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its-short-for-jackalope · 1 year ago

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WOW! THAT WAS SOME LORE, HUH? :D

reposting this meme bc it's true and bc I really like it, lol

I have quite literally been scribbling notes on a scrap of paper like a madman while rewatching TGOA part 3 as many times as possible, just jotting down all the mindboggling information we've been given, and some less direct stuff that I could be reading too much into but is fun and neat even if it doesn't amount to anything crazy and galaxy-brained, lol.

So click/tap below the cut for rambles about the final part of Pulp Musicals episode 3

The Ghosts of Antikythera ⚓️

Names, Names, Names!!!

Hey, might as well start with all the new names we've gotten!

The captain of the Antikythera — the ghost ship from 'someplace else' — is Addison Arvad.

Kal (my beloved/beloathed ❤ ) is Kalfu

The Traveler we met in TBS is Sia 💖💖

Ahlaam is another Traveler. I adore her already, and not just because she saved Rose.

Dakkar is... somebody. As expected, I've been going crazy in my dms with @man-down-in-hatchet-town, and she believes Dakkar is probably inspired by/based on Captain Nemo? 👀

King(?!) Itzal is... probably bad news! Kal's the one who calls him a King and he is obviously pretty loyal and devoted to him, and wants to impress him (aww), so methinks Itzal is maybe not so good???? (I am also a proud supporter of Brooke's Dylan Saunders as Itzal campaign, lol)

The Blazing World is home. It's where the Travelers and the Antikythera's Searchers (rip) are from, it was destroyed once—but is being rebuilt?—and Kalfu and Itzal seem to want it gone for good.

Lincoln Island is the mysterious island our heroes on the Ellen Austin are approaching at the end of the episode, the place Ahlaam sent Rose and the Antikythera to via orrery.

Quick *Approximate* Timeline

Eh, what can I say? We got numbers and I decided to do a tiny bit of math about it.

1874 — the Antikythera & the Ellen Austin

🔴 YOU ARE HERE

🎶 When are we? 🎶 Well, Morgan Reese informs our time-traveling heroes that, uh yeah lol, last he checked the year was 1874. What a funny question from a bunch of rapscallions!

Captain Arvad's logs from the Antikythera start in January 1874, so we know the Searchers were out and about in this same year. Their disappearances were recent and the ship hasn't been empty for all that long, I don't think.

1865 — may this monument stand forever

On this site in 1835, Sir John Herschel and Anna Hanover launched the first brick satellite, the Sagitta, in what was known as Township Number Nine. Erected to commemorate their bravery, to thank them for their gift to all mankind, may this monument stand forever.

Dedicated August, 1865.

1864 — the dark angel appears

A desperate AJ makes his ill-fated deal with Kal in exchange for his crew's safety during the Battle of Mobile Bay.

Damn the torpedoes.

1835 — the beginning of our adventure

🎶 IT IS EIGHTEEN THIRTY-FIVE 🎶 and the Great Moon Hoax and The Brick Satellite both happen in this year. Things were so simple back then!

1829 — the Blazing World is destroyed

In 1874, we are told (first by Arvad's journal, and then by Sia) that their home, that the Blazing World was destroyed 45 years ago. If my math is right and they're not hippity-hopping too much in time (they have time travel capabilities so idk for sure) that would put the destruction of the Blazing World in 1829.

If the world being destroyed is also the Event that Kal alludes to in Gunpowder and Rum, pt. 3 ("Your powers are returning and you still don't remember what happened? 😒") AND it's the one that left Margaret without her memories and powers, then... could Margaret have been feeling lost, alone, and disconnected with her phantom pain in New York for 6 whole years before the Stratfords wrote the hoax that would bring the quartet together??? 🥺

And while we're on the subject of time passing!

If Sia and Kalfu and everyone besides the quartet has gotten to 1874 the long way 'round... (which I think is the case if Kal snarked at Sia for hiding Margaret in the future—if he has a sense of the future in relation to the world and time, I'd say this also implies he & the others have a pretty consistent present?) ...have they aged? Or does their magic also lengthen their lives? I imagine it would be mentioned if Sia was visibly older, and since Samuel described Kal as looking ~40 years old, then how could he be younger than the war he's been in? lol. But idk, this is just food for thought!

Kal Loves His Lore Dumps, Doesn't he? This one's mostly about Margaret <3

"You've proven quite elusive over the years... We've searched across the seven seas... I suppose it's only fitting that I find you here by chance, looking for an orrery! I'd have settled for the ship, what's its name? An-ti-ky-ther-a. But you will be quite the prize. It's you that will seal our victory! A ship from the Blazing World would have been quite the quarry. But you? That could end things once and for all!"

"The ship, the orrery, they don't matter now. Not when I can dispatch the two biggest traitors in history with just one blow!"

Seems like our girl is pretty special~ 🥰

I mean, of course she is, she's our Margaret, but if Kal is willing to let the Antikythera go to get her instead, and he's so convinced that taking her out will win the war... our girl is Pretty Special™ right? Maybe she's a princess or something, or maybe her Radiance is just that heckin' strong. idk, but I'm excited to find out either way.

I'm also wondering if there's a connection between Margaret and the orrery/orreries... If Kal thought it was fitting to find her when he was after the orrery, does that mean something more? Could Margaret have created the orreries and/or the magic behind them? 👀

...actually maybe this isn't such a good and fun thing. 😅😟 Things don't usually go very well for special and important characters—what is the saying, tragedies love heroes? I mean, Margaret has lost her powers and memories once already, as well as her home and whatever family she may have had before. I know all our pulp blorbos have been in dire straights a few times now, but I don't want them to get MORE DIRE than this!

Kalfu, Sia, & Margaret's history

Kal: High marks for cloaking the fleet, but seriously—

...

Kal: Come on, it's a Traveler reunion.

...

Kal: Just a drink between three friends.

...

Sia: Oh, you were once a man that I trusted. Tell me, where has he been?

...

Sia: Itzal poisoned your mind!

Kal: Itzal opened my mind!

...

Sia and Margaret: *powering up*

Sia: Hey, Kalfu!

Kal: Huh? Ugh, not again.

Kal: *team rocket fog's blasting off again*

I think it's pretty safe to say that, once upon a time, these three were once close. Maybe they were friends and peers, or maybe Kalfu was once Sia and/or Margaret's mentor with that "high marks" comment. Whatever the case, they used to be allies who trusted each other.

I think it's also safe to say all three of them are/were Travelers. Obviously Sia is, and Margaret probably is/was one as well, since she and Sia have a badass combined attack (that I'm betting they used against Kalfu ~45 years prior). As for Kal... I don't know how the radiance and the fog fit together exactly, whether they've always been separate or the fog is a dark bastardization of the radiance, but it seems like he is on equal footing with Sia as far as magic powers go, and he can teleport like they do—AJ witnessed this at the Battle of Mobile Bay, and Samuel did (kinda) on the deck of the Ellen Austin. I don't know if that's the only qualification for being a Traveler, but it's worth mentioning.

It seems like Itzal was a pretty big factor in this trio splitting up—for whatever reason, Kal turned his back on Sia and Margaret to follow him, or perhaps Sia and Margaret left Kal behind when he wouldn't leave with them. I don't know, but I want to—I have questions!!!

Sia and Itzal — Future sight?

Kal (to Sia): You know, for someone with precognitive abilities, you sure like to cut things close. 😒

...

Kal: How I wish King Itzal was here to witness this. Or did he already know? Eh.

There's not much to say about this, really, I just think it's interesting.

But it does make me wonder if Sia *knew* that sending Margaret and the others to Hanover in 1874 would lead Margaret to the Antikythera and help her regain her memories, even if Sia couldn't see much more than that. Like, if she knew that Kal would be there, I don't think she would have put Margaret at risk like that when she was still vulnerable. Unless she was betting on Margaret figuring things out before Kal could make his move... gah, who knows! (Matt. Matt knows.) We do know that Sia can't see everything, though—she knows that the crew of the Antikythera are gone but has to ask Kal what he did with them.

Also, obligatory "yikes 😬" at the idea of having an enemy (King Itzal) who could possibly see your attacks/plans before you make them. That can't make this war any easier!

Fogging the vortices, you say?

Kal: We've been fogging the vortices for decades. There was bound to be an Antikythera sooner or later.

Vortices.... plural for vortex, yeah?

"A mass of whirling fluid or air, especially a whirlpool or whirlwind."

Is one of these vortices located here in the Sargasso Sea? Is that why Rose already knows plenty of ghost stories about these waters, why this is a strange place that'll one day be dubbed the Bermuda Triangle? Where are the other vortices??? How many are there??? What are they, exactly???

Okay, but what about the gates?

Kal: A war for a world of power and might

Sia: A war for a world of courage and light

Kal: Fought over decades

Sia: Over ascension

Kal/Sia: No chance of surrender, no chance of redemption

I'm just throwing darts here, but I feel like 'ascension' has to do with the gates that have been alluded to a few times now?

First, in TBS, Sia told Margaret that she couldn't take her to the gate until her memories were back. Then in part 2 of TGOA, Kal said something about the Antikythera's orrery leading him to the first gate.

I don't think these gates are the same thing as the vortices—if the bad guys have already been 'fogging' them, then Kal wouldn't need an orrery to find them.

The gates probably lead to the Blazing World, right? Kal and Itzal want to destroy the Blazing World for good, which is why Kal was trying to get the orrery, to get to the gate, to ascend to the Blazing World and turn it to dust once and for all.

Travelers and Symbols/Elements/Associations

To finish up, here's one of the things I've noticed more recently. We have four magical characters now who seem to be at similar levels of power and might all be/have been Travelers, and maybe it's just a fun bit of flavor rather than anything Extremely Vital to the plot, but they each seem to have their own kind of... niche?

Lemme run through 'em real quick.

Kalfu—

● Want a drink?

● Gunpowder and rum, too strong for some! 🎶

● And poison... is kinda my thing.

● Non-lethal fog, my latest brew

Kal's easy to figure out—he's been pretty clear with his gunpowder and rum (delicious!) and once he revealed it he's been very cheeky and upfront about his use of/preference for poison too. He also stands out as the only person wielding fog, but I'm sure that'll change as we delve further into the dark and into this war we're learning about.

Sia—

● "Was that sunlight shining in the sphere?"

● We're here to light the fuse

● Lay another hand on her and you'll go down in flames

● I will always be that feeling burning under your skin

hehe okay, Sia is the reason this whole section of my post exists lol. I noticed the references to fire in enough of her lines/lyrics in part 3 that I thought it couldn't be a coincidence, and then I looked at the others. I just think it's neat!

Maybe these lines are just nods to the fact that light can burn as well as illuminate—Kalfu would probably know, hah—but it is fun to think that maybe we could see our first and dearest Traveler friend whip out some cool fire magic later on—when she's not duking it out with somebody on a wooden boat, lol.

I'd love that for her, tbh.

...especially because alcohol is flammable. :)

Ahlaam—

Narrator: In a blinding flash, a woman materialized, and with a single motion, she pushed the water of the room with her mind

Okay, I fully admit this is mostly just a reason for me to make another waterbending joke. Ahlaam's appearance in this episode wasn't really long enough to give us much information about her, but I mean we also haven't seen anyone else do anything with water until she came along, so... if we see her do more stuff like this and she has more associations with water in episode 4 onwards, I will feel pretty smart. 😌

Margaret—

● the moon

● the sea

● astronomy

we might not know much about Margaret's magic beyond how brightly it glows—which isn't unique to her—and what she's been able to do with it, be we do know that she has a connection with the moon, of course.

I think we could also argue that she has a pull to the sea—mostly because of the view from her window and the rooftop, overlooking the water. Learning about the Searchers and the fact that Kal was looking for Margaret on the sea supports this connection, but again, that doesn't really single her out from the others.

Margaret does have an appreciation for astronomy, but even that might not be super unique, if her people have orreries on every ship and they all look up to the sky. However... my brain is still chewing on a possible connection between Margaret and the orrery, because of what Kal said. It would be pretty rad if she was the one who designed and crafted them, figured out that magic. So idk, that could be something.

If her memories are returning, maybe we'll see her really start to shine amongst her fellow Travelers as she recalls more about herself and brings together the person that resides in her memories and the person that losing her memories made her into.

phew, okay! this is a long post and I am now very sleepy, lol. I'm sure I missed a few things—I didn't take any *literal* notes during parts 1 & 2 and it'll be a few days before I get the album and lose my mind again—but maybe there's a few things I managed to catch that y'all will enjoy.

As always, feel free to reply/reblog with your own thoughts!!!

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albionscastle · 2 years ago

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Bosworth

Elizabeth had once travelled in time, back to the Wars of the Roses and tried to change the history of Richard III, to no avail. She eventually lives out her life in the present day and this is her last day on Earth. In the bigger story she falls in love with him and he marries her instead of Anne Neville.

*I am a giant history nerd and the Wars of the Roses is one of my favorite periods. I've always thought Richard III was maligned and honestly I'm quite salty at Shakespere, Thomas Moore, and all the Tudors. When Phillipa Langley and her team announced the discovery of his body I ate it up. It was an obsession to the point where I own 20 books on the subject. I started writing a larger work as a historical what if but eventually abandoned it because real life sucks. I was reading an interview with Richard Armitage the other day where he said that Richard III was his dream role to play and I got inspired to face claim him as my Richard. (Keeping in mind that Aneurin Barnard's performance in the White Queen was phenomenal). Honestly I would love to have him play an AU Richard who got to live after Bosworth. This scene is meant to be the epilogue for the story I was writing that I hope I can get back to...I still have all my notes and research and I hope that this will get me inspired enough to complete it.

Trigger warning for death, violence, blood and gore.

Fic Masterlist

EPILOGUE BOSWORTH

It has become hard to walk now, but I do it anyway. My bones and body are frail and withering with age and I honestly don’t know how I’ve lived so long. My son is grandfather himself now and he helps me across the uneven ground toward the tree line. I see in him what his father could have become, I see a man whose life he would have been proud of, he has dedicated his life to preserving places like this, places sacred to a man he will never know. He knows who his father is, I never lied to my son and he accepted it as fact, for sixty long years he is the only person to know the truth.

I never left Leicestershire again. Not for good. The items I had with me on my return had served me well and sustained me all these years, providing a trust for my grandchildren should they need it. I still wear Richard’s ring, the one thing I could not bear to be parted from. I feel his heart beating through the smooth gold and I know he is still with me somehow. Every week since they finally laid him to rest I have gone into the Cathedral and sat beside him for hours, telling him of his son, his grandchildren and now great-grandchildren. I think I’ve become as infamous as the tomb I sit beside, I am even part of the tour some days, the mysterious woman who holds vigil and brings a white rose to the grave of a long dead king.

But never once in all that time have I set foot here. Until today. It’s August 22nd and exactly 600 years since the day he died.

The voices of the dead have always haunted me, Anne telling me stories of her vicious lost prince, Margaret and her pious nonsense. I hear George begging for his life, treacherous till his last breath. I wake at night shaking for two lost boys that I couldn’t save. Then, in all this noise I close my eyes and I can hear his voice whispering his love. I hear Richard laugh in my dreams and I can still feel his lips against my cheek as I drift off to sleep. My Richard. I’ve loved no other, content in the raising of our family. I have known all the joy I needed. I know loss and my heart still aches for him with every breath that I take.

He was the other half of my soul, who's leaving tore me apart and left a wound that has never healed.

For the past few days those haunting voices have grown louder and more insistent. They are calling me home and it’s time to answer. Which is why I have come here.

I think that my son understands, in his heart he knows and he has brought me anyway. He stands beside me, tears in his eyes as he surveys the land. For a moment I see him once more as a young man, a carbon copy of his father and my breath catches. I kept him safe, he never knew the horror of battle or the politics of Kings, he has lived the life that Richard never could.

Stepping forward a strange electric sensation assaulting me through the sole of my foot. I am overwhelmed with dizziness and clutch at Rick’s arm.

“This is it.” I whisper. “It was here.”

He nods and kisses my cheek, we have discussed what happens here today.

“I love you mum.” he holds me close and I allow myself to grieve my loss of him for a moment.

“I love you too, and I’ll be watching over you always.”

My strong son, with his father’s courage walks away from me with his head held high.

I am alone on the battlefield.

I feel the energy of the place seeping into my bones from the soil. This fertile field, rich with the blood of the slain. A chill washes over me and I shudder, a great evil was done here and it has haunted the place ever since.

With a deep breath I close my eyes and simply feel. Like the voices of my ghosts I hear the whispering of men, the jingling of armor and the snorts of horses. The air around me charges with energy, the tension and fear thickening the atmosphere. The ground rumbles beneath me and the thunderous battle cry of 1600 men shakes me to the core. I can feel the battle beginning through the earth, the pain and fear of those who fall, I smell sweat, metal, blood and dirt.

I know what I will see when I open my eyes so I try to hold them closed, but I can’t escape what is meant. I must stand here, on this ground and live this moment. A moment lost in time for half a millenia. I have to because he is waiting.

I force my eyes open to see a changed world, there is no peaceful green field, but rather a boggy mess of mud and blood and men as far as I can see. I’m surrounded by the unimaginable horror of medieval battle and I stand frozen in fear as it unfolds around me.

Men fall, screaming into the dirt as their bodies are violently cleaved by swinging swords and axes. The roar of bloodlust mingles with the pitiful cries of the dying. Brave soldiers called out for their mothers even as their insides spilled out into the earth. Sunlight glinted off armor and weapons as the terrible and final battle of the Wars of the Roses played out. I gasped as I saw men I had known, boys who I had coddled, all loyal friends of Richard’s. I called their names, but they could not hear me.

Then, from behind me I heard a call to charge and spinning around my blood jumped in my veins as I watched Richard cutting a swathe with his sword toward where I stood. My magnificent warrior king, his golden crown upon his armored head, pushed through the battle on the horse I had given him. His teeth were bared and his eyes alight with fire as he fought his way bravely toward Henry Tudor. He was merciless in his battle rage and tears filled my eyes at this awful vision of my gentle love.

Go back! I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs. Turn around and live! I couldn’t bear to see this happen to him. I reached out helplessly, screaming as the sword slice toppled his beloved Storm, sending Richard tumbling into the mud.

“Get up!” I cried, as he struggled to his feet, sword in hand and the enemy surrounding him.

Then I heard it. The rumble of horses and the cries of a new charge. My heart broke at the hope dying in Richard’s eyes as Lord Stanley cried out for Tudor and defeat was etched clearly on my king’s face.

“Treason! Treachery!” he yelled, bringing up his bloodied sword for battle.

Time seemed to stand still as he turned in a circle, surrounded by his bloodthirsty enemy. I saw his pain as he watched his friends cut down and the steely determination in his eyes. He wasn’t going to go down easily.

I wept in great gasping gulps as his sword sliced through the air, he was surrounded as the wolves closed in on him, fighting valiantly for his life. He took down so many that for a moment I thought perhaps there was a chance.

The blow to his head came from nowhere, the weapon, I couldn’t even see what it was, slammed into his skull with such force I could hear his helmet ringing. The metal guard sliced into his jaw, cutting him open to the bone as his helmet went flying away from him, kicked into the mud. A king without his crown.

I stood helpless, screaming as they came at him with daggers, slipping past his battling sword and stabbing at his face. Blood poured down the front of his armor as he fought on. The owner of the dagger that stabbed into his ribs received a slashed torso for his trouble and he fell into the mire, blood bubbling from his mouth to die a slow and agonizing death.

Still they kept coming and still Richard fought on valiantly, my warrior husband and tragic king.

He cried out as a dagger dug into the top of his head, fracturing his skull and, falling to his knees he roared like a caged lion, his face covered in blood and filth. I leapt toward him as though I could spare him this pain and death by shielding him with my own body. I would have died in his place if I could have, anything to spare him from this horror. He was kneeling in the mud searching for his sword as the blow came from behind, he never even saw it coming as the sword sliced over the back of his head. Blood and hair flew in an arc as he slumped forward.

“Richard!” I ran through the ghosts of the battlefield, throwing myself into the dirt.

He still drew breath, his eyes open and dull with pain, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Elizabeth.” he whispered as the killing blow finally came, the spike of the halbert drilling into his brain with a dull thud.

Richard’s body spasmed but he never gave them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

It took only seconds for him to die, for the promise of his life to drain out of his eyes. The Tudor vultures wasted no time in stripping him of anything that might have value. All I could do was cry as they laughed at his naked body, making sport of his curved back.

They took his crown and gave it to the vile Tudor boy but I didn’t move, I had no desire to see them cheer for their murderous new king. I cared for nothing but Richard and the swelling, burning agony of my own heart. The world seemed to spin, tilting and whirling around me as I lost my breath, my sense and my conscious thought. I tried to cling to his body, to touch him and to let his soul know he wasn’t alone, but even this was denied me.

“Elizabeth.”

My eyes opened, blinking in the sunlight, the sounds of battle gone, as was the smell of death. I lay on my back in the green grass of Bosworth with the sky blue overhead and the sun warm on my face. I felt heavy with Grief, my heart aching for Richard’s final moments, the memory of his voice a whisper in the wind.

“Elizabeth.” I saw a figure standing over me, silhouetted in the bright sun. A hand reached down to me.

“It’s time, Elizabeth.”

Tears slid down my cheeks as I reached out for his hand and as he pulled me to my feet I felt the endless sadness peel away and I saw my hand in his, no longer wrinkled and frail but smooth with youth once more.

“I’ve waited so long for you, my love.” his voice breaks as his fingers run over my cheek.

I step away from my mortal body and into Richard’s arms

“I missed you so much.” I sob into his chest, my arms wrapped around his waist.

“I never left you, Elizabeth. I was always here with you.”

He places his hand over my heart. I see the blur of our son as he rushes past us and Richard’s eyes fill with tears. “I wish he could have known me, that I could have held him.”

“He did know you Richard, I made sure of that.”

He nods and leans down to where his namesake and heir kneels beside my lifeless body. Richard whispers something in his son’s ear and I know he hears it. His eyes dart around but he hears no more. Richard is beside me once more and takes my hand.

“Shall we?”

I nod and lean into him, my lips brushing against his as tenderly as the first time he kissed me. We cling to one another as we fade away into forever, the words my son repeats sending us on our way.

“Loyalty Binds Me.”

#richard armitage fanfiction #Richard Armitage #Richard III #time travel #richard iii fanfiction #Armitage would be perfect in this role #tw: death #tw: battle #tw: violent death #tw: violence

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treatian · 1 year ago

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Delicacies of Time

Chapter 5: A Quiet Mind

Quiet. It was so quiet.

His head was never a quiet place. There was always a Dark One whispering in his mind, always a Seer giving him hints, and for the last, however long it had been, his son, it seemed, had been a guest in his head.

No more.

It's okay, Papa…don't fight it.

He'd listened. He'd never regretted a command and been so proud of keeping it at the same time in his life, but the second his son drew his last breath and told him he loved him, that was precisely what he felt. Pride, because Bae had made a sacrifice and he'd been able to resist the dark urge inside him and prevent it. And regret, immense regret, because now Bae was gone forever. And he'd let it happen.

Delicately he'd kissed his hand while there was still warmth within it to remind him of how alive he'd once been. Then as Emma held him, still too stunned to do anything but stare, he'd reached forward and gently closed his unseeing eyes.

It had been quiet. The birds. The bugs. Not even the wind blew as they sat there with him on the cold, wet ground, watching his body begin the process of becoming the cold, wet ground.

"Zelena needs to pay," Emma had eventually stated through her tears, her gaze straight, unmoving. Shock. She was in shock. And she was also right.

Zelena needed to pay. He agreed wholeheartedly. He didn't know how, but something told him this was her fault. And had never wanted to kill anyone more in all his life. If it was the last thing he did, he'd see that witch dead for this.

But the tugs at his magic told him it wouldn't be possible. Not for him. Not given his current situation, which was becoming clearer and clearer every second. It needed to be Emma. It needed to be Snow White, Prince Charming, and whoever else they could muster. Zelena's plan was…garbled. It was accessible, and yet not all at once. But Neal had died so that Emma could get the information she needed and kill the witch. They couldn't let the sacrifice be in vain.

"You have to go. You have to run. Get far from here, back to town before she realizes-"

"-and leave him?!"

"I'll stay with him."

For as long as he could. Until Zelena found him, and he didn't doubt that she would.

"You need your parents, and you'll likely need Regina to defeat her. But you must go now."

"My parents…Mary Margaret…she's with Zelena."

Emma's eyes had gone wide with recognition and panic.

Mary Margaret was with Zelena?! Why on earth...

"Why is she with Zelena?"

"She…she hired her. She's pregnant, and she wanted a nanny."

Zelena...the Charmings nanny? Why the fuck would Zelena want to be Snow White's nanny unless…the baby.

He hadn't really been remembering; it was more like he'd experienced memories, flashbacks to things she'd been saying since he gave his life up on that road that he hadn't been paying attention to since he'd been here. She wanted the Charmings' baby. Why…

Why would it matter?

"Then you must go! Not a minute to lose, go!"

But she'd looked down at Neal, still cradled in her arms, and nearly began to weep again.

He'd reached out. He'd taken the bundle from her, pulled him into his arms, and told Emma to go the second her burden was lifted. She'd cried as she stood, she'd sniffled as she turned and held her hand to her face as she departed until she began to jog away into the woods.

And then he was there alone in the woods, with the body of his son in his arms.

What was a body without a soul? Genetic material. A little bit of him. A little bit of Milah. A perfect combination of them both. His eyes. Milah's nose. His chin. Milah's drawing ability and thirst for adventure. His dedication to his family and his desire to be a good father.

Tears slid down his eyes as he sat there.

Who was a father supposed to be without his son?

Children without parents were orphans. Spouses without partners were widows or divorcees. An animal without a home was a stray. What was a parent without their child?

For as long as he could remember, his entire world had revolved around the man in his arms. Every step he'd ever taken had been to get closer to him. Every decision he'd ever made had been to benefit him. Everything he'd ever done had been for him. And now…what was he to do now.

He wept.

He cried until he had no tears left.

He mourned and held so tight to his son that his body shook from effort and disbelief.

He wailed until he could no longer feel the tugs of the dagger, Zelena's commandless suggestions.

He grieved like that until he realized the body felt light, like it was missing something. He grieved until he felt light. And he knew he was missing something.

With no more tears to shed, on a brief wind of courage, he let his son go. He laid Baelfire out on the ground before him and backed away. But he didn't leave. He wouldn't obey Zelena's suggestion until she fucking snapped her fingers for him or until he felt her power relinquish because she was dead.

He found a stump and perched himself upon it, watching his son's body, keeping sentry over it like the dwarves once had with Snow White.

It was quiet. So quiet.

The Seer offered him nothing, no explanation or vision of hope for the future.

The Dark Ones kept to themselves, seeming to recognize this wasn't a time to plot or plan or disturb. He waited. One undying thought in his head.

It's okay, Papa…don't fight it.

A new wave of sorrow swept over him every time it played in his head. The first few times, he gave in to it. Now he was too tired. Too unattached. Too unmoored.

Maybe this was always how it was supposed to be. Maybe he was meant to be alone. If they couldn't be worlds apart, then perhaps the Fates conspired to take Bae from him in this way. Villains didn't deserve happy endings. Oh, he'd give anything to go back in time and figure out another escape route with Baelfire. He'd give anything to not be this.

He felt her before he saw her. Or rather, he felt the power of the dagger, his dagger, getting closer and closer. As the sun dropped with the temperature, he'd felt her magic seek him out and creep closer with every step. Running would have been pointless. The message had been delivered. He wasn't going to leave his son lying here for one second less than necessary. But now it seemed was the time. Now he steeled himself to face evil.

"That was rather ill-timed…your son coming to the surface and staging that little escape…"

He steadied his breathing and put every ounce of tension away so that he could control himself as he knew he needed to when she approached his son's body. Wherever he was, Bae was safe from her. And he may not have the dagger, but he was still the fucking Dark One!

"I can see he'll no longer be a problem."

He held back a snicker. That was what she thought.

"My son may be gone, but he gave his life so I could tell the Savior who you really are, Zelena. And now it's only a matter of time before she and the others find you and kill you. Unless, of course, I manage it first."

He lunged.

But he made it all of two and a half steps before she brandished the dagger in front of him.

"Please…" she replied in a droll tone.

He felt a jolt rocket through his body, requiring him to step back.

He'd expected that. But that didn't mean he hadn't given it his godsdamn fucking all.

"You can't hurt me, but you're more than welcome to try. I do so enjoy watching futility wreck a man's will."

Step back!

A command this time. Not a suggestion he could easily ignore, but rather a command he was helpless to obey.

He stepped away.

How the fuck had she gotten her hands on that dagger? And how the hell was he even here? Alive?

"There. Much better," she sneered as he glared at her. "Now that your head is no longer cluttered, everything's working properly. And it's so much more entertaining," she laughed.

Oh, he was dying to see just how entertaining she thought he was when he killed her.

"You may control me, but it's over, Zelena," he growled. He wouldn't let the significance of Bae's sacrifice go to waste. He wanted it to haunt her every last moment of every last day she had left. "They know who you are. You'll never get close to Snow White's baby now…to any of them…to whatever your unholy desires are."

Zelena wavered. Her skin might no longer be green, but she hadn't changed. When he told her what she didn't want to hear, she still had that same childish face she screwed her face up into when she was about to have a temper tantrum.

"They may know who I am now, but it no longer matters…"

And when she needed to reclaim her wickedness, needed to maintain her upper hand…there was that same sneer that Regina had, the one that they'd inherited from their twisted mother. She didn't scare him, no matter how close she stepped up to him, no matter how much she kept him still and brandished that knife like she knew how to use it.

"Not when I have you, Rumpelstiltskin…not when I have your beautiful brain."

His brain. Another hint. The Charming's baby, his brain…what was she playing at?

"So be a good little Dark One and get back in your cage!" she ordered with a hiss.

He slipped. He thought he'd prepared himself, thought he'd steeled himself for the moment that his feet would force him to obey this very command and leave Bae lying there on the ground. But he fought against the pressure of the dagger that she had to his face, fought against the pressure in his body to turn and walk. He felt tears gather in his eyes as he fought for one last glance over her shoulder of his son.

Then felt the air leave his lungs as his feet unwillingly obeyed, and he abandoned his son for the last time.

#rumbelle #rumpelstiltskin #rumple #dark one #mr. gold #emma swan #baelfire #neal cassidy #zelena #wicked witch of the west #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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mosswolf · 3 years ago

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[id: green toned moodboard made up of 6 images: lilypads, an ocean wave, a Black woman's face, text reading "human beings are creatures of stories", a forest, and green candles burning.]

happy margaret week to our favourite black lily!! @margaretweek

#skyjacks #margaretweek #margaret skyjacks #moodboard #this is dedicated to will because margaret would be so proud of him

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sims-through-the-decades · 3 years ago

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The Millard Family | 1935

Working on the land is not easy, and George and his family soon find themselves waking up earlier every day to tend to the crops. George is very pleased that he has such a supportive, hard-working wife and son to help him on the farm.

Dorothy, too, is still as happy as ever on the farm. She gets up early every morning to help her family in every way she possibly can. Collecting the eggs and feeding the chickens every morning is still her favourite chore - especially because she gets to play with the adorable chicks!

Even Margaret is beginning to find a little joy in tending to the crops. Of course, she would still rather be knitting in her old home than working on a farm, but something about taking care of plants warms her heart a little. After all, plants need to be nurtured and cared for, and who is better at nurturing and caring for living things than a mother of three and a former army nurse?

James, however, is struggling to find any joy at all in farming. At 14, he has been forced to leave school to help his father on the farm. George is very proud to see his son working so hard; he often tells him that the farm will belong to him one day.

But once he has finished his work for the day, James lets his true feelings show. He does not want to be a farmer, or inherit his father’s farm, or leave school; all he wants to do is live a quiet life and paint pictures that make him happy. More than anything else, though, he misses his old home; when he lived in the old cottage, nobody cared if he just wanted to paint or if he didn’t want to be a farmer.

Edna, meanwhile, has been coming home from school in an unusually good mood lately. She is now at the top of her class, and is, of course, exceptionally proud of herself. Unlike her sister Dorothy, she could not care less about the farm; instead, education is her priority. She knows exactly what she wants to do in the future: she wants to finish her education, and go all the way to university, and become a teacher just like her late grandfather William.

George, however, is worried about his daughter. He is proud that she is so intelligent and dedicated to her studies, but he wonders if she may be a little too driven. His intention has always been to have her leave school when she turns 14, just like her brother James, and have her help her mother with the housework and cooking. He has a feeling, however, that Edna, as headstrong as she is, will never accept his plans for her future.

James, too, is worried about his little sister’s future. It is one thing for him, the only son, to have to leave school and help his father on the farm; it is another thing entirely for someone as intelligent as Edna to be forced to finish her education at such a young age. That evening, as he paints in his room, James promises to himself that he will help his little sister in every way he can.

#the millard family | the 1930s #decades challenge #legacy challenge #history challenge #ts3 #the sims 3 #simblr

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cowperviolet · 5 years ago

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A Fantasy Writer’s Guide to Entremets

Ok - I know that fantasy worlds don’t have to be medieval-influenced. However, most do tend to have historical elements from different eras worked into them; so why not entremets, especially since they have their origins in the feasts of antiquity, and have been deployed through the Middle Ages and Renaissance both?

If anything, they fit the Rule of Cool.

So, what are the entremets? To put it very simply, they are the elements of the feast that do not, strictly speaking, belong on the menu. They can be statues, performances, automata (I guess I should put steampunk in the tags), tableaux, even edible-stuff-that’s-just-really freaky.

Here are some examples (most are drawn from the Burgundian court, because it was the most Extra one):

(Technically) edible stuff:

A lamprey burrowed into a river bottom - that is, a lamprey meat is roasted, then covered in a thick sauce made from combining its blood with spices and vinegar to create the effect of mud.

Cigne revestu - a cooked swan redressed in its skin and feathers.

Doreures - poultry is stuffed with a mixture of pork, bacon, eggs, spices, pine-nut paste, and currants, then roasted; the leftover stuffing is made into balls and roasted as well. Then everything is covered in gold and silver leaf. Because they can.

Coqz heaumez - a stuffed roasted hen is seated atop a piglet and given a helmet of glued paper and a lance. These should be covered with gold- or silver-leaf for lords, or with white, red, or green tin-leaf, depending on the hen’s station in life, I guess.

Statuary:

The portrayal of the story of the Swan Knight - a wooden box with wheels is constructed; water-filled lead coffer holding a minever-covered parchment boat and a swan sculpture tied together with a golden chain are placed within.A cloth painted to represent water is then attached to hide men who are going to move the box around underneath.

The Cleveland fountain - an octagonal Gothic tower in three tiers of gilt-silver. Liquid (can be perfumed/rosewater) rises through the central tube and issues from the mouths of the four animals at the top. Then it cascades down each level through spouts in the forms of human and animal faces. The water jets turn a series of wheels attached to bells, making everything whirl and ring.

Something I am going to leave as a direct quote, because I can’t even - ‘At a special table there was a high pillar, on which was seated an ymage of a young woman, nude except for her long blonde hair which covered her back to her waist; on her head was a rich hat; [she was] wrapped, so as to preserve propriety, in a cloth like a fluttering veil with Greek letters on it in many places, beautifully written in violet; and this ymage jetted hippocras from her breasts the entire duration of the supper. And near her, braced against the dresser, was another pillar, not as tall, but a little thicker, like a platform, on which was attached, by an iron chain, a very beautiful and entirely alive lion, as a sign to guard and defend the ymage; against his pillar was written on a charge in gold: Do not touch my lady’.

A (thank God) fake fire-breathing lion - the sculpture’s mouth is lined with brass-lined mouth, with paper teeth glued within. Camphor and a little cotton are put there, and lit just before it’s presented to the guests.

A ship - such as a miniature anchored carrack laden with various merchandise, with miniature figures of sailors to complete the picture.

Spice-carrying miniature figures of animals - these could be large elephants carrying castles, dromedaries with large baskets, unicorns, stags, etc. The animals would be bedecked with gold, silver and azure, their coverings decorated with gold thread and silk. Each of them carried the arms of a lord subject to, in one particular case, the Duke of Burgundy, with the name of the town or lordship. But really, any overlord fits.

Tableaux/mini-plays:

These are highly specific things, tailored to each occasion - whether, political, pious, marital or simply entertaining - so I’m going to describe particular instances that can be, however, easily dismembered into elements:

The entremet of the Holy Church was something presented by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy at his Feast of the Pheasant in 1454. It began with an armed giant in a long green silk robe with the turban on his head entering the room leading an elephant covered in silk. On the elephant’s back rode a lady wearing a white satin robe with a black coat and headdress (i.e. looking nun-like, but not quite). Addressing the noble company, the lady revealed that she was the Holy Church. As one does, she delivered a long complaint poem to those present, detailing her fallen state after the Turkish capture of Constantinople, and then asked for their aid. In the Ye Olde Photo Op, the Duke drew out a letter promising to aid his fellow Christians and had his herald read it aloud to the assembled guests. Having heard this assurance of aid, the Holy Church blessed him and was led out on her elephant. The evening culminated in the nobles offering immediate written vows to sign up for a crusade.

The wedding of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York involved a series of carefully staged entremets chock-full of symbolism, given the touchy political nature of their union:

First, a man dressed as leopard came into the room riding a ‘unicorn’ caparisoned in a cloth painted with the English royal arms. The leopard held an English banner in one paw and a daisy in the other. Charles’ maître d’hôtel took the flower and presented it to the groom, saying: “Most excellent, high and victorious prince, my awesome and sovereign lord, the proud and awesome leopard of England comes to visit the noble company; and for your consolation and the consolation of your allies, countries and subjects, makes you the present of a noble marguerite.”

The second entremet was, in turn, dedicated to Margaret. A giant ‘lion’ entered, his covering painted with the arms of Burgundy. Madame de Beaugrand, the dwarf of Margaret’s new stepdaughter Mary of Burgundy, rode upon it, accompanied by two noblemen. Madame de Beaugrand was dressed in a cloth-of-gold and violet version of a shepherdess’s garb and held a basket painted with the names of various virtues, a Burgundian banner, and a small dog on a leash. Then the ‘lion’ circled the room and sang a song welcoming the “beautiful shepherdess” who is “the source of hope, solace, strength, pride, peace, and safety for all the ruled lands.”

As a last note, possibly just to highlight the lavish and cosmopolitan nature of the court into which she has married, a highly realistic simulated camel saddled “in the Saracen manner” entered the room, with a man dressed in an Eastern fashion and two giant baskets on its back. He opened the baskets and took from them “birds strangely painted, as though they came from India,” and released them to fly around the room. They landed on various tables to the sounds of trumpets.

‘A marvellously large and beautiful stag entered the room, all white with large golden antlers, and covered in a rich covering of green and vermilion silk, as far as I could tell. A young boy twelve years old was mounted on the stag, dressed in a short robe of crimson velvet, wearing a little black slashed hat on his head, and shod in fine shoes. This child held on to the antlers of the stag with both hands. As he entered the room, he began on a song in a very high and clear voice, and the stag seemed to sing the tenor part, without there appearing to be any other person about save the child and artifice of the stag, and the song they sang was called ‘Je ne voy onques la pareille etc.’ [I have never seen her like].’ (Olivier de la Marche’s memoires, 1562).

‘A watchman on the tower made as if to carry out his watch, and recognising that the tents and pavilions represented towns that were friendly, called for a fanfare of trumpets, which was performed by four boars from the windows in the tower. Then four lifelike goats appeared at the same windows, playing a motet on sackbuts and shawms; followed by four wolves with flutes, then four donkeys singing a song in four parts. For the fifth and last entremets, the watchman asked for a ‘morisque’ dance to entertain the company. Seven lifelike monkeys emerged along a balcony rail from a door in the tower. They found a mercer asleep by his wares and proceeded to play with them. They danced a morisque; then the tables were cleared and the guests danced’. (Ibid.)

#writing reference #writing ref #fantasy #medieval history #medieval #middle ages #writing resources #writeblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #history #history tumblr #northernlightswriteblrs

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gstqaobc · 3 years ago

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THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, May 21, 2021

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

Meeting the Queen online

For Dr. Steve Beerman, it was in many ways like having a pleasant conversation with his 92-year-old mother. Except it wasn’t his mother. It was the Queen. Beerman, a retired family physician in Nanaimo, B.C., spoke with Queen Elizabeth online the other day as she gave him — virtually — an award recognizing his longstanding work in drowning prevention. “I’m very delighted to be able to present you with this cup, a very large cup, which one day you might see if you come to London,” Elizabeth told Beerman as she honoured him with the King Edward VII Cup during the virtual session with the Royal Life Saving Society. Beerman, co-chair of the Canadian Drowning Prevention Coalition, was quick to reply that it was “a pleasure and a humbling honour to be with you.” Being with the Queen in this way has become the way of the royal world during the pandemic. Many observers have said that virtual sessions involving the Queen have offered new insight into the 95-year-old monarch, who has more often been seen from afar, giving formal speeches or doing a walkabout. “Many people who commented to me about the interview [said] that they had never seen her have what they would describe as a nearly normal conversation with some people,” Beerman said. “My own mother is 92. This was not a whole lot different than talking to my own mother.” Beerman, a trustee with the Royal Life Saving Society, had met the Queen at Buckingham Palace a handful of times in connection with that Commonwealth organization. But his most recent session with her was memorable in a new way. “It was more chatty,” he said. “It was more communicative than when I’ve experienced these encounters in real life, face to face. So I thought this was actually a better way to do this.” A seven-minute video of the session involving Beerman and others honoured for their drowning prevention efforts was posted online, but the overall virtual encounter lasted about 20 minutes, and came after participants had two practice sessions. “In the second one, we actually rehearsed what we were going to say and we were coached in a very nice way by the people from the royal household about pausing and being slow enough to allow her to interject with comments or questions,” Beerman said. “We were very much encouraged to participate in a conversation as opposed to doing an acceptance speech.” Still, there was a bit of nervousness for Beerman as the call began. “There’s always some nerves about are you going to misstep or say something in a way you might regret or that might be perceived to be awkward by others,” he said. As the conversation progressed, Elizabeth shared her own memories of receiving a life-saving award as a teenager. In 1941, she became the first person in the Commonwealth to receive the Royal Life Saving Society’s junior respiration award. “I didn’t realize I was the first one — I just did it, and had to work very hard for it,” Elizabeth said. “It was a great achievement and I was very proud to wear the badge on the front of my swimming suit. It was very grand, I thought.” Beerman sees the shift to the virtual world for the Royal Family as a signal the House of Windsor can change with the times. “I think it’s a strong statement of ... we can pivot when we need to, we are flexible, adjustable and, like the rest of the world, we have to respond to the reality that we live within.”

The deceit behind the Diana interview

The interview was as devastating as it was haunting. And now, 26 years after Diana, Princess of Wales, sat down with a BBC journalist and told the world “there were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded,” an inquiry has found that Martin Bashir acted deceitfully to gain the interview. It’s a finding that will echo through both the royal and journalistic worlds. In response, Princes William and Harry made statements that lay bare the deep pain the interview with their mother has left with them. “It is my view that the deceitful way the interview was obtained substantially influenced what my mother said. The interview was a major contribution to making my parents’ relationship worse and has since hurt countless others," William said in his statement. "It brings indescribable sadness to know that the BBC’s failures contributed significantly to her fear, paranoia and isolation that I remember from those final years with her." But what saddens William the most, he said, “is that if the BBC had properly investigated the complaints and concerns first raised in 1995, my mother would have known that she had been deceived.” Diana was failed, he said, “not just by a rogue reporter, but by leaders at the BBC who looked the other way rather than asking the tough questions.” Prince Harry said their mother “was an incredible woman who dedicated her life to service. She was resilient, brave and unquestionably honest.” He said what “deeply concerns” him is that similar journalistic practices are still widespread. “Our mother lost her life because of this, and nothing has changed. By protecting her legacy, we protect everyone, and uphold the dignity with which she lived her life. Let’s remember who she was and what she stood for.” Observers suggest it will all have a significant impact on how the BBC is viewed. “It shakes the real core of journalism because people will no longer look to that broadcaster and trust them wholly because we now know that they're prepared to lie to coerce people into taking part in interviews,” marketing consultant Diana Young told the CBC’s Tesa Arcilla. Diana and Prince Charles were divorced in 1996. She died after a car crash in Paris in 1997.

Babies and the line of succession

(Peter Byrne/Press Association via The Associated Press Word this week that Princess Beatrice and her husband, Edoardo Mapelli Mozzi, are expecting their first child will add yet another shuffle in short order to the line of succession. The child, due sometime this fall, will be the 12th great-grandchild for the Queen, and the fourth baby to arrive in a matter of months. Beatrice’s younger sister, Princess Eugenie, and her husband, Jack Brooksbank, welcomed their son, August, in February. The following month, Princess Anne’s daughter Zara, and her husband, Mike Tindall, welcomed their son Lucas. Prince Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, are expecting a daughter, with a due date thought to be in early summer. That baby will take the highest spot in the succession among the new arrivals, landing at No. 8, following her father, Harry, who is sixth in line to the throne and Harry and Meghan’s first child, Archie, now sitting at No. 7. The passage of time can mean marked shifts in the line of succession for those who enter it somewhat lower in the roster. Take, for example, Sarah Chatto, daughter of Princess Margaret. When she was born in 1964, she was No. 7. Now, she is 26th.

Royally quotable

"Planting a tree is a statement of hope and faith in the future."

— Prince Charles, in a video posted online to mark the launch of the Queen’s Green Canopy,

a tree-planting initiative to mark Queen Elizabeth’s Platinum Jubilee

next year that aims to enhance the environment now and for future generations.

Royal reads

1. Prince Harry says the pain of Diana’s death

pushed him to drinking and drugs

. The Duke of Sussex’s latest comments, along with further criticism of how he said the Royal Family neglected both him and his wife, Meghan, came in an interview with Oprah Winfrey in The Me You Can’t See, a new Apple TV series about mental health debuting Friday. [CBC]

2. Queen Elizabeth’s

first major ceremonial duty since the death of her husband

, Prince Philip, came during a scaled-down state opening of Parliament. [The Independent]

3. Prince Michael of Kent, a cousin of Queen Elizabeth, has

denied reports

he was willing to use his royal status for personal profit and provide access to the regime of Russian President Vladimir Putin. [BBC]

4. There was

lots of taffeta and no tantrums

during the creation of Diana's wedding dress, recalls one of its designers. [The Guardian]

5. One of the Queen’s two new puppies, which she reportedly received a few months ago from Prince Andrew for companionship,

has died

. [The Daily Mail]

6. The succession for the British throne is clearly laid out, but succession can in some other countries be

considerably more complicated

. [The Guardian]

Cheers!

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

[email protected]

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

New newsletter alert! Our CBC colleague Peter Armstrong has a newsletter called Mind Your Business, a weekly guide to understanding what’s happening in the worlds of economics, business and finance. Subscribe to it

here

💜🙏🏻🙂✝️💟PG💟✝️🙂🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿.

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palimpsessed · 5 years ago

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The Welsh Red Dragon, Kurt Vonnegut, and Social Activism

The inspiration behind Shepard’s pins

(original post with full artwork here.)

So, I spent A LOT of time thinking about the kind of pins our good friend Shepard (from Omaha, NE) would have on his denim jacket. Like a lot. Like an obsessive amount of time. I made a list, which seemed appropriate for this fandom. And because I’m a nerd and this sort of thing really interests me, and I’m proud of what I came up with, and because I think some of these items open up the possibility for some good, good literary analysis, I decided to make a whole post dedicated to Shepard’s pins. You’re welcome.

First, a little bit about my thought process. How did I decide what kind of pins to give Shepard? Well, he’s a guy full of stories. Stories that he can’t wait to tell anyone and everyone. And stories that others (mostly Maybes) have told him, once he’s earned their confidence. So, I wanted his pins to tell a story, his story in particular. What is the story that Shepard wants to tell about himself? More precisely, what is the story he wants to tell his new magickal friends on a disastrous summer holiday? The story is that of his own magickal credibility. His journey to magic (his come to Crowley moment, perhaps?) (I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry…) and his trustworthiness as evidenced by all of the Maybes he’s met along the way. He’s gotten drunk off dandelion wine with a creek dryad, given a toothbrush to a Sasquatch. spilled the tea with a jackalope, midwifed a centaur foal. Shep’s journey is just as impressive as Simon’s, and while Simon has been collecting notches on his dead dark creature bedpost (that’s a weird fucking metaphor…) (and now I’m thinking about dark creatures and Simon’s bedposts…so, you’re welcome, Basilton), Shep’s been collecting notches of the friendly variety. (Shoutout to @adamarks who did some super lovely analysis on Simon and Shep as mirrors here: https://adamarks.tumblr.com/post/188046272067/ok-so-when-shepard-said-he-was-cursed-the-first). So, I decided that I wanted to use Shep’s pins as a way to show the notches on his bedpost, so to speak. (Okay, I’m really losing this metaphor, but I think you’re still with me.)

Let’s dive in!

(I’m working my way down one side of his jacket at a time, for those following along at home.)

RIGHT SIDE

Welsh Dragon: I made this one very large, and easy to spot on his right shoulder. Of all of his accoutrements, this one felt like the most important. Mainly, because of Simon. Simon is, after all, half-Welsh. (The Mage, may he rest in pain, came to Watford from Wales.) And, of course, Simon, just like the Welsh Dragon, is a red dragon. (Or in the process of becoming one? Or a half-dragon? Or a dragon kitten?…) And the dragon that Simon and Baz fought on the Watford lawn, when they first worked together, and first shared magic, was a red dragon. Of course, the actual dragon in question here is Margaret. Shepard would absolutely have a pin to commemorate his friendship with her. And since I was going to give him a pin with a dragon, I knew I was going to have to use the Welsh Dragon because it would perfectly capture his burgeoning friendship with Simon, as well. Now, I want to go on a slight detour here (this blog post will be its own Odyssey) and talk more about the Welsh Red Dragon. I took the design for the pin from the Welsh flag, which is the thing that first made me think more about Simon’s Welsh connection. I’m not really making a point here, I just think it’s fascinating! There’s a lot of Welsh lore about the Red Dragon (and Margaret herself calls Simon “Great Red” - that ‘R’ is capitalized, by the way, so this seems to be a proper name for the kind of dragon that she thinks Simon is). Full disclosure, I am not Welsh and I am not a scholar on any of this by any means. That being said, a cursory, and super academic, perusal of the Wikipedia article on the Welsh Dragon led me to a few different history websites that linked the symbol of the red dragon with Merlin and King Arthur (son of Uther Pendragon, literally dragon head). Merlin, one of the most well-known magical figures and Arthur, one of the most well-known Chosen One figures in literary tradition. I know very little about Arthurian legend, and Welsh history, and dragon lore, though, so I’m going to just say, do a little research on your own when you’re bored and feeling nerdy!

Resist!: Shep is a young black man (and reasonable human being) living in the U.S. during the [redacted] Administration. I should hope this one is self-explanatory.

Hoover Dam: At some point in his visits to see Blue, I’m sure Shepard stopped off at the gift shop and bought himself a souvenir pin to mark the incredible experience he had making friends with an actual river. (This pin design is based on an actual souvenir pin of the Hoover Dam I found on Google Images—along with most of the other pin designs. I think it’s vintage, which just felt even more like Shepard to me, because he’s the kind of guy who would appreciate stuff that’s got a past.)

Deathly Hallows: I mean, IF the Harry Potter books/movies exist in the Simon Snow universe (which hasn’t been confirmed, as far as I know, by our Queen) I’m sure Shepard would have been totally into it as a kid, and probably would have found greater significance in its magical lore once he discovered that ACTUAL MAGIC EXISTS! So, he would have a pin to show his belief in the magickal world, and maybe also as a nostalgic reminder of when magic was still just something fictional he could turn to for escapism (and not something that would result in being cursed by a demon…).

The Truth is Out There: So, I know virtually nothing about The X-Files (my sister was obsessed with it to the point that she wanted to become a FBI agent for a few years, but I never watched it), but I’m sure Shepard is a fan. If nothing else, the sentiment is awfully apropos.

So It Goes: This one is very hard to see. It sort of looks like a black teardrop with a bar on top of it (it’s supposed to look like a bomb). The pin I based this off of reads “So It Goes”, which from my very superficial research, is a line repeated in Vonnegut’s anti-war novel Slaughterhouse-Five every time someone dies. I don’t know anything more about it, other than that it is a Kurt Vonnegut-inspired pin available for purchase on Etsy, and Shep mentions that he wanted to get a Vonnegut quote tattoo, even though “everybody has those.”

Green Alien Head: You will never be able to convince me that Shepard does not 10,000% believe in the existence of aliens. If he were still in the U.S. during the Area 51 Raid, I’m sure he would have stopped by, just, you know, for science…(I’m thinking he was probably still in the UK, but I guess we’ll see in AWTWB.)

Centaur: This one is also hard to see, but I took the design from a pin I found of one of the centaurs (the blue-haired, blue-bodied one, if that rings a bell for you) from Disney’s Fantasia. (Fun fact: I was super into Fantasia as a littlun, and I attribute my lifelong love for classical music in large part to the centaur sequence and my latent lesbianism—I mean, it was ludicrously erotic. Watch it sometime and tell me it would not make an impression on a sapphic three-year-old.) Midwifing a centaur foal was probably a very emotional and formative experience for Shepard. Buying this pin would be his way of remembering that experience, and the excitement and gratitude he likely felt to have been entrusted with that kind of acceptance from the centaur(s).

Jackalope: It doesn’t help that this pin is almost the same color as Shepard’s jacket, but it’s based off a design of a jackalope’s head that, again, I found on Google Image search (honestly, I don’t know how I ever made art without it). We know that Shepard once got some gossip from a jackalope, who vented to him about magicians calling “themselves ‘magicians’”, like “they’re the only ones with magic”. (This is totally irrelevant, but I always think of Americans when I read this. I am an American, by the way. America is a continent, but those of us living in the U.S. calls ourselves Americans, like everyone else living in America doesn’t matter.) Anyway, the jackalope offered Shepard some valuable insight into the political workings of the magickal world, so it gets its own pin.

LEFT SIDE

Pansexual Pride Flag Pin: I mean, technically, canonically, we don’t know what Shepard’s sexuality (or asexuality) is, but I just get some vibes from him. Plus, if we take him as a mirror for Simon (who is somewhere on the bi-plus spectrum), it’s not a far cry to imagine he also identifies somewhere on that spectrum.

Pentagram: This is another symbol that I chose based on my interpretation of Shepard’s character, and not so much on a Maybe or a story that he mentioned. The pentagram, or pentacle, is typically associated with the occult and witchcraft, which is something that could potentially also be said of Shep.

Sasquatch: You don’t go backpacking—or not backpacking—and introduce a Sasquatch to the benefits of dental hygiene without getting yourself a souvenir of the hike.

I [heart] Mystery Spot: The Mystery Spot is a weird sort of phenomenon in California (my home state). It’s a place outside the beach town of Santa Cruz that boasts of a “gravitational anomaly” on its website. I went once, years ago, and while you’re there, it can feel pretty convincing. (Also, I was probably like 10, so…) People outside of California will likely never have heard of this place, but driving around here (at least in the Bay Area, where I am, which isn’t that far from Santa Cruz) you’ll see yellow Mystery Spot bumper stickers on cars everywhere. I’m not really sure what the thing is with the bumper stickers. Like, I’m sure not that many people actually think it’s legit, and maybe it’s like one of those things that Californians just do (like freak out and forget how to drive when we feel water falling from the sky). But yeah, these bumper stickers are everywhere. Anyway, Shepard drives around a lot. He knows about the Vampires of Las Vegas (how is that not an indie rock band?) and the Katherine Hotel, and the Next Blood. So, he’s probably made it past Nevada and into California before. And while he was there, it’s not a great stretch of the imagination that someone who chases after magic wouldn’t wind up at a place called the Mystery Spot and get himself a pin while he was there. (And maybe even a bumper sticker.)

Black Power Fist: Unfortunately, this one is also hard to see, because the fist is black and I didn’t have anything to go over the outlines of the fingers with, which I sort of didn’t think about when I colored it. This one also feels self-explanatory. Shepard is black. Blackness has long been treated in itself as a crime by non-black members of law enforcement, and just the general racist population of the U.S. Young black men are especially vulnerable to racially motivated violence. I’m sure Shep, who drives all over the country by himself and gets into high speed chases at night in the middle of nowhere Nebraska while hunting super shifty rando Maybes has had a run-in or two. Stay safe, Shep!

Every Pronoun Belongs Here [Trans Pride Flag background]: Also, super hard to see because the letters are too small to read. I found this exact pin in a basket by the register at my local bookshop. (Support local bookshops, people!) They were being sold as a fundraiser for a LGBTQ club at one of the high schools, and I loved the idea that I could help them raise money and add this pin to my own growing collection to show off my support for trans rights. (Support trans rights and trans people, people!) I decided to give Shepard this same pin, because I could imagine him having an almost identical book buying experience in a dozen other towns that he’s probably visited. And I love the simplicity of the message, because it’s one of belonging, which EVERYONE is desperately seeking, no matter who they are or how they identify, and Shepard, and every character in this picture, is no exception. (Plus, it seemed like a cool way to connect my pin collection with Shep’s. Maybe I should have mentioned the fact that I’m also a pin person at the beginning? I walk to work and on my lunch breaks, so I carry all of my stuff in a backpack. And I proudly display my random pin collection on my backpack. Including several Simon Snow-related pins.)

Don’t Panic: This was based off a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy pin. I don’t really know anything about the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (including if it’s okay to abbreviate it as HGG? THGTTG? whatever), even though I did watch the movie years back when it was on TV and I still lived with my parents who had a TV. But the sentiment felt appropriate, and Shepard is a sort of magickal hitchhiker. Apart from managing to hold down a job at Dick Blick, he appears to lead a somewhat nomadic lifestyle. He tells Penny, “the road is my teacher”, and if that’s not a hitchhiker slogan, I don’t know what is. (Ass, gas, or grass?)

Black Lives Matter: They do. Just sayin’.

Magic Troll Doll: When I was growing up, the Troll doll was all the (nightmare-inducing) rage. Trolls are one of those magickal creatures that are continually mentioned in the series. Shepard talks about lonely trolls under bridges. Simon talks about killing trolls. Agatha would rather kiss a troll. And Baz was kidnapped by numpties, who are sort of like trolls. I couldn’t not include a troll. And the Troll doll specifically felt perfect, because the full name was Magic Troll Doll. You can bet if Shepard had to pick a troll-related pin, it would be a magic(k)al one.

[Asshole]: This is another Kurt Vonnegut pin. It looks like a messily drawn asterisk (*), but it’s actually meant to be an asshole (taken from the preface of Vonnegut’s novel Breakfast of Champions, and drawn by Vonnegut himself). I just thought, why the fuck not? So, here. Have an asshole pin. (I should have put it on a buttonhole…)

HONOURABLE MENTION

Shepard’s Phone Case: Remember that line I quoted earlier, about Shep wanting to get a Vonnegut quote tattoo? Well, when I was trying to figure out what to put on his phone case, I thought that seemed like a reasonable place to start. So, I googled Vonnegut quotes, to see if I could find one that I thought Shepard would like. Here’s the quote: “a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.” I just loved that for Shepard.

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fideleluc · 4 years ago

Text

introducing lucien montel, the graduate chair

“ for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard ” (2 peter 2:8)

hey hey! my name’s tays, i use she/her pronouns, and i live in melbourne, australia, and thus the aest (soon to be aedt) timezone. it’s been a little while since i’ve rped, but this group was just utterly irresistible so here we are! if you’re interested in plotting you can hit me up on here or discord (mightay morphin power ranger#9316) without any further ado, here’s luc montel!

stats.

full name: lucien henri montel known as: luc montel age: 25 dob: january 13, 1995 gender: cis male nationality: french religion: roman catholic course: currently studying a masters of social work, graduated a year prior with a bachelor of arts majoring in theology

bio.

( luc’s original bio ended up being i don’t even know how many words long so this is a very much summarised version, but if you have a bit more time on your hands you can read the full thing here! )

luc’s mother first learned she was pregnant not long after she graduated from highschool. she wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have told him - all of her friends, likely him included, had a pretty huge falling out near the end of their exams, and she was still too proud to turn to them for help, even after her own father kicked her out once he heard the news. she’d been working hard and saving up for years to get a shot at getting into a good school, something no one else from her area really saw as a likely prospect, but all her savings ended up getting funnelled into hotels and food while she tried to support herself on her own in the city.

the only way she could really pass time was to go for walks, and on these walks she ended up going past a church that seemed to be drawing her in - it was purely by chance that the priest, father pascal, was outside one time and was able to notice her hesitating, long enough for him to actually invite her inside. she had given up on religion after her mother left her and her dad, but still, when she was invited to their next mass, she ended up going - and she never really stopped. the congregation ended up being her entire support system while she was pregnant, getting her a well-paying job doing after school care for a catholic school and helping her find a cheap place to stay.

luc was born on a chilly january morning, and got baptised a week later. there was no question of whether or not he’d be raised as part of the church - the only time he was able to sit still was when he was listening to father pascal’s sermons, and he took his first steps just outside in the garden. he was taught, essentially, to do good, to be accepting and generous and kind - and he never questioned it. his mother, who’d started on a teaching degree, was careful to teach him about other religions, and though his own devotion to catholicism never wavered, it still fascinated him.

although he and his mother were better off than she had been only a few years earlier, they didn’t have a ton of money they could give - so they made good on their weekly promises to help the world with their time. luc was especially passionate about it - learning to cook so he could make things for bake sales, riding along with other members of his congregation to help out in food kitchens, doorknocking for any sort of donations people in his neighbourhood would want to give without hesitation or embarrassment.

even when he got older and his friends had moved on to more entertaining hobbies, he continued on with attending mass and keeping up with his charity work, brushing off his friend’s accusations that he was being forced into it. truly, their own interests mostly bored him - he never really had a long enough attention span for tv or movies, and he couldn’t engage in video games like they could. one thing he could join in on, though, was football - if he wasn’t doing something for the church or indulging in his also newlyfound passion for cooking, he was out on the oval.

when his friends moved on further still to getting girlfriends and drinking, luc, again, couldn’t find himself as engaged in it as they were. though he’d happily drink with them, for the most part, he put his hand up to be the designated driver and was perfectly content staying their lookout when they got close to making scenes in public. he had a few girlfriends in highschool, but the relationships never lasted long - and again, he didn’t mind. at times he’d worry that he was missing out, but it was never a concern that lasted long, especially when he saw how desperately his friends needed someone to shepherd them at times.

although he’d never been a hugely academic kid in the past, when it came time to think about university, he felt that, out of an obligation to his mother more than anything else, that he had to work just as hard as she had when she was his age to make up for the opportunity she’d missed for his sake. st margaret mary’s hadn’t been a realistic dream, but he’d figured he may as well apply - when he actually got in, with an offer of a scholarship on the side, he was almost tempted to throw it away thanks to his own doubts, but his mother quickly put an end to it. before he knew it, he was heading off across the city to the old building - a theology major.

despite his devotion to the church, he hadn’t initially planned to join chastity club, if for no other reason that is just seemed a bit extreme for him - but when he came to a meeting out of a mix of boredom and curiosity only to find that something was distinctly wrong, he couldn’t stop it from becoming the major focus of his mind for the next few weeks until he could figure out what was really going on. when he was finally able to piece together the truth, he was conflicted - on the one hand, these were people using his faith to cover up criminal activity, bringing as much shame to the church as the people who twisted the lord’s words into messages of hatred, but on the other, it could be what these people depended on, and to have that taken away from them could be disastrous. instead of being angry like he knew he should’ve been, luc was overcome with a familiar urge to help - and so he did just that.

he went to another meeting, and before they could say anything, he told them how easy it had been for him to find them out, how if he, someone with no connection to any of them, could discover the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before the staff would be following in his footsteps. he told them that, so long as a cut of any fundraiser went to an actual charity, he’d be happy to give them an actual, believable cover.

he hadn’t actually thought they’d take him on. before he knew it, though, his actual studies were being pushed to the side in favour of planning, organisation, research - though he was sure to carve out a few hours a week to catch up on his actual work, most of his time was going towards the chastity club, and not just because he wanted to help them. even if it was just a cover to the rest of the club, to him, those cuts he got from the fundraisers were the only thing that mattered - he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, what he was taught to devote himself to all his life. helping people.

as time went on, the idea of turning in the club became more and more impossible - not only was he actually able to make some wider good come out of it, but truly, the people he was surrounding himself with were like family, even if he had to turn a blind eye to half of what they got up to. he’d convinced himself that turning them in would be a far worse action than letting them stay running, and it’s a belief he’s held onto like a lifeline - but at the same time, he can’t ignore a worry that’s been growing louder and louder in the back of his mind. he never sees the consequences of the dealing. he doesn’t actually know if they’re doing more good than harm. he’s relying solely on faith, the same faith he has in god and that god, he believes, has in him.

he can only pray it’s well placed.

personality.

luc is nothing if not passionate. although it may take him a while to make up his mind about getting involved or starting a task, once he does, he’ll put his absolute all into it without turning back. no matter the exact motivation, whether it be his religion, his friends, or just a desire to do something, he works and believes with his entire heart, and once he’s dedicated to something, it’ll be almost impossible to tear him away from it.

since he was a kid, luc has always been generous. whether it’s with his possessions or even just his time, he’s one of those people who’ll throw their jacket around you if you mention it’s just a bit chilly and then refuse to ever take it back no matter how much you insist. the only way his mother eleanor was able to survive when she was pregnant and virtually homeless was through the generosity of what would end up being his parish’s churchgoers, so the first idea luc was ever taught to embrace was the idea of giving, something enforced by both her and the church itself.

part of what makes luc so convincing for the school board is that he’s an unfalteringly polite person. unless he has good reason to be angry at someone, he’ll try to greet everyone with a smile and see them off with a wish for them to have a good day, treating them like a friend even if they’re written in the first pages of his bad books. he’s always willing to listen to someone else chat and support them when they’re feeling down, no matter what mood he’s in or what’s at stake, and his consistently gentle, patient manner make essentially any lie he tells convincing.

although he was never known for his academic prowess, luc has never not been curious. once an idea intrigues him, he’ll do whatever he can to learn more, and rarely feels as if he ever has enough knowledge about the subjects that interest him, still willing to add more or take different perspectives.

luc has never been known for his spontaneity - though he’ll commit with his whole heart once he’d decided to do something, he’s very careful in making those decisions. he’ll often spend nights lying awake contemplating ideas, throwing himself different scenarios and seeing if they change his views, trying to look at things from every possible angle before making a call on something. though something he does may be stupid and may be risky, he’ll only take that risk if he’s absolutely sure it will pay off. his caution even comes through in the way he speaks, each word carefully chosen to keep things as civil as possible.

though luc is known to many as being gentle and polite, usually because he just is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of nothing less than being purely furious. though it usually comes from a place of love and devotion, often in response to some injustice or cruelty and rarely occurring at the drop of a hat, when something does anger him, he has no problem speaking his mind if he feels something could be done about whatever’s happened. he just can’t fathom the idea of people sitting by and letting bad things happen, and couldn’t live with himself if he just sat back and watched while someone got hurt. he has a lot of faith in people, and when people let him down, it cuts him deep.

luc was always a restless child, and that’s something that’s continued into the present day. he doesn’t often make it known - but that’s just because he’s always desperate to find something to occupy his time. whether he’s keeping himself busy by studying, planning a fundraiser, cooking, or even just going for a walk, he can’t just sit still and do nothing. the only exception to this is when he’s learning or listening to something, such as when he’s in class or church, but if he has no interest, all he’ll be focused on is how badly he wants to get up and move around again. he simply can’t relax until something that needs to be done is done.

as sociable and polite he is when in church or running fundraisers, luc is truly independent. as much as he enjoys the company of others, he’s equally comfortable in his own company, and much prefers to go over problems in his own head rather than voice them to someone else. although he’ll passionately speak out to help others, he rarely voices a concern if something has to do with him alone - it’s not that he doesn’t want people to worry, but he just figures he has everything under control as far as he’s concerned. he has no problem working on his own, and despite his own insistence when he gets a chance to assist others, he often refuses help for himself, no matter how big or small the problem is.

headcanons.

luc isn’t too sure how he went from being lucien to just luc when he was a baby, but it’s still what he introduces himself as now.

luc has never once had a moment of doubt about god’s existence, but he doesn’t think he really has much say in what happens on earth - he was taught by his childhood parish’s priest father pascal that humans were given free will because god trusted them, specifically trusted them to do good and take care of one another, and that’s a trust luc has always tried to uphold. even so, he does still think he’s always watching and may be able to give some signs, but he mostly turns towards asking saints when he needs specific help with something.

he still follow’s his mother’s belief that all gods from all religions are just aspect of the same spiritual belief of there being something bigger, and learning about those other religions still fascinates him, hence why he majored in theology when he was still studying for his bachelors - he’s still happy to follow his own god, though.

although he would never force any of his atheist friends to come to church or believe what he does, the idea that anyone would choose to believe there’s nothing over believing there’s something does baffle him somewhat.

he still goes to mass every sunday, but he doesn’t hang around the church as long as he did when he was younger - it’s partly a matter of time, partly a matter of the congregation. they’re lovely people, don’t get him wrong - but even after so many years, it’s still not his parish.

luc isn’t all that much of a tv or movies person - unless it’s about something he’s interested in, he struggles to sit down for long enough to care about what’s happening even for just an episode, let alone a whole series or film. he may have a comedy or just something light on in the background while he cooks, but he doesn’t go out of his way to watch much.

although he’s studying for a masters in social work and does want to do something to help disadvantaged people in his country, he has genuinely considered becoming a priest.

although he hasn’t played since he was in school, he does still love football - he doesn’t often watch it, but if he gets a chance to go out on the oval, he’ll take it without hesitation.

the only language he’s fluent in is french, but he does know enough english to get by and did try to learn some latin from father pascal for certain bible passages - it didn’t really stick.

even though much of his free time is spent studying or organising the chastity club’s cover, he will still try to take a few hours every so often to go and help out in some soup kitchen or another.

he’s deadly afraid of insects - moths especially freak him out

when he was young, he’d often fall asleep with the sound of his mother’s radio coming through the wall, and still now when he’s struggling to sleep he’ll find some radio stream on his phone and listen to it until he nods off.

as much as he tries, he can’t keep a plant alive - he’s made many attempts to grow his own herbs or fruit trees, but to absolutely no avail.

when he’s studying he’ll chew on the ends of his pens, and if he doesn’t have a pen, he’ll bite at his bottom lip - if one were to look closely, they’d notice a patch of it is faintly scarred.

luc has so, so much love in his heart, but despite his few brief relationships, he’s hardly been able to turn any of that love into romance - not yet, anyway.

as willing as he is to help cover up the chastity club’s true nature to the school board or anyone he feels should be hidden from the truth, he doesn’t go to any of the parties they sell at, and hasn’t ever tried any of the product. it’s just not his thing.

he stayed in student housing until he came back to get his masters, and now rents a small place a short walk from the school - when he was furnishing it, he made sure to get a pull-out couch instead of just a regular one, just in case anyone ever needed a place to crash.

he still has the same copy of the bible he poured over as a kid, though out of fear over how worn it’s gotten he mainly keeps it safely in a drawer of his bedside table.

luc is very optimistic and has a lot of faith in others - though he does think things through thoroughly just in case something can go wrong, and is constantly aware of that possibility, he has a lot of hope on his side.

misc.

pinterest starsign: capricorn sun, gemini moon myers-briggs type: isfj-t enneagram: type 2 (the helper) hogwarts house: hufflepuff alignment: neutral good aesthetics: sun coming through a stained-glass window, rainbow dappled on skin. a voice lost in a chorus. a borrowed coat on a chilly morning. the ever-present smell of something cooking, always making enough for plenty of leftovers. restless legs, restless mind. faith that keeps your heart beating, fury that boils your blood. a tongue bitten so frequently it bleeds. unwavering eye contact, no matter how elaborate the lie. burying your head in the sand. murmured passages from a book with worn pages. doing all you can, but still lying awake, wondering if you could be doing more.

#st:intro #( about. )#- took a genuine million years to find a decent gif for this which isn't a brilliant sign going forward #- turns out his fc is a lot more villainy than i'd first thought! ah well. probably too late for a change. we can live with it

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years ago

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A Chance of Snow Showers

It was inevitable.

After all, it was family skate, and Christmas, and there was something inherently competitive about this particular family so, eventually, there was going to be some kind of competition.

Skating blue lines with a baby strapped to his chest made perfect sense to Killian. Especially if it kept getting Emma to make that face.

-----

Rating: Teen. But only just. Because of the kissing. Word Count: 3.3 K AN: I had to write some Blue Line Christmas fluff. I had to. And when both @peglegsjones and @eleveneitherway sent me pictures from the Blackhawks family skate, my mid was like...ok. Set two Christmases after Killian retires, which makes it December 2028. Everyone is stupid competitive.

And that’ll do it for the Christmas stories this year. I did not fill nearly all of them, so they will all get written eventually, but may not be holiday themed. Thank you to everyone who sent me a prompt, I’m so sorry if I didn’t get to it pre-Disney and, as always, thank you times a million for ever looking at any of the words I shove at the internet. You’re all lovely.

-----

“It’s really not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You.”

“Me?” Killian asked, digging the toe of his skate into the ice and Emma hummed so softly he barely heard over the din around them.

There were kids everywhere.

Some with helmets and others with sticks, blades scraping that same ice and laughter ringing in the air around them. Matt was very clearly shouting about racing, again and Peggy was desperately trying to get Leo to play goalie so she could shoot against him, but neither Killian nor Emma had moved that much and that probably had something to do with the kid strapped to his chest and she kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Badly.

It made his pulse sputter in his veins.

Still.

“Yeah, you,” Emma nodded. She stumbled slightly when she pushed away from the boards, Killian’s hand reaching out towards her on instinct and the same sentiment behind still and he wasn’t all that surprised by the overall and vaguely exasperated diameter of her eyes as soon as he did it.

“That’s chivalrous.”

She scrunched her nose. “Ridiculous. And just—god, it is really stupid how good looking you are with the skates—“

“—It’d be weird if I didn’t have skates on—“

“—And the face—“

“—My face?”

“Seriously, you cannot keep interrupting me.”

“Well, when you’re so articulate,” Killian chuckled, and he did manage to get his fingers through her belt loop that time, tugging Emma as close as he could. The baby was kind of in the way.

In a way where that was actually good and great and decidedly familial. At the Rangers family skate.

Four days before Christmas.

“You know,” Killian drawled, “if I didn’t know any better, Swan, I’d think that my ability to skate while holding our kid was vaguely attractive to you.”

“Vaguely. You think you can skate with the kid? Does this count as skating?”

“That sounds a bit like a challenge.”

“Weird.”

He chuckled, nosing at Emma’s cheek, but that only lasted as long as it took for something else to crash behind the net and Killian’s fingers tightened. There was no way Emma was going to be able to keep her balance when she jumped towards the sound.

Matt wasn’t standing anymore.

And that wasn’t really unexpected, but they’d been working on figuring out how to stop, so Killian was almost hopeful that eventually something would stick. No such luck, apparently.

“In my defense,” Will yelled, both his hands curled into the back of Matt’s jersey to keep him upright, “this was not my fault.”

Killian tilted his head. “That’s it? That’s your entire defense? How did he even get over there?”

“Well, he’s fast.”

“Genetics,” Emma mumbled, Will humming in agreement.

There was a camera shutter snapping somewhere.”

“Uh—yeah,” Will added, “I mean, look at the kid, Cap, with his flailing limbs and—mostly his flailing limbs, can you control yourself, Dr. J?”

Matt did not control himself. He laughed. And Killian hadn’t really stopped smiling, partially because his fingers were still crooked through Emma’s belt loop, which ensured that she was all but pressed against his side, and partially because all his kids kept exuding something dangerously close to Christmas joy and—

“He’s gunning for a competition,” Will said. “And I think that’s got to be a product of his upbringing, don’t you?”

“Was that supposed to be insulting?” Killian asked.

“Eh, honest, maybe.”

“That’s scathing, Merry Christmas, Scarlet.”

Will practically cackled.

“Dad, Dad, Dad,” Matt shouted. “Rol said we should all race! Like with a bracket and everything.”

“Did he just?”

Roland grit his teeth. “Skating in a circle gets kind of boring, don’t you think, Hook?”

“Also sounds like a challenge,” Emma mumbled.

And it wasn’t really surprising — the lot of them far too competitive for their own good, even after the end of careers and years off the ice and Killian wasn’t entirely sure if they were all supposed to be there, technically, but Ruby had her phone out and there were several other PR minions with cameras and social media feeds to populate and—

Chris started squirming, the back of his feet colliding with Killian’s stomach when he kicked out and Emma’s lips all but disappeared behind her teeth while she did her best not to laugh.

It did not work.

“Lucas, are you getting this?” Robin asked, his own stick propped up on his shoulder and Regina standing next to him. Very close to Ariel.

Regina had begrudgingly agreed to come onto the ice as well — only after both Roland and Henry pulled her out with them — but she hadn’t moved much in the last half an hour, and Ariel’s skates had a distinct toe pick them.

That wouldn’t help her if they raced.

They were absolutely all going to race.

Over-competitive weirdos.

“Don’t insult me like that,” Ruby said. One of the minions moved their cameras, Killian doing his best to calm Chris while also making sure Matt did eventually get back to his feet and, from the sounds of it, Leo had absolutely refused to get in goal. “No, no, no,” she snapped, a quick hand on the minion’s shoulder when, it appeared, they weren’t getting the right angle. “Cap—focus on Cap and the kid and—you know what, actually? This is a sign.”

“Of?” Ariel asked.

“Cap is old.”

Will almost fell over. Matt practically growled. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dr. J,” he mumbled. “It’s just—I don’t think Ruby’s worker bee knew she was talking about your dad. Maybe we should come up with new nicknames, then?”

“Captain Emeritus,” Robin grinned.

“Nah, that’s too wordy.”

Emma had her hand over her mouth now.

“What about CE, then?” Robin suggested, before almost immediately shaking his head. “Ah, that’s garbage too, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

“And it suggests that there’s a new captain,” Mary Margaret pointed out. She grunted when she collided with the boards, both Regina and Ariel helping her brace herself. “Which, you know—that’s not a thing.”

“Thank you Mrs. Nolan,” Will said, “for the English language lesson. Hey, you going to race with us?”

Mary Margaret made a ridiculous noise in the back of her throat. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s an idea.”

“Ruby would have to dedicate an entire special to me breaking both my legs.”

“Doesn’t exactly exude the festive notion of the season, does it? Honestly, do the new minions not know to refer to Cap as—oh, don’t look at me like that, Lucas.”

Ruby hissed. “Did you just call him a minion?”

“It’s a term of endearment. Like Cap.”

“God, you lack any tact, don’t you, Scarlet?” Regina asked, but she was also doing a fairly pitiful job of trying not to laugh and Killian wasn’t sure what the appropriate feeling to feel in a moment like this was.

Pain, apparently.

Peggy had slammed, rather unceremoniously, into his side.

“So none of them know how to stop, huh?” Robin laughed. Peggy didn’t move. If anything, she dug her forehead further into Killian’s thigh, drawing a strangled sound out of him and a disgruntled sound out of the baby still strapped to his chest and—

“Dad,” Peggy whined. “I want to race.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at Roland. Who grinned in response. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hook. They’re your kids and—“

“—You want to race too,” Emma pointed out.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah, I’ve got to beat Mattie.”

It took approximately half a second for Matt to get back to his skates — a fact Will was very quick to point out and for Killian to be slightly proud of because—“No, no, no, Rol, that’s not what’s gong to happen,” Matt argued. He pushed off, moving quickly enough to be impressive and redirect the camera again, right fist colliding with Roland’s side as soon as he was within reach.

Henry pulled him away.

“We need some rules, then, don’t you think?” Henry asked. “Because these old people—“ There was a general hum of disagreement, more than a few boo’s from David and Phillip threw a pile of ice-snow from the other side of the rink. Henry widened his eyes. “They’re all going to try and cheat. Gunning for past glories and whatnot.”

“To remind people of longstanding nicknames,” Emma added. “And three Stanley Cups!”

The minion turned very red.

Like a Santa hat.

They should apologize to the minion eventually.

Henry quirked an eyebrow. “You going to race?”

“Seriously?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“The competitive gene runs real strong on the Jones side of this team,” Will announced, twisting on his skates like he was getting ready for puck drop.

Emma beamed.

And Killian hoped that wasn’t a distraction later.

Competitive weirdo.

“Rules, then?” Henry asked. “We probably shouldn’t let you guys pick who you skate against because—“

“—I want to race Scarlet,” Emma interrupted. “And only Scarlet.”

Will’s lips twitched, moving towards them with enough ease that for a moment Killian forgot they were, in fact, all old and it had been years and seasons, but three Stanley Cups too and that was another inherently good thing. Peggy tugging on the side Will’s sweater when he stopped.

“You don’t want to race Cap?”

“Please,” Emma balked. “Mattie’s going to race Killian—“

“—Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt shouted, and it was difficult to tell if Will rolled his eyes when Killian did as well, but he figured. Because of those years.

“That’s a good point,” Will admitted.

“It’s because Emma thinks she can beat you,” David called, Emma nodding and humming and her laugh hadn’t changed much in the years. Any of them. Maybe a little louder now than it had been, particularly when Will lunged forward, tugging her with him and Killian hoped one of the cameras got him picking up Peggy.

While still holding Chris.

He was unreasonably proud of himself.

“That’s rude, Em,” Will chided. It was difficult to hear the words over his laugh though and they did keep referring to Ruby’s PR people as minions so maybe they all were kind of rude.

Collectively.

But in a passably festive way.

And it only took a few minutes to write out the bracket — the lot of them lining up at the far blue line and Ruby announcing, “I am in charge, obviously.”

Both Robin and Phillip saluted.

“Ok,” Ruby instructed, “Em and Scarlet are going to go first. One blue line to the other. Fastest wins…we don’t have a stopwatch, do we?”

“We have phones,” Ariel suggested. “And, you know—eyes.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously, Lucas,” Will mumbled, swatting at Emma’s hands every few seconds. “Just shout ready, set go and—“

“Go,” Emma yelled. She’d used him to push off.

Killian’s whole body shook with the force of his reaction to that, chin coming close to Chris’ head in the process and Emma didn’t really know how to stop either. She grunted when her shoulder hit the glass, a gasp when she tried to twist and her skate got caught and Matt was yelling instructions.

“No, no, Mom, you’ve got to push off! With your toes!”

Emma hummed, more color rising in her cheeks. “Thanks, kid. That’s—oh my God, Scarlet, you cheat!”

He flashed her a grin when he doused her ankles with snow-ice, more than a few gasps of indignation from the peanut gallery. And for a moment, they weren’t much more than a mess of limbs and seasonally appropriate activewear, trying to keep the other from moving too quickly, but Emma found her edge quicker and it was probably the return trip back down the ice that was going to do them all in.

Will was out of breath by the time he got there.

Emma’s eyes were very green.

When she all but flung herself towards Killian.

And there was still a baby in the way, Killian’s neck twisting in a direction he was sure he wouldn’t appreciate all that much later, but he was admittedly rather one tracked at the moment. So he kissed his wife.

Who was also in desperate need of oxygen.

“Please tell me how impressed you are by my athletic prowess,” Emma mumbled into his mouth. He nipped at her lip.

“Decidedly impressed.”

“Who do I skate against later?”

Ruby sighed. “Do you not know how brackets work? We have to go though the rest of the round. Alright, Rook, c’mere, you’ve got to stand on the line.”

It went like that for another two races — Phillip barely moving before Roland was at center ice and Henry had absolutely let Peggy win.

And then.

Matt grinned at Killian when they lined up on the blue line and part of him was a little disappointed that it was a first-round matchup. Eventually they’d come up with better brackets.

Presumably when they played air hockey.

That was more serious, anyway.

“Alright, kid,” Killian said, “you ready?”

Matt nodded enthusiastically, brushing the longer-than-usual strands of hair away from his eyes in a move that was so alarmingly familiar Killian was genuinely surprised his knees didn’t give out right there.

It didn’t matter. Emma’s might of. She made a noise at least — tugging her phone out of her back pocket with her other arm curled around Peggy’s shoulders and Mary Margaret nearby. “It’s patently stupid,” Emma muttered. “Also, is that happening?”

She nodded towards Chris, his own head tilted up slightly, like he was passably interested in whatever was about to happen.

Killian shrugged. “I’m not planning on falling over. Or, you know—crashing into the boards.”

“Are you trash talking our kid?”

“It’s entirely possible. Plus, you know, he’ll enjoy it.”

“Which kid?”

“This one,” Killian answered, pointing down at a gurgling Chris. He made a face at him. “Right, Chris? We’re going to go fast. You’ll love it.”

“Maybe we don’t get this part on camera,” Ariel suggested.

“Mini-Jones, you hearing this?” Ruby asked. Matt’s eyes narrowed. More tells. All the tells. A never-ending stream of similarities and genetics and the kid actually had the gall to crouch like he was starting a speed-skating race in the Olympics.

Killian’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, he’s not taking your garbage, Cap,” Robin chuckled. “Try and balance on your side when you turn ok, Matt? Make sure you twist your hips when you do it, otherwise you’ll absolutely fall over.”

Matt blinked. “What?”

“Your hips, it’s—seriously, did your dad not teach you anything?”

“I’m standing right here,” Killian said.

“And the kid still doesn’t know how to stop,” Roland mumbled, one side of his mouth curling up. Emma buried her head in Mary Margaret’s shoulder.

“I can stop,” Matt objected. He was already drifting forward a bit though, not all that pleased when Killian tugged him back, but Ruby was counting down and Killian was not prepared for the overall strength of his ten-year-old’s collective lower body.

Because Matt pushed off and Killian wasn’t ready and—

“Oh shit,” he hissed, Emma’s laugh ringing in his ears when he raced after Matt. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d skated blue lines, even if he did get on the ice regularly, a distinct sting in the general area of his lungs when he did his best to pick up speed.

Killian tried to move his arms, crouching on instinct, but there was also another kid there and that kid did not appreciate going fast as much as he might have liked. Or being bent awkwardly.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Killian chanted, like Chris would remember any of this particularly scarring moment. Matt laughed when his hand hit the boards, a quick snap of his neck that made it all too obvious just how wide his smile was.

Triumphant, that was the word for it.

“You’ve got go faster, Dad!”

It was impossible to know who was laughing louder at the other end of the rink.

Killian exhaled, every muscle in his thighs objecting to the movement when he pressed down, lowering his head like that would also lower his center of gravity, but it was a breakaway and a two-on-one and he’d never been very good at turning anyway.

No chance.

Matt didn’t quite slam into the second round of boards, but he wobbled as he slid over the blue line, palms flat against Will’s chest when he caught him, another twist and flail of limbs and Killian couldn’t really stand up.

“Wow,” Emma mused, another smile that practically hung from all three letters, “that’s kind of embarrassing, isn’t it?”

Killian shook his head. “The kid is good at skating. Even if he cheated too.”

“I did not,” Matt objected.

“Eh…like mother, like son, huh?”

“No, no, no, you were just slow. I didn’t push off like Mom did! And Rubes was counting, so—“

“—The kid’s got a point,” Ruby said, a distinct rhythm to her voice. “Long live the legend of Captain Killian Jones. Bested by his own son at a game they are both questionably good at.”

“A compliment, Lucas?” Killian asked.

“You still skate good.”

“Well,” Mary Margaret amended.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Em, you’re going to race Rol in the next round. Let’s go.”

Roland beat Emma.

Peggy beat Matt.

That did not end well — shouts and sneers, Emma holding onto Peggy and Will holding onto Matt and Ruby told the minions to leave that alone. So she could take her own video.

There were accusations of more cheating, tongues sticking out and noises that were not at all festive, several adults trying to look responsible because—

“I’m going to win the whole thing now,” Peggy announced.

Which was exactly what she did.

No push off. No false start. Just speed and Roland’s wide-eyed expression when she held her edge on the turn, every single adult on the ice breaking out into cheers as soon as she crossed the blue line.

And Killian wasn’t really surprised by that either — more about genetics, he was sure, but there was something close to joy and distinctly like pride surging through every inch of him and he nearly fell back when Peggy jumped towards him. Her hair hit his mouth.

“Dad, did you see? Did you watch?! That was so—“

“—You were great, little love.”

She threw her arms around his shoulders.

Chris wasn’t pleased by that either.

They stayed on the ice for another hour — photo-ops and interviews and a social media presence that would probably be Ruby’s greatest NHL legacy, but Killian didn’t ever actually take Chris off and Emma kept shooting him furtive glances, a warmth curling at the base of his spine and erasing any memories of loss, recent or otherwise and he glanced down before he spoke.

Like he was double checking with his skating partner.

“You won’t remember this, right?” Killian asked. Chris gurgled. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Alright, let’s go.”

Emma didn’t flinch when Killian moved into her space, twisting her towards him and he felt her smile when he caught her mouth with his, enough happiness to power several cities, which was a very cyclical thought and an even better life and he might have shivered when her tongue dragged across his lower lip.

“Gotcha,” she muttered.

“Was it a race?”

“I’ve lost track of the metaphor, honestly.”

“I wasn’t even sure we were making metaphors,” Killian admitted, Emma laughing and canting her hips and that was a dangerous thing on ice, but he’d always been very good on ice and his hand found the small of her back.

“Watching you skate with a baby strapped to you was the single most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. Just you know, for the record.”

He leaned back—all too aware of the heat in his cheeks and the state of his pulse, but Emma’s eyes were almost distractingly green and she didn’t blink. Just looked up and held his gaze, toying with Chris’ fingers like that wasn’t the most attractive thing anyone had ever done.

Over-competitive weirdos, honestly.

“I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Killian echoed. “I look forward to beating you at air hockey.”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #blue line one shots #skating with a baby strapped to you is probably not safe #just fyi #also thanks again everyone for reading all these things and enjoying all these things #i hope you all have a lovely holiday and get everything you want and then some

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donteattheappleshook · 5 years ago

Text

Of Cars and Bars Chapter 13/14

As always, thank you Krystal @kmomof4 for all of your amazing beta work and for just being a lovely person. This story exists because of and is dedicated to you! (Thanks for the support even though I keep making you angry with all the angst!)

Tagging @teamhook because you asked :D

Here’s the last chapter before the epilogue! I can’t believe it’s almost over!

Summary:

Rated E

When Emma Swan is offered the chance to go on tour as an opener for one of the most popular up and coming bands of the decade, the last thing she expects is to find that the lead guitarist is the stranger she had a one night stand with five years ago.

This started out as a smutty two shot about Emma Ruby and Mary Margaret going on a road trip and has evolved into a slow-burn mutual pining angst-fest.

Read it from the beginning on Ao3 and Ffn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Chapter 13 - New York

If you were here beside me, instead of in New York / If the curve of you was curved on me / I'd tell you that I loved you, before I even knew you / 'Cause I loved the simple thought of you

The tour was over. They were back. Everything was over.

Things had happened really quickly after that night. They cancelled the show and then every show after that for the rest of the summer. They’d refunded everyone, lost the income - she didn’t really know the semantics of how that had happened, Belle had handled all of that.

There had been rumors of course - rumors about why the tour was called off so suddenly. They ranged from one ridiculous explanation to another. The boys had fallen out, broken up, a drug scandal, the band wanting more money, someone was sick…

Emma ignored them for the most part - as much as she could anyway. It was hard to ignore them when she was constantly being reminded of everything she’d lost whenever she stepped outside and saw a magazine with his face on it. He was always hiding it in those pictures, looking away, his shoulders hunched, looking annoyed or exhausted. She didn’t recognize him half the time. There was none of the joy and excitement that had originally attracted her to him.

She’d gone back to Boston, back to her old apartment… like nothing had happened. But it had. Her life was different now. Now she had people recognizing her on the street, reporters and paparazzi hounding her with questions about why she’d left, if it had been because of her and Killian’s supposed romance. She told them to fuck off most of the time. She didn’t like fame, she found. Not the darker side of it she was seeing now, anyway.

The worst part was the social media. Angry, vicious people who hounded her online, angry because they thought she was dating Killian, angrier because they thought she had dumped him, angriest because they thought she was the reason the tour had ended. They called her names. They called her awful, worthless. Told her that she didn’t deserve Killian, that he deserved better, that her music was terrible. All thoughts she’d already had in the back of her mind, thoughts that she thought she’d finally overcome but that were slowly making themselves heard again. She’d had to delete her accounts eventually.

She’d had to quit her job too. It was hard to set a honey trap when everyone knew your face. It was hard to tail a skip when you were being tailed by cameramen. It wasn’t just cameramen and fans that were after her though. Since she’d gotten home, she’d been approached by seven producers, all of whom wanted to sign her and her band. Ruby and Mary Margaret were thrilled, they couldn’t understand why she was so hesitant. Well, actually, they probably could, but they were letting her believe they didn’t know.

It felt wrong, wrong to make music without him. It was ridiculous. She’d done it before him, she’d done it since him. But one of her favorite parts of writing had become the look that appeared on his face whenever she played something new for him, that proud, awed expression he would give her. And she missed him putting in his two cents. Missed the way he would casually pick at his guitar and create a verse that perfectly captured how she was feeling. She missed… she missed him.

But he was gone. He’d left. He’d told her he would in the bar and she’d walked away, abandoned once again, and then the same night he was on a plane. He hadn’t even come back to the room for his luggage - hadn’t come to say goodbye. You didn’t say goodbye either. It was true. She hadn’t said goodbye. She’d been the one to walk out of that bar. But he hadn’t followed, hadn’t asked her to come with him. It didn’t matter. He left, not her. Everyone left.

“You about ready to go?” Ruby asked, her voice holding that tone of sympathy so close to pity that it irked her. Emma looked once more at her apartment, the place she’d lived since leaving Storybrooke over six years ago. It was empty now.

She’d thought coming back to her old life would have made things easier, would have made it easier to move on, forget him, forget how he made her feel and how he’d broken her heart. But it hadn’t. The whole place just felt wrong now. Like it wasn’t home anymore. Home had become something else, not a place but people and now… that was gone too. She missed it. There was nothing left for her here anymore.

“Yeah,” she said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They were on their way to New York. They were going there to - Emma could hardly believe it, hardly say the words - record an album. Emma had turned down most of the offers, hadn’t wanted anything to do with it. But it wasn’t just her decision. It was Ruby’s and Mary Margaret’s too. It was their life as well, their dream, their career. She didn’t know if she would ever want to be in the spotlight again - but she would try, for her friends.

But every producer that she met just reminded her of Neal - someone who was out to take what they could from her, use her for their own gain regardless of what she wanted. They didn’t care about music. They cared about profit. Only about profit.

But then Graham and David had introduced them to Robin, the man who had recorded their first album, the one who liked to set insanely high bars when it came to music. He was a man with standards and who insisted on hard work and dedication but at the same time… he got it. He was a musician himself and he understood the artistic side of it.

Not all of his artists were well known. Of course he cared about that to an extent - it was his livelihood - but he also had a few indie bands under his wing. He liked good music. That was it. He liked good music and wanted to share good music with the world and he wanted to share her music with the world.

He was sweet, Emma learned as well. A nice guy, funny and upbeat and charismatic. She’d never seen him get angry but she assumed he probably did a good fatherly ‘I’m disappointed in you’ thing that was way more effective than anger. She was looking forward to working with him. She just worried she wouldn’t live up to his standards - not anymore, not with how she was feeling.

When they’d agreed to sign on, Emma had a condition. She was tired of just being Emma Swan and her band. She was tired of all the bad things associated with her name now. She was tired of being front and center when her friends were just as much a part of this as she was. There was no way she could have done this alone. And her name drew too much attention too, something Robin thought they should use but Emma didn’t want to. They named themselves The Ugly Ducklings after a favorite childhood storybook. Her friends liked it. Liked that they felt more like a group now, like what they’d always been.

They settled into their new apartment pretty quickly. David and Graham already lived in New York most of the time so they had helped them find a place and did most of the heavy lifting during the move. It was strange to see them all the time, without the others. Belle and Liam had gone back to London with Killian. When he left for England. When he left her to go back to England.

She hadn’t heard from him. Not a word since that night in the bar. It had been two months. She’d now been away from him nearly as long as they’d been together. Who was she kidding, they’d been together all of five minutes before he left. That was a new record. Usually they stuck around for a little while after she decided to let herself lo- no. she didn’t want to think about it.

She’d given him space at first, hoped that he might reach out if he wanted her, if he needed her - her support or her presence or someone’s shoulder to cry on. But he hadn’t. And it hurt. He hadn’t asked her to come with him. He’d decided she didn’t matter enough and he’d left her behind. Maybe he’d decided he didn’t want to have someone so broken hanging around, being a burden while the case went on.

She knew a lot more about it than she wanted to. The story was all over the tabloids, all over the papers too. And maybe, she’d looked it up a few times online, worried about him, despite everything. The case was dragging on, more and more witnesses being called in, new evidence being ‘found’. It wasn’t just a decision about letting him out anymore. Gold had pushed for a mistrial, insisting he was innocent, wrongly convicted and that he should be acquitted of all charges. She couldn’t imagine what it was doing to Killian, to go through all of this again. But that wasn’t her place. If he’d wanted it to be her business he’d have asked her to go with him.

But something still irked her, more than all the hurt and the loss and the abandonment she felt… guilt. Guilt because she knew, on some level she knew what she’d done. She’d done what she always did. She ran from him, ran away from the possibility of love and of happiness because she’d been so afraid to lose it. The barest hint that he could walk away and she’d walked away first.

But he would have left eventually, she tried to convince herself. Maybe he wouldn’t have. But it was too late now. Now he was in London, regardless of who had run from whom, who had abandoned whom, he was gone now. He was thousands of miles away and he likely hated her - or worse, didn’t even think of her at all. It was broken. She’d broken it. She’d gotten scared and she’d fallen victim to those fears and she broke them.

But he hadn’t tried to fix it. She’d started counting on him trying to fix it and this time he hadn’t. He’d given up. One time too many. She’d messed it up one time too many and hurt him once too many and this was the consequence. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to run to him, to be with him, to be there for him. His silence spoke volumes. He was done with her.

“That was lovely, Emma,” Robin said as they finished recording the vocals for one of the tracks. “Can we try it again with a bit more energy?” he suggested. Emma wanted to laugh. She hadn’t had energy in over two months. Her life had been a blur, a sad, heavy cycle of empty day after empty day.

But she didn’t say that, instead she said “Yeah, sure,” and tried it again. She could tell from his face that it wasn’t much better.

“Perhaps we should move on to one of the ballads,” he suggested. “Let’s do the one you played at the last show - the one that went viral.”

“No,” Emma said quickly. Not that one. She couldn’t do that one. She couldn’t sing that one again - ever probably. She couldn’t sit here in a booth and sing about how she’d fallen in love with someone, had finally believed that she deserved to be loved. Not when that someone had ripped her heart out hours later, reminding her that she didn’t.

“I just mean…” she tried when Robin looked at her in surprise. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not feeling well today. Maybe we could just work on the music for now? Try the vocals again tomorrow?”

He looked at her like he didn’t believe her and she didn’t blame him - the lie had sounded shit to her own ears. But he nodded, giving her that same, sympathetic smile that Ruby had.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s call the others and see if they can get over here. Why don’t we work on the chorus to this one while we wait.” Emma agreed, thankful, and went to grab her guitar. She flinched when he spoke again. “It’s alright to miss him, you know,” he said.

Anger was her first emotion, her first after heartbreak but that was always there so it didn’t count. “Excuse me? You don’t know me,” she snapped. Robin only nodded, he didn’t flinch back at her bite like most did.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I know Killian. I know him pretty well actually and I know that he’s hurting now - more than I’ve ever seen him hurt before. I can hear it in his voice.”

Emma felt her eyes tearing but she fought it. She would not cry over Killian Jones, she’d done that enough already. Enough for a lifetime. She’d heard that he was struggling, that he was always anxious now, always quiet - that he missed her. Belle had said so on the phone. ‘How do you know?’ she’d asked and Belle had said she just did. Emma didn’t believe her. You didn’t just leave someone that you could miss like that. Unless she heard it from him she couldn’t believe any of it, it was just their friends trying to save something that was already broken. And she hadn’t heard anything from him.

“What does that have to do with me?” she demanded, not thrilled with the audacity of this guy she barely knew assuming he knew anything about her life.

He gave a sad smile. “When I produced Abandon Ship!’s first album, Killian had written a hit. Liam had shown it to me, I remember because he called at seven in the bloody morning to play it over the phone. When they came in to record it though… it was different. It was sadder, it was slower… he sounded like you when he sang it.” Emma’s breath caught. You left him first, a voice taunted.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” he continued. “I’ve heard enough bits and pieces from the guys and Ruby and Mary Margaret to piece together where that song came from, who it’s about.”

“What’s your point?” Emma asked, still angry but some of the venom gone from her voice, some of the fire dying out.

“My point is, perhaps it's time to stop writing sad songs about one another and to just… try.”

Emma’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I did try.” Robin smiled sadly again.

“My apologies,” he said. “It’s not my place.”

Graham and David had tagged along with Ruby and Mary Margaret, they were always tagging along now. It was hard. It felt almost like it should, all of them together, but they were missing a few crucial pieces. Having half of the whole there just made the missing half hurt more, made it more obvious that it was missing. She loved David and Graham, they’d become like brothers - but they were a reminder now. Whenever they walked in the room she’d catch herself looking behind them, looking for him to follow them in, only to be reminded that he wouldn’t.

Halfway through their session, when they were taking a break to have some lunch, David received a call. It was Belle on the other end and David put her on speaker. She updated them on their lives, on how the trial was proceeding - they’d hired a lawyer - a high power one that they hadn’t been able to afford when they were young and broke and the first trial happened. She thanked the guys for staying behind, for doing damage control while they were in London. Graham and David had done a hell of a lot of free shows to try and appease some of the bad press. Turned out David could sing. They’d also done a lot of press and appearances and charity events and she knew they were a little exhausted from all of it. Both Graham and David dismissed her thanks as unnecessary.

Emma was sitting awkwardly a few feet away, as far as she could get in the tiny back room of the recording studio, actively trying not to listen - actively failing. She could see that the others were trying to avoid drawing the conversation to him. But when Belle started to say that she was worried about Killian, and David awkwardly tried to hint that now wasn’t a good time, she heard Liam on the other end of the line.

“Is Emma there?” he asked and she felt her heart race. She hadn’t spoken to Liam since that night in the bar. She’d been too afraid to. Afraid he hated her now. With some reluctance, David said she was. “Put her on the phone,” Liam demanded and everyone looked at her uncomfortably. She could hear Belle begging her husband to leave it alone but he wouldn’t listen. “Emma, are you there?” he asked.

Her voice cracked the first time she tried to answer. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Pick up the phone.” His tone left little room for discussion, even from hundreds of miles away.

Her palms were sweating as she walked over to the table where the phone rested, right there in the middle of all of her friends who were still staring at her with trepidation. They knew whatever was coming wasn’t good either. Liam was a force. She knew that. And he was angry. She nearly turned it off, touched the little red button and ran. But she didn’t. She was an adult. She could talk to another adult. She picked it up and took it off speakerphone.

There was a long weighted silence before Liam finally spoke. “You promised me, Emma.” he said.

“Liam, I-”

“No. All those months ago, I begged you, I begged you not to let him love you if you were going to leave. I told you what it would do to him. You promised me.”

Her words caught in her throat, trapped in the lump there as her eyes burned with tears. “I’m not the one who left,” she said and while she wasn’t looking at them she could feel the way the tension in the room grew at her words, everyone waiting on bated breath.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he snapped. “He needed you Emma. He loves you. He still needs you. Why aren’t you here?”

“I-” She didn’t know what to say. His anger was terrifying, his words cut deep and hurt. She knew he was right. She’d promised. But he’d left and he… the excuse felt weak even as she thought it now. He loves you. He still needs you, the words played over and over in her head. She struggled for something to say, some way to work through the pain and the self-preservation that were warring inside of her when she heard Belle's voice, muffled and far away. “Killian, you’re back. We-”

Emma hung up the phone. She hung it up and put it back on the table and grabbed her stuff and ran out of the room. Liam was right. She’d left. She kept leaving and she was going to do it again now. Because that’s what she did best. It’s what she’d always done. It kept her safe and it kept her from getting hurt… only this time, this time it hadn’t worked so well.

Ruby and Mary Margaret found her a few hours later on the couch in their living room where she’d been sitting since she got home. Wallowing. In guilt and heartbreak and fear and doubt. They approached her cautiously, feeling out the mood in the room before sitting down across from her on the coffee table. She could feel another ‘mom and mom’ speech coming on.

“Was Robin really mad?” she asked, realising the very serious possible consequences of walking out on a recording session when they were new and unknown and completely dependent on him wanting to keep them. Ruby waved a hand dismissively.

“He’ll get over it. He’s used to working with moody artists.” Emma glared but it had no heat behind it.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret started.

“Don’t,” Emma said. She didn’t want to hear it. She’d heard it from Liam already today, she’d heard it from people on the street and online. She got it. She was an asshole. But she didn’t know what to do about it. She was so so scared. Mary Margaret, always the sweeter of her sisters hesitated, but Ruby inhaled deeply and Emma prepared herself for the storm.

“No. Enough is enough. You’re being an idiot.”

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret was cut off.

“She is. You are. Look, we let you get away with it this long, we babied you and let you lick your wounds but really - We’re done. These aren’t even your wounds to lick.”

“He left!” she tried.

“Emma, grow up,” Ruby snapped and Emma reeled back like she’d been slapped.

“You’re being so selfish. Yes, he left. But he left because the psycho that killed his girlfriend was possibly going to walk free. He left because he had to. Where did you find him?”

“A bar…” she said weakly.

“That’s right. Doesn’t that give you a little sense of where his head might have been at?” Ruby’s words were harsh, her tone harsher and Emma wanted to run but she had nowhere to go. She was trapped, listening to her, letting herself be reamed out. She didn’t even have the energy to defend herself, didn’t have the leg to stand on either.

“He was hurting, rock bottom, as bad as you were when you saw Neal again - I’m gonna go ahead and say maybe worse. And yeah, his first thought wasn’t about you. So what did you do? You left him. He needed you and you left him there to go through it alone.”

“He’s not alone,” she tried.

“That’s not the same and you know it. Emma, I know you’re scared and you try to protect yourself and you have good reason to. And because of that we let you get away with a lot, because we love you. But this? You being this selfish because you’re afraid that you might get hurt? Making this about you and your fears when it should have been about supporting the man you love? I just…” She shook her head and Emma could feel the disappointment and even the shame radiating off of her. “He’s not Neal,” she said, looking at her with an expression Emma had never seen directed at her. “But right now… you are.”

The tears burned hot in her eyes. Ruby’s words were harsh, cruel even. But… they were right. Emma looked at Mary Margaret. She looked nervous but not like she had any intention of defending her and so Emma knew she agreed. And she should. Maybe she’d just needed it to be laid out like that, to be called out on it… but Ruby was right.

She’d let Killian in, let him care for her, maybe even love her. She’d encouraged him, let him think it was safe to give her his heart, to trust her with it. And then the moment he’d needed her, the first time he hadn’t only thought about her wellbeing and her fears and had fallen victim to his own… she’d left him. She’d run out of that bar like a bat out of hell because… what? He hadn’t asked her to come to London with him? He hadn’t outright told her he needed her? She was an idiot. She should have stayed, should have gone with him.

She thought about the night before, how she’d tried to push him away, gotten wasted at that bar on cheap whiskey and he’d stayed. Not because she’d asked him to but because he knew she needed him too, even when she was saying the opposite. And when it had been her turn to do the same… she’d run. She’d only thought of herself, let her insecurities take over, let herself be blinded. She’d been selfish. She’d abandoned him. He’d never have done that to her.

“What if it’s too late?” she asked, the first of her tears making their way down her cheeks. Ruby scowled at her for a moment but it stopped when she spoke again. “What if I hurt him too much, too many times, used up all my chances. What if I ruined it and I can’t fix it.”

“You can always fix it, Emma,” Mary Margaret spoke, putting her hand on Emma’s knee. “Love, true love can always be mended. It might not be the same after, but it can be stronger.” She must have seen the look Emma was giving her because she spoke again. “Don’t. I know you like to make fun of me for believing in true love but I’m not talking about some fairytale, predestined, meant to be garbage because that’s crap. If it’s really love then you have to work for it and fight for it and you have to go and admit that you fucked up and make things better, make amends. That’s love.”

“You just have to decide if you’re gonna fight for it or not,” Ruby said. Emma watched them both. She wanted to go. She did. Killian was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she had screwed it all up and she wanted it back, she wanted him back. How she felt about him, how he made her feel, how he made her laugh and smile, his weird obsessions and his stupid quirks and his constance and his baggage... she wanted it all back. But still, years, decades, a lifetime of letdowns wouldn’t let her, froze up with fear that she was wrong. With that last little doubt.

“What if he doesn’t want me anymore. What if he can’t forgive me?”

Ruby and Mary Margaret exchanged a look, eyes wide. “What if he doesn’t -” Ruby started in disbelief. “Show her the video, Snow.”

Mary Margaret took her phone out and fiddled with it for a moment. She turned it over then and handed it to Emma. The video was dated only two days ago. It was Killian, sitting on a little stage in a bar somewhere during what looked like an open mic. She could hear people in the back of the video whispering, wondering if that was him, what he was doing there. But she ignored them, focused on him.

He looked… sad. Sad and lonely and heartbroken and everything else she was feeling right now. His playing was still immaculate, his voice was still breathtaking, but he had none of the stage presence he usually did. It was like all the fun, all the carefree confidence and charisma had been drained out of him. He still held her attention though as he sang. Sang about a woman he missed, longed for, who wasn’t here with him… a woman who was in New York.

“Is that enough proof for you?” Ruby demanded.

Emma stood, walking past them and out of the room, adrenaline running through her veins, making her heart race and her fingers tremble. She headed straight for her room, could hear her friends following her as she grabbed clothes haphazardly out of her closet and some of the boxes she had yet to unpack. Where was her bag? She huffed and she searched for it. She knew she should have unpacked when Mary Margaret told her to.

“What are you doing?” Mary Margaret asked from the doorway.

“I’m going to London.”

***

Killian was tired. He was so tired. It had been months now of talking with lawyers, of turning down Gold’s lawyers offers to strike a deal. No. There were no deals. Gold would spend the rest of his life in prison for what he’d done. He’d taken the rest of Milah’s life away from her and Killian would be damned if the monster didn’t meet the same fate.

He was headed back to the flat he’d rented with Belle and his brother when they arrived. It was strange to be back. After nearly a decade of living in the States, of living in Boston and New York and even LA for a little while. It was strange to be home. Although it wasn’t really home was it?

He’d learned long ago that home wasn’t a place. It was the people that were around him. He had his brother, his sister-in-law, he spoke to Graham and David regularly on the phone, even to Ruby and Mary Margaret sometimes… but not to her. He thought he’d found one, a new home, one they all could have made for themselves, one he could have made with her. But then it had been ripped away from him. No, not ripped. She’d taken it, walked away with it and left him behind, empty and alone to suffer through all of this. Not alone technically but… it wasn’t the same.

Today had been the first day of the actual trial. After months of preparation he had finally gotten to sit in that witness box and tell the world what a terrible, inhuman being that man was. He told them how Milah had planned to tell her husband she was leaving him that night, how she’d gone home to do so.

After not hearing from her for nearly 24 hours, he’d gone to her home, somewhere he’d never been before out of fear of her husband finding out. He hadn't truly understood her fear when they were happy and together. But he understood it then, when he found her. He told the jury about the blood, about the way she’d just been left there, tossed aside while Gold left the city. This wasn’t manslaughter, he told the jury though he knew he couldn’t change the verdict now, was reminded of it by the judge. But he said it anyway. It hadn’t been a crime of passion. It had been the cold-blooded act of a man who refused to lose something he believed belonged to him, believed he owned.

The cross-examination had been worse. Horrible, cruel questions that you shouldn’t ask someone who had lost the love of their life. Maybe not of their whole life, a little voice had piped up, but he shut it down. He couldn’t think of that. He was already spending his days reliving losing his first love. He didn’t want to be reminded that he’d lost his second, the woman that he thought might be his true love - all sappiness be damned. But she’d walked away, she’d decided not to choose him. Killian had only loved two women in his life, and both had left him. It just hurt all the more that Emma left by choice.

He’d replayed that night over and over in his head. Remembered how close he’d come to opening that bottle. He’d walked there in a daze, the recall to that time bringing back memories of the man he’d once been and he let himself step back into that man’s shoes. That man had led him straight to a bar. He’d warred with himself, he’d won. But he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. Not when with every passing day he was reminded of how Milah had been taken from him. Not when with every passing moment he saw Emma again, walking out of that bar and out of his life… again.

He’d believed her. Believed her when she'd said that she wanted to be with him, that she’d wanted to stay. But then, after one look at the darker side of him, the moment they’d faced a challenge, the moment he’d needed her most, she’d run. It felt like someone was ripping out his heart every time he thought of it. He hadn’t been enough. He’d let himself believe he was and then she’d proven him wrong.

The pain and the heartbreak turned to anger more often than he’d have liked to admit. And he was angry with her. Angry with her for giving up on him, for giving up on them so easily. But also for disappearing from his life so completely. He could understand that she didn’t want his love anymore. But they had been friends hadn't they? Why hadn’t she reached out? Why hadn’t she called him? Why was she never around when he called Graham or David? Ruby and Mary Margaret sure seemed to be around all the damn time.

She’d disappeared, cut herself out of his life completely, and it hurt. Yes, he loved her, but he’d also grown to count on her, on her being there, on the way she made him laugh and the way she challenged him. He needed her support. But she wasn’t there. She hadn’t just left him - she’d abandoned him and that thought hurt more than any. She knew what it meant to be abandoned. She knew what she was doing to him, how it would break him, especially now when he needed her so much. She'd done it anyway.

That was the worst part. The fact that despite all his anger and her abandonment and the fact that sometimes he wanted to curse her name… he still needed her. He missed her. He loved her. He tried to stop but he couldn’t and that made it worse. She’d let him fall in love with her, had led him to believe that she could love him too and then she’d changed her mind - and he couldn’t.

He still wrote about her. But as angry and hurt as he was, he couldn’t put it into words, something stopped him every time. Instead all of his songs came out longing and heartbroken and full of love and loss - but never anger, never hate. And he knew it was because no matter what he did, his heart wouldn’t stop wanting her, missing her. And so he was left here to mourn her and hate her while the ever growing ache in his chest reminded him that he would probably never stop loving her.

That was the thought that was itching at the back of his mind as he walked up the last step to their fourth floor flat - the lift was somehow always broken. He rounded the corner towards his front door as he dug his keys out of his pocket. He looked up and froze, the keys falling through his fingers and onto the ground at his feet.

Emma. Emma was standing outside his door, a bag in her hands and bags under her eyes. She looked nervous. She saw him and her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the strap of her duffle. His thoughts were reeling. What was she doing here? Why now? After all this time? Why hadn’t she come sooner? What could she possibly want from him now? But he didn’t voice any of them. His mouth had forgotten how to form words and so he stood there, slack jawed and dumbfounded like an idiot.

“Hi,” she said after a long, tense moment.

“Hi,” he answered because it was the only word his stupid bloody mouth seemed to be able to form. She didn’t say or do anything else, just stood there, waiting. He didn’t know what for. Someone walked by then, cast them both a strange look and it snapped him out of his thoughts a little. He picked up his keys and stepped up to the lock.

“We should probably go inside,” he told her. The walls had ears here and he didn’t want this - whatever it was - to end up on the front page of the Sun in the morning. She nodded but didn’t say anything as he fiddled with the key. She was so close. He could feel her next to him and it affected him the way it always did. He wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms, to kiss her, to ask her to hold him and let him cry over all that had happened.

But he couldn’t. That wasn’t who she was to him anymore. He didn’t know why she was here. And seeing her again felt like having his heart broken all over again. He couldn’t handle it anymore. It had been too much pain. Between her and Milah's memory he'd suffered more pain than any man should have to take in a lifetime, let alone in a few months. So he took a page out of her book - he got angry, he put his own walls up. Angry was safe and it hurt a hell of a lot less to look at her from behind the glass around his heart.

She followed him wordlessly into the flat, into the kitchen where she dropped her bag on the floor. He opened the fridge, really wishing he could have a beer right now - or some rum, rum was always best. He clenched his fist and tried to calm it before pulling out two water bottles - a poor substitute - and handing one to her. She took it hesitantly, standing on the opposite side of the island from him. She only stared at him as they both didn’t drink and finally he couldn’t take it anymore and he spread his hands on the counter, hung his head as his knuckles turned white.

“Why are you here?” he asked, not able to look at her, not wanting to see the expressions play out on the face that he loved, the one that drew him in so easily. She left. She left, he repeated to himself. She didn’t answer at first and he was forced to look at her.

“I came for you,” she said and he wanted to laugh. Now? Now she came for him?

“Why?” he asked again and he saw it this time when the doubt flashed in her eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath and reached out her hand, placing it over his own. His own breath caught in his throat, her touch feeling like it was searing through his skin.

“You know why,” she said and it made his blood boil. He ripped his hand away.

“No, Emma, I don’t,” he snapped and saw the shock on her face. “I don’t bloody know why you’re here. You left me in that bar two months ago. You just left and then I never saw you again. You ignored me for weeks. After -” the words got stuck. “After everything that happened between us. You changed your mind and you just - god, you just fucking abandoned me there, didn’t you?” He saw the hurt in her eyes and it egged him on. Good. It was about time she hurt too, after everything she’d put him through. “My life has been hell, Emma, and right now I’m too tired to try and figure out what you’re doing here so please tell me or just leave.”

“I -” she started and he fought the guilt he felt at the way her eyes cast down, the way her shoulders slumped. She’d made this decision. Not him. Yes, he’d come back to London, but she’d chosen not to come with him, had walked away the second he told her his plans. She’d ignored him. That hurt the most. “I’m sorry,” was all she said.

“Well, that’s great, you’re sorry. You didn’t have to fly all the way across the world just to tell me that.” He saw her hesitate and it made him stop. There was something in her expression that made him think that wasn’t all she’d come to say.

She was looking at him like… like she’d looked at him that morning in his hotel room, the morning she said she wanted to try. He hated the way his heart raced in his chest, the way hope swelled there even after all she’d done.

“What did you come here to say, Emma?” he asked, his tone softer now than it had been a moment ago, but his shoulders were still tense, he still held himself back from her, on edge and afraid of the havoc he knew she could reap on his heart.

“That I-” she started quickly, rashly but she stopped and he saw the way her walls slammed up, holding her back. He hung his head. She couldn’t say it. She’d never been able to say it and she probably never would. What did she want from him? To come back and let him be her dirty little secret again? Because that’s what he’d been. She’d used him and he’d let her and then the second they even thought about being more, she’d looked for an excuse to run and she’d found one.

“Just go,” he said, his tone defeated. “Please.”

“Killian..”

“Please,” he repeated. “I appreciate you coming here and saying you’re sorry. But Emma, I can’t sit here and wait for you to be able to tell me how you feel, for you to decide that you want this to be real. Because I don’t even think you know if you do. I waited for you while you protected yourself, but I think now it’s time for me to protect myself. So please, just go,” he said.

He couldn’t look at her so he didn’t see the look on her face when she stepped back, when she picked up her bag and she walked out of the flat. He stood there for a long time after she’d left. And the longer he did the angrier he became. But not at her. At himself.

He’d accused her of not being able to admit how she felt, and maybe she hadn’t but he’d forgotten one, fundamental thing about Emma… She didn’t use words to express her feelings - she never had. Even with Ruby and Mary Margaret he rarely heard her admit how much she cared about them but she showed it with gestures, with thoughtful gifts and physical touch and by going out of her way sometimes or doing things she didn’t like just to make them happy.

He thought about the first time she’d showed him she cared, when they’d made love in that hotel room the night of Liam’s birthday, when she’d smiled at him at breakfast. He remembered how she’d struggled to tell him she liked him in the dressing room but he’d believed her because he knew already - because she showed him in her own way, by kissing him in front of their friends and holding his hand as they walked into a crowded party - and then again when they walked into the breakfast room to meet their friends. She’d written music with him, had helped him with his own songs, had let herself be vulnerable with him, let him see her fears and let him in as he helped her write… Even before all of that, she'd held his hand on the plane when he'd been scared, she'd taken him on the ferris wheel and won him that stupid giant bear. All this time, she'd been showing him and he'd been blind to it.

He was an idiot. Emma had flown to London. Yes, it had taken her a while to get here. Yes, she’d doubted him and she’d gotten scared. But she’d flown thousands of miles to come find him, to be with him. Maybe she hadn’t been able to tell him how she felt but in Emma’s language… he was a goddamn idiot. She’d flown to London for him. He didn’t need her to make a confession of love. She already had.

He rushed to the door but he knew it was too late. He ran down the hallway, down the stairs and out onto the street. But she was gone. Fuck. Fuck! He called her phone. It went straight to voicemail. He called Belle, called Liam, neither of them even knew she was coming. He called Ruby and Mary Margaret and David and Graham. Nobody knew where she was staying. The trip hadn’t exactly been planned ahead of time, Ruby pointed out. They promised to try to reach her but that she’d told them her phone was dying when she called to tell them she landed an hour ago.

He walked around town aimlessly, his heart racing every time he saw a blonde woman only to be dismayed when it wasn’t her. How many goddamn blondes were there in this city? He got a call from Ruby a little later telling him she’d spoken to her and that she was staying in a hostel in the city. She gave him the name. Said she’d told Emma he was looking for her.

He ran there. Not caring about the weird looks he got for running through the streets of London in jeans and a leather jacket. He was an idiot. He just had to hope that he hadn’t screwed it up so badly that he couldn’t fix it.

He got to the hostel and asked about her. The guy at the counter refused to tell him anything, something about customer safety which, yes, he understood that made sense but it really didn’t help him in his current predicament. He tried to bargain with the guy, tried to plead his case, but he wouldn’t budge.

He sighed, finding an armchair in the lounge and collapsing in it, his head falling into his hands.

“Hey, man,” a woman said and he turned to look at her. She was a young Asian woman, probably a few years younger than him with her hair in boxing braids. She had an American accent and a giant backpack at her feet. He raised a brow at her. “That girl you’re looking for. She about yea-high, blonde, total knockout?” she asked, holding her hand up beside her.

“Aye,” he said, hesitant but hope sparking in his chest. “Have you seen her?” he asked almost desperately.

“That depends,” the woman crossed her arms, looking impressively threatening for her age and size. “Did you hurt her?”

“No!” he answered quickly, then hesitated. “Well, not physically. But I did hurt her - that’s why I’m looking for her.”

“Are you gonna hurt her again?” she asked, raising a brow in a way that mirrored his signature move.

“I bloody hope not,” he said with a sigh. “Please, I’m just trying to make amends. I was an idiot and a tosser and I’m hoping she’ll forgive me, but I can’t ask her to if I never see her again.” The woman looked him over once with a little more judgement in her expression than Killian was really comfortable with. Then she smiled slightly, more of a smirk really.

“I always like a man who can admit he’s an idiot,” she said. “She was looking for some bar,” she continued, pulling out her phone. “The one from this video,” she turned the screen so he could see it and his heart pounded against his ribs. “I told her it’s-”

“That’s okay,” he said, standing. “I know where it is.”

She looked at him strangely before glancing down at the video again. “Oh hey, is that you?” she asked with genuine surprise.

“Aye,” he said. “Thank you…”

“Mulan,” she supplied. “I hope you find her.”

“Me too,” he admitted. As he left he heard her call out behind him.

“When you find her, tell her the whole you’re an idiot thing! You’d be surprised! It goes a long way!” He felt the smile tugging at his lips.

He walked into the bar. He knew it well, it was familiar territory for him. It was a little dingy, the drinks were cheap and carding wasn’t really a thing. Neither was cutting people off which was why it had been one of his favorite places when he was younger, and when he was a drunk. But he’d come back to it recently because it was familiar, because it was one of the first places he and Liam and Graham had played in (before they’d met David). And, because it had open mic nearly every night which meant he could just go up there when he needed a break from the real world, when he needed to let himself get lost in music for a bit.

He’d been on that stage most nights this week. The owner hadn’t complained, he’d actually brought in business now that word had gotten out that one of the Jones brothers was playing there. He was starting to think he’d have to find a new place soon. The point was to blow off steam and feel like a human being again, not to be hounded by people who wanted pictures with him and women who wanted to take him home.

He’d almost accepted a few of those offers in the first few weeks after he got here, after the preparation for the trial started and missing Emma became unbearable. But he hadn’t. One vice just led to another and it wasn’t a path he wanted to go down. And he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He might have thought that Emma had left him but he couldn’t even imagine sleeping with another woman now that he’d known her. It felt wrong. Like a betrayal, despite everything. And he knew it would only leave him empty.

He made his way inside, finding a table near the door so that he could see her if she walked in. He cast a glance around the room but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. That was alright. He would wait. He would wait here until she came in, and if she didn’t come in then he would go back to her hostel and wait there, and if he didn’t find her there then he would bloody fly back to New York and tell her he was an idiot in America.

He had only been sitting there for a little while, drinking a rumless coke when he saw her, not at the door, but getting up on stage, borrowed guitar in hand by the looks of it. He sat up straighter, his heart racing in his chest as she settled on the stool and looked up, right at him. She didn’t look surprised. A small, hesitant smile crossed her face, despite the anxiety and the fear on it.

His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his body at this point. Had she known he would come here? Ruby had told her he was looking for her, she’d come to the bar he played in. She’d gone on stage just minutes after he arrived. She’d expected him. Only now he had no idea what to expect. Would she be angry, hurt, had he broken this beyond repair?

“Hi,” she said into the mic and a couple of heads glanced up to look at her. He was fixated. She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze moving around the room uncomfortably. “Um, so,” she hesitated in that way she always did when she was nervous, when she had to voice her feelings. “Someone accused me today of not being able to admit how I feel... And that’s actually pretty true. I’m really shitty at talking about feelings - I’m shitty at feeling them honestly. But, this person helped me with that, with a lot of stuff.”

Killian heard a whispered “Is that Emma Swan?” as more people gave her their attention.

“I was always really afraid of love because it’s only ever hurt. So I put up some walls to keep it out. But I don’t want to keep it out anymore.” She finally looked at him and he felt her gaze in his chest, in his gut, in his heart. He smiled at her, a little, nervous, hopeful thing, and she continued. “I fucked up. I really fucked up and I’m just hoping that you can forgive me and that some part of you still feels the way you did two months ago in that hotel room because…” she hesitated, looking down before lifting her eyes back to his. “Because I love you.”

Killian sat there, awestruck and slack jawed. She loved him. She loved him and she’d said it - in front of all these people, in front of all the cameras that had come out when she’d started speaking. His whole body felt numb, like he had no control of his limbs or his fingers. But then she started playing and the song, the lyrics, the memories rushed into his bones and his skin and his blood, filling him and bringing him back to life, to her. To Emma.

“Oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me. I said you’re holding back. She said shut up and dance with me.”

He stood, walking across the bar like a sailor drawn to a siren. He didn’t care about the whispers in the room, people recognizing him, the people filming and taking pictures and gossiping. All he could think of was her and the stupid, ecstatic smile on his face, making his cheeks hurt. As he got closer her own smile grew, doubt melting away in her eyes and replaced with an expression he’d seen there so many times before but hadn’t recognized, love. She loved him.

He hopped up on stage, not caring that he was cutting off her song and she barely had time to stand before he caught her face in his hands and kissed her hard and long to the soundtrack of cheers from the bar patrons. He felt her arms slide up his chest, felt her hands grab hold of the lapels of his jacket as her lips curled against his own, laughter bubbling out of her as he kissed her the way he’d wanted to for months. He’d missed her so damn much and now she was here in his arms and she loved him and he was never going to let her go again.

They pulled apart when a wolf whistle cut through the air, making them laugh. Killian looked down at her, into her eyes that were shiny with happiness and with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I was an idiot.”

She shook her head this time. “I love you,” she said again and he felt it fill his entire body.

“I know,” he smiled at her, at the way she rolled her eyes and smacked his chest in annoyance, trying to pull away despite the way her lips turned up. He held her fast, bringing those rolling eyes back to his. “I love you,” he told her and it felt like heaven to finally get to say those words, to finally say it out loud. She smiled, took hold of his hand that was still cupping her cheek, kissed his palm and he felt her love, words or not.

“I know,” she teased and he smiled. Because she did know. She’d known for a long time, she’d been able to read him like an open book from the beginning. He’d just taken a little longer to understand that she’d been right there with him all along.

He glanced around the room, hearing the people who were still excitedly going on about them, some of them knowing who they were, some not but caught up in the moment. He looked back at her, a little worried, knowing she liked her private life private, that that wouldn’t be an option with him.

“You sure about this, Swan?” he questioned. “I don’t think we’ll be able to hide this from the rest of the world.”

She didn’t say anything, she just kissed him again in front of a couple dozen screaming fans. He pulled her into his arms. Trial be damned, distance and time be damned, five years and running and pain and whatever else was to come be damned. He loved her and she loved him and finally, after all this time, he didn’t need to doubt it anymore. He didn’t need to doubt anything anymore. Because he knew now that he would be okay. He had her. Everything else just faded away.

#cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #of cars and bars #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs angst #captain swan angst #captain swan smut #cs smut #cs au #captain swan au

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feuillesmortes · 5 years ago

Text

On Blanchardyn and Eglantine

— Or how Margaret Beaufort employed common courtly romance tropes to promote the union of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York

Once I jokingly said that Margaret Beaufort was the first person to ship Henry VII and Elizabeth of York. From a historical point of view, my statement was obviously half-true. Lady Margaret Beaufort worked closely together with Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV's dowager queen, in order to create an alliance between their families that would ultimately lead to the deposition of Richard III from the English throne. What I had in mind at the time of my innocuous text post was a really specific trivia about her life as a literary patronesse: the one time she commissioned the translation and printing of the French romance Blanchardyn and Eglantine. In this short meta we will look into Lady Margaret’s engagement with romance literature, a feat that closely resonates with modern shipping culture, and we will explain how courtly romance tropes could shape contemporary views in regard to the appeal of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York as King and Queen of England.

❧

During her lifetime, Lady Margaret Beaufort had a number of printed works dedicated to her name. She was mentioned in the colophon as the funder or commissioner of the printing of ten books, receiving actual dedicatory verses in three of them. Although one could always argue that naming the mother of the king and stating her seal of approval was a rather blatant marketing strategy, it is largely believed that Lady Margaret was genuinely interested in printing books for the overall benefit of English readers and hearers. Lady Margaret herself translated The Mirror of Gold for the Sinful Soul and the fourth book of The Imitation of Christ. All of her commissioned books were religious and attested to her piety with the exception of the earliest work dedicated to her name, which precisely happens to be Blanchardyn and Eglantine, a medieval courtly romance. This is the sole secular book dedicated to Lady Margaret, and it comes as a surprise when her devotional endeavours are put into perspective.

William Caxton translated the first edition of this book around 1489 by Lady Margaret’s request. In his dedication, he claims that Margaret Beaufort had previously made a purchase from him of the French version of the romance. In the dedicatory verse, he states that the story was ‘honeste & loyefull to all vertuouse yong noble gentylmen & wymmen for to rede therin, as for their passé tyme’ — in a word, it was as appropriate as devotional literature itself. As Valerie Schutte points out in her dissertation, it was an appropriate pastime for gentlemen because it told the story of ancient knights who took up arms (something young nobles should aspire to), and it was suitable reading for gentlewomen for it exemplified how to be steadfast in their love and promises. It was essentially a courtly romance that provided gendered models shaped by traditional chivalric ideals. The story reads as:

OF THE MOST Excellent and Famous Historye of Blanchardine, Sonne of the King of Frize, and faire Eglantine, Queene of Tormaday, surnamed The Proud Lady in Loue

This is the story of Blanchardyn, a princely knight that arrives in a foreign kingdom for the occasion of a tournament. The scene in which the prince enters the city amidst the local festivities has been colourfully described by a variety of different French storytellers:

« [lui] semblait la plus belle ville où jamais il avait été. ll entra dedans et chevaucha bien avant, regardait les belles maisons, la grand multitude de peuple, les belles rues et les grandes églises. / [...] la mer lui était prochaine battants jusqu'aux murs, de l'autre coté étaient les grands prairies et labourages, bois et vignes, les eaux douces et les fontaines a grant foison » * (see notes)

That is Tournaday, the realm of Eglantine, a beautiful princess with whom Blanchardyn becomes enamoured. He is told that to win her heart he must surprise her by stealing a kiss. Only when he proceeds to do so Eglantine is so greatly shocked she falls from her horse, and embarrassed, swears war on Blanchardyn. In the course of the book the reader sees her resolve falter as she slowly falls in love with Blanchardyn and learns to appreciate his worth: ‘I have debated [th]e quarelle ayenst the god of love / but at the last I have been subdued & uttirly overcome.’

It has been speculated that Lady Margaret gifted Elizabeth of York with the French romance sometime during the events of 1483-1484. William Caxton had a printing shop located in Westminster, close enough to where Elizabeth of York and her mother and sisters took sanctuary at the time. It doesn’t take much to imagine the book passing into the hands of the princess by the assistance of the Welsh physician who smuggled messages between Lady Margaret and the dowager queen. Dr Lewis of Caerlon was a Cambridge-trained mathematician, theologian, astronomer, doctor of medicine and teacher at Oxford who was able to travel openly between Lord Stanley's London house and Elizabeth's sanctuary at Westminster. He would later serve as doctor to Henry VII and Elizabeth of York.

The story of Blanchardyn and Eglantine presented enough parallels with the situation of the heiress of the Yorkist line to impress Elizabeth of York: it could be said that Blanchardyn, much like Henry Tudor, was a prince that had left home to 'test himself in chivalry'. In his absence his realm is overthrown by pagan enemies, but Blanchardyn returns in due time to claim his title, marrying a neighbouring heiress in the process. Under this premise, one could say that Blanchardyn and Eglantine conveniently provided a romance patterning for the Tudor takeover of the English throne.

It has been stated elsewhere, though, that the mid-fifteenth-century romance Ollyver of Castille provided a more accurate parallel to the marriage of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York. It also tells the story of an uncle Gloucester, usurper of the throne, who is later overcome in battle by another contestant, Arthur, whose claim derives from his wife as the true heiress of the rightful line. It resonated uncomfortably close to the discourse of those who disregarded Henry Tudor’s claim to the English throne. The hero’s kingship could not entirely rely on his wife’s heritage. When one takes into account all of the available romances at the time it is interesting to ponder at Lady Margaret’s choice. Possibly, what we see here is Margaret Beaufort controlling the narrative of her son's coming into power and choosing which work of fiction could best depict his ascension to the throne.

In Blanchardyn and Eglantine, it is interesting to see that the scene in which Eglantine declares her love begins by Eglantine discussing the wages she owes Blanchardyn for defending her castle. By the end of this scene, it looks as if Blanchardyn only requires her love as payment for his services. Despite his humble request, the narrative rewards him conveniently enough: Eglantine’s subjects unanimously accept Blanchardyn as their king. The crown becomes his ultimate prize.

There are some common courtly romance tropes that closely resembled the situation in which Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York found themselves at the time of Richard III's usurpation of the English throne, namely:

The Exiled Heir: In medieval literature, the true heir is typically lost from sight. He becomes an unknown figure, someone who often himself does not know about his identity as the true heir. He is brought up away from the court and experiences the hardships of a lonely life out in the world. Much like this trope, Henry Tudor sojourned the continent in order to escape any and every Yorkist attempts against his life but returned in due time (from over the sea, an important English motif) to recover his throne. Although not outwardly applicable, it is also noteworthy to mention the figure of the lone man excluded from society in medieval tradition: he is either in danger, or he has voluntarily isolated himself to complete some quest or to dedicate his life to God. This is the literature of the knight errant: the hero who willingly chooses to face evil by himself and who, when victorious, brings blessings to his whole community.

The Dispossessed Heiress: Typically, she needs to be rescued away from the man controlling her kingdom. This might be a tyrannical father, a stepfather or an evil uncle. It was a common theme for the heiress to be the last of her line, especially threatened by her male relatives. In the story of Havelok the Dane, Edelsie gets his niece Argentille out of the way by marrying her to a commoner and taking over her kingdom. The heiress's choice of marriage partner is often forbidden, her hand more often than not requested by highly undesirable suitors such as pagans. Contrary to the exiled heir, the heiress does not need to be found –– she needs to be rescued and to be married to the right man. Following the rise of the great French epics of the thirteenth century, the role of families and lineages is gradually highlighted in the literature. Genealogical concerns for the founding of families arose in the tradition of medieval romances: the heroine, as the founding mother of the future dynasty, must choose wisely among her suitors. The same problem was posed to Elizabeth of York, ultimately the mother of the Tudor dynasty.

The Chosen Nephew: In the romance La Chanson de Roland, the hero has but two identified relatives in the narrative: Charlemagne, his uncle the king/emperor, and Ganelon, his stepfather, the one who ultimately betrays Charlemagne's army. Looking at the great French epics, in the song of Renaud de Montauban (also known as Quatre fils Aymon), Girart, the eldest brother and leader of the family, holds a privileged position of affection and authority over his nephew Aymeri. Although Girart's brother Hernaut, the young man’s father, is alive in the story, Girart is established as the educator, the principal formative figure in his nephew's life. It is also noteworthy to mention the importance of uncle-nephew relationships in Arthurian legends: Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, is one of the greatest knights of the Round Table and features notably as the protagonist of the late-fourteenth-century chivalric romance Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Much like those legendary heroes, Henry Tudor grew into adulthood under the protection and guidance of his uncle Jasper Tudor in exile.

Lastly, we could not leave out the trope of the Evil Uncle: as exemplified in the aforementioned story of Havelok, the usurping tyrant typically tries to kill the child heir. Whether or not Richard III was guilty of the murders of the Princes in the Tower it did not matter. In the eyes of the public, he had the motives and the means to land this role. The perception that Richard was northern, quarrelsome and morally dubious following the disappearance of the sons of Edward IV would be further damaged in 1484, when it was rumoured that he had poisoned his wife and intended to marry his niece.

We could only speculate that Lady Margaret Beaufort saw the potential of romance literature as a framework for legitimising her son’s ascension to the throne. Employing chivalric ideals as rhetorical propaganda was hardly a new political device at that time: romance discourse was often used as an active social force that could elevate women to positions of power not otherwise available in a patriarchal society. In this light, Blanchardyn and Eglantine becomes more than a suitable justification for Henry Tudor’s acts of war —those could be regarded as a necessity born out of love for England and for Elizabeth of York alike. As it has been stated before, the story “contained a thinly-veiled account of governance and was essentially a political manual for its aristocratic women readers.”

Communal reading was a frequent practice in the late fifteenth century. There are accounts of Cecily, Duchess of York, discussing the day’s reading with her ladies-in-waiting during her meals. Romance laid the contemporary basis for debate on how people should live, love, govern, fight and practise piety. They subtly reflected social mores about love, marriage, and politics. Women of that time would be aware that in the tradition of chivalric romances when the hero marries his lady, he also wins a kingdom. Noblewomen were constantly reminded by the genre that although beauty and grace were important charms, much of their importance derived from their status as heiresses or their ability to provide marriage alliances. The rules of the chivalric world were dictated by men, but women often wielded power to modify and rearrange the orders of that world by exerting the type of political influence that foreshadowed the role of diplomats and ambassadors.

Eglantine is not a passive romance heroine. She oversees battle scenes and is in charge of her own keep. She also handles marriage negotiations and provides an example of how noble women could work together with their male peers to achieve political goals. If there is any truth to The Song of Lady Bessy, a largely romanticised account of the role of Elizabeth of York in the victory of Bosworth Field, the Yorkist heiress took to heart some of those lessons by wooing support for her betrothed in exile. We can only speculate about this point (and what a speculation this is!) since there is no solid evidence of her role in Henry Tudor’s invasion. Nonetheless, it is undeniable the presence of such lessons in the text of Blanchardyn and Eglantine.

A lady calling upon the help of lords and knights was a common theme in romance literature, deeply rooted in the tradition of chivalric codes. In the first line of The Song of Lady Bessy we see Elizabeth of York’s plea to Thomas Stanley, Henry Tudor's stepfather, later 1st Earl of Derby:

I shall tell how Lady Bessy made her moan, And down she kneeled upon her knee Before the Earle of Darby her self alone, These were words fair and free:

Who was your beginner, who was your ground, Good father Stanley, will you tell me? Who married you to the Margaret Richmond, A Dutchess of a high degree; And your son the Lord George Strange, By that good Lady you had him by.

Good father Stanley, remember thee? It was my father that King royall, He set you in that room so high. Remember Richmond banished full bare And lyeth in Brittain behind the sea; You may recover him of his care, If your heart and mind to him will gree, Let him come home and claim his right, And let us cry him King Henry.

Ultimately, the idea of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York coming together as England's royal couple toyed with important courtly romance tropes of their time, and it is not difficult to see how it might have played an important role in the success of the establishment of the Tudor dynasty. We can certainly say that Lady Margaret Beaufort chose her story wisely.

___________________________________

* Free translation by yours truly: “It seemed to him the most beautiful city he had ever been. He made his entrance and rode along, gazed at the beautiful houses, the great multitude of people, the beautiful streets, and the grandiose churches. The sea came crashing next to the walls, and on the other side there were great meadows and plows, woods and vineyards, fresh waters and fountains galore.”

#margaret beaufort #henry vii #elizabeth of york #henry vii x elizabeth of york #meta #tudor tag

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justanoutlawfic · 5 years ago

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A Christmas Connection: A Snowing Ficlet

On the second day of Giftmas, I give..... @loboselinaistrash a brand new Snowing Christmas fic! We were talking about how holiday movies always inspire us to write one shots and such, this one ironically called Once Upon A Christmas Miracle, had Snowing written all over it. The movie was also based on a true story. Anyway, Merry Christmas to my love, my light. The Charming to my Snow. You are my moon and my sky. I love you so much. <3 I hope you enjoy it.

Also on AO3

It was one of those posts David expected from his mom. Ruth shared every cancer patient that needed donations, any dog that needed a home (she probably would’ve taken in every one of the latter if she had the space). Normally David just put a heart and shared himself, but there was something about this post that stood out to him.

30-year-old 4th grade teacher had recently been diagnosed with liver failure. She needed a transplant as soon as possible, but she had very little living family. All her friends had been screened, but there were no matches.

Mary Margaret volunteers at the hospital. She does so much for the children in her classroom. We want to do everything we can for her. If you think you might be a match, please make our Christmas and get yourself screened.

From the looks of it, Mary Margaret was healthy otherwise. She was a very active woman, just like the post would suggest. Her smile warmed David’s heart, especially the pictures she posted of herself and her friends.

He shared the post to start off with, then went on with his day. When he got to the police station he worked for, he heard Rogers and Weaver discussing the woman as well.

“She’s right here in Storybrooke too.”

David looked up from his files. “She is? I must have missed that in the post.”

Rogers nodded. “She’s best friends with the mayor’s daughter. I think that’s one of the reasons it’s gone so viral. Regina Mills is doing anything to get her a new liver. If it was legal, I think she’d go rip one out herself.”

At lunch, David got a notification on his phone. The anniversary of his father’s death was coming up. David had never been close to Robert. He treated him and his brother terribly. Still, it was a hard time of year for their mother. She didn’t love the man Robert had become, rather who he had once been. David always tried to remember to take her to dinner on the anniversary to lift her spirits.

He remembered spending a lot of time in the hospital around Christmas. James and himself were only 5-years-old, but it was hard, even for them. Robert seemed to get even more miserable towards the end. Ruth had gotten tested to donate, but wasn’t one. Despite going on the list, there wasn’t much the doctors could do. Robert was gone December 1st. Their lives got a bit worse after that. The farm they lived on failed even more until Ruth got the nerve to sell it. She managed to find a job with the help of her brother, Albert, but he made sure she and the boys always remembered why they weren’t in poverty anymore. It took years for them to finally escape his grasp, and it was only after David and James made something of their lives.

David found himself re-reading the post that night over his Chinese food. Mary Margaret was a single woman, no kids to speak of. Yet, she was still very beloved. Her loss would impact the community, especially her best friend who was campaigning for all of this. Dedicated teachers were hard to come by, he couldn’t let one slip away. Not if he could help it.

The next morning, David called the hospital, “Hi, I’ve seen the posts about Mary Margaret Blanchard. I don’t know which department I need to speak to in order to set up an appointment.”

*x*

Mary Margaret didn’t know that finding out she had a deadly disease would show just how loved she was. In high school, she barely had any friends. She was popular because she was Leopold and Eva’s daughter, but it didn’t mean she had long lasting friendships. Regina Mills was the only exception. They stayed close, even through college. It was Regina who was there for her both when Eva died, then Leopold. Sure, she’d gain other friends over the years, but it was Regina that she treasured the most. She and her husband were pretty much the only family she had these days.

Yet, when she found out that she had stage four liver failure, everyone stepped up. Ruby Lucas set up a meal plan so she never had to worry about food. Aurora Dreamer offered to drive her to the hospital whenever she needed. Ariel dropped by with romantic comedies for the two to watch. It was a bit overwhelming. All of these people were tested and none were a match.

She didn’t even know that Regina had made the post until she got the Facebook notification. A part of her was embarrassed. She didn’t want everyone feeling sorry for her or obligated. But as Robin pointed out, now wasn’t the time for her to get proud. If she wanted a chance, she needed to open the idea that a stranger would be donating a portion of their liver.

Mary Margaret tried to have hope, just as she did through all the other hard things in her life. This was the girl that had finished her finals within days of finding out that her father had passed. She was tough, she cheered people up when they needed it. Still, she couldn’t help but hear the voice in the back of her head…

What if it doesn’t work? What if you don’t make it?

Mary Margaret had never feared her own immortality until it was staring her in the face. She had only been able to do a fraction of what she had planned for her life. Sure, she had become a teacher. She had also traveled to various parts of the world on her trust fund from Eva. However, she had yet to find true love. A few hits and misses, but never the true homerun. As she cared for everyone else’s children, she had never been blessed with any of her own.

She tried to come to terms with that never happening and yet, it haunted her. The Blanchard legacy would end with her. That was a lot to put on a person.

Her phone rang when she sat alone in her loft one rainy Saturday afternoon. Regina and Robin had tried to convince her to move in with them after her diagnosis, but they had their own family to worry about. She didn’t want to scare Henry and Roland if anything happened to her. As a compromise, the large group that had rallied around her would check in on her throughout the day.

Storybrooke General was sprawled across her screen. She slid the arrow across and held it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Mary Margaret,” Dr. Whale’s always optimistic voice boomed through the phone. “Good news.”

You made a mistake. I don’t have this liver disease. I’m not going to die. “What is it?”

“We’ve found you a match.”

Mary Margaret tightened her grip on her phone. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve had quite a few people respond to the post that Regina put up. I didn’t tell you in case it didn’t pan out. Most didn’t. However, one person, is a match and he’s agreed to give you a portion of his liver.”

Mary Margaret’s heart pounded heavily in her chest. This sounded too good to be true.

“Who is it?” She asked.

“David Nolan.”

David Nolan. David Nolan. She didn’t know a David Nolan. “I don’t think I know him.”

“He responded to the post as well, but he’s right here in Storybrooke. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had this happen to someone, Mary Margaret. You are a very lucky woman.”

Lucky.

Mary Margaret swallowed, still not entirely believing it. “If he’s a match, then…”

“Then we can do the procedure soon. I’m thinking within the next week, if I can get an opening.”

Tears clouded up in Mary Margaret’s eyes. “I could have a new liver within a week?”

“Yes.”

“And the odds…of all of this…”

“89% of people who have a liver transplant live after the first year. 75% after five years. You’ll have to be monitored constantly, but this is a good thing, Mary Margaret. I promise you.”

Mary Margaret tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t long ago she was told that her odds of living were so much lower. This news was truly life changing.

“The man…what did you say his name was?”

*x*

Mary Margaret stood at the front of Granny’s Diner a few days later. Ruby Lucas gave her a wave from behind the counter and Mary Margaret quickly returned it, before going back to look for David. He had given Dr. Whale permission for her to reach out to him. Mary Margaret couldn’t get the man off her mind. A quick glance at his Facebook profile didn’t end the curiosity. He was her age, divorced and a cop. This would take him out of work for at least six weeks, not even counting the week he’d spend in the hospital.

Why do all of this for a stranger?

“Mary Margaret?”

She looked up and instantly recognized him from his pictures. From his dark blonde hair to baby blue eyes. A tiny, yet equally intoxicating smile formed across his lips.

“David?”

“Yes. I got us a table.” He lead her over and the two sat down. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“No, no, I should say thank you.” Mary Margaret had to will herself not to cry. “I just…you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I mean, I think I do,” he said with a wink.

Mary Margaret let out a small laugh. “I guess so.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Do you have any questions about the surgery? I mean, you know you’ll be out of work for six weeks?”

“I never take vacation time. My boss always hounds me to use it.”

“Still…for this. I mean, you don’t even know me.”

David was quiet for a moment. He ran his finger over the rim of his water glass. “Let’s just say, I’ve been in the shoes of your friends and family.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “You knew someone else with liver failure?”

David nodded. “My father. He was a horrific drunk, could never stop putting it away.”

“I hope you know that’s not why I’m in my situation…”

“Oh, trust me, I do.” The small smile returned. “It’s just, back then, there wasn’t a way to do this. As horrible as my father was, I always wished I could save him in some way. I know I never can, but I try to give back when I can. That includes making sure no one ever goes through what my family ever did.”

Any attempts for Mary Margaret not to cry, were gone. She allowed the tears to stream down her cheeks, as she leaned forward and squeezed the hands of this still-very much stranger.

“Like I said,” she whispered. “I can never thank you enough.”

David shook his head. “I don’t need you to. I just want to help you get a second chance.”

She let out a shaky deep breath. What were the odds that out of every person that could have seen the post, David had?

*x*

Regina Mills didn’t cry. At least, that’s what she told everyone. Mary Margaret and Robin had seen her cry several times over the years. Mary Margaret watched her best friend raise a champagne glass, with tears in her eyes.

“To the man saving my best friend’s life,” she announced

David’s cheeks turned pink, sipping his water. Both he and Mary Margaret were off alcohol until the surgery. “Thank you, Regina.”

“Seriously, mate,” Robin said. “You’re a true hero.”

“Okay guys,” Mary Margaret waved her hands. “You both said you weren’t going to embarrass me.”

“We’re your friends. Isn’t that our job?”

“Erm, I wouldn’t think so.”

David chuckled. “Something tells me if my twin was here, he’d be trying to do the same.”

Regina dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “How does your family feel about all of this?”

“They’re supportive. I’ll be staying with my brother after the surgery.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Yeah, my doctors convinced me I’d need to be looked after so I agreed to move in here temporarily.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

“It’s not. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

“You could never be a burden, Mare.”

David and Mary Margaret stayed at Regina and Robin’s for a bit. As they headed out into the late November air, however, Mary Margaret didn’t feel the least bit tired.

“I think I’ll leave my car here, go for a walk.”

“We have surgery tomorrow,” David reminded her.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Nervous?”

“More like exhilarated.”

David looked at his truck, before looking back at Mary Margaret. “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, David, you don’t have to…”

“No. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep either.”

Mary Margaret smiled a bit, before heading down the sidewalk with him. They were silent for a bit, both looking at the few houses that already had Christmas decorations up. The lights acted as a North star for them. Without the glow, they wouldn’t be able to have this walk.

“So, the post said you didn’t have a lot of family left,” David spoke up. “I’m assuming your parents passed?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Lost my mom when I was eighteen to a very bad strain of the flu. My father went a couple of years later, heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was so long ago. I miss them, of course, but time heals.” She looked around at the lights. “It’s harder at the holidays, though.”

David nodded. “My father died on December 1st. It made Christmas rough for a few years.”

“December 1st…our surgery date.”

“The irony was not lost on me.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip. “Someone has to think you’re crazy for doing this.”

“Some ask why I do it often,” he gave her a pointed look.

Mary Margaret chuckled. “I’m sorry. I just…it’s a lot to take in.”

“You’re not alone here, Mare. You deserve this.”

“It’s just hard to think, why me? Out of all the people out there that need a transplant, or something…”

“If you think that way, you’ll go crazy.” They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and he took hold of her hand. “Like I said, you deserve this, Mary Margaret. Don’t focus on the how or the why…just think about yourself.”

Mary Margaret let out a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

*x*

David laid in the blue gown the next morning, exhausted. He supposed it didn’t matter, he’d be out soon anyway. It was worth it, no matter what. After their walk, he had gone back to Mary Margaret’s to watch a movie. The two spent the whole night talking about their lives. David opened up about his ex, Kathryn. It was rare he spoke about her. Their divorce had been amicable, but it still wasn’t his proudest moment. He said he was glad they split because they weren’t meant to be, but he felt like he failed by not being able to make it work. Mary Margaret had given him a gentle look and told him that, that wasn’t true.

“Some people just take time to find who they’re meant to be with.”

Mary Margaret laid on the gurney next to him, wearing a similar gown. It made her dark pixie cut stand out even more. In the waiting room was her support system, along with his own. Ruth, Rogers and James would sit with Robin, Regina and the rest through the whole surgery. It was weird how their families were blending all of the sudden.

“You don’t just do something like this and never see the person again,” Ruth had told him. “We need to get to know them.”

It was crazy how certain people entered their lives.

Mary Margaret looked over at David. “Last chance to run.”

“Not in a million years.”

“Have I thanked you enough yet?”

“If you do it again, I will run.”

Mary Margaret giggled. “Point taken.”

The team of doctors entered the room. Whale instructed for David to be taken first.

Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed his hand. “Good luck,” she whispered.

“I’ll make sure to get the best parts for you,” he replied with a wink.

David was wheeled away, though he kept craning his neck to get another view at the woman he was doing it all for. She looked nervous and he wished he could hold her hand through it all.

*x*

Mary Margaret had to spend five agonizing days waiting before she could see David. The first few days, she was in intensive care. Finally, she was able to move to the regular recovery wing of the hospital. Regina and Robin assured her that he was fine. According to his mother and brother, he had come out of surgery with flying colors. Thus far, Mary Margaret was responding well to her new liver as well. As happy as Mary Margaret was, she wanted to see him.

Finally, a nurse agreed to put her in a wheelchair and take her to his room. He was sitting up in bed, flipping through a newspaper that he instantly dropped upon seeing her. Mary Margaret grinned.

“You’re looking great,” he said. “Like you just got a new liver or something.”

Mary Margaret chuckled. “I’m still completely sore and I’m sure my hair is a mess…”

“Nah, but you got that new liver glow.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“I just made it up, so it so is.”

Mary Margaret tilted her head. “And you?”

“I feel like they ripped me open, then sewed me shut.”

“David, I…”

“Seriously, Mare. I’m fine.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m surprised they let you out of bed.”

“It’s amazing what knowing the right nurse will do.”

“Right, you volunteer here. What do I do to get out sooner?”

“Unfortunately, they don’t bend on that.”

They stayed talking for as long as the nurse would allow. Eventually, Mary Margaret was wheeled back to her room. David would leave the hospital before she would, with her spending an extra couple of days. As the recipient, she wouldn’t be able to return to work for a few months. She’d be stuck in bed for six to eight weeks outside appointments. She had a feeling Regina would be making sure it was eight rather than six, just to be on the safe side.

Despite the two being on bedrest in their respective caregiver’s home, David and Mary Margaret texted like crazy. They made fun of James and Regina, while also expressing gratitude for them. David found the cutest kitten pictures to brighten Mary Margaret’s day and she made sure that she always had some puppy ones handy when he seemed to be blue. They complained about their diets, fantasizing about the things they would eat as soon as they were cleared.

I owe you a steak dinner, Mary Margaret texted one morning close to Christmas.

With like, five baked potatoes, David replied.

That’s the hunger talking.

This broth just doesn’t do it like butter, salt and sour cream.

I concur.

Henry and Roland made her a million get well cards. Henry would come and read to her when he got home from school. Roland found the best movies. Robin would get Regina to relax a bit and promised Mary Margaret they would have archery practice as soon as she was well again. That got the pep in her as much as the steak dinner.

After one appointment, she found herself in the giftshop while Regina went to grab a coffee. As she admired the different bits of jewelry, she came across a watch. Flipping the face over, there was a prince’s crown on the back. Mary Margaret stared at it for a few moments, thinking about everything David had done for her over the past few weeks.

She rolled over to the checkout. “Do you offer giftwrap?”

The kind-looking old lady behind the counter nodded. “We do.”

Regina agreed to drop the gift off at James’ apartment on Christmas Eve. Mary Margaret was very surprised when she returned with a gift sloppily wrapped, a shiny red bow on top.

As usual, she found it hard to sleep that night. As the clock struck midnight, she reached over and turned on the light.

Are you up? she texted David.

James got home late from his office Christmas party and woke me, so yeah, he replied.

FaceTime and open each other’s gifts?

Sounds good to me.

Her phone rang twice before David’s face appeared on her screen. His beard was coming in and his hair was messy. She could spot some red flannel pajamas as well.

“Very festive,” she commented. “And I love the mountain man beard.”

David laughed. “I won’t let James shave me.”

“Can’t say I blame you. It’s awkward needing so much help after being independent so long.” She looked down at the present in her lap. “You gave me part of your liver. What more could you possibly give me this Christmas?”

“Open it and figure it out.”

Mary Margaret did as she was told. Lifting the lid off the box, she let out a little bit of a gasp. Inside was the most beautiful glass bird. She lifted it out to admire it closer up.

“David,” she whispered. “How…”

“You mentioned you like birds once or twice. So, I asked James if he could either find one of those or a glass liver. Apparently, the livers were of short supply.”

She placed it onto the nightstand. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“We’ve talked about everything pretty much. I know you now.”

She softly smiled. “I suppose you do.”

“Can I open mine now?”

“Go ahead.”

Mary Margaret watched as he ripped the silver paper off. He tilted his head as he flipped open the box.

“Oh, this is a beautiful watch.”

“Flip over the face.”

David did as he was told. “A crown?”

“You’re my prince charming.” The words came out so easily.

“Mary Margaret…”

“I know you tease me for thanking you so much, but you really are. You came into my life and saved me when I needed it the most.” She shrugged. “To me, that’s the exact definition of a prince charming.”

David blinked a few times and Mary Margaret could swear in the dim light, she could see a tear fall down his face. “This is…I can’t remember the last time I was this for someone…probably never.”

“Well, you are mine, Charming.”

David smiled in spite of his tears. “Merry Christmas, Mary Margaret.”

“Merry Christmas, Charming.”

#snowing #mary margaret blanchard #david nolan #ouat #once upon a time #snowing au #ouat au

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ilovemesomekillianjones · 6 years ago

Text

All Aboard - A Holiday Epilogue

Merry (Way Late) Christmas @xhookswenchx ! Please accept this humble offering from me, Mrs. Secret Santa, although not so secret now. I hope you enjoy this fluffy and smutty follow up to All Aboard.

For those of you who don’t know, the original story was based on this post by @xhookswenchx and therefore, the story was only possible because of her. What better way to help me continue to say thanks for the inspiration than to dedicate this holiday epilogue to her.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 ao3 ffnet Rated M 4.8K

I love writing this version of Emma and Killian simply because they are gone for each other and need each other like all the time. They started off hot and heavy, and even though they aren’t on a train this time, they are still at it. Thank you again to @hookedonapirate for beta reading and feedback!

Epilogue

Several Years Later…

Emma wanted nothing more than to take a nap, but she needed to be ready to volunteer in thirty minutes. This year they were going to the local orphanage to help serve a family style dinner, give out presents, and spend time with the children. Maybe she’d have time to nap afterward.

It had been a busy day already, what with waking up early (on a day off from patrolling Storybrooke as David’s second in command) to brave the throngs of last minute holiday shoppers for the gifts she and Killian had waited until the last minute to procure for tonight’s Dirty Santa gift exchange.

They were attending a holiday party thrown by Mary Margaret’s and Elsa’s co-worker Ruby Hunter and her husband Graham, who was also one of David’s deputies. Killian and Emma were going to pass on the party, but when they found out the Nolans, the other Jones family, as well as new friends from the shipping business, Will and Belle Scarlet, and David’s other deputy, Robin Locksley and his wife, Regina were all attending, they didn’t want to be the only Christmas Scrooges, so they’d decided to go.

Looking into the vanity mirror, Emma finished her makeup with a layer of color to her lips. Rubbing them together and popping them open, she smiled at the decadent holiday color Killian had picked out while they’d been out shopping earlier.

“Ah!” Emma yelled when Killian snuck up behind her and tickled her waist before wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Killian nuzzled his nose between her hair and her neck and inhaled deeply. “You smell divine,” he told her, then proceeded to plant a line of kisses along her neck and down her shoulder.

“Stop it, we’re going to be late.” She shivered just a bit when she felt his cock pressing into her backside. She really could go for a good fuck right now.

“I don’t care if we’re bloody late, I want my wife,” Killian growled into her ear. “I couldn’t have you this morning because we had to wake up and shop, now we have to volunteer, then we have a party. What if you’re too drunk after?” He smirked at her as he cocked an eyebrow, knowing she would remember the incident he was referencing.

“I promise there’ll be no tears shed over not getting to suck your cock, because I don’t plan on being drunk.”

“What if I’m too drunk?” He kissed up her neck and attempted to reach her mouth.

“Killian, I just put on my lipstick,” she half whined and half sighed. She really did want him; maybe they had a little time?

“Aye, Candy Cane Red, I love that shade on you, darling, but I think it’d look even more magnificent on my cock. Don’t you?”

Emma’s eyes focused on her husband of four years and four days - they’d gotten engaged over their first summer together and married on December 20th, the one year anniversary of meeting at the King Street Train Station in Seattle, Washington - he’d been absolutely insatiable this holiday season. A vice-like yearning came over her as she turned in his arms. “I don’t know, perhaps we should find out?” she suggested, brushing the hair from his forehead.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” a loud voice boomed from the front of their home. Emma and Killian had stayed in the little seaside cottage Liam had set up for his brother’s arrival five years ago. It was perfect for the two of them.

“Shhhhh, maybe they’ll go away if we’re very quiet,” Killian whispered. He smiled as Emma rolled her eyes at him.

“We’re not going away, you two!” Liam shouted. “Stop making out, it’s time to go you concupiscent adolescents.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and she burst into giggles. “I never thought I’d hear the word concupiscent from another living soul.”

“It’s the highbred vernacular ingrained in us dashing Brits, darling.”

“Oh, shut up,” Emma snorted. “Highbred my ass, two seconds ago you wanted to know what Candy Cane Red lipstick would look like on your cock.”

“Gentleman on the streets, rapscallion in the sheets?”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with love for her ridiculous husband. She pecked his lips through her smile. “Whatever you say.” She patted his chest placatingly before walking out to greet Liam and Elsa.

Walking to the front of the house Emma greeted her sister-in-law and brother-in-law with a hug. “He’s not very happy with you,” she told Liam.

“He never is.”

“Good afternoon, sister,” Killian said pulling Elsa into a hug. He narrowed his eyes as he acknowledged his brother, “Liam, you cockblocking sod, haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“Aye, but we’re family, there’s no need to knock among family.”

“That’s it, Swan, we’re changing the locks. Whose idea was it for him to have a key, anyhow?”

“Yours,” they all answered in unison. “So we can feed Nemo when you two travel,” Liam added.

Killian and Emma loved to drive along the coast finding secluded destinations to escape to, and just have each other. They were also the proud owners of a formerly stray black kitten, who needed to be cared for when they were gone. Killian had decided to call him Nemo after the Latin term meaning nobody. He’s nobody, from nowhere, Killian had told her when she’d gotten home from work one day, and he and the kitten were curled up on the couch.

Killian muttered under his breath about pisspoor timing as he and Emma bundled up in their winter gear. This winter was proving to be one of the bitterest on record, with temperature breaking lows and high winds to boot. Walking out the door and loading into Liam’s car, the four headed to meet David and Mary Margaret for their Christmas Eve tradition of volunteering.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

The afternoon had been amazing, getting to help out on such a special day. The group had stayed later than they’d realized, talking with the children and playing games. Emma’s heart felt full as she remembered how wonderful Killian had been with the little ones, making them laugh hysterically at his antics.

“We will see you at nine, you better not bail!” Elsa said when they pulled into the driveway to drop off Killian and Emma back at home.

“We might,” Killian threatened.

“We won’t,” Emma corrected, running her hand up and down his arm.

The door hadn’t even shut when Killian was pulling Emma into his embrace. He kissed her hugnrily. “I have waited so patiently…”

“Oh, yes, just like a good boy. You must be on the nice list?” Emma rubbed her hands up and down his chest, kneading it ardently.

“Aye.”

“And what is it you want this year?”

“All I want is my wife,” he purred while kneading and squeezing her ass much like she was his chest.

“I think that can be arranged.” Emma dove back in to continue their kiss when an irritating siren-like sound began blaring from Killian’s cell phone.

“Shit,” Killian cursed, separating from Emma and scrubbing a hand down his face.

“What is it?”

“The alarm was tripped down at the warehouse.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Aye, love. Leroy and Anton have the next two days off for the holiday. I took today to cover if anything happened, and Liam has tomorrow.”

“I could go with you?”

“No need, I’ll be twenty minutes tops, it’s probably just a bird or small animal of some type that tripped the system.” Killian leaned in to peck her lips and bit down on her lower one, “I will see you shortly.”

“Hurry back,” she said breathily, wholly affected by the promise of sin in his words.

Sixteen minutes later…

“Did you get started without me?” Killian asked as he walked down the hall to their room. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight that greeted him. There was his lovely wife, snuggled into the blankets of their bed, and the low vibrating he’d mistaken for one of their toys was actually her snoring as she slept soundly. He decided to let her get the rest she’d been craving.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“Come on love, time to rise and shine.”

Emma whined as her husband shook her shoulder. She was so comfy, and just five more minutes, that’s all she wanted.

“We’ll be late for the party if you don’t get up soon.”

Bolting upright and gave her husband a pout. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple hours.” He rubbed his arm up and down her shoulder and leaned in to peck her lips.

“I’m so sorry, babe!”

He smiled at her sincerity. “No need to apologize, Swan. I can wait.”

Emma threw the blankets back to reveal her naked form. “I really was intending to, I just decided to lay down to wait for you… and I guess I knocked out before you got back.”

Killian let out a frustrated moan, “Darling, you are killing me.” He stroked his hand over the contour of her bare hip.

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“You’ve been exhausted all day and it wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly of me to selfishly wake you, just for a roll in the sheets.”

“It’s not selfish if we both get something,” she purred.

Killian smacked her ass lightly. “Mmm, indeed, I guess I didn’t look at it that way. Too late now, we’ll be even more late if we don’t get ready. As it is, Dave is already texting me to find out what time we will be there.”

Emma rolled her eyes at her brother and Mary Margaret, and their penchants for punctuality. “Fine.”

They were ready in record time. Emma wore a strapless, red dress with black jewelry and accessories, including a shawl and stiletto heels, while Killian wore a black button up shirt and black slacks, and a red vest to match Emma’s dress.

After touching up her makeup and curling her hair quickly, they grabbed their Dirty Santa gifts and headed out the door.

The party was actually a huge undertaking. At least half of Storybrooke inhabited the beautifully decorated home, every surface was covered with food, gifts, or alcohol. After eating and mingling Ruby announced that it was time for the Dirty Santa game. There were gifts that ranged from classic, to practical, to sexual, to humorous, to downright weird, and the group shared many laughs as presents were picked and stolen, and guests cheered or pouted.

Once the massive gift exchange was over, an area of the great room emerged as a dance floor, and the kitchen became the place for beer pong and shots. Emma was feeling a little suffocated as she sat in a corner conversing with her closest girlfriends. The music was blaring, she’d eaten just a little too much, and the house had become overly warm as people danced and partied. The windows were now open, and hopefully the chilled winter air would permeate the room soon. She excused herself to the restroom to take a breather. Grabbing a bottle of cold water she headed upstairs to Ruby’s private bathroom so she could rest and clear her head.

She sat on the extravagant gold chaise lounge that adorned the far wall of Ruby’s mansion sized restroom. She wondered if she’d be able to get away with a bath, then chuckled at herself. She was 33 years old, it wasn’t even midnight and she was ready to be at home. Home in bed with a certain rapscallion, she thought, and suddenly her stomach was churning with a different sensation. A raw need for her husband.

E: Meet me upstairs. Last room on the left. Now.

K: You want my candy cane?

E: my 👄 on your candy cane

K: 💨

Emma laughed at her phone as she pictured Killian sprinting toward the stairs knocking over anything and anyone in his way. She’d just finished applying a fresh layer of lipstick when the door burst open behind her. “Lock the door,” she commanded in a low voice as she stalked toward him.

Killian complied then turned around and roughly pulled her against his body. “My cock might actually break, it’s so fucking hard.”

His words were a dirty caress and she bit down on her lip to keep from moaning. “I can feel that, babe,” she whispered as she rubbed against him. Emma dropped down to her knees, intent on showing Killian exactly what his cock would look like with Candy Cane Red lipstick painting it. She masterfully unfastened his pants, pulled down his fly and freed him. “I told you I wouldn’t be too drunk,” she smirked before clutching his ass in her hands and sucking his length into her hot mouth.

Normally he’d insist on lady’s first, but Killian was so ready he couldn’t bring himself to halt her ministrations. He grabbed a fist full of her hair on each side of her head and grasped tightly. “Yes, Swan, suck my cock. I’ve been half hard all evening just thinking about your delectable mouth.” He marveled at the way he slid in and out of her pretty lips, and she had indeed painted his cock that delicious shade of Candy Cane Red.

Emma moaned along his shaft as she looked up at him to appreciate his beauty. He was an absolute wreck, hair falling just above his hooded eyes from the way she was working him, cheeks flushed a deep red, the line of his jaw flexing as he gritted and clenched his teeth. He whimpered as his peak crept up on him faster than he wanted, and Emma’s clit sparked with want. “I need you, Killian.”

“Fuck,” he panted as she withdrew her mouth. Dragging her up from her knees, he stole her breath with a desperate kiss. He tore the top of her dress down, exposing her breasts, and hiked the tight skirt up over her ass, all while ravaging her mouth. Killian slapped his palm against her ass cheek and squeezed it with one hand while weaving the fingers of his other hand tightly into the hair at the base of her skull.

Emma moaned when he bit down on her lip. Maybe she should keep him waiting more often; she liked the desperate need in his touch tonight. She slipped her own hands into his pants which loosely hung unfastened on his hips and kneaded his ass. “Someone’s feeling a little vigorous tonight,” she said breathily as she broke the kiss for much needed air.

“Did I hurt you love?” He released the firm hold he’d had on her hair and guided her to sit on the chaise. His ardor immediately cooled, and his concern genuine, he knelt in front of her and smoothed his hands up and down her thighs lovingly.

Emma just laughed. “No Killian, you didn’t hurt me. In fact,” she leaned in, and placed her mouth at his ear, “I like it.” Emma leaned back and bit her lip, waiting on his reaction; even after all this time she could still feel a little bashful with him.

Killian’s cock jumped as her warm breath caressed his ear. He waggled his eyebrows at her and smoothed his tongue along his bottom lip. “I do love when you tell me secrets, darling.”

Emma giggled at the way his eyebrows danced as he lewdly licked his lips. Biting her nail she asked quietly, “Want to hear another secret?”

Her bit of shyness and the pink on her cheeks was quite arousing for Killian. Pinpricks of sensation broke out across his skin as he watched her bite on her nail and try to act innocent. “Aye,” he replied with a lust fueled timbre.

Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him senseless before trailing her mouth along his jaw and back up to his very sensitive ear, so she could whisper to him. “My panties are all wet.”

“Fucking Hell,” Killian gasped. He could have guessed at that, but hearing her say those words had his cock aching to be buried.

Emma spread her legs wide, grasped one of his hands and pressed it against the thin material of her panties. “See, you make me so wet, Killian” she purred.

He growled at how she uttered his name, and how easily his fingers slid over the soaked silk as he rubbed her clit through the material. “Goddamn love, how long have you been like this?”

She shrugged her shoulders as a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Tell me,” he coaxed as he continued to circle her sensitive flesh.

“Just since you came up here.”

“All this,” he emphasized by cupping her sex, “just since I got up here.”

“What can I say? I enjoy blowing you.”

“That arouses you?”

“Does it not arouse you to… go down on me?” Emma asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Gods above, I love pleasuring you with my mouth, Swan.”

“Then why would you think it was different for me? Have I ever done anything to make you think I don’t enjoy it?”

“I suppose not. I guess most women just make it sound as though it’s a chore.” Bending down he latched onto a breast - one of Emma’s favorite erogenous zones. Over the years he’d committed to memory the erotic noises she made when he teased and laved her nipples.

Emma laced her fingers into his hair, holding him to her breast, loving the way he feasted on her pebbled flesh. “Well, I guess I’m not most women, because I love sucking your cock. Making you come down my throat as you call out my name and your cock spasms against my lips, fuck,” she panted as she ground her core against where his hand still rubbed her.

Killian swallowed hard as she waxed poetic on giving him head. Grasping his straining cock and stroking languidly for just a second of relief, he beseeched his wife, “Emma, I need you, love.”

Scooting up the long chair, Emma removed her panties before laying back and letting her legs dangle over each side of the chair so she was spread wide for Killian. “Then have me.”

He sprung to action, stripping off his clothes and then engulfing her body with his. Laying claim to her mouth, he nestled his cock between her folds and glided back and forth. The warmth that coated him as he teased her clit with the head of his cock was almost enough to have him coming, but he found some semblance of control as he worked her closer to the edge.

Placing a hand on Killian’s chest, Emma pushed him back a little, she situated her legs against his shoulders, then reached down between their bodies and lined him up.

The heat of her core beckoned him the instant his tip nudged her entrance. Wrapping a hand around each of her ankles he sunk into her depths, moaning at the sensation of finally being enveloped. He had to fight to keep upright, the feeling so overwhelming he wanted to slouch against her and just rut to a quick completion. Breathing in deeply, he focused on only Emma and bringing her pleasure.

“Oh, yeah,” she sighed when he finally slid into her and began thrusting in and out. The sound of skin meeting skin as he plunged into her wetness echoed through the powder room. Emma’s legs were being stretched, burning deliciously as they rested on his shoulders and he leaned into her seeking the deepest of thrusts.

Killian looked into her eyes, deep green and blown wide, willing her to fall apart so he could let go. Her mouth hung open and small puffs of air escaped in time with his movements. Her cheeks were bright pink with the exertion and her hands played with her breasts, she was gorgeous all the time, but he loved watching her draw to the edge as they connected on this level. When he felt like he actually might explode, finally he heard his his angel’s voice, breathy with gratification.

“Oh fuck,” she breathed out on a long moan. “So good, Killian, so good.”

Her fresh wave of arousal rushed over him warmly and her walls pulsed around his cock, evoking his climax. His stomach tightened and every muscle in his body went rigid as he spilled his release deep into her.

Body weak with pleasure, Emma threw her forearm over her face as she smiled into her arm, euphoria stealing over her. “God, I’ve needed this all day, so fucking good babe.” She let her legs slide from Killian’s shoulders so she was laying spread wide.

“Allow me to clean you darling?” He cocked that hyper eyebrow of his and delved between her thighs.

Emma tightened her arm over her face, particularly her mouth as she whimpered when his warm hot tongue met her sensitive flesh.

“Knock, knock,” came a loud voice, followed by a few raps of knuckles against the door.

Emma and Killian both jumped a mile high, apparently forgetting they weren’t in the privacy of their own home. “Shit!” Emma cursed.

“Eh, just a minute, Ruby. I’ll be finished shortly,” Killian called. “To be continued,” he whispered to his wife, giving one final swipe of his tongue through her folds.

“No rush, no rush. As long as she’s finished, Jones, it’s not proper to leave a lady wanting. Emma, if he leaves you high and dry, you let me know.”

“How about I let Graham know?” Killian shot back, wondering what the deputy would think about his wife propositioning Emma.

Emma smacked his chest as they righted themselves on the chaise. “You know she loves fucking with you more when you give her the reaction she wants.”

“Oh, he’ll be so happy you asked, Killian!” Ruby laughed through the door.

Before he could clarify what he meant, Emma leaned forward and kissed him. “Let her have her fun,” she told Killian so only he could hear. “Don’t worry Rubes, Killian knows how to give it to me just how I like it.”

“Ooooh, hot damn!” Ruby laughed. “You two just make sure to clean up any mess, then get your asses downstairs. David is wondering where his sister is, and Liam is trying to bet him that you’re up here doing exactly what you’re doing.”

Killian rolled his eyes. He and Liam didn’t have a sister, so it was impossible for Liam to know what kind of hornet’s nest he was stirring. They got ready in short order and headed down the stairs hand in hand, if they thought they didn’t look thoroughly fucked, they were mistaken.

Most everyone was still carrying on and partying. David however was glaring daggers between Liam and Killian.

“Bloody hell.”

“Come on, David will get over it.” Emma pulled Killian forward with a serene grin on her face.

Mary Margaret was attempting to reason with her husband as they greeted the group at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s an adult, David.”

David’s expression lightened infinitesimally. “They could’ve waited till they got home.”

“We are right here,” Emma cut in, feeling a bit feisty.

“You could have waited till you got home,” David directed at her.

“I didn’t want to,” Emma sassed. “Sometimes needs must be met,” David’s face contorted into that of a man hearing too much information, “and we were already interrupted by one brother this morning, and a fucking alarm system this afternoon. So forgive me if I needed a little instant gratification.”

“Little?” Killian questioned. David definitely shot him the evil eye.

“A lot,” Emma smirked, leaning in to kiss him. “Huge gratification,” she added, playing it up for her brother’s reaction.

Elsa, Liam, Graham, and Ruby burst into laughter at the look on David’s face, while David himself shuddered and looked to his wife for support.

“Hey, you asked for it the moment you tried to lecture a married adult about sex,” Mary Margaret chuckled.

“Someone get me a shot!” David called out as he walked away from the bunch. They continued cracking up even after he’d gone in search of alcohol.

“You are going to be in trouble tonight,” Emma told Mary Margaret.

“Nothing a little physical activity won’t alleviate,” her sister-in-law replied, waggling her eyebrows.

The party got smaller and smaller until it was just the close knit group of them visiting. Emma tried, but failed to stifle a yawn as everyone chit chatted.

“Tired again, sleepyhead?” Killian whispered.

“I guess you wore me out,” she giggled quietly. “Take me home?”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

Emma tickled Killian’s belly, his most ticklish spot, as he slept, eliciting a grunt of dissatisfaction from him, and then quickly turned over and pretended to sleep.

Last night had been a blast. After saying Merry Christmas and good night to everyone the evening before, they’d driven home, showered - where they got down and dirty one more time before getting clean - and then hit the sack. Emma was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She felt as though she must have caught up on sleep as she was wide awake this morning. That and she was crazy excited to give Killian his Christmas present. She huffed out a sigh as she heard her husband’s breathing even out again. Rolling over, she gently tickled him again, but this time he captured her wrist before she could pretend to sleep again.

“Is someone excited for Christmas morning?” he asked in his gravelly morning voice. Her joyous laughter was answer enough. “One day our children will be tickling us awake bright and early Christmas morning and I don’t want to hear any complaining from you, love.”

Emma’s smile was brilliant and her eyes a little glassy as she pictured it. “Come on!” She pulled Killian by the hand, almost dragging him out of their bed. She threw on her big fluffy robe and practically skipped to the basin to brush her teeth.

“How much coffee have you had?” He rose from bed and stretched before throwing on his flannel pajamas - she had the temperature set to arctic chill again. Joining her to brush his teeth, he watched as his wife exuberantly went through her morning routine. “Let’s remedy that, I’ll start the coffee, you turn up the furnace.”

No sooner had Killian filled the coffee pot than Emma was at his back, arms wrapped around his midsection. “Heater is on. Presents!”

“Don’t you want coffee?”

“Later,” she whined pulling on him.

Killian turned in her arms and was smitten by the joy on her face and the excitement dancing in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what she had in store for him, but his curiosity was now officially piqued. He kissed her gently. “All right, coffee later. Presents now.”

“You first!” Emma demanded. Pushing him onto the sofa, she handed him an envelope and practically bounced on her toes as she waited for him to open it. Her hands were clasped together and she was biting her lip in anticipation.

He considered drawing it out to get a rise out of his wife, but her excitement must’ve been contagious because he decided to skip teasing her in favor of finding out what was in the envelope. He opened the flap, careful not to rip any of the contents, and pulled out the card. Killian read the front cover aloud:

“The best gifts don’t come under a tree…” He opened the card and finished reading, “You, me, and Baby Jones will make three,” before he even noticed the grainy black and white image framed on the other side.

Emma watched as her husband studied the ultrasound photo and different emotions crossed his beautiful face. His eyes had gone from normal, to bugged out - is it happening too fast for him? she worried - to glassy - are those happy tears or sad tears? she panicked - to crinkled at the corners as a brilliant smile took over his face.

A sigh of relief flew from her mouth as she witnessed her husband having the same reaction she had when she’d taken her first pregnancy test two weeks ago. They hadn’t necessarily been trying, but they’d decided to forego preventative measures a couple months ago.

“We’re going to be parents,” he murmured. His fingers traced over the image of their baby as realizations dawned on him. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of coffee, between that and the baby, no wonder she’d been so tired lately. And this was why she knew she wouldn’t be drunk last night, and why she’d egged her brother on feistily. He stood up and pulled her tightly to his chest, hugging her as if she might disappear. “Emma,” he whispered as he became utterly overwhelmed with emotion.

And then Emma was crying as her husband was brought to tears by the announcement of their baby. Grabbing one of his hands, Emma placed it over her belly, and covered it with hers. “We love you, Killian.”

He kissed his wife soundly. “And I love you.” Kneeling down, Killian whispered, “And you as well, little love,” before placing a kiss to her belly.

End

#cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs smut #csss2k18

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