantly, she felt sick. She turned away, leaving Moon to blink after her in confusion, and walked quickly down the street with her head ducked and her hands balled into fists in her pockets. Then she sat in her car without moving until dusk became dark. Her knuckles were blanched on the wheel; each successive shudder made her feel like she might shake apart. She knew, she knew. She knew whose face she’d just seen.

It would be another month before she approached him. She couldn’t ask her mother for fear of the domino effect that it might trigger, but the certainty she felt after that first encounter didn’t need confirmation. Mr. Moon, for his part, agreed willingly to meet with her and didn’t ask why. They sat across from each other in the vinyl booths of some roadside diner, a safe distance away from town, and he ordered a plate of fries she didn’t touch, a soda that went watery with the ice that melted in it. Coolly, she sipped a glass of tap and watched the emotions darting openly across his face; the worry, anxiety, fear, shame, guilt. He didn’t want her to tell Moon, of course. He was a reputable man in Tenebrin, and he had a family to protect. Hearing the word family, Iz felt the surge of sour, tainted groundwater welling up inside of her, bringing all her toxins to the surface. The spite in her voice could’ve killed any growing thing. I don’t give a shit about your family. The immensity of her rage shocked her; she’d sustained all this anger towards a man she’d never even met. It had existed deep inside of her all these years, enduring, building layer upon layer in a process so slow that she had never noticed the added weight— until now. This was the heavy, compressed anger underlying everything else; she’d reserved especially for her father, and she wanted him to feel its impact like a blow from her own fist. I’m not going to say anything, and not because I don’t think you deserve to have your life ruined, because you do. It’s because I want nothing to do with you or your shitty family. And because my mother doesn’t need more shit being talked about her in town. Mr. Moon cleared his throat. They lapsed into silence as a waitress cleared their cold food, after which Iz wasted no time in getting to real reason she’d arranged this meeting: holding him accountable for what he’d done— or rather, failed to do.

This was the plan that would take her where she needed to go: she would go to a liberal arts college, one with a decent film program, somewhere inland where she wouldn’t constantly smell salt on the air or hear the distant, dull roar of the waves to remind her of this place. Tennebrin had become unbearable after all that had happened here; she wanted to rip herself out of the ground like a plant, roots snapping. The school would still be within state, close enough to home to prevent the guilt of abandoning her mother— she’d come back for breaks and vacations, and in the meantime, he would pay for a live-in nurse and whatever other types of care her mother might need. And though she wasn’t asking him to put her through college, a stipend towards tuition seemed appropriate, didn’t it? She laid out her demands with flinty eyes, making it clear what the repercussions would be if he didn’t comply. Iz had intended for this to be a scene of blackmail straight out of a Scorsese flick; in the month leading up to this moment, she had indulged vicious daydreams of how it would play out, how he’d stammer through apologies only for her to cut him off mid-sentence, denying him any forgiveness, any absolution of guilt. But life lacked the satisfaction of movies. With his quiet, calm manner, Mr. Moon only nodded as he watched cars leaving the darkened parking lot, throwing their headlights against the window. When he looked at her again, near the end, there was something in his tired face that his eyes were fighting to explain. I just need you to know, I tried. I would have tried for longer. But your grandmother… He stopped because of whatever change had come over her expression. Iz let him continue speaking, trying to keep down the thing that was rising swiftly in her stomach, displacing her heart into her throat. What should have come as a surprise to her, didn’t— it made sense, the role that her grandmother had played in his departure. The woman had always had a way of seeing straight into the marrow of people; if she’d sensed weakness in this man, so handsome and well-groomed in his dark business suit, then she must have been right to make the choice she did. As Mr. Moon told the story, Iz heard the explanation in her grandmother’s hoarse voice: he didn’t have the stomach for it. So she had forced him out, in the best interest of her daughter and then unborn granddaughter. She had released him. And the people of Tenebrin Port, with their eyes averted, had let a veil fall over this event, this shattering of what could’ve been a family, and the town had moved on in the way that small towns do, carefully preserving the secrets of those living inside it.

The day of Andrea’s death is imprinted in her memory for reasons she understands, and some that she doesn’t, but Iz forced that entire chapter of her life closed when she graduated from Cecil Morgan and moved away from Tenebrin Port. Four years at Whitman College afforded her the distance to blunt that memory and so many others; she retained her acerbic wit, her dark sense of humor, her sometimes turbulent moods, but her sharp edges became sanded down and she discovered that being around people was not such a terrible thing after all, which in turn made her a much more tolerable presence. She excelled in her film classes and did passably in others, still very much governed by her own interests. She partied, experimented with boys and girls alike, left dents in a couple hearts, collected a few scratches on the hard exterior of her own. College gave her exactly what she’d always been after. Freedom. It was a sensation that outweighed any sense of guilt towards her mother, but even her mother seemed better in these last few years, cooking all the meals whenever Iz came home for holidays, her nurse more like a companion, her smiles genuine as she listened to the sanitized stories Iz told of friends and eccentric professors and annoying roommates. All in all, Isabelle Park was doing just fine when the dreams started. Their onset didn’t seem to coincide with any anniversary she could pinpoint— not Andrea’s death, nor her grandmother’s. At first they were murky and shapeless, hybrids of imagination and memory that didn’t leave much of themselves behind, but slowly, they gained definition. There was the beach, the pale rind of sand and the dark, glossy ocean. There was Alderman’s Point where the old lighthouse stood, looming and sinister. In the dream just as in the memory, lightening ripped open the sky; in its sudden ghostlight, there was Andrea Clare, resurrected without logic or warning. Bobbing in the surf, her mouth open in a scream that the gulls echoed as they wheeled around her, the waves lapping over her, choking her, then erasing her entirely. Each dream replayed her death with startling clarity. After the first couple of doozies, Iz started to borrow her roommate’s prescription Ambien. That did the trick nicely— she coasted all the way through finals on heavy, dreamless sleep, and began to believe that the night terrors would simply resolve themselves like the strange fluke they were, weaning herself off the pills once it seemed like enough time had passed. But a few days before she was set to come home for the summer— newly graduated, completely unemployed, and staring down the barrel of her future— she had the worst dream to date. Everything was the same, except for Andrea’s scream; this time it was her own mother’s voice that was screaming, and she was screaming her daughter’s name, over and over, begging for help.

[seriouslyhooked]

Souvenirs (A CS AU) Part 13/14

A Modern CS AU where Emma has grown up in Maine her whole life and runs a store with Ruby and MM. Killian Jones is the new guy in town, who just bought the local bar. Only Emma and Killian have met before and now she can’t help but wonder if their past has influenced his plans for the future. Includes tons of fluff and a happily ever after. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven,Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve

A/N: Okay, here we are, another day, another Captain Swan wedding! This variation of the nuptials has the same spirit as all of my other wedding chapters – lots of fluff, smut, and cute friendship moments. I also managed to incorporate some elements of the title choice that I’ve had in my mind throughout writing this that I hope you guys like. Thanks as always for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

The sun today was perfect - the way it hung in the sky, the way the warmth was still tangible but not oppressive, the way the light lent a bit more beauty to the world around her. Emma shouldn’t have been surprised, of course it would be a lovely day because today was the day she was marrying Killian. And yet, the forecast could have called for torrential down pours and she’d still have found the beauty in it.

“Emma, have you even moved in the past few hours?” Mary Margaret’s call from the ground floor of the lighthouse pulled Emma from her musings, and tore her gaze from where it was fixed on the ocean.

“No. Figured I’d get enough of that –“ she looked at her watch “in two hours or so.”

Mary Margaret huffed and Emma could just imagine her friend’s face at the moment. She was pregnant, but probably already formally dressed for the ceremony ahead, and now she was on bride duty. A bride who had no grand imaginings of a huge white wedding, only ones about a life with the man she loved. Mary Margaret was probably having a blast with that.

“Are you really going to make a pregnant woman climb all these stairs to get you?”

Emma sighed, caught as she knew she would be, because no of course she was not going to do that. Instead, she grabbed her sketches and headed down the stairs at a leisurely pace. Once in front of her friend, she handed her the designs.

“Great news, I managed to come with an entirely new line today.”

Mary Margaret’s shocked expression was priceless and Emma laughed as she linked her arm with her friend’s and led the woman back out to the car. Emma took the wheel to drive, allowing Mary Margaret to see the sketches.

“Emma, these are… they’re genius.” Emma smiled, for she thought so as well. Still it was good to get some feedback. “Souvenirs, though? Why that name?”

“I like the idea that the big moments in our lives are these grand adventures, even if they are only flashes in the journey. This line can be a physical manifestation of those big milestones, and it’s something to remember the moment with.” Emma had one such piece in her engagement ring, and in the pile of papers before Mary Margaret there were half a dozen others that could be made for their customers.

“Inspired, and think how long a line like that can go on, with the different variation and everything.” Emma smiled, knowing her friend was the business savvy one and thinking about how good that would be for the line and for the store.

“Exactly. But I’ve had enough of work today. Right now, I think it’s time to get me married.” Pulling up in front of her house, Emma saw Ruby, Belle and Tiana waiting on the porch; the three of them also donning bridesmaids dresses.

“Finally, the woman of the hour.” Ruby said as she raised her hand, gesturing with frustration. It brought a huge smile to Emma’s face.

“Oh come on, Ruby. It’s my day.”

The teasing in Emma’s tone was not lost on her brunette friend who laughed before pulling Emma inside. Once there, Emma made her way to her bedroom and found her wedding dress. None of the others had seen it yet, as Emma had opted to travel to Boston alone to pick it up from the up and coming designer who she’d been consulting with.

The dress was elegance itself, and a beautiful ivory color that clung to Emma before billowing out into a truly remarkable skirt. It was light, despite its appearance, and easily moved in, so that she and Killian could share more than one dance tonight. That had been a big concern of Emma’s – she absolutely needed to spend most of the night dancing with her husband.

To go with the style that simultaneously harked back to the forties (with sheer sleeves that cut halfway between shoulder and elbow), while being modernly infused, Emma was wearing her hair up in a braided twist. Instead of a veil, though, she’d opted for a headband that had intricate beading that matched the belt of the gown. In complimenting beaded ivory shoes, and wearing her ring and a rose gold wreath necklace and bracelet set she’d designed, Emma felt like maybe, finally, she understood what so many women were on about when going crazy over their wedding.

“What do you guys think?” Emma asked, turning to her four friends, and there wasn’t a dry eye among them.

“Emma, you look gorgeous.” Belle’s words were heartfelt and Emma smiled, then turned to Tiana who was nodding, clearly stunned.

“I don’t know what to say, except you look like royalty.”

Emma laughed at that, for that had kind of been the aim, if only because royals tended to be meticulous about the classic element in a gown. That was what Emma wanted. If she was standing up in front of the world, she was damn well going to do it right.

“They’re going to have to hold him back, babe,” Ruby said as she hugged Emma tight and Emma was a little surprised. Of her two best friends, Ruby was the less affectionate, but it was a pleasant occurrence, and Emma was happy that her friend thought Killian liable to lose his mind.

“Mary Margaret?” As if the hiccupped sobs weren’t enough testimony to Mary Margaret’s happiness, the woman wiped away her tears and exhaled sharply.

“It’s perfect, Emma. Really perfect.” Emma took Mary Margaret’s hand in hers and then looked around to her other friends.

“I want to thank you all right now, before the madness, for standing with me today. It means more than I can say.” There was a moment of companionable silence before Emma spoke again, trying to lighten the heavy emotions before she cried herself. “But it’s best to tell you guys now, since when I see Killian in a suit, all bets are off.”

The laughter that came next stayed with the women who were light hearted and excited as the got in the limo set to take them where the wedding was. Emma knew some things to come, but she had largely stayed out of the planning, leaving it to Mary Margaret who’s instincts she trusted. Killian, though, had been a little less excited to hand over the reigns to her pixie-haired friend, and currently, Emma was listening to Mary Margaret go on about one particular disagreement over the band.

“I thought the best thing for sure would be a string quartet. But he was adamant that he wanted a band to play the old standards. He had a very distinct vision. ‘I am holding Emma while someone sings like Ella Fitzgerald or you will never hear the end of it.’ He actually said that!” Emma muffled her laughter with her hand, believing it to be true, especially after their conversation at Mary Margaret’s wedding, but Mary Margaret’s eyes turned thoughtful before she turned back to Emma. “Did you show him your dress, Emma?” Emma shook her head.

“Nope, just marrying a guy who knows me, I guess.” That set Mary Margaret off on more stories about the week’s planning that had Emma smiling more and more. Her soon to be husband was very opinionated as she well knew, but there was one thing that Mary Margaret was not permitted to talk about.

“He came as close to threatening me as I think he could given that David was there. Above anything else this week, he wanted this to be a surprise.”

Whatever ‘this’ was, Emma was intrigued, but soon the limo was pulling up and her wondering was over. Instead, she looked ahead to the entrance of the park that they would have to go through to get to the wedding itself, and there prepared for them to arrive was... a series of golf carts?

“Guys, couldn’t we have just parked at the Derby House?” The field in question was part of a Storybrooke estate that was the sight of the town’s historical society. This, to put it mildly was a back ways trek for them to get there.  

“I wanted to contribute too! So Mary Margaret let me decorate these for us to drive over.”

Emma was laughing like she couldn’t ever remember having laughed before. This was rich, and not at all what she was expecting, but actually made a lot of sense. Far more than walking to the field in heels did, at least. Ruby came over and handed Emma a giant white poncho to protect her dress and with that, the friends were off, speeding a bit more than was probably necessary through the path and to their designated zone for the aisle. When Emma exited the cart, she didn’t give a damn about her hair, she just knew that it was an amazing way to start the evening. The sun was starting to lower, and soon, very soon, she’d be heading down that aisle.

“Elsa, is that Aunt Emma?” Emma turned at the sound of a small child’s voice and saw a blonde woman who she recognized holding the hands of two young boys. She smiled at them happily and the smaller of the two ran up to Emma and hugged her. “It is her, I knew it!”

“Hi William, it’s nice to meet you too.” The little boy pulled back, eyes wide.

“You know my name?”

“Of course I do. You’re my family.” William grinned and looked back at Elsa and Patrick who were now just before her as well.

“She’s even more beautiful than the phone showed us.” William thought he was whispering, but all of them heard and Emma only smiled, extending her hand to Patrick, who she could sense thought himself a little too old for hugs.

“And you must be Captain Patrick. I heard you’re learning to man a sail boat all by yourself.” The boy brightened instantly and nodded.

“Yeah, Dad’s been helping and Elsa and I went to the library last week to learn all there is to know. When you and Uncle Killy come to visit, I can take you.”

“That sounds great.” Then Emma looked at Elsa and gave her future sister-in- law a big hug.

“I feel like I already know you, but it’s really good to meet you in person.” Elsa had a voice that was light and airy as she replied.

“Same here. Did you guys really get to ride over here in golf carts? That’s awesome!”

Emma nodded and looked back at her friends, pulling them all forward to introduce them. Once the worlds had collided, Mary Margaret reminded Emma of the time, and things went very quickly from there. Elsa moved with the boys so they could take their seats and then the music began. One by one her friends walked down the aisle, until only Emma remained.

When it was her turn, Emma moved with a fluidity that wasn’t intentional, but felt completely natural. Each step was tied to the music as it played, all in the hopes of getting to Killian sooner, and when her eyes caught his, it was like the whole world melted away. All she could see was him, and all she could feel was this incredible desire to get to this happily ever after she’d found with this man.

The look in Killian’s eyes was enough to set her on fire, while also making Emma feel like she was the princess every bride thought themselves to be. There could be no doubt looking in his eyes, that he was as devoted to her as she was to him, and that set the pounding of her heart at ease just a bit. When she was finally within arms reach, he extended his hand that she gladly took and he raised hers to his lips to kiss gently.

“Hello, my love.” He whispered, and just as she was about to respond someone cleared their throat behind Killian.

“Beg your pardon, love, but I hate to watch my brother get married without my actually meeting the bride.” Emma looked at Liam who was coming around Killian and pulling her into a big hug before she could think twice about it. Their guests laughed at that and Emma heard little Connor berating his father from his seat.

“Let Aunty Emma go, Dad! Uncle Killy loves her, and we don’t want to scare her off.” Emma smiled at the boy before turning to Killian once more and bringing her hand to graze his cheek.

“For the record, there isn’t anything that could ‘scare me off.’” His eyes burned an intense cerulean even as his expression softened.

“I’m very glad to hear it. Now, if my dear brother will allow us, I think it’s about time I make you my wife.”

……………

Not for the first time, Killian considered the magical feeling that came when he held Emma Swan – well now Emma Jones – in his arms. With her pressed against him as they made their way about the dance floor, Killian was floating on air, light as a feather, but ready to face anything that came their way.

“You look so happy,” Emma whispered and the sound made its way to his ears like the chime of a bell.

“I feel even more than I am giving away, love, trust me,” Killian replied and Emma kissed him, her own smile winning over when she did so. Then she looked around them again, still in awe of their reception. It did his heart good to see Emma so pleased with her wedding day.

“I still can’t believe you managed all this. I never even would have thought to dream this, but you still knew.” Killian brought a hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing away another of Emma’s happy tears.

“You are the best part of me, love. I only had to look into my own heart to know what you might find desirable.” The happy little sigh that escaped his wife had Killian’s hold tightening and then the joy in her eyes heating over into wanting.

“As lovely as all of this is, it still feels like we’re on display, doesn’t it?” Killian looked around and saw that his bride was quite right. Though they’d only invited fifty people or so, nearly every eye was trained on them, and Killian had a plan.

“Do you trust me, Emma?” he asked.

“Of course I do. With all my heart.”

Killian stepped back, keeping her hand in his and kissing it lightly before leading her towards the back of the party. There was an opening in the trees that led down a small path and with a nod at one of the wedding attendants, twinkling lights soon lit the way in the trees overhead. Emma’s gasp at the lights was exactly the response he’d hoped for, and as they made their way farther from the party, Killian felt a tension he hadn’t realized he had dissolving away.

“You really do think of everything, don’t you?” Emma asked as they reached the next grove and Emma’s face, lit up by the moon and the lanterns that were placed out here was so beautiful, Killian couldn’t respond.

“I know it’s probably bad manners to run away during our wedding, but I don’t care. This, Killian Jones, is exactly why I put a ring on it today.” Killian couldn’t help but laugh at that as he moved over to the set up that was meticulously laid out.

“I thought we might rather like a break, my love. I do believe we have earned it.”

Emma nodded and, with Killian’s help so as not to ruin her dress, she laid back on the lush blanket set up out here. Killian immediately took his spot next to her and found the remote control that had been placed at the corner of the quilt so he could shut the lights off, leaving only the stars in their wake. Now it was just the two of them, and the soft background sound of the music and the murmuring from their party. They were far enough away that constellations made their way into view, but near enough that it was still clearly their wedding.

“I used to see the stars as a little girl and think how small I was, how the Universe was so big and how I was alone in it. Here with you, right now, I’ve never felt more alive or more important.”

The confession from his wife had Killian’s throat closing. She would never be alone again, not as long as he lived, for he could never bear to part with her. Soon enough, they’d add to their family too, and when that day came that they welcomed a child, Killian would love them just as much as he did their mother.

“I have champagne chilling, love. Would you like some?” Emma shook her head and then looked over at him with something to say. Killian ran his hand over her features, wanting to understand why she looked a little worried.

“Did you notice that I didn’t actually drink during the toasts?” Killian shook his head, not having been paying attention, but the fact that she wasn’t drinking sparked a profound hope in him. Still, he wanted Emma to say the words, so he simply shook his head. “I’m pregnant.”

Killian pulled his new wife towards him and kissed her fiercely, pouring all his excitement into it, and trying to make her see how truly joyous he was at the news. God the day had already been perfect, but Emma continued to give him so much more than any one man deserved. Being this happy should be a crime, but damn it Killian couldn’t deny his want for life to always be this way, and he knew it would be as long as he had Emma.

“How long have you known?”

“About a week, but I thought it might be a nice surprise for you tonight. It might be the only thing that could compete with this to be honest.” Killian scoffed at that.

“Your news is the single best thing I’ve ever heard other than you saying ‘I do’ today, love.” Emma ran her hand across his cheek and kissed him once more.

“I have a doctor’s appointment next week, and I know I don’t have to ask if you’re coming or not.”

“I’ll be there. Just try shaking me over the next few months, love.” Emma laughed at that, but the thoughtful look returned to her eyes and Killian wanted everything. He needed to know what she was holding back.

“Tell me what’s troubling you, love. Are you not happy?” She shook her head.

“I am happy, really. I just – I’ve been having the craziest dreams, and in them we don’t have one baby, we have two.” Killian felt a wave of pride surge through him, which he knew to be ridiculous, for dreams weren’t indicative of reality, and there was no proof that they’d have twins. Still, the thought of not one but two babies, both a blending of him and Emma was an even sweeter life to imagine.

“Whatever happens love, our children will know nothing but love and protection from us. Besides, if we have two now, we’re that much closer to our goal.” Emma raised a brow at that.

“Just how many do you think we’re having?”

“A dozen?” Emma barked out a near hysterical laugh.

“Not even close, buddy.” Killian rose to his feet then and offered his hand to help her up, once she was standing flush against him, he pushed a lose tendril of hair behind her ear and smiled.

“Perhaps that is a trifle excessive. How about six?”

“Any more than five, and we are both liable to lose our minds. Even five is a lot.” Killian grinned, knowing five had always been the number he wanted, and reveling quietly in his success.

“Whatever you want, Emma.” He felt a zing of sensation when her hand pressed against his chest, warming him through the thin material of his shirt.

“We probably have to get back now, don’t we?”

“Aye, love. But I promise, just one more dance and then we make our getaway.” Emma looked skeptical at that.

“You want me to spend my last dance of the night with your brother? He already called dibs for one more. Poor Elsa, she must be so tired with all his constant demands.” Killian laughed low at that.

“He made that demand of you, because Elsa is a terrible dancer, love. Two left feet is too generous a description. “ Emma looked surprised at that.

“Really? She looks so graceful, I just assumed she would be great at dancing.”

“Quite the opposite I assure you.”

By now they were back to the original party, and though they were noticed as being recently returned, no one made any unsavory remarks, which Killian appreciated. Sure enough his brother came to claim his dance, and then Killian staked out one more before making good on his promise that he and his bride could make their getaway. He was anxious to get her back to their home and out of this dress.

“Where did all your steely control go? You’re Mr. Impatient all of a sudden.” Emma giggled as Killian swept her up in his arms once they’d arrived to carry her over the threshold, into their house and then through the corridors to their bedroom.

“My show of control was nothing short of heroic all evening, love. I expect a parade thrown in my honor for all I’ve done.”

Killian put Emma down to stand on the floor of their bedroom and Emma smirked as Killian watched her kick off her heels. She then turned around to have him unzip the gorgeous dress that had fit her so superbly all evening long. He probably should have made a moment of it, teasing them both with a slower pace, but his blood was boiling, simmering hot just beneath the surface of his skin, and the only thing that could help was his Swan naked and crying out his name, lust thick in her voice. With the dress now shed from her person, Killian had a moment where he stood at deaths door. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest as he saw the white lace lingerie she’d been donning underneath the classy design of her wedding dress.

“Like what you see, babe?”

Killian’s smile ticked up at the endearment, but words escaped him. Instead of trying to find them, he ran his hands along her smooth, creamy, skin and savored the feel of her warmth and the way her breathing swallowed when he traced absent minded designs along her flesh.

“I love you more than anything, Emma. Surely you know that by now.”

“I do. And I love you just the same. That being said – you better get out of those clothes soon, or we’ll be ruining a perfectly good suit.”

Not one to upset his new bride, Killian did just that, watching Emma’s features heat as he stripped the expensive suit from his person. He wondered if the rumors he’d heard about pregnant woman was true. If they could be trusted, it meant Emma would be more sensitive to his touch and hungrier for the love between them. There was only one way to test the theory.

“Your call, Emma. Do you want me doting and gentle?” She shook her head.

“No, I want you at that point where you’re nearly out of your mind with needing me.”

Her hand came down his chest, across the slope of his abs to grip around his already hard cock, pulling a growl from Killian. If that was how she wanted things, he would not disappoint. Still he removed her hand, instantly missing it, but needing to take things a very different way.

“On your knees, holding the headboard love.” The flash of excitement that washed over her expression had Killian grinning, but Emma moved quickly to accommodate his request. “That’s a good girl. Now, as your husband, I have certain duties do I not?”

Killian asked and Emma nodded, arching to meet his hands that trailed along her back as he took his place behind her. With deft hands, he unclasped her bra and threw the strapless garment across the room. Watching Emma’s unwitting response to the gesture had him grinning. His chest was pressed against her back as he brought both hands around to tease her now very alert nipples.

“Fuck, Killian!” She lifted her hands from the headboard slightly and Killian nipped at the back of her shoulder.

“Keep your hands where they are love.”

She immediately returned them to their original place and Killian continued to pay attention to her breasts until her squirming against him signaled that she needed more. With one of his hands, he traced down her chest over the abdomen that in a few months time would be swelling with the presence of their child (or children, if premonitions rang true). A low grumble emanated from his chest at the thought of Emma carrying such a gift. Still he allowed his hand to go lower, finally ending up between her spread legs, and finding her dripping sex, needy for him. As soon as he made contact with her clit, Emma was moaning his name.

“How do you do that?” She asked breathily.

“Do what, love? Drive you slightly mental with only my hands?” She nodded. “Simple – I know you better than I know myself. I know each and every motion, each and every touch that sets you ablaze. I know that when I give you more…” he slipped a finger inside her waiting heat, “it helps the ache, but doesn’t fill the need. What you need is me, love. Isn’t that right?”

“God, yes. Only you, forever.” Killian kissed at the juncture of her shoulder and neck as he inserted a second finger and felt Emma tighten around him, already so close to coming.

“I will give you the best forever there has ever been, Emma. But now, I need you to let go.” She did just that, crashing into a climax that had her shaking with exertion, and Killian had never seen her so beautiful. When she finally looked back at him, her green eyes were still desirous and her cheeks were now flushed a lovely shade of pink.

“Can I move my hands yet?” He nipped at her lower lip, but pulled back before it was truly a kiss.

“Yes, love.”

Emma moved quickly, pulling him down for a demanding kiss that Killian couldn’t help but lose himself in. Emma turned the tables then, pushing him back on the bed, and straddling him as she pulled the few remaining clips she had in her hair, setting her golden locks tumbling around her.

“My turn. Now you, have to keep your hands right there.”

Emma started with a kiss, moving further and further until Killian thought he would likely expire from the torment. When her mouth kissed the head of his cock, all rational thought was gone, and when she took him in her mouth, he really tried to heed her wishes and keep his hands where they were, but he couldn’t.

“Emma, love I won’t last like this, and I need to be inside my wife this first time.”

Emma smiled at his phrasing, and let him thwart her plan, no doubt knowing her own satisfaction was ensured this way. And in the end, they both got exactly what they wanted, a first union as man and wife that was perfect, sensual and satisfying. As they lay next to each other, both catching their breath before more inevitable love making, Killian ran his hand through Emma’s hair and smiled, taking stock of everything, so he could remember this moment for the rest of his days.

“You’re making a souvenir,” Emma said.

“I’m what?” Killian asked confused and Emma giggled, so carefree and light it had Killian’s whole world brightening.

“You’re painting a picture in your mind. I take them all the time with you, so I can remember all of our moments.”

“Aye, love, I am doing just that.” She ran her hands across his chest, the feel of her fingers against him bringing warmth and calm even as they stirred the craving he had for her once more. “I love you, Emma.”

“I know. I love you too.” Those words shared between them in truth, were the most important thing, and it would be that love that would see them through everything that was to come.

Somewhat surprisingly, Emma had been right, the dreams a bit of magic no one could really explain, but a week later they received the news. They were expecting not one but two babies, all of whom would know exactly how much they were loved and cherished. And so it was, that they had a magical, wonderful start to a much deserved happily ever after.

Post-Note: This story was such a magical way for me to write another Captain Swan wedding! To be honest all this time later I am still emotionally compromised from it, but I love it all the same. That being said, there is only one chapter left for ‘Souvenirs’ and it is an epilogue. Hope you guys enjoyed, and thanks as always for the lovely words! Truly they are so great, I love hearing if you guys like the chapters or not!